Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE LAST INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER, by ANDREW MARVELL


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE LAST INSTRUCTIONS TO A PAINTER, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: After two sittings, now, our lady state
Last Line: Give us this court and rule without a guard.
Subject(s): Charles Ii, King Of England (1630-1685); Paintings And Painters


After two sittings, now, our Lady State,
To end her Picture, does the third time waite.
But ere thou falst to worke, first, Painter, see
It be'nt too slight grown or too hard for thee.
Canst thou paint without colors? Then 'tis right:
For so wee too without a Fleet can fight.
Or canst thou dawb a sign-post, and that ill?
'Twill suit our great debauch and little skill.
Or hast thou mark'd how antique Masters limn
The Aly roof with Snuffe of Candle dimme,
Sketching in shady smoke prodigious tooles?
'Twill serve this race of Drunkards, Pimps, and Fooles.
But if to match our crimes thy skill presumes,
As th' Indians, draw our Luxury in Plumes;
Or if to score out our compendious Fame,
With Hooke, then, through the Microscope take aim,
Where, like the new Controller, all men laugh
To see a tall Lowse brandish the white staffe.
Else shalt thou oft thy guiltlesse Pencill curse,
Stamp on thy Pallat, nor perhaps the worse.
The Painter so, long having vext his cloth,
Of his Hound's mouth to feign the raging froth,
His desp'rate Pencill at the work did dart:
His Anger reacht that rage which past his Art;
Chance finisht that which Art could but begin,
And he sat smiling how his Dog did grin.
So mayst thou perfect, by a lucky blow,
What all thy softest touches can not do.
Paint then St. Albans, full of soup and gold,
The new Court's patern, Stallion of the old.
Him neither Wit nor Courage did exalt,
But Fortune chose him for her pleasure Salt.
Paint him with Dray-man's shoulders, Butcher's Mien,
Member'd like Mules, with elephantine Chine.
Well he the title of St. Albans bore,
For Bacon never study'd Nature more.
But Age, allaying now that youthful heat,
Fits him in France to play at Cards and treat.
Draw no Commission, lest the Court should lie,
That disavowing Treaty asks supply.
He needs no Seale, but to St. James's Lease,
Whose briches wear the Instrument of Peace;
Who, if the French dispute his Pow'r, from thence
Can streight produce them a Plenipotence.
Nor fears he The most Christian should trepan
Two Saints at once, St. Germain, St. Alban,
But thought the golden Age was now restor'd,
When Men and Women took each others Word.
Paint then again Her Highnesse to the life,
Philosopher beyond Newcastle's Wife.
She, nak'd, can Archimedes self put down,
For an experiment upon the Crown.
She perfected that Engine, oft assayd,
How after childbirth to renew a Maid,
And found how Royall Heirs might be matur'd
In fewer Months than Mothers once indur'd.
Hence Crowder made the rare Inventresse free
Of's Highnesse's Royall Society:
Happy'st of Women, if she were but able
To make her glassen Dukes once malleable!
Paint her with Oyster lip, and Breath of Fame,
Wide Mouth, that Sparagus may well proclaime:
With Chanc'lors Belly, and so large a Rump
There, not behind the Coach, her Pages jump.
Expresse her studying now, if China clay
Can without breaking venom'd Juice convay,
Or how a mortall Poyson she may draw
Out of the cordiall meale of the Cacao.
Witnesse, ye starrs of Night, and thou the pale
Moon, that or'ecome with the sick steam didst faile;
Ye neighbring Elms, that your green leavs did shed,
And Fawns, that from the Wombe abortive fled!
Not unprovok'd, she trys forbidden Arts,
But in her soft Breast Love's hid Cancer smarts,
While she revolves at once Sidney's disgrace
And her self scorn'd for emulous Denham's Face.
And nightly hears the hated Guards away
Galloping with the Duke to other Prey.
Paint Castlemain in Colors that will hold
(Her, not her Picture, for she now grows old).
She through her Lackyes drawers, as he ran,
Discern'd Love's cause, and a new Flame began.
Her wonted Joys, thenceforth, and Court she shuns,
And still within her Mind the Footman runs:
His brazen Calves, his brawny Thighs (the Face
She slights), his Feet shap'd for a smoother race.
Poring within her Glasse she readjusts
Her Lookes and oft-try'd Beauty now distrusts;
Fears lest he scorn a Woman once assayd,
And now first wisht she e'er had been a Maid.
Great Love, how dost thou triumph, and how reigne,
That to a Groom couldst humble her disdaine!
Stript to her Skin, see how shee stooping stands,
Nor scorns to rub him down with those faire Hands,
And washing (lest the Scent her Crime disclose)
His sweaty Hooves, tickles him 'twixt the Toes.
But envious Fame, too soon, begun to note
More gold in's fob, more lace upon his coat:
And he unwary, and of Tongue too fleet,
No longer could conceale his Fortune sweet.
Justly the Rogue was whipt in Porters Den,
And Jermin streight has leave to come agen.
Ah, Painter, now could Alexander live,
And this Campaspe thee, Apelles, give!
Draw next a Paire of Tables op'ning, then
The House of Commons clat'ring like the Men.
Describe the Court and Country, both set right,
On opposite points, the black against the white:
Those having lost the Nation at Trick-track,
These now advent'ring how to win it back.
The Dice betwixt them must the Fate divide
(As Chance doth still in Multitudes decide).
But here the Court does its advantage know,
For the Cheat Turner for them both must throw.
As some from Boxes, he so from the Chaire
Can strike the Die and still with them goes share.
