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And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time.*
With what a pretty skipping grace It oft would challenge me the race; And when 't had left me far away, ”Twould stay, and run again, and stay; For it was nimbler much than hinds, And trod as if on the four winds. I have a garden of my own, But so with roses overgrown, And lilies, that you would it guess To be a little wilderness ; And all the spring-time of the year It loved only to be there. Among the beds of lilies I Have sought it oft, where it should lie; Yet could not, till itself would rise, Find it, although before inine eyes; For in the flaxen lilies' shade, It like a bank of lilies laid. Upon the roses it would feed, Until its lips ev'n seem'd to bleed; And then to me 't would boldly trip, And print those roses on my lip. But all its chief delight was still On roses thus itself to fill; And its pure virgin lips to fold In whitest sheets of lilies cold. Ilad it liv'd long, it would have been Lilies without, roses within.
The Nymph Complaining for the Death of her Faren.
The wanton troopers riding by Have shot my fawn, and it will die. Ungentle men ! They cannot thrire Who kill'd thee. Thou ne'er didst, alive, Them any harm; alas! nor could Thy death to them do any good. I'm sure I never wish'd them ill, Nor do I for all this ; nor will: But, if my simple pray’rs may yet Prevail with llenven to forget Thy murder, I will join my tears Rather than fail. But O my fears ! It cannot die so. Heaven's king Keeps register of everything, And nothing may we use in vain ; Ev'n beasts must be with justice slain ; Else men are made their deodands. Though they should wash their guilty hands In this warm life-blood, which doth part From thine, and wound me to the heart, Yet could they not be clean; their stain Is dyed in such a purple grain, There is not such another in The world to offer for their sin. Inconstant Sylvio, when yet I had not found him counterfeit, One morning, I remember well, Tied in this silver chain and bell, Gave it to me: nay, and I know What he said then-I'm sure I do. Said he, ‘Look how your huntsman here Hath taught a fawn to hunt his deer.' But Sylvio soon had me beguil'd: This waxed tame, while he grew wild, And, quite regardless of my smart, Left me his fawn, but took his heart. Thenceforth I set myself to play My solitary time away With this; and very well content Could so mine idle life have spent ; For it was full of sport, and light Of foot and heart, and did invite Me to its game: it seem’d to bless Itself in me. How could I less Than love it? Oh, I cannot be Unkind to a beast that loveth me! Had it liv'd long, I do not know Whether it, too, might have done so As Sylvio did ; his gifts might be Perhaps as false, or more, than he. For I am sure, for aught that I Could in so short a time espy, Thy love was far more better than The love of false and cruel man. With sweetest milk and sugar first I it at mine own fingers nurs’d; And as it grew so every day, It wax'd more white and sweet than they. It had so sweet a breath! and oft I blush'd to see its foot more soft, And white, shall I say? than my handThan any lady's of the land ! It was a wondrous thing how fleet 'Twas on those little silver feet.
Thoughts in a Garden. How vainly men themselves amaze, To win the palm, the oak, or bays : And their incessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb, or tree, Whose short and narrow-verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid ; While all the flow'rs, and trees, do close, To weave the garlands of repose. Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, And Innocence, thy sister dear! Mistaken long, I sought you then In busy companies of men. Your sacred plants, if here below, Only among the plants will grow. Society is all but rude To this delicious solitude. No white nor red was ever seen So am'rous as this lovely green. Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, Cut in these trees their mistress' name. Little, alas, they know or heed, How far these beauties her exceed ! Fair trees ! where'er your barks I wound, No name shall but your own be found. What wond'rous life in this I lead! Ripe apples drop about my head. The luscious clusters of the vine Upon my mouth do crush their wine. The nectarine, and curious peach, Into my hands themselves do reach. Stumbling on melons, as I pass, Insnar'd with flow'rs, I fall on grass. Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness. The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find ; Yet it creates transcending these, Far other worlds and other seas; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade. Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,
* This piece of Marvell's, particularly the last verse, seems to Jave been in the mind of a distinguished poet of our own day, Mr Thomas Moore, when he composed his fine lyric, The Canadian Boat Song.'
