Loyal, and pious, friends to Cæsar; true
As dying martyrs, to their Maker too.
In their society I could not miss
A permanent, sincere, substantial bliss.
Would bounteous Heaven once more indulge, I'd choose
(For who would so much satisfaction lose,
As witty nymphs in conversation give)
Near some obliging modest fair to live :
For there's that sweetnsss in a female mind,
Which in a man's we cannot hope to find
That, by a secret, but a powerful art,
Winds up the spring of life, and does impart
Fresh vital heat to the transported heart.
I'd have her reason all her passion sway;
Easy in company, in private gay;
Coy to a fop, to the deserving free;
Still constant to herself, and just to me.
A soul she should have for great actions fit;
Prudence and wisdom to direct her wit;
Courage to look bold danger in the face;
No fear, but only to be proud, or base;
Quick to advise, by an emergence prest
To give good counsel, or to take the best.
I'd have th' expression of her thoughts be such,
She might not seem reserved, nor talk too much :
That shews a want of judgment, and of sense;
More than enough is but impertinence. *
Her conduct regular, her mirth refined;
Civil to strangers, to her neighbours kind:
Averse to vanity, revenge, and pride;
In all the methods of deceit untry'd :
So faithful to her friend, and good to all,
No censure might upon her actions fall :
Then would e'en envy be compell'd to say,
She goes the least of womankind astray.
To this fair creature I'd sometimes retire;
Her conversation would new joys inspire;
Give life and edge so keen, no surly care
Would venture to assault my soul, or dare,
Near my retreat, to hide one secret snare.
But so divine, so noble a repast
I'd seldom, and with moderation, taste :
For highest cordials all their virtues lose,
By a too frequent and too bold a use;
And what would cheer the spirits in distress,
Ruins our health, when taken to excess.
I'd be concern'd in no litigious jar,
Belov'd by all, not vainly popular.
Whate'er assistance I had power to bring,
T oblige my country, or to serve my king,
Whene'er they call, I'd readily afford
My tongue, my pen, my counsel, or my sword.
Law suits I'd shun, with as much studious care,
As I would dens where hungry lions are ;
And rather put up injuries, than be
A plague to him, who'd be a plague to me.
I value quiet at a price too great,
To give for my revenge so dear a rate:
For what do we by all our bustle gain,
But counterfeit delight for real pain?
If Heaven a date of many years would give,
Thus I'd in pleasure, ease, and plenty live.
And as I near approach'd the verge of life,
Some kind relation (for I'd have no wife)
Should take upon him all my worldly care,
Whilst I did for a better state prepare.
Then I'd not be with any trouble vex'd,
Nor have the evening of my days perplex'd;
But by a silent and a peaceful death,
Without a sigh, resign my aged breath.
And when committed to the dust, I'd have
Few tears, but friendly, dropt into my grave,
Then would my exit so propitious be,
All men would wish to live and die like me.
Rochester brought this writer forward as a rival to Dryden, he was successful enough to make Rochester himself envious. Charles II. resolved to patronize, and gave him the Spanish Comedy Non puede ser to adapt to the English stage. On the very day fixed for its representation the King was seized with his death sickness, and his hopes and prospects were destroyed.
His plays are highly commended in the Biographia Dramatica. His other works are an imitation of the Lutrin under the title of the Daneids, or the Noble Labours of the Great Dean of Notre Dame in Paris, 4to. 1692; and Pandion and Amphigenia, or the Coy Lady of Thessalia, 1665.
The extract is from his poem on the death of Charles II. 1685; it is a noble specimen of loyal blasphemy.
DEATH OF CHARLES THE SECOND.
OH God! some pity, I am turn'd to stone,
And yet have life, give me all death or none,
Life is thy bounty, that thou may'st deny ;
Death we may claim, it is our right to dye :
Our father bought the curse at vast expence,
Though pain and misery, have improv'd it since
From curse to blessing, from their right the heirs
Shou'd not be kept 'cause better fruit it bears.
Ha! thro' my cold dark frame, a voice does spread
To my numb'd ear, and say in Charles I'm dead.
I? Three fair nations fall under the blow,
His subjects once, his monuments are now;
Or not so well, some as they were remain,
Turn devils to statues, they advancement gain.
Three nations? All the world is sunk so low,
The wise do not so much as scorn it now,
Strength, courage, wisdom, glory, wit, and power,
Had some false lustre till this fatal hour.
In Charles all joyn'd their force, and now his fall
Has to eternal shame expos'd 'em all.
In him all elements so strongly twined,
The royal ship by nature seem'd design'd,
To be in time's unbounded sea obey'd
With the same awe he his own channel sway'd,
Make every desease it's topsail lo're,
To shoot unhurt the gulph of every hour
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