Here, Painter, rest a little, and survey
With what small Arts the publick game they play.
For so too Rubens with affaires of State
His lab'ring Pencill oft would recreate.
The close Caball markt how the Navy eats
And thought all lost that goes not to the cheats;
So therefore secretly for Peace decrees,
Yet as for Warre the Parlament would squeeze,
And fix to the Revenue such a summe
Should Goodrick silence, and strike Paston dumbe,
Should pay land Armyes, should dissolve the vain
Commons, and ever such a Court maintaine;
Hide's Avarice, Bennet's Luxury should suffice:
And what can these defray but the Excise?
Excise, a Monster worse than ere before
Frighted the Midwife and the Mother tore,
A thousand Hands she has, and thousand Eyes:
Breks into shops and into Cellars pryes,
With hundred rows of teeth the Sharke exceeds,
And on all trade like Casawar shee feeds:
Chops off the piece wheres'ere she close the Jaw,
Else swallows all down her indented maw.
She stalks all day in Streets conceal'd from sight
And flyes like Batts with leathern wings by night,
She wastes the Country and on Cityes preys:
Her, of a female Harpy, in Dog-dayes,
Black Birch, of all the earthborn race most hot
And most rapacious, like himself begot,
And, of his Bratt inamour'd, as't increast,
Bougred in incest with the mungrell Beast.
Say, Muse, for nothing can escape thy Sight
(And, Painter, wanting other, draw this Fight)
Who in an English Senate fierce debate
Could raise so long for this new whore of State.
Of early Wittalls first the Troop march'd in,
For Diligence renown'd and Discipline:
In loyall haste they left young Wives in Bed,
And Denham these by one consent did head.
Of the old Courtiers next a Squadron came,
That sold their Master, led by Ashburnham.
To them succeeds a despicable Rout,
But know the Word, and well could face about:
Expectants pale, with hopes of Spoyle allur'd,
Though yet but Pioneers, and led by Stew'rd.
Then damning Cowards rang'd the vocall Plain:
Wood these commands, Knight of the Horn and Cane.
Still his hook-shoulder seems the blow to dread,
And under's Armpit he defends his Head.
The posture strange men laught at of his Poll,
Hid with his Elbow like the Spice he stole.
Headlesse St. Dennis so his Head does beare,
And both of them alike French Martyrs were.
Court Officers, as us'd, the next place tooke
And follow'd Fox, but with disdainfull looke.
His Birth, his Youth, his Brokage all dispraise,
In vain, for always he commands that payes.
Then the Procurers under Prodgers fil'd,
Gentlest of men, and his Lieutenant mild,
Bronkard, Love's squire; through all the field array'd
No Troop was better clad, nor so well pay'd.
Then marcht the Troop of Clarindon, all full,
Haters of Fowle, to teale preferring Bull:
Grosse Bodyes, grosser Minds, and grossest cheats,
And bloated Wrenn conducts them to their seats.
Charlton advances next, whose coife does aw
The Miter Troop, and with his looks gives Law.
He marcht with beaver cockt of Bishop's brimme
And hid much Fraud under an aspect grimme.
Next th' Lawyers mercenary band appeare,
Finch in the Front, and Thurland in the reare.
The Troop of Privilege, a Rabble bare
Of Debtors deep, fell to Trelawny's care.
Their Fortunes error they supply'd in Rage,
Nor any further would than these ingage.
Then march't the Troop whose valiant Acts before
(Their publick Acts) oblig'd them still to more.
For Chimney's sake they all Sir Poole obey'd,
Or in his absence him that first it lay'd.
Then comes the thrifty Troop of Privateers,
Whose Horses each with other interferes:
Before them Higgons rides with brow compact,
Mourning his Countesse, anxious for his Act.
Sir Frederick and Sir Salomon draw Lotts
For the command of Politicks or Sotts;
Thence fell to words, but, quarrell to adjourn,
Their friends agreed they should command by turn.
Cart'ret the rich did the Accountants guide,
And in ill English all the World defy'd.
The Papists, but of these the House had none;
Else Talbot offer'd to have led them on.
Bold Duncom next, of the Projectors chief:
And old Fitzharding of the Eaters Beef.
Late and disorder'd out the Drinkers drew;
Scarce them their Leaders, they their Leaders knew.
Before them enter'd, equall in Command,
Apsly and Brothrick, marching hand in hand.
Last then but one Powell, that could not ride,
Led the French Standard, weltring in his stride.
He to excuse his slownesse, truth confest
That 'twas so long before he could be drest.
The Lords' Sons, last, all these did reinforce:
Cornb'ry before them manag'd Hobby-horse.
Never, before nor since, a Host so steel'd
Troopt on to muster in the Tuttle-field.
Not the first cock-horse that with cork were shod
To rescue Albermarle from the Sea-Cod:
Nor the late Feather-men, whom Tomkins fierce
Shall with one Breath, like thistle-down disperse.
All the two Coventrys their Gen'ralls chose,
For One had much, the other nought to lose;
Nor better choice all accidents could hit,
While Hector Harry steers by Will the Witt.
They both accept the Charge with merry glee
To fight a Battell from all Gun-shot free.
Pleas'd with their numbers, yet in Valor wise,
They feigne a Parly better to surprize:
They, that ere long shall the rude Dutch upbraid,
Who in a time of Treaty durst invade.
Thick was the Morning, and the House was thin,
The Speaker early, when they all fell in.
Propitious Heavens, had not you them crost,
Excise had got the Day, and all been lost!