Casting the body's vest aside,
To make a bank was a great plot of state; My soul into the boughs does glide;
Invent a shov'l, and be a magistrate. There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Hence some small dike grave, unperceiv'd invades Then whets and claps its silver wings,
The pow'r, and grows, as 'twere, a king of spades; And, till prepar'd for longer flight,
But, for less envy some join'd states endures, Waves in its plumes the various light.
Who look like a commission of the sewers :
For these half-anders, half-wet, and half-dry, Such was the happy garden state,
Nor bear strict service, nor pure liberty. While man there walk'd without a mate:
'Tis probable religion, after this, After a place so pure and sweet,
Came next in order; which they could not miss. What other help could yet be meet!
How could the Dutch but be converted, when But 'twas beyond a mortal's share
Th' apostles were so many fishermen ? To wander solitary there :
Besides, the waters of themselves did rise, Two paradises are in one,
And, as their land, so them did re-baptise ; To live in paradise alone.
Though herring for their God few voices missid,
And Poor-John to have been th' Evangelist. How well the skilful gard'ner drew
Faith, that could never twins conceive before, Of flowers and herbs this dial new!
Never so fertile, spawn'd upon this shore Where, from above, the milder sun
More pregnant than their Marg’ret, that laid down Does through a fragrant zodiac run :
For Hands-in-Kelder of a whole Hans-Town, And, as it works, th' industrious bee
Sure, when religion did itself embark, Computes its time as well as we.
And from the east would westward steer its ark, How could such sweet and wholesome hours
It struck, and splitting on this unknown ground, Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers ?
Each one thence pillag'd the first piece he found:
Hence Amsterdam, Turk, Christian, Pagan, Jew, SA IVhimsical Satire on Holland.*]
Staple of sects, and mint of schism grew;
That bank of conscience, where not one so strange Holland, that scarce deserves the name of land,
Opinion, but finds credit, and exchange. As but th' off-scouring of the British sand;
In vain for Catholics ourselves we bear :
The universal church is only there. * *
It is rarely that a pasquinade, written to satirise This indigested vomit of the sea Fell to the Dutch by just propriety.
living characters or systems, outlives its own age;
and, where such is the case, we may well suppose Glad then, as miners who have found the ore, They, with mad labour, fish'd the land to shore :
something very remarkable in the work, if not in
the merits of its author. Such a work is Hudibras, For, as with Pigmies, who best kills the crane,
a cavalier burlesque of the extravagant ideas and Among the hungry he that treasures grain,
rigid manners of the English Puritans of the civil Among the blind the one-ey'd blinkard reigns,
war and commonwealth. Borne up by a felicity of So rules among the drowned he that drains.
versification and an intensity of wit never excelled in Not who first see the rising sun commands :
our literature, this poem still retains its place amongst But who could first discern the rising lands.
the classic productions of the English muse, although, Who best could know to pump an earth so leak,
perhaps, rarely read through at once, for which, inHim they their lord, and country's father, speak.
deed, its incessant brilliancy in some measure unfits
it. Samuel Butler, the author of this extraordinary * Holland was the enemy of the commonwealth, and pro satire, was born in 1612 at Stresham, in Worcestertector of the exiled king ; therefore odious to Marvell.
