Return him safe; Learning would rather choose
Her Bodley or her Vatican to lofe :

All things that are but writ or printed there,
In his unbounded breast engraven are.
There all the sciences together meet,
And every art does all her kindred greet;
Yet juftle not, nor quarrel; but as well-
Agree as in fome common principle.
So, in an army govern'd right, we see
(Though out of several countries rais'd it be)
That all their order and their place maintain,
The English, Dutch, the Frenchmen, and the Dane:
So thousand divers fpecies fill the air,

Yet neither crowd nor mix confus'dly there;
Beafts, houses, trees, and men, together lie,...
Yet enter undisturb'd into the eye.

And this great prince of knowledge is by Fate-
Thruft into th' noife and bufinefs of a state.
All virtues, and fome cuftoms of the court,
Other men's labour, are at least his sport;
Whilft we, who can no action undertake,
Whom idleness itself might learned make;
Who hear of nothing, and as yet scarce know,
Whether the Scots in England be or no;
Pace dully on, oft tire, and often stay,
Yet fee his nimble Pegasus fly away.

'Tis Nature's fault, who did thus partial grow,
And her estate of wit on one bestow;
Whilft we, like younger brothers, get at best
But a small stock, and must work out the reft,

How

How could he answer 't, should the state think fit
To question a monopoly of wit?

Such is the man whom we require the fame
We lent the North; untouch'd, as is his fame.
He is too good for war, and ought to be
As far from danger, as from fear he 's frec.
Those men alone (and those are useful too)
Whofe valour is the only art they know,
Were for fad war and bloody battles born;
Let them the ftate defend, and he adorn.

ON THE DEATH OF

SIR HENRY

WOOTTON.

HAT fhall we fay, fince filent now is he

WHAT

Who when he spoke, all things would filent be?

Who had fo many languages in ftore,

That only fame shall speak of him in more;
Whom England now no more return'd must see;
He's gone to heaven on his fourth embassy.
On earth he travel'd often; not to say

H' had been abroad, or pafs loose time away.
In whatsoever land he chanc'd to come,
He read the men and manners, bringing home
Their wisdom, learning, and their piety,
As if he went to conquer, not to see.

So well he understood the most and best
Of tongues, that Babel fent into the Weft;

Spoke them fo truly, that he had (you 'd fwear)
Not only liv'd, but been born every where.
Juftly each nation's fpeech to him was known,
Who for the world was made, not us alone;
Nor ought the language of that man be less,
Who in his breast had all things to exprefs.
We say that learning 's endless, and blame Fate
For not allowing life a longer date :

He did the utmost bounds of knowledge find,
He found them not so large as was his mind;
But, like the brave Pellæan youth, did moan
Because that art had no more worlds than one ;
And, when he faw that he through ali had past,
He dy'd, left he should idle grow at last.

Here lies the master of my tender years,
The guardian of my parents' hope and fears
Whose government ne'er ftood me in a tear;
All weeping was referv'd to spend it here.
Come hither, all who his rare virtues knew,
And mourn with me: he was your tutor too.
Let's join our fighs, till they fly far, and fhew
His native Belgia what the 's now to do.

The

The league of grief bids her with us lament;
By her he was brought forth, and hither fent
In payment of all men we there had loft,

And all the English blood those wars have cost.
Wifely did Nature this learn'd man divide;
His birth was theirs, his death the mournful pride:
Of England; and, t' avoid the envious strife
Of other lands, all Europe had his life,
But we in chief; our country foon was grown
A debtor more to him, than he to 's own.
He pluckt from youth the follies and the crimes,
And built up men against the future times;
For deeds of age are in their causes then,

And though he taught but boys, he made the men..
Hence 'twas, a master, in those ancient days
When men fought knowledge firft, and by it praife,
Was a thing full of reverence, profit, fame;
Father itself was but a fecond name.
He fcorn'd the profit; his inftructions all
Were, like the fcience, free and liberal.
He deferv'd honours, but defpis'd them too,
As much as those who have them others do.
He knew not that which compliment they call
Could flatter none, but himself least of all.
So true, fo faithful, and so just, as he
Was nought on earth but his own memory;
His memory, where all things written were,
As fure and fixt as in Fate's books they are..
Thus he in arts fo vaft a treasure gain'd,
Whilft ftill the ufe came in, and stock remain'd :

And, having purchas'd all that man can know,
He labour'd with 't to enrich others now;
Did thus a new and harder task sustain,

Like those that work in mines for others' gain:
He, though more nobly, had much more to do,
To search the vein, dig, purge, and mint it too.
Though my excufe would be, I must confefs,
Much better had his diligence been lefs;
But, if a Mufe hereafter smile on me,
And fay, "Be thou a poet !" men shall see
That none could a more grateful scholar have;
For what I ow'd his life I'll pay his grave.

ON HIS MAJESTY'S RETURN

OUT OF SCOTLAND.

Welcome, great Sir! with all the joy that 's due

To the return of peace and you;

Two greatest bleffings which this age can know!
For that to Thee, for thee to Heaven we owe.
Others by war their conquefts gain,

You like a God your ends obtain

Who, when rude Chaos for his help did call,
Spoke but the word, and sweetly order'd all.
This happy concord in no blood is writ,

None can grudge Heaven full thanks for it:
No mothers here lament their children's fate,
And like the peace, but think it comes too late.

No