For th' other Side all in loose Quarters lay,
Without Intelligence, Command, or Pay:
A scatter'd Body, which the Foe ne'r try'd,
But oftner did among themselves divide,
And some ran ore each night while others sleep
And undescry'd return'd ere Morning peep.
But Strangeways, that all night still walkt the round
(For vigilance and Courage both renown'd)
First spy'd the Enemy and gave th' Alarme:
Fighting it single till the rest might arm.
Such Roman Cocles strid: before, the Foe;
The falling Bridge behind, the Stream below,
Each ran, as Chance him guides, to sev'rall Post,
And all to patern his Example boast.
Their former Trophies they recall to mind,
And to new edge their angry Courage grind.
First enter'd forward Temple, Conqueror
Of Irish Cattell and Sollicitor;
Then daring Seymor, that with Spear and Shield
Had stretcht the monster Patent on the field;
Keen Whorwood next, in aid of Damsell fraile,
That pierc't the Gyant Mordant through his Maile,
And surly Williams, the Accountants bane,
And Lovelace young, of Chimney men the Cane.
Old Waller, Trumpet-gen'rall, swore he'd write
This Combat truer than the navall Fight.
Of Birth, State, Wit, Strength, Courage, How'rd presumes
And in his Breast wears many Montezumes.
These and some more with single Valor stay
The adverse troops and hold them all at bay.
Each thinks his person represents the whole,
And with that thought does multiply his Soule,
Believes himself an Army, theirs one Man,
As eas'ly conquer'd, and believing, can;
With Heart of Bees so full, and Head of Mites,
That each, though duelling, a Battell fights.
Such once Orlando, famous in Romance,
Broach't whole Brigades like Larks upon his Lance.
But strength at last still under Number bows,
And the faint sweat trickled down Temple's Brows.
Ev'n iron Strangeways, chafing yet gave back,
Spent with Fatigue, to breath a while Toback.
When, marching in, a seas'nable Recruit
Of Citizens and Merchants held dispute;
And, charging all their pikes, a sullen Band
Of Presbyterian Switzers made a Stand.
Nor could all these the Field have long maintain'd
But for th' unknown Reserve that still remain'd:
A grosse of English Gentry, nobly born,
Of clear Estates, and to no Faction sworn;
Dear Lovers of their King, and Death to meet
For Countryes Cause that glorious think and sweet;
To speak not forward, but in Action brave,
In giving gen'rous, but in Counsell grave;
Candidly credulous for once, nay twice,
But sure the Devill can not cheat them thrice.
The Van and Battell, though retiring, falls
Without disorder in their Intervalls,
Then, closing all in equall Front, fall on,
Led by great Garway and great Littleton.
Lee, ready to obey or to command,
Adjutant-Generall was still at hand.
The martiall standard, Sands displaying, shows
St. Dunstan in it tweaking Satan's Nose.
See sudden chance of Warre! To paint or write
Is longer Work and harder than to fight.
At the first Charge the Enemy give out
And the Excise receives a totall Rout.
Broken in Courage, yet the Men the same,
Resolve henceforth upon their other Game:
Where force had fail'd, with Stratagem to play,
And what Haste lost recover by Delay.
St. Albans streight is sent to, to forbeare,
Lest the sure Peace forsooth too soon appear.
The Seamen's clamour to three ends they use:
To cheat their Pay, feigne want, the House accuse.
Each day they bring the Tale, and that too true,
How strong the Dutch their Equipage renew.
Mean time through all the Yards their Orders run
To lay the Ships up, cease the keels begun.
The Timber rots, and uselesse Ax doth rust,
Th' unpractis'd Saw lyes bury'd in its Dust;
The busy Hammer sleeps, the Ropes untwine;
The Stores and Wages all are Mine and Thine.
Along the Coast and Harbors they take care
That Money lack, nor Forts be in repaire.
Long thus they could against the House conspire,
Load them with Envy, and with Sitting tire:
And the lov'd King, and never yet deny'd,
Is brought to beg in publick and to chide.
But when this fail'd, and Months enow were spent,
They with the first dayes proffer seem content:
And to Land-tax from the Excise turn round,
Bought off with Eighteen-hundred-thousand pound.
Thus like faire Thieves, the Commons purse they share,
But all the Members' Lives consulting spare.
Blither than Hare that hath escap'd the hounds,
The House prorogu'd, the Chancellor rebounds.
Not so decrepit AEson, hasht and stew'd
With bitter Herbs, rose from the Pot renew'd,
And with fresh Age felt his glad limms unite.
His Gout (yet still he curst) had left him quite.
What Frosts to Fruit, what Ars'nick to the Rat,
What to faire Denham mortall Chocolat,
What an Account to Cart'ret, that, and more,
A Parliament is to the Chancellor.
So the sad tree shrinks from the Morning's Eye,
But blooms all night and shoots its branches high.
So, at the Sun's recesse, againe returns
The Comet dread, and Earth and Heaven burns.
Now Mordant may within his Castle tow'r
Imprison Parents, and the Child deflowre.
The Irish herd is now let loose, and comes
By millions over, not by hecatombs.
And now, now, the Canary Patent may
Be broacht againe for the great Holy-Day.
See how he reigns in her new Palace culminant,
And sits in state divine like Jove the fulminant!
First Buckingham, that durst to him rebell,
Blasted with Lightning, struck with Thunder fell.
Next the twelve Commons are condemn'd to grone,
And roule in vain at Sisyphus's Stone.
But still he car'd, while in Revenge he brav'd,
That Peace secur'd and Money might be sav'd;
Gain and Revenge, Revenge and Gain are sweet:
United most, else when by turns they meet.
France had St. Albans promis'd (so they sing),
St. Albans promis'd him, and he the King.