I shire. His father was a farmer, possessing a small
estate of his own; in short, an English yeoman. it. A second part appeared in 1664, and a third The poet, having received some education at the fourteen years later. But though the poet and his grammar-school of Worcester, removed to Cam. work were the praise of all ranks, from royalty bridge, probably with the design of prosecuting his downwards, he was himself little benefited by it. studies there; but, as he is ascertained to have never What emoluments he derived from his stewardship, matriculated, it is supposed that the limited cir- or whether he derived any emoluments from it at cumstances of his parents had forbidden him to all, does not appear; but it seems tolerably clear advance in the learned career to which his tastes that the latter part of his life was spent in mean directed him. On this, as on all other parts of and struggling circumstances in London. The Earl Butler's life, there rests great obscurity. It appears of Clarendon promised him a place at court, but he that he spent some years of his youth in performing never obtained it. The king ordered him a present the duties of clerk to a justice of the peace in his of £300,* which was insufficient to discharge the native district, and that in this situation he found debts pressing upon him at the time. He was fameans of cultivating his mind. His talents may be voured with an interview by the Duke of Buckingpresumed to have interested some of his friends and ham, who, however, seeing two court ladies pass, neighbours in his behalf, for he is afterwards found ran out to them, and did not come back, so that in the family of the Countess of Kent, where he had Butler had to go home disappointed. Such are the the use of a library, and the advantage of conver-only circumstances related as chequering a twentysation with the celebrated Selden, who often em- years' life of obscure misery which befell the most ployed the poet as his amanuensis and transcriber. brilliant comic genius which perhaps our country Thus ran on the years of Butler's youth and early has ever produced. Butler died in 1680, in a mean manhood, and so far he cannot be considered as un- street near Covent Garden.t and was buried at the fortunate, if we are to presume that he found his expense of a friend. chief enjoyment, as scholars generally do, in opportunities of intellectual improvement. He is next found in the family of Sir Samuel Luke, a Bedfordshire gentleman, whom it is probable he served in the capacity of tutor. Luke was one of Cromwell's principal officers, marked probably-perhaps to an unusual degree-by the well-known peculiarities of his party. The situation could not be a very agreeable one to a man whose disposition was so much towards wit and humour, even though those qualities had not made their owner a royalist, which in such an age they could scarcely fail to do. Daily exposed to association with persons whose character, from antagonism to his own, he could not but loathe, it is not surprising that the now mature muse of Butler should have conceived the design of a general satire on the sectarian party. Perhaps personal grievances of his own might add to the poignancy of his feelings regarding the Cromwellians. The matchless fiction of Cervantes supplied him with a model, in which he had only to substitute the extravagances of a political and religious fanaticism for those of chivalry. Luke himself is understood to be depicted in Sir Hudibras, and for this Butler has been accused of a breach of the laws of hospitality: we are not disposed decidedly to rebut the charge; but we think it may in candour be allowed to hang in doubt, until we know something more precise as to the circumstances attending the connexion of the poet with his patron, and, more par
Rose Street, London; in which Butler died. ticularly, those attending their parting.
The Restoration threw a faint and brief sunshine 'Hudibras' is not only the best burlesque poem upon the life of Butler. He was appointed secretary written against the Puritans of that age, so fertile to the Earl of Carbury, President of the principality in satire, but is the best burlesque in the English of Wales; and when the wardenship of the Marches language. The same amount of learning, wit, was revived, the earl made his secretary steward of shrewdness, ingenious and deep thought, felicitous Ludlow castle. The poet, now fifty years of age, illustration, and irresistible drollery, has never been seemed to add to his security for the future by marry-comprised in the same limits. The idea of the knight, ing a widow named Herbert, who was of good family Sir Hudibras, going out ‘a-colonelling' with his Squire and fortune; but this prospect proved delusive, in Ralph, is of course copied from Cervantes; but the consequence of the failure of parties on whom the filling up of the story is different. Don Quixote prelady's fortune depended. It was now that Butler sents us with a wide range of adventures, which infirst became an author. The first part of ‘Hudibras' appeared in 1663, and immediately became popular. * It is usually stated that this order was for £3000, but that Its wit, so pat to the taste of the time, and the a figure was cut off, and only £300 paid. It is to us quite inbreadth of the satiric pictures which it presented. conceivable that so large a sum should have ever been ordered each of which had hundreds of prototypes within
by the king, all the circumstances considered ; and we there
fore do not allude to it in the text. the recollection of all men then living, could not
Butler died in Rose Street, Covent Garden, one of the fail to give it extensive currency. By the Earl of
meanest streets of that part of the city. He was buried at the Dorset, an accomplished friend of letters, it was
letters, it was west end of the churchyard of St Paul's, Covent Garden, an introduced to the notice of the court; and the king the south side, under the wall of the church.-Pigrimage is is said to have done it the honour of often quoting | London.
