In matris propera venire partes.
Et cum par breve fulminum minorum,
Illinc Carolus, & Jacobus inde,
In patris faciles subire famam,
Ducent fata furoribus decoris;
Cum terror sacer, Angliciq; magnum
Murmur nominis increpabit omnem
Late Bosporon, Ottomanicasque
Non picto quatiet tremore lunas;
Te tunc altera nec timenda paci,
Poscent prælia. Tu potens pudici
Vibratrix oculi, pios in hostes
Late dulcia fata dissipabis.

O cum flos tener ille, qui recenti
Pressus sidere jam sub ora ludit,
Olim fortior omne cuspidatos
Evolvet latus aureum per ignes;
Quiq; imbellis adhuc, adultus olim;
Puris expatiabitur genarum
Campis imperiosior Cupido;
O quam certa superbiore penna
Ibunt spicula, melleæque mortes,
Exultantibus hinc et inde turmis,
Quoquo jusseris, impigre volabunt!
O quot corda calentium deorum
De te vulnera delicata discent!
O quot pectora principum magistris
Fient molle negotium sagittis !
Nam quæ non poteris per arma ferri,
Cui matris sinus atque utrumque sidus
Magnorum patet officina amorum?
Hinc sumas licet, O puella princeps,
Quantacunque opus est tibi pharetra.
Centum sume Cupidines ab uno
Matris lumine, Gratiasque centum,
Et centum Veneres: adhuc manebunt
Centum mille Cupidines; manebunt
Ter centum Veneresque Gratiæque
Puro fonte superstites per ævum.

IN SERENISSIME REGINE PARTUM HYEMALEM.

SERTA puer: (quis nunc flores non præbeat hortus?)
Texe mihi facili pollice serta, puer.
Quid tu nescio quos narras mihi, stulte, Decembres
Quid mihi cum nivibus? da mihi serta, puer.
Nix? & hyems? non est nostras quid tale per oras;
Non est: vel si sit, non tamen esse potest.
Ver agitur: quecunque trucem dat larva Decem-
brem,

Quid fera cunque fremant frigora, ver agitur.
Nonne vides quali se palmite regia vitis

Prodit, & in sacris quæ sedet uva jugis?
Tam lætis quæ bruma solet ridere racemis?
Quas hyemis pingit purpura tanta genas?
O Maria! O divum soboles, genitrixque Deorum!
Siccine nostra tuus tempora ludus erunt?
Siccine ta cum vere tuo nihil horrida bruma
Sydera, nil madidos sola morare notos?
Siccine sub media poterunt tua surgere bruma,
Atq; suas solum lilia nosse nives?

Ergo vel invitis nivibus, frendentibus Austris,
Nostra novis poterunt regna tumere rosis?
O bona turbatrix anni, quæ limite noto
Tempora sub signis non sinis ire suis !
O pia prædatrix hyemis, quæ tristia mundi
Murmura tam dulci sub ditione tenes!
Perge precor nostris vim pulchram ferre Calendis
Perge precor menses sic numerare tuos.

Perge intempestiva atque importuna videri;
Inque uteri titulos sic rape cuncta tui.
Sit nobis sit sæpe hyemes sic cernere nostras
Exhæredatas floribus ire tuis.

Sæpe sit has vernas hyemes Majosq; Decembres,
Has per te roseas sæpe videre nives.
Altera gens varium per sydera computet annum,
Atq; suos ducant per vaga signa dies.
Nos deceat nimiis tantum permittere nimbis?
Temporatam tetricas ferre Britanna vices?
Quin nostrum tibi nos omnem donabimus annum:
In partus omnem expende, Maria, tuos.
Sit tuus ille uterus nostri bonus arbiter anni:

Tempus & in titulos transeat omne tuos.
Namque alia indueret tam dulcia nomina mensis?
Aut qua tam posset candidus ire toga?
Hanc laurum Junus sibi vertice vellet utroque;
Hanc sibi vel tota Chloride Majus emet.
Tota suam (vere expulso) respublica florum
Reginam cuperent te, sobolemve tuam.

O bona sors anni, cum cuncti ex ordine menses Hic mihi Carolides, hic Marianus erit!