The Count forthwith is order'd all to close,
To play for Flanders and the stake to lose,
While, chain'd together, two Ambassadors
Like Slaves shall beg for Peace at Holland's doores.
This done, among his Cyclopes he retires
To forge new Thunder and inspect their Fires.
The Court, as once of War, now fond of Peace,
All to new sports their wanton fears release.
From Greenwich (where Intelligence they hold)
Comes News of pastime martiall and old:
A Punishment invented first to aw
Masculine Wives, transgressing Natures Law,
Where, when the brawny Female disobeys,
And beats the Husband till for peace he prays,
No concern'd Jury for him damage finds,
Nor partiall Justice her Behaviour binds,
But the just Street does the next House invade,
Mounting the neighbor Couple on lean Jade;
The Distaffe knocks, the grains from Kettle fly,
And Boys and Girls in Troops run hooting by.
Prudent Antiquity, that knew by Shame,
Better than Law, domestick Crimes to tame,
And taught Youth by Spectacle innocent!
So thou and I, Dear Painter, represent,
In quick effigie, others faults, and feigne,
By making them redic'lous, to restraine.
With homely sight, they chose thus to relax
The joys of State for the new Peace and Tax.
So Holland with us had the Mast'ry try'd,
And our next neighbors, France and Flanders, ride.
But a fresh News, the great designment nips:
Off at the Isle of Candy, Dutch and Ships!
Bab May and Arlington did wisely scoffe,
And thought all safe if they were so far off:
Modern Geographers, 'twas there, they thought,
Where Venice twenty years the Turk had fought;
While the first Year our Navy is but shown,
The next divided, and the third we've none.
They, by the Name, mistook it for that Isle
Where Pilgrim Palmer travel'd in exile,
With the Bulls horn to measure his own head,
And on Pasiphae's Tombe to drop a Bead.
But Morrice learn'd demonstrates, by the Post,
This Isle of Candy was on Essex Coast.
Fresh Messengers still the sad News assure,
More tim'rous now we are, than first secure.
False terrors our believing Fears devise:
And the French Army one from Calais spyes.
Bennet and May and those of shorter reach
Change all for Guinnies, and a Crown for each;
But wiser Men, and well foreseen in chance,
In Holland theirs had lodg'd before, and France.
Whitehall's unsafe, the Court all meditates
To fly to Windsor, and mure up the Gates.
Each does the other blame, and all distrust;
But Mordant, new oblig'd, would sure be just.
Not such a fatall stupefaction reign'd
At Londons Flame, nor so the Court complain'd.
The Bloodworth-Chanc'lor gives, then does recall,
Orders; amaz'd at last gives none at all.
St. Alban's writ to that he may bewaile
To Master Lewis, and tell coward tale,
How yet the Hollanders do make a noise,
Threaten to beat us, and are naughty Boyes.
Now Doleman's disobedient, and they still
Uncivill; his unkindnesse would us kill.
Tell him our Ships unrigg'd, our Forts unman'd,
Our Money spent; else 'twere at his command.
Summon him therefore of his Word, and prove
To move him out of Pity, if not Love.
Pray him to make De Witte and Ruyter cease,
And whip the Dutch unlesse they'll hold their peace.
But Lewis was of memory but dull,
And to St. Albans too undutyfull;
Nor Word nor near relation did revere:
But askt him bluntly for his Character.
The Gravell'd Count did with the Answer faint
(His Character was that which thou didst paint)
And so inforc'd, like Enemy or Spy,
Trusses his bagage, and the Camp does fly.
Yet Lewis writes, and lest our hearts should break,
Consoles us morally out of Seneque.
Two letters next unto Breda are sent,
In cipher one to Harry Excellent.
The first instructs our (verse the Name abhors)
Plenipotentiary Ambassadors
To prove by Scripture, Treaty does imply
Cessation, as the Look Adultery;
And that, by Law of Arms, in martiall strife,
Who yields his Sword has title to his life.
Presbyter Hollis the first point should cleare;
The second Coventry the Cavalier.
But would they not be argu'd back from Sea,
Then to return home straight infecta re.
But Harry's order'd if they won't recall
Their Fleet, to threaten, we will grant them all.
Hide's flippant Stile there pleasantly curvets;
Still his sharp Witt on States and Princes whets
(So Spain could not escape his Laughter's spleen:
None but himself must choose the King a Queen),
But, when he came the odious clause to pen
That summons up the Parliament agen,
His Writing Master many a time he bann'd,
And wisht himself the Gout to seise his Hand.
Never old Leacher more repugnance felt,
Consenting, for his Rupture, to be gelt;
But still in hope he solac't, ere they come,
To work the Peace and so to send them home,
Or in their hasty Fall to find a flaw,
Their Acts to vitiate, and them overaw;
But most rely'd, upon this Dutch pretense,
To raise a two edg'd Army for's defense.
First then he marcht our whole Militia's force
(As if indeed we Ships or Dutch had Horse),
Then from the usuall commonplace he blames
These, and in standing Army's praise declames,
And the wise Court, that always lov'd it deare,
Now thinks all but too little for their Feare.
Hide stamps, and streight upon the ground the swarms
Of currant Myrmidons appear in Arms,
And for their Pay he writes, as from the King,
With that curs't quill pluckt from a Vultur's wing,
Of the whole Nation now to ask a Loan
(The eighteen-hundred-thousand pound was gone).
This done, he pens a Proclamation stout
In rescue of the Banquiers Banquerouts,
His minion Imps, that, in his secret part,
Ly nuzling at the sacramentall wart;
Horse-leeches circling at the hem'royd veine:
He sucks the King, they him, he them againe.
