Short Poems

To the same Ayre in English, thus,

Object adorable of charms
My sighs and tears may testifie my harms,
But my respect forbids me to reveal;
Ah what a pain 'tis to conceal,
And how I suffer worse then Hell,
To love and not to dare to tell.

Englished.

A treasure found one entring at death's gate,
Triumphing, leaves that cord was meant his fate,
But he the gold missing which he did hide,
The Halter which he found, he knit, so dy'd.

The Asse eating the Æneids.

A wretched Asse the Æneids did destroy,
A Horse or Asse is still the fate of Troy .

Englished.

The Cynicks narrow houshold stuffe of Crutch,
A stool and dish, was lumber thought too much;
For whilst a Hind drinks out on 's palms, o' th' strand
He flings his dish, cries, I've one in my hand.

Of a Drunkard.

Phaebus asleep forbad me Wine to take,
I yield; and now am only drunk awake.

Another.

What doubt'st thou hand? sad Cato 'tis to kill;
But he'l be free, sure hand thou doubt'st not still;
Cato alive 'tis just all men be free,
Nor conquers he himself now if he die.

Englished.

The hand by which no King but Serjeant dies,
Mutius in fire doth freely Sacrifice;
The Prince admires the Hero , quits his pains,
And Victor from the seige peace entertains;
Romes more oblig'd to Flames, than Arms or pow'r,
When one burnt hand shall the whole war devour.

In Adriatick waves when Neptune saw,
The City stand, and give the Seas a Law,
Now i'th Tarpeian tow'rs Jove rival me,
And Mars his Walls impregnable, said he;
Let Seas to Tyber yield, view both their ods,
You'l grant that built by Men, but this by Gods.

Lucasta frown and let me die,
But smile and see I live;
The sad indifference of your Eye
Both kills, and doth reprieve.
You hide our fate within its screen,
We feel our judgment ere we hear:
So in one Picture I have seen
An Angel here, the Divel there.

In English.

A Swain, Hind, Knight; I fed, till'd, did command
Goats, Fields, my Foes; with leaves, a spade, my hand.