terest the imagination and the feelings. There is a short burlesque descriptions are inimitable. For exfreshness and a romance about the Spanish hero, ample, of Morningand a tone of high honour and chivalry, which
The sun had long since, in the lap Butler did not attempt to imitate. His object was
Of Thetis, taken out his nap, to cast ridicule on the whole body of the English
And, like a lobster boil'd, the morn Puritans, especially their leaders, and to debase them
From black to red began to turn. by low and vulgar associations. It must be confessed,
Of Nightthat in many of their acts there was scope for sarcasm. Their affected dress, language, and manners,
The sun grew low and left the skies, their absurd and fanatical legislation against walk
Put down, some write, by ladies' eyes; |ing in the fields on Sundays, village May-poles, and
The moon pull'd off her veil of light, other subjects beneath the dignity of public notice,
That hides her face by day from sight, were fair subjects for the satirical poet. Their reli
(Mysterious veil, of brightness made, "gious enthusiasm also led them into intolerance and
That's both her lustre and her shade), absurdity. Contending for so dear a prize as liberty
And in the lantern of the night, , of conscience, and believing that they were specially
With shining horns hung out her light; appointed to shake and overturn the old corruptions
For darkness is the proper sphere, of the kingdom, the Puritans were little guided by
Where all false glories use t'appear. considerations of prudence, policy, or forbearance.
The twinkling stars began to muster, || Even Milton, the friend and associate of the party, la
And glitter with their borrow'd lustre; was forced to admit
While sleep the wearied world reliev'd,
By counterfeiting death reviv'd. That New Presbyter was but Old Pricst writ large.
| Many of the lines and similes in ‘Hudibras are The higher qualities of these men, their indomitable completely identified with the language, and can courage and lofty zeal, were of course overlooked l never be separated from it. Such are the opening or despised by the royalists, their opponents, and lines of Part II. canto threeButler did not choose to remember them. His burlesque was read with delight, and was popular
Doubtless the pleasure is as great for generations after the Puritans had merged into
Of being cheated as to cheat ; ! the more sober and discreet English dissenters. The
As lookers on feel most delight plot or action of Hudibras' is limited and defective,
That least perceive a juggler's sleight; and seems only to have been used as a sort of peg
And still the less they understand, on which he could hang his satirical portraits and
The more they admire his sleight-of-hand. allusions. The first cantos were written early, when | Or where the knight remarks, respecting the imthe civil war commenced, but we are immediately portance of moneycouveyed to the death of Cromwell, at least fifteen For what in worth is anything, years later, and have a sketch of public affairs to
But so much money as 't will bring ? the dissolution of the Rump Parliament. The bare idea of a Presbyterian justice sallying out with
| Butler says of his brother poets1 his attendant, an Independent clerk, to redress Those that write in rhyme, still make
superstition and correct abuses, has an air of ridi The one verse for the other's sake; cule, and this is kept up by the dialogues between For one for sense, and one for rhyme, the parties, which are highly witty and ludicrous ; I think's sufficient at one time. by their attack on the bear and the fiddle; their | There are a few such compelled rhymes in Iludi. imprisonment in the stocks; the voluntary penance | bras.' but the number is astonishingly small. of whipping submitted to by the knight, and his adventures with his lady.