The Kingdomes Farm he lets to them bid least:
Greater the Bribe, and that's at interest.
Here Men, induc'd by safety, gain, and ease,
Their Money lodge, confiscate when he please.
These can at need, at instant, with a scrip,
(This lik'd him best) his Cash beyond Sea whip.
When Dutch invade, when Parliament prepare,
How can he Engines so convenient spare?
Let no Man touch them or demand his own,
Pain of displeasure of great Clarindon.
The State affaires thus marshal'd, for the rest,
Monk in his shirt against the Dutch is prest.
Often, dear Painter, have I sat and mus'd
Why he should still be on all adventures us'd:
If they for nothing ill, like ashen wood,
Or think him, like herbe John, for nothing good?
Whether his Valor they so much admire,
Or that for Cowardise they all retire,
As Heav'n in Storms, they call, in gusts of State,
On Monk and Parliament, yet both do hate.
All Causes sure concurre, but most they think
Under Herculean Labors he may sink.
Soon then the independent Troops would close,
And Hide's last project would his Place dispose.
Ruyter the while, that had our Ocean curb'd,
Sail'd now among our Rivers undisturb'd:
Survey'd their chrystall Streams and Banks so green
And Beauties ere this never naked seen.
Through the vain Sedge, the bashfull Nymphs he eyd
Bosomes and all which from themselves they hide.
The Sun much brighter, and the Skyes more clear,
He finds the Aire and all things sweeter here.
The sudden change and such a tempting Sight
Swells his old Veins with fresh Blood, fresh Delight.
Like am'rous Victors he begins to shave,
And his new Face looks in the English wave.
His sporting Navy all about him swim.
And witness their complacence in their Trimme:
Their streaming Silks play through the weather fair
And with inveigling colors court the Aire,
While the red Flaggs breathe on their Top-masts high
Terror and War, but want an Enemy.
Among the Shrowds the Seamen sit and sing,
And wanton Boyes on evry Rope do cling.
Old Neptune springs the Tides and water lent
(The Gods themselves do help the provident),
And, where the deep keel on the shallow cleaves,
With Trident's leaver and great shoulder heaves.
AEolus their sailes inspires with Eastern wind,
Puffs them along, and breathes upon them kind.
With pearly Shell the Tritons all the while
Sound the Sea-march, and guide to Sheppy Isle.
So have I seen, in Aprill's Bud, arise
A Fleet of clouds sailing along the skyes,
The liquid Region with their squadrons fill'd,
Their airy Sterns the Sun behind does guild,
And gentle gales them steere, and Heaven drives,
When, all on sudden, their calm bosom rives
With Thund'r and Lightning from each armed Clowd:
Shepheards themselves in vain in bushes shrowd;
Such up the Stream the Belgick Navy glides,
And at Sheernesse unloads its stormy sides.
Sprag there, though practis'd in the Sea-command,
With panting Heart lay like a Fish on Land
And quickly judg'd the Fort was not tenable,
Which, if a House, yet were not tenantable.
No man can sit there safe: the Canon pours
Thorow the Walls untight and Bullets show'rs,
The neighb'rhood ill, and an unwholsome Seat,
So at the first Salute resolves Retreat
And swore that he would never more dwell there
Untill the City put it in repaire;
So he in front, his Garrison in reare,
March streight to Chatham to increase the feare.
There our sick Ships unrigg'd in Summer lay,
Like molting Fowle, a weak and easy Prey.
For whose strong bulk Earth scarce could Timber finde,
The Ocean water, or the Heavens wind
Those Oaken Gyants of the ancient race,
That rul'd all Seas and did our Chanell grace.
The conscious Stag, so, once the Forrest's dread,
Flyes to the Wood, and hides his armlesse Head.
Ruyter forthwith a Squadron does untack:
They saile securely through the River's track.
An English Pilot too, (O shame, O Sin!)
Cheated of Pay, was he that show'd them in.
Our wretched Ships, within, their Fate attend,
And all our hopes now on fraile Chain depend:
Engine so slight to guard us from the Sea,
It fitter seem'd to captivate a Flea.
A Skipper rude shocks it without respect,
Filling his Sailes, more force to recollect.
Th' English from Shore the Iron deaf invoke
For its last aid: "Hold Chain, or we are broke!"
But with her sailing weight the Holland keele,
Snapping the brittle links, does thorough reele
And to the rest the open'd passage shew.
Monke from the bank the dismall Sight does view.
Our feather'd Gallants, which came down that day
To be spectators safe of the new Play,
Leave him alone when first they hear the Gun
(Cornb'ry the fleetest) and to London run.
Our Seamen, whom no Danger's shape could fright,
Unpaid refuse to mount our Ships for spight,
Or to their fellows swim on board the Dutch,
Which show the tempting metall in their clutch.
Oft had he sent of Duncome and of Legg
Canon and Powder, but in vain, to beg:
And Upnor-Castle's ill-defended Wall,
Now needfull, does for ammunition call.
He finds, wheres'ere he Succor might expect,
Confusion, Folly, Treach'ry, Feare, Neglect.
But when the Royal Charles (what rage, what grief!)
He saw seis'd, and could give her no releif --
That sacred Keele, which had, as he, restor'd
His exil'd Soveraign on its happy board,
And thence the Brittish Admirall became,
Crown'd for that merit with their Master's Name,
That Pleasure-boat of War, in whose dear Side
Secure so oft he had his Foe defy'd,
Now a cheap spoyle and the mean Victor's slave,
Taught the Dutch Colors from its Top to wave --
Of former gloryes the reproachfull thought,
With present shame compar'd, his Mind distraught.
