Among the hungry he that treasures grain,
Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns,
So rules among the drowned he that drains.
Not who first see the rising sun commands,
But who could first discern the rising lands.
Who best could know to pump an earth so leak,
Him they their lord and country's father speak.
To make a bank was a great plot of state;
Invent a shovel, and be a magistrate.
Hence some small dyke-grave, unperceived, invades
The power, and grows, as 'twere, a king of spades;
But, for less envy, some joined states endures,
Who look like a commission of the sewers :
For these half-anders, half wet and half dry,
Nor bear strict service nor pure liberty.
'Tis probable religion, after this,"
Came next in order; which they could not miss.
How could the Dutch but be converted when
The apostles were so many fishermen ?
Besides, the waters of themselves did rise,
And, as their land, so them did re-baptize;
Though Herring for their God few voices missed,
And Poor-John to have been the evangelist.
Faith, that could never twins conceive before,
Never so fertile, spawned upon this shore
More pregnant than their Margaret, that lay down,
For Hans-in-Kelder, of a whole Hans-town.
Sure, when religion did itself embark,
And from the east would westward steer its ark,
It struck, and, splitting on this unknown ground,
Each one thence pillaged the first piece he found :
Hence Amsterdam, Turk-Christian-Pagan-Jew,
Staple of sects and mint of schism grew ;
That bank of conscience, where not one so strange
Opinion but finds credit and exchange.
In vain for Catholics ourselves we bear;
The Universal Church is only there.
Nor can civility there want for tillage,
Where wisely for their court they chose a village.
How fit a title clothes their governors,-
Themselves the hogs, as all their subjects boars!
Let it suffice, to give their country fame,
That it had one Civilis called by name,
Some fifteen hundred and more years ago;
But surely never any that was so.
See but their mairmaids, with their tails of fish,
Reeking at church over the chafing dish.
1 See the pun, on p. 141, between "herring" and "heeren." Here again
there is the same sort of pun upon "Heer" or "Herr" in its signification of "Lord" (God).
A vestal turf, enshrined in earthenware,
Fumes through the loopholes of a wooden square.
Each to the temple with these altars tend,
But still does place it at her western end;
While the fat steam of female sacrifice
Fills the priest's nostrils, and puts out his eyes.
Or what a spectacle the skipper gross,
A water-Hercules, butter-coloss,
Tunned up with all their several towns of beer; When, staggering upon some land, sniek and sneer, They try, like statuaries, if they can
Cut out each other's Athos to a man ;
And carve in their large bodies, where they please,
The arms of the united provinces.
But, when such amity at home is showed,
What then are their confederacies abroad?
Let this one courtesy witness all the rest;
When their whole navy they together pressed,
Not Christian captives to redeem from bands,
Or intercept the western golden sands;
No, but all ancient rights and leagues must fail,
Rather than to the English strike their sail;
To whom their weather-beaten province owes
Itself, when, as some greater vessel tows
A cock-boat tossed with the same wind and fate,
We buoyed so often up their sinking state.
Was this jus belli et pacis? Could this be
Cause why their burgomaster of the sea,
Rammed with gunpowder, flaming with brand-wine,
Should raging hold his linstock to the mine?
While, with feigned treaties, they invade by stealth
Our sore new-circumcisèd commonwealth.
Yet of his vain attempt no more he sees
Than of case-butter shot and bullet-cheese;
And the torn navy staggered with him home,
While the sea laughed itself into a foam.
'Tis true, since that (as fortune kindly sports)
A wholesome danger drove us to our ports;
While half their banished keels the tempest tossed,
Half bound at home in prison to the frost,
That ours, meantime, at leisure might careen,
In a calm winter, under skies serene,—
As the obsequious air and waters rest
'Till the dear halcyon hatch out all its nest.
The Commonwealth doth by its losses grow,
And, like its own seas, only ebbs to flow.
Besides, that very agitation laves,
And purges out the corruptible waves.
And now again our armèd bucentore
Doth yearly their sea nuptials restore;
And now the hydra of seven provinces
Is strangled by our infant Hercules.
Their tortoise wants its vainly stretched neck;
Their navy, all our conquest, or our wreck :
Or what is left their Carthage overcome
Would render fain unto our better Rome,-
Unless our senate, lest their youth disuse
The war, (but who would?) peace, if begged, refuse.
For now of nothing may our state despair,
Darling of heaven, and of men the care;
Provided that they be, what they have been,
Watchful abroad, and honest still within ;
For, while our Neptune doth a trident shake
Steeled with those piercing heads, Dean, Monck, and Blake,
And while Jove governs in the highest sphere,
Vainly in hell let Pluto domineer!
[ Born at Newton, near Usk, Monmouthshire, 1622, of an ancient line; died, 23 April 1695. From the locality of his birth and usual residence, he termed himseif the Silurist: he practised as a physician in Brecon. Like the great majority of the poetical writers of the time, he was on the side of royalism. Vaughan has continued to enjoy a certain reputation among literary students, chiefly as a satellite of George Herbert, and sometimes almost his rival. The quality and degree of his poetic excellence are, however, in fact, very uncomHe is in various respects diverse from Herbert, and in some even superior to him he has a larger range, and, in point of thought and of perception, a certain subtlety mingled with intensity which brings him into specially close relation to the modern tone in poetry. It may be hoped that the writings of this fine thinker and deep poet will be better known henceforth, in consequence of the zealous care with which he has been lately edited by the Rev. Mr. Grosart in his important series, The Fuller Worthies Library. Of course a volume of Humorous Poetry is not the place where the deservings of Vaughan can be shown forth in any sufficient measure].