[Accomplishments of II wibras.] The love of Hudibras is almost as rich as that of Falstaff, and he argues in the same manner for the When civil dudgeon first grew high, utmost freedom, men having, he says, nothing but And men fell out, they knew not why: * frail vows' to oppose to the stratagems of the fair. When hard words, jealousies, and fears, He moralises as follows:
Set folks together by the ears, For women first were made for men,
And made them fight, like mad or drunk, Not men for them: It follows, then,
For Dame Religion as for punk; That men have right to every one,
Whose honesty they all durst swear for,
Though not a man of them knew wherefore : And they no freedom of their own; And therefore men have power to choose,
When gospel-trumpeter, surrounded But they no charter to refuse.
With long-eard rout, to battle sounded, Hence 'tis apparent that, what course
And pulpit, drum ecclesiastic,
Was beat with fist, instead of a stick : Soe'er we take to your amours,
Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling, Though by the indirectest way, 'Tis no injustice nor foul play ;
And out he rode a-colonelling.
A wight he was, whose very sight would And that you ought to take that course
Entitle him, mirror of knighthood ; As we take you, for better or worse,
That never bow'd his stubborn knee And gratefully submit to those
To anything but chivalry; Who you, before another, chose.
Nor put up blow, but that which laid The poem was left unfinished, but more of it Right-worshipful on shoulder-blade : would hardly have been read even in the days of Chief of domestic knights and errant, Charles. There is, in fact, a plethora of wit in Either for chartel or for warrant: * Hudibras,' and a condensation of thought and Great on the bench, great on the saddle, style, which become oppressive and tiresome. The That could as well bind o'er, as swaddle : faculties of the reader cannot be kept in a state of Mighty he was at both of these, constant tension; and after perusing some thirty or And styl'd of war as well as peace. forty pages, he is fain to relinquish the task, and (So some rats, of amphibious nature, seek out for the simplicity of nature. Some of the Àre either for the land or water.)
Words so debas'd and hard, no stone
But here our authors make a doubt,
He was in logic a great critic,
[Religion of Iludibras.] For his religion, it was fit To match his learning and his wit. 'Twas Presbyterian true blue; For he was of that stubborn crew Of errant saints, whom all men grant To be the true church militant ; Such as do build their faith upon The holy text of pike and gun; Decide all controversies by Infallible artillery ; And prove their doctrine orthodox By apostolic blows and knocks ; Call fire, and sword, and desolation, A godly thorough reformation, Which always must be carried on, And still be doing, never done; As if religion were intended For nothing else but to be mended; A sect whose chief devotion lies In odd perverse antipathies; In falling out with that or this, And finding somewhat still amiss; More peevish, cross, and splenetic, Than dog distraught or monkey sick; That with more care keep holiday The wrong, than others the right way; Compound for sins they are inclin'd to, By damning those they have no mind to. still so perverse and opposite, As if they worshipp'a God for spite; The self-same thing they will abhor One way, and long another for ; Freewill they one way disarow, Another, nothing else allow; All piety consists therein In thein, in other men all sin; Rather than fail, they will defy That which they love most tenderly; Quarrel with minc'd pies, and disparage Their best and dearest friend, plum-porridge; Fat pig and goose itself oppose, And blaspheme custard through the nose. Th' apostles of this fierce religion, Like Mahomet's, were ass and widgeon, To whom our knight, by fast instinct Of wit and temper, was so link'd, As if hypocrisy and nonsense Had got th’advowson of his conscience.
[Personal Appearance of Hudibras.] His tawny beard was th’equal grace Both of his wisdom and his face ; In cut and dye so like a tile, A sudden view it would beguile; The upper part thereof was whey, The nether, orange, mix'd with gray. This hairy meteor did denounce The fall of sceptres and of crowns; With grisly type did represent Declining age of government ; And tell, with hieroglyphic spade, Its own grave and the state's were made. Like Samson's heart-breakers, it grew In time to make a nation rue ;