Such, from Euphrates bank, a Tygresse fell
After the robber for her Whelps doth Yell;
But sees inrag'd the River flow between;
Frustrate Revenge, and Love, by losse more keen,
At her own Breast her uselesse claws does arme:
She tears her self since him she can not harme.
The Guards, plac'd for the Chain's and Fleet's defence.
Long since were fled on many a feign'd pretense.
Daniel had there adventur'd, Man of might;
Sweet Painter, draw his Picture while I write.
Paint him of Person tall, and big of bone,
Large limms, like Ox not to be kill'd but shown.
Scarse can burnt Iv'ry feigne an hair so black,
Or face so red, thine Oker and thy Lack.
Mix a vain terror in his martiall looke,
And all those lines by which men are mistooke;
But when, by Shame constrain'd to goe on board,
He heard how the wild Canon nearer roar'd,
And saw himself confin'd like sheep in pen,
Daniel then thought he was in Lion's den;
And when the frightfull fire-ships he saw,
Pregnant with Sulphur, to him nearer draw;
Captain, Lieutenant, Ensigne, all make haste
Ere in the Firy Furnace they be cast:
Three Children tall, unsing'd, away they row
Like Shadrack, Mesheck, and Abednego.
Not so brave Douglas, on whose lovely chin
The early Down but newly did begin,
And modest Beauty yet his Sex did veile,
While envious Virgins hope he is a Male.
His yellow Locks curle back themselves to seek,
Nor other Courtship knew but to his Cheek.
Oft as he in chill Eske or Seine by night
Harden'd and cool'd his limms, so soft, so white,
Among the reeds, to be espy'd by him
The Nymphs would rustle, he would forward swim.
They sigh'd and said, "Fond Boy, why so untame,
That fly'st Loves fires, reserv'd for other Flame?"
Fix'd on his Ship, he fac'd that horrid Day,
And wonder'd much at those that run away;
Nor other Fear himself could comprehend
Than lest Heav'n fall ere thither he ascend,
But intertains the while his Time too short
With birding at the Dutch as if in sport,
Or waves his Sword, and could he then conjure
Within its circle, knows himself secure.
The fatall Bark him boards with grappling fire,
And safely through its Port the Dutch retire:
That precious Life he yet disdains to save,
Or with known Art to try the gentle wave.
Much him the Honors of his ancient Race
Inspire, nor would he his own Deeds deface,
And secret Joy in his calm Soule does rise
That Monk looks on to see how Douglas dyes.
Like a glad Lover the fierce Flames he meets,
And tryes his first embraces in their Sheets.
His shape exact, which the bright Flames infold,
Like the Sun's Statue stands of burnisht Gold.
Round the transparent Fire about him glows,
As the clear Ambar on the Bee does close;
And as on Angell's heads their Gloryes shine,
His burning Locks adorn his Face divine.
But when in his immortall Mind he felt
His alt'ring Form and soder'd limms to melt,
Down on the Deck he lay'd himself and dy'd,
With his dear Sword reposing by his Side
And, on the flaming plank, so rests his Head
As one that's warm'd himself and gon to bed.
His Ship burns down and with his Reliques sinks,
And the sad stream beneath his Ashes drinks.
Fortunate Boy! If either Pencills fame,
Or if my Verse can propagate thy Name,
When CEta and Alcides are forgot,
Our English youth shall sing the valiant Scott.
Each Dolefull Day still with fresh losse returns:
The Loyall London now a third time burns,
And the true Royall Oake and Royall James,
Ally'd in Fate, increase with theirs her Flames.
Of all our Navy none should now survive,
But that the Ships themselves were taught to dive,
And the Kind River in its creek them hides,
Fraughting their pierced Keels with oozy tides.
Up to the Bridge contagious Terror strook:
The Tow'r it self with the near Danger shook,
And were not Ruyter's maw with ravage cloy'd,
Ev'n London's ashes had been then destroy'd.
Officious Fear, however, to prevent
Our losse does so much more our losse augment:
The Dutch had robb'd those jewells of the Crowne;
Our Merchant-men, lest they be burnt, we drown.
So when the Fire did not enough devoure,
The Houses were demolish't near the Tow'r.
Those Ships that yearly from their teeming Howle
Unloaded here the Birth of either Pole --
Furrs from the North, and silver from the West,
Wines from the South, and spices from the East,
From Gambo Gold, and from the Ganges Gemms --
Take a short voyadge underneath the Thames,
Once a deep River, now with Timber floor'd,
And shrunk, least navigable, to a Ford.
Now (nothing more at Chatham left to burn)
The Holland squadron leisurely return,
And, spight of Ruperts and of Albermarles,
To Ruyter's Triumph lead the captive Charles.
The pleasing Sight he often does prolong:
Her Masts erect, tough Chordage, Timbers strong,
Her moving Shapes, all these he does survey,
And all admires, but most his easy Prey.
The Seamen search her all within, without:
Viewing her strength, they yet their conquest doubt;
Then with rude shouts, secure, the Aire they vex,
With gamesome Joy insulting on her Decks.
Such the fear'd Hebrew, captive, blinded, shorn,
Was led about in sport, the publick scorn.
Black Day accurst! on thee let no man hale
Out of the Port, or dare to hoise a saile,
Nor row a boat in thy unlucky houre.
Thee, the years monster, let thy Dam devoure:
And constant Time, to keep his course yet right,
Fill up thy space with a redoubled Night.