TO HIS RETIRED FRIEND, AN INVITATION TO BRECKNOCK.
SINCE last we met, thou and thy horse, my dear,
Have not so much as drunk or littered here.
I wonder, though thyself be thus deceased,
Thou hast the spite to coffin up thy beast;
Or is the palfrey sick, and his rough hide
With the penance of one spur mortified?
Or taught by thee-like Pythagoras's ox-
Is than his master grown more orthodox ?
Whatever 'tis, a sober cause't must be
That thus long bars us of thy company.
The town believes thee lost; and, didst thou see
But half her sufferings, now distressed for thee,
Thou'ldst swear-like Rome-her foul polluted walls
Were sacked by Brennus and the salvage Gauls.
Abominable face of things! Here's noise
Of banged mortars, blue aprons, and boys,
Pigs, dogs, and drums, with the hoarse hellish notes
Of politicly-deaf usurers' throats,
With new fine Worships, and the old cast team
Of Justices vexed with the cough and phlegm.
Midst these the Cross looks sad, and in the Shire-
Hall furs of an old Saxon Fox appear,
With brotherly ruffs and beards, and a strange sight
Of high monumental hats, ta'en at the fight
Of Eighty eight; while every Burgess foots
The mortal pavement in eternal boots.
Hadst thou been bachelor, I had soon divined
Thy close retirements and monastic mind:
Perhaps some nymph had been to visit, or
The beauteous churl was to be waited for,
And, like the Greek, ere you the sport would miss,
You stayed, and stroked the distaff for a kiss.
But in this age, when thy cool settled blood
Is tied to one flesh, and thou almost grown good,
I know not how to reach the strange device,
Except-Domitian-like-thou murderest flies.
Or is't thy piety? for who can tell
But thou mayst prove devout, and love a cell,
And-like a badger-with attentive looks
In the dark hole sit rooting up of books.
Quick hermit! what a peaceful change hadst thou,
Without the noise of hair-cloth, whip, or vow!
But is there no redemption? must there be
No other penance but of liberty?
Why two months hence, if thou continue thus,
Thy memory will scarce remain with us.
The drawers have forgot thee, and exclaim
They have not seen thee here since Charles his reign; Or, if they mention thee, like some old man
That at each word inserts-"Sir, as I can
-so the Cipherers puzzle me With a dark cloudy character of thee;
That-certs-I fear thou wilt be lost, and we
Must ask the fathers, ere't be long, for thee.
Come! leave this sullen state, and let not wine
And precious wit lie dead for want of thine.
Shall the dull market landlord, with his rout
Of sneaking tenants, dirtily swill out
This harmless liquor? shall they knock and beat
For sack, only to talk of rye and wheat?
Oh let not such preposterous tippling be
In our metropolis; may I ne'er see
Such tavern-sacrilege, nor lend a line
To weep the rapes and tragedy of wine!
Here lives that chemic, quick fire which betrays
Fresh spirits to the blood, and warms our lays.
I have reserved 'gainst thy approach a cup
That, were thy Muse stark dead, shall raise her up,
And teach her yet more charming words and skill
Than ever Cœlia, Chloris, Astrophil,
Or any of the threadbare names, inspired
Poor rhyming lovers, with a mistress fired.
Come then! and, while the slow icicle hangs
At the stiff thatch, and Winter's frosty pangs
Benumb the year, blithe-as of old-let us,
'Midst noise and war, of peace and mirth discuss.
This portion thou wert born for: why should we
Vex at the time's ridiculous misery?
An age that thus hath fooled itself, and will
-Spite of thy teeth and mine-persist so still!
Let's sit then at this fire; and, while we steal
A revel in the town, let others seal,
Purchase, or cheat, and who can, let them pay,
Till those black deeds bring on the darksome day.
Innocent spenders we! a better use
Shall wear out our short lease, and leave the obtuse
Rout to their husks. They and their bags at best
Have cares in earnest; we, care for a jest.
[Born in 1623, died in 1666. Was an untiring producer of verse in ridicule of the Puritans and the parliamentary party: it has even been said that he "was the author of the greater part of the songs and epigrams published against the Rump." He was also concerned in translations of Horace and Lucretius, and other literary work. His profession was that of attorney].
COME, a brimmer, my bullies! drink whole ones or nothing,
Now healths have been voted down.
'Tis sack that can heat us; we care not for clothing,-
A gallon's as warm as a gown.
'Cause the Parliament sees
Nor the former nor these Could engage us to drink their health, They may vote that we shall
Drink no healths at all,
Not to King nor to Commonwealth,
So that now we must venture to drink 'em by stealth.
But we've found out a way, that's beyond all their thinking,
To keep up good-fellowship still
We'll drink their destruction that would destroy drinking,—
Let 'em vote that a health if they will!
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