AD REGINAM,

Er vero jam tempus erat tibi, maxima mater,
Dulcibus his oculis accelerare diem:
Tempus erat, ne qua tibi basia blanda vacarent;
Sarcina ne collo sit minus apta tuo.
Scilicet ille tuus, timor & spes ille suorum,

Quo primum es felix pignore facta parens,
Ille ferox iras jam nunc meditatur & enses,

Jam patris magis est, jam magis ille suus.
Indolis O stimulos! vix dum illi transiit infans;
Jamque sibi impatiens arripit ille virum.
Improbus ille suis adeo negat ire sub annis:
Jam nondum puer est, major & est puero.
Si quis in aulæis pictas animatus in iras

Stat leo, quem docta cuspide lusit acus, Hostis (io!) est; neq; enim ille alium dignabitur hostem;

Nempe decet tantas non minor ira manus.
Tunc hasta gravis adversum furit; hasta bacillum
Mox falsum vero vulnere peetus hiat. [est:
Stat leo, ceu stupeat tali bene fixus ab hoste;
Ceu quid in his oculis vel timeat vel amet,
Tam torvum, tam dulce micant: nescire fatetur
Mars ne sub his oculis esset, an esset Amor.
Quippe illic Mars est, sed qui bene possit amari;
Est & Amor certe, sed metuendus Amor:
Talis Amor, talis Mars est ibi cernere; qualis
Seu puer hic esset, sive vir ille deus.
Hic tibi jam scitus succedit in oscula fratris,
Res (ecce!) in lusus non operosa tuos.
Basia jam veniant tua quantacunque caterva;
Jam quocunque tuus murmare ludat amor.
En! Tibi materies tenera & tractabilis hic est:
Hic ad blanditias est tibi cera satis.
Salve infans, tot basiolis, molle argumentum,
Maternis labiis dulce negotiolum,

O salve! Nam te nato, puer auree, natus
Et Carolo & Mariæ tertius est oculus.

Vultus adhuc suus, & vultu sua purpura tantum
Vivit, & admixtas pergit amare nives.
Tune illas violare genas? tune illa profanis,

Morbe ferox, tentas ire per ora notis ?
Tu Phœbi faciem tentas, vanissime? Nostra
Nec Phœbe maculas novit habere suas.
Ipsa sui vindex facies morbum indignatur ;
Ipsa sedet radiis O bene tuta suis:
Quippe illic deus est, cœlumque & sanctius astrum;
Quippe sub his totus ridet Apollo genis.
Quod facie rex tutus erat, quod cætera tactus:
Hinc hominem rex est fassus, & inde deum.

REX REDUX.

ILLE redit, redit. Hoc pepuli bona murmura volvunt;

Publicus hoc (audin'?) plausus ad astra refert: Hoc omni sedet in vultu commune serenum; Omnibus hinc una est lætitiæ facics,

Rex noster, lux nostra redit; redeuntis ad ora
Arridet totis Anglia læta genis;
Quisque suos oculos oculis accendit ab istis;
Atque novum sacro sumit ab ore diem.
Forte roges tanto quæ digna pericula plausu
Evadat Carolus, quæ mala, quosve metus:
Anne perrerati male fida volumina ponti

Ausa illum terris pene negare suis:
Hospitis an nimii rursus sibii conscia tellus
Vix bene speratum reddat Ibera caput.
Nil horum; nec enim male fida volumina ponti
Aut sacrum tellus vidit Ibera caput.
Verus amor tamen hæc sibi falsa pericula fingit:
(Falsa peric'la solet fingere verus amor)
At Carolo qui falsa timet, nec vera timeret:
(Vera peric'la şolet temnere verus amor)
Illi falsa timens, sibi vera pericula temnens,

Non solum est fidus, sed quoque fortis amor. Interea nostri satis ille est causa triumphi:

Et satis (ah!) nostri causa doloris erat. Causa doloris erat Carolus, sospes licet esset; Anglia quod saltem discere posset, Abest. Et satis est nostri Carolus nunc causa triumphi: Dicere quod saltem possumus, Ille redit.

AD PRINCIPEM NONDUM NATUM.

NASCERE nunc; O nunc! quid enim, puer alme, moraris ?

Nulla tibi dederit dulcior hora diem. Ergone tot tardos (O lente!) morabere menses? Rex redit, ipse veni, & dic bone, Gratus ades, Nam quid Ave nostrum? quid nostri verba Vagitu melius dixeris ista tuo. [triumphi?