When aged Thames was bound with fetters base,
And Medway chast ravisht before his Face,
And their dear offspring murder'd in their Sight,
Thou and thy fellows held'st the odious Light.
Sad change since first that happy pair was wed,
When all the Rivers grac'd their nuptiall Bed,
And Father Neptune promis'd to resigne
His Empire old to their immortall Line!
Now with vain grief their vainer hopes they rue,
Themselves dishonor'd, and the Gods untrue,
And to each other, helplesse couple, mone,
As the sad Tortoyse for the Sea does groan.
But most they for their darling Charles complain,
And, were it burnt, yet lesse would be their pain.
To see that fatall pledge of Sea-command
Now in the Ravisher De-Ruyter's hand,
The Thames roar'd, swooning Medway turn'd her tide,
And, were they mortall, both for grief had dy'd.
The Court in farthing yet it self does please,
And female Stuart, there, rules the foure Seas,
But Fate does still accumulate our Woes,
And Richmond her commands, as Ruyter those.
After this Losse, to rellish discontent,
Someone must be accus'd by Punishment.
All our miscarriages on Pett must fall:
His Name alone seems fit to answer all.
Whose Counsell first did this mad War beget?
Who all Commands sold through the Navy? Pett.
Who would not follow when the Dutch were bet?
Who treated out the time at Bergen? Pett.
Who the Dutch Fleet with Storms disabled met?
And, rifling Prizes, them neglected? Pett.
Who with false news prevented the Gazette,
The Fleet divided, writ for Rupert? Pett.
Who all our Seamen cheated of their Debt,
And all our Prizes who did swallow? Pett.
Who did advise no Navy out to set,
And who the Forts left unrepaired? Pett.
Who to supply with Powder did forget
Languard, Sheernesse, Graves-end, and Upnor? Pett.
Who all our Ships expos'd in Chatham's Net?
Who should it be but the Fanatick Pett.
Pett, the Sea Architect, in making Ships,
Was the first cause of all these Navall slips:
Had he not built, none of these Faults had bin;
If no Creation, there had been no Sin.
But, his great Crime, one Boat away he sent:
That lost our Fleet, and did our Flight prevent.
Then, that Reward might in its turn take place,
And march with Punishment in equall pace:
Southampton dead, much of the Treasure's Care,
And place in Counsell fell to Duncome's share.
All men admir'd he to that pitch could fly:
Powder ne'r blew man up so soon so high,
But sure his late good husbandry in Petre
Show'd him to manage the Exchequer meeter;
And who the Forts would not vouchsafe a corn,
To lavish the King's Money more would scorn.
Who hath no Chimneys, to give all is best;
And ablest Speaker, who of Law has least;
Who lesse Estate, for Treasurer most fit,
And for a Couns'lor, he that has least Wit.
But the true Cause was, that, in's Brother May,
Th'Exchequer might the Privy-purse obey.
But now draws near the Parliament's return:
Hide and the Court again begin to mourn;
Frequent in Counsell, earnest in Debate,
All Arts they try how to prolong its Date.
Grave Primate Shelden (much in preaching there)
Blames the last Session and this more does fear:
With Boynton or with Middleton 'twere sweet,
But with a Parliament abhors to meet
And thinks 'twill ne'r be well within this Nation
Till it be govern'd by a Convocation.
But in the Thames's mouth still Ruyter laid;
The Peace not sure, new Army must be paid.
Hide saith he hourly waits for a dispatch;
Harry came post just as he shew'd his Watch,
All to agree the Articles were clear,
The Holland Fleet and Parliament so near;
Yet, Harry must jobb back, and all mature,
Binding, ere th' Houses meet, the Treaty sure.
And 'twixt Necessity and Spight, till then,
Let them come up so to goe down agen.
Up ambles Country Justice on his Pad,
And Vest bespeaks to be more seemly clad.
Plain Gentlemen in Stage-Coach are ore thrown,
And Deputy-Lieutenants in their own.
The portly Burgesse, through the Weather hot,
Does for his Corporation sweat and trott;
And all with Sun and Choler come adust
And threaten Hide to raise a greater Dust.
But, fresh as from the Mint, the Courtiers fine
Salute them, smiling at their vain designe,
And Turner gay up to his Pearch does march
With Face new bleach't, smoothen'd and stiffe with starche;
Tells them he at Whitehall had took a turn,
And for three Dayes thence moves them to adjourn.
"Not so!" quoth Tomkins, and straight drew his Tongue.
Trusty as steele, that always ready hung;
And so, proceeding in his motion warm,
Th' Army soon rais'd he doth as soon disarme.
True Trojan! While this Town can girles afford,
And long as Cider lasts in Hereford,
The Girles shall always kisse thee though grown old,
And in eternall Healths thy Name be troll'd.
Meanwhile the certain News of Peace arrives
At Court, and so reprieves their guilty Lives.
Hide orders Turner that he should come late,
Lest some new Tomkins spring a fresh Debate.
The King that day rais'd early from his rest,
Expects, as at a Play, till Turner's drest.
At last, together Eaton come and he:
No Diall more could with the Sun agree.
The Speaker, summon'd, to the Lords repairs,
Nor gave the Commons leave to say their pray'rs,
But like his Pris'ners to the Bar them led,
Where mute they stand to hear their sentence read:
Trembling with Joy and Fear, Hide them prorogues,
And had almost mistook and call'd them Rogues.
Dear Painter, draw this Speaker to the foot:
Where Pencill can not there my Pen shall do't;
That may his Body, this his Mind explain,
Paint him in Golden Gown, with Mace's Brain,
Bright Hair, fair Face, obscure and dull of Head,
Like Knife with Iv'ry haft and edge of Lead.
