Those men that did fight, And did pray day and night, For the Parliament and its attendant, The King out to justle, And bring in the Independent, But now we all clearly see what was the end on't.1 Now their idol's thrown down with their sooterkin also, And, though their contrivance did make one thing to fall so, And now, my lads, we In spite of the Committee's frown; We will drink and we'll sing, Shall be loyally drunk in the 'Crown," Their politic would-be's do but show themselves asses, We only converse with pots and with glasses,- Their estates does devour, Without showing law for't or reason; For the crime called debt, Where our bodies and brains we do season, And that is ne'er taken for murder or treason. Where our ditties still be, "Give's more drink, give's more drink, boys! Let those that are frugal take care!" Our gaolers and we will live by our chink, boys, While our creditors live by the air. Here we live at our ease, And get craft and grease, 'Till we've merrily spent all our store; Then, as drink brought us in, 'Twill redeem us agen; We got in because we were poor, And swear ourselves out on the very same score. 1 A reference to the project of making Cromwell king. JOHN DRYDEN. [Born in Aldwinkle All Saints, Northamptonshire, towards 1631; died in London, 1 May 1700]. ON THE YOUNG STATESMEN. WRITTEN IN 1680. CLARENDON had law and sense; But Sunderland, Godolphin, Lory. Protect us, mighty Providence! What would these madmen have? Shall freeborn men, in humble awe, Who from consent and custom draw The duke shall wield his conquering sword, The king shall pass his honest word, So have I seen a king on chess (His rooks and knights withdrawn, His queen and bishops in distress) KATHARINE PHILIPS. [Born towards 1632, died of small-pox in 1664. Her maiden name was Fowler, and she married James Philips Esq., of the Priory of Cardigan. Herself and all her immediate society assumed philandering fancy-names: she was "Orinda," or, as several of her highly distinguished contemporaries lavishly called her, "the matchless Orinda." Some of her poems got about during her brief lifetime, but without her sanction. Orinda, though not exactly "matchless," must have been a very gifted woman-of elevated mind and character, warm attachments, and no inconsiderable poetic endowment: she was full mistress of the faculty of nervous and direct expression in verse]. ΤΟ ΑΝΤΕΝOR,1 . ON A PAPER OF MINE WHICH J. J. THREATENS TO PUBLISH TO PREJUDICE HIM. MUST then my crimes become thy scandal too? So, if my ink through malice proved a stain, And more than this wit knows not how to give,— 1 The authoress's husband. EARL OF DORSET (CHARLES SACKVILLE). [Born in 1637, died in 1706. Witty and dissipated in his youth, he became, as age advanced, a political personage of some importance, and, concurring in the revolution under William III., was created Lord Chamberlain of the Household. He was at all times a generous supporter of men of genius], SONG.1 To all you ladies now at land But first would have you understand The Muses now, and Neptune too, For though the Muses should prove kind, Yet, if rough Neptune rouse the wind Our paper, pen and ink, and we, Then, if we write not by each post, Our tears we'll send a speedier way,- The king, with wonder and surprise, Should foggy Opdam chance to know The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, For what resistance can they find From men who've left their hearts behind? Let wind and weather do its worst, Be you to us but kind; Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, No sorrow we shall find: 1 Written at sea in the Dutch War, 1665: composed (or at any rate completed) the night before the great engagement in which the Dutch Admiral, Opdam, and all his crew, were blown up. 2 Burden repeated to each stanza. 'Tis then no matter how things go, To pass our tedious hours away, But now our fears tempestuous grow, Perhaps, permit some happier man When any mournful tune you hear, As if it sighed with each man's care Think then how often love we've made In justice you cannot refuse To think of our distress, When we for hopes of honour lose All those designs are but to prove And now we've told you all our loves, WILLIAM WALSH. [Born in 1663, died towards 1709. He was a friend of Dryden, who termed him "the best critic of our nation:" he also encouraged Pope in his early career]. THE DESPAIRING LOVER. DISTRACTED with care For Phyllis the fair; Since nothing could move her, Poor Damon, her lover, Resolves in despair No longer to languish, |