PHILLIPS'S PREFACE TO THE EDITION OF 1656. TO THE READER. INGENIOUS READER, o say that these poems are the effects of a genius, the most polite and verdant that ever the Scottisia tion produced, although it be a commendation not to be rejected, (for it is well known, that that untry hath afforded many rare and admirable wits) yet it is not the highest that may be given him; r should I affirm that neither Tasso, nor Guarini, nor any of the most neat and refined spirits of Italy, or even the choicest of our English poets, can challenge to themselves any advantages above him, it ould not be judged any attribute superiour to what he deserves; nor shall I thinke it any arrogance maintain, that among all the severall fancies, that in these times have exercised the most nice and rious judgements, there hath not come forth any thing that deserves to be welcomed into the world ith greater estimation and applause: and though he hath not had the fortune to be so generally med abroad, as many others, perhaps, of lesse esteeme, yet this is a consideration that cannot at all minish, but rather advance his credit; for by breaking forth of obscurity he will attract the higher Imiration, and, like the Sun emerging from a cloud, appeare at length with so much the more forcible yes. Had there been nothing extant of him but his History of Scotland, consider but the language, ow florid and ornate it is; consider the order, and the prudent conduct of his story, and you will nke him in the number of the best writers, and compare him even with Thuanus himselfe. Neither he lesse happy in his verse than prose: for here are all those graces met together that conduce any ing toward the making up of a compleat and perfect poet, a decent and becomming majesty, a brave d admirable height, and a wit so flowing, that Jove himselfe never dranke nectar that sparkled ith a more spritly lustre. Should I dwell any longer (ingenuous reader) upon the commendation of is incomparable author, I should injure thee, by forestalling the freedome of thy owne judgement, d him, by attempting a vain designe, since there is nothing can so well set him forth as his own orks; besides the losse of time, which is but trifled away so long as thou art detained from perusing e poems themselves. E. PHILLIPS. POEMS OF WILLIAM DRUMMOND. THE FIRST PART. SONNETS. I. SONNET. IN my first prime, when childish humours fed Glad on this blushing book my death to read. III. SONNET. Ye who so curiously do paint your thoughts, So high conceptions to express my smart; II. SONNET. I KNOW that all beneath the Moon decays, IV. SONNET. AH me, and I am now the man whose Muse V. SONNET. How that vast Heaven entitled First is roll'd, Or essence pure that doth this all uphold: VI. SONNET. [eye FAIR is my yoke, though grievous be my pains, Now while the Night her sable veil hath spread, X. SONNET. SLEEP, silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince whose approach peace to all mortals brings, VIL SONNET. VAUNT not, fair Heavens, of your two glorious lights, FAIR Moon, who with thy cold and silver shine VIII. SONNET. WHEN Nature now had wonderfully wrought XII. SONNET. LAMP of Heaven's crystal hall that brings the hours, 649 XV. SONNET. THAT learned Grecian who did so excel In knowledge passing sense, that he is nam'd Of all the after world divine, doth tell That all the time when first our souls are fram'd, Ere in these mansions blind they come to dwell, They live bright rays of that eternal light, And others see, know, love, in Heaven's great height, Not toil'd with aught 'gainst reason to rebel. It is most true, for straight at the first sight My mind me told that in some other place It elsewhere saw th' idea of that face, And lov'd a love of heavenly pure delight. What wonder now I feel so fair a flame, Since I her lov'd ere on this Earth she came ? XVI. SONNET. NOR Arne, nor Mincius, nor stately Tiber, Sebethus, nor the flood into whose streams He fell who burnt the world with borrow'd beams, Gold-rolling Tagus, Munda, famous Iber, [Seine, Sorgue, Rhone, Loire, Garron, nor proud-banked Peneus, Phasis, Xanthus, humble Ladon, Nor she whose nymphs excel her loved Adon, Fair Tamesis, nor Ister large, nor Rhine, Euphrates, Tigris, Indus, Hermus, Gange, Pearly Hydaspes, serpent-like Meander, The flood which robbed Hero of Leander, Nile that so far his hidden head doth range, Have ever had so rare a cause of praise, As Ora where this northern phenix stays. XIX. SONNET. WITH flaming horns the Bull now brings the year, Melt do the mountains, rolling floods of snow, The silver rivers in smooth channels flow, The late bare woods green anadems do wear; Spread are those flow'rs which names of princes bear, The nightingale, forgetting winter's woe, Calls up the lazy morn her notes to hear; Some red, some azure, white, and golden grow. Here lows a heifer, there bewailing strays A harmless lamb, not far a stag rebounds; The shepherds sing to grazing flocks sweet lays, And all about the echoing air resounds. Hills, dales, woods, floods, ev'ry thing doth change, But she in rigour, I in love am strange. XX. SONNET. O'ercharg'd with brass in these so golden times, THAT I So slenderly set forth my mind, When others tow'r so high, I'm left behind: Writing I know not what in ragged rhymes, I crave not Phoebus leave his sacred cell, To bind my brows with fresh Aonian bays; But leav't to those, who, tuning sweetest lays, By Tempe sit, or Aganippe's well; Nor yet to Venus' tree do I aspire, Since she for whom I might affect that praise, My best attempts with cruel words gainsays, And I seek not that others me admire. Of weeping myrrh the crown is which I crave, With a sad cypress to adorn my grave. XVII. SONNET. To bear my plaints, fair river crystalline, The caves, the rocks, the hills, the sylvans' thrones, XVIII. SONNET. SWEET brook, in whose clear crystal I my eyes Have oft seen great in labour of their tears; Enamell'd bank, whose shining gravel bears These sad charactures of my miseries; [spheres, High woods, whose mountain-tops menace the Wild citizens, Amphions of the trees, You gloomy groves at hottest noons which freeze, Elysian shades which Phoebus never clears; Vast solitary mountains, pleasant plains, Embroider'd meads that ocean-ways you reach; Hills, dales, springs, all whom my sad cry constrains To take part of my plaints, and learn woe's speech, Will that remorseless fair e'er pity show? Of grace now answer, if ye aught know: No. XXI. MADRIGAL. WHEN as she smiles I find So much both do me please, That oft I doubt, which more my heart doth burn, Love to behold her smile, or pity mourn. XXII. SONNET. My tears may well Numidian lions tame, And pity breed into the hardest heart When she them first of blushing rocks did frame. That ever Pyrrha did to maid impart, Ah, eyes, which only serve to 'wail my smart, How long will you my inward woes proclaim? May 't not suffice you bear a weeping part All night, at day but you must do the same? Cease, idle sighs, to spend your storms in vain, Contain you in the prison of my breast, And these sweet silent thickets to molest, You do not ease but aggravate my pain; Or if burst forth you must, that tempest move In sight of her whom I so dearly love. |