At Pray'rs, his Eyes turn up the pious white,
But all the while His Private-Bill's in sight.
In Chair, he smoking sits like Master-Cook,
And a Poll-Bill does like his Apron look.
Well was he skill'd to season any question,
And made a sawce fit for Whitehall's digestion;
Whence ev'ry day, the Palat more to tickle,
Court-mushrumps ready are, sent in in pickle.
When Grievance urg'd, he swells like squatted Toad,
Frisks, like a Frog, to croak a Taxes load;
His patient Pisse he could hold longer then
An Urinall, and sit like any Hen;
At Table jolly as a Country-Host
And soaks his Sack with Norfolk like a Toast:
At Night than Chanticleer more brisk and hot,
And Sergeant's Wife serves him for Pertelott.
Paint last the King and a dead shade of Night
Only dispers'd by a weak Taper's light,
And those bright gleams that dart along and glare
From his clear Eyes (yet these too dark with Care).
There, as in the calm horror all alone
He wakes and muses of th' uneasy Throne,
Raise up a sudden shape with Virgin's Face:
(Though ill agree her posture, hour, or place)
Naked as born, and her round Arms behind
With her own Tresses interwove and twin'd;
Her Mouth lockt up, a blind before her Eyes;
Yet from beneath the Veile her blushes rise,
And silent Tears her secret anguish speak;
Her Heart throbbs and with very shame would break.
The Object strange in him no terror mov'd;
He wonder'd first, then pity'd, then he loved,
And with kind hand does the coy Vision presse,
Whose Beauty greater seem'd by her distresse,
But soon shrunk back, chill'd with her touch so cold,
And th' airy Picture vanish't from his hold.
In his deep thoughts the wonder did increase;
And he divin'd, 'twas England or the Peace.
Expresse him startling next with listning eare,
As one that some unusuall noyse does hear:
With Canon, Trumpets, Drums, his door surround,
But let some other Painter draw the sound.
Thrice did he rise, thrice the vain Tumult fled,
But again thunders when he lyes in Bed.
His mind secure does the known stroke repeat
And finds the Drums Lewis's March did beat.
Shake then the room and all his curtains tear
And with blew streaks infect the Taper clear,
While the pale Ghosts his Eye does fixt admire
Of Grandsire Harry and of Charles his Sire.
Harry sits down, and in his open Side
The grisly Wound reveals of which he dy'd;
And ghastly Charles, turning his collar low,
The purple thread about his Neck does show,
Then, whisp'ring to his Son in words unheard,
Through the lockt door both of them disappear'd.
The wondrous Night the pensive King revolves,
And rising straight on Hide's Disgrace resolves.
At his first step, he Castlemain does find,
Bennet and Coventry, as 'twere design'd.
And they, not knowing, the same thing propose
Which his hid Mind did in its depths inclose.
Through their feign'd speech their secret Hearts he knew:
To her own Husband, Castlemain untrue;
False to his Master Bristoll, Arlington;
And Coventry, falser than any one,
Who to the Brother, Brother would betray,
Nor therefore trusts himself to such as they.
His Father's Ghost too whisper'd him one note,
That who does cut his purse will cut his throat,
But in wise anger he their crimes forbears,
As Thiev's repriev'd for Executioners;
While Hide, provok't, his foaming tusk does whet
To prove them Traytors, and himself the Pett.
Painter, adieu, how well our Arts agree!
Poetique Picture, painted Poetry!
But this great Worke is for our Monarch fit,
And henceforth Charles only to Charles shall sit.
His master-hand the Ancients shall outdo
Himself the Painter and the Poet too.

To the King
So his bold Tube Man to the Sun apply'd
And spots unknown to the bright Star descry'd:
Show'd they obscure him while too near they prease,
And seem his Courtiers, are but his disease.
Through optick Trunk the Planet seem'd to hear
And hurles them off e'er since in his Careere.
And you, Great Sir, that with him Empire share,
Sun of our World, as he the Charles is There:
Blame not the Muse that brought those spots to sight
Which, in your Splendor hid, corrode your Light.
(Kings in the Country oft have gone astray,
Nor of a Peasant scorn'd to learn the Way).
Would She the unattended Throne reduce,
Banishing Love, Trust, Ornament, and Use,
Better it were to live in Cloyster's lock,
Or in faire Fields to rule the easy Flock.
She blames them only who the Court restraine,
And, where all England serves, themselves would reigne.
Bold and accurst are they that all this while
Have strove to isle our Monarch from his Isle,
And to improve themselves, on false pretense,
About the Common-Prince have rais'd a Fense;
The Kingdom from the Crown distinct would see
And peele the Barke to burn at last the Tree.
(But Ceres Corn, and Flora is the Spring,
Bachus is Wine, the Country is the King).
Not so does Rust insinuating weare,
Nor Powder so the vaulted Bastion teare,
Nor Earthquake so an hollow Isle o'erwhelm,
As scratching Courtiers undermine a Realme
And through the Palace's Foundations bore,
Burr'wing themselves to hoord their guilty store.
The smallest Vermine make the greatest Waste,
And a poor Warren once a City ras'd.
But they whom, born to Virtue and to Wealth,
Nor Guilt to Flatt'ry binds, nor Want to Stealth;
Whose gen'rous Conscience and whose Courage high
Does with clear Counsells their Large Soules supply;
That serve the King with their Estates and Care,
And as in Love on Parliments can stare,
(Where few the Number, Choice is there lesse hard):
Give us this Court and rule without a Guard.





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