At maneas tamen: & nobis nova causa triumphi Sic demum fueris; nec nova causa tamen: Nam, quoties Carolo novus aut nova nascitur infans, Revera toties Carolus ipse redit.

IN FACIEM AUGUSTISS. REGIS A MORBILLIS

INTEGRAM.

MUSA redi; vocat alma parens Academia: Noster En redit, ore suo noster Apollo redit.

CARMEN DEO NOSTRO,

TE DECET HYMNUS,

SACRED POEMS,

CRASHAWE,

THE ANAGRAM

HE WAS CAR.

WAS Car then Crashaw, or was Crashaw Car,
Since both within one name combined are?
Yes, Car's Crashaw, he Car; 'tis love alone
Which melts two hearts, of both composing one,
So Crashaw's still the same: so much desired
By strongest wits; so honour'd, so admired;
Car was but he that enter'd as a friend
With whom he shar'd his thoughts, and did com-
mend

[other: (While yet he liv'd) this work; they lov'd each Sweet Crashaw was his friend; he Crashaw's brother:

So Car hath title then; 'twas his intent

That what his riches pen'd, poor Car should print; Nor fears he check, praising that happy one Who was belov'd by all, disprais'd by none. To wit, being pleas'd with all things, he pleas'd all; Nor would he give, nor take offence; befal What might, he would possess himself; and live As dead (devoid of interest) t' all might give Disease t' his well composed mind; forestall'd With heavenly riches; which had wholly call'd His thoughts from Earth, to live above in th' air, A very bird of paradise. No care Had he of earthly trash. What might suffice To fit his soul to heavenly exercise, Sufficed him; and may we guess his heart By what his lips bring forth, his only part Is God and godly thoughts. Leaves doubt to none But that to whom one God is all; all's one. What he might eat or wear he took no thought, His needful food he rather found than sought. He seeks no downs; no sheets, his bed's still made; If he can find a chair or stool, he's laid; When day peeps in, he quits his restless rest; And still, poor soul, before he's up he's drest. Thus dying did he live, yet liv'd to die In th' virgin's lap, to whom he did apply

His virgin thoughts and words, and thence was styl'd
By foes, the chaplain of the virgin mild,
While yet he liv'd without: his modesty
Imparted this to some, and they to me.

Live happy then, dear soul; enjoy thy rest
Eternally by pains thou purchasedst,

While Car must live in care, who was thy friend;
Nor cares he how he live, so in the end

He may enjoy his dearest Lord and thee;
And sit and sing more skilful songs eternally.

THOMAS CAR.

TO THE NOBLEST AND BEST OF LADIES,
THE COUNTESS OF DENBIGH.
PERSUADING HER TO RESOLUTION IN RELIGION, AND
TO RENDER HER SELF WITHOUT FURTHER DELAY
INTO THE COMMUNION OF THE CATHOLIC CHURCH.

WHAT Heaven-entreated heart is this?
Stands trembling at the gate of bliss;
Holds fast the door, yet dares not venture
Fairly to open it and enter,
Whose definition is a doubt
'Twixt life and death, 'twixt in and out.
Say, lingering fair! why comes the birth
Of your brave soul so slowly forth?
Plead your pretences (O you strong
In weakness) why you choose so long
In labour of your self to lie,
Ah linger not, lov'd soul! a slow
Nor daring quite to live nor die:
And late consent was a long no,
Who grants at last, long time try'd
And did his best to have deny'd,
What magic bolts, what mystic bars
Maintain the will in these strange wars!
What fatal, what fantastic bands,
Keep the free heart from its own hands!
So when the year takes cold, we see
Poor waters their own prisoners be,
Fetter'd, and lock'd up fast they lie
In a sad self-captivity,

[plore

That healing shaft, which Heav'n till now
Has in Love's quiver hid for you.
O dart of Love! arrow of light!

O happy you, if it hit right;
It must not fall in vain, it must
Not mark the dry regardless dust.
Fair one, it is your fate; and brings
Eternal words upon its wings.

Meet it with wide-spread arms; and see
It's seat your soul's just centre be.
Disband dull fears; giue faith the day,
To save your life, kill your delay;
It is Love's siege, and sure to be
Your triumph, though his victory.
"Tis cowardice that keeps this field,
And want of courage not to yield.
Yield then, O yield, that Love may win
The fort at last, and let life in.
Yield quickly, lest perhaps you prove
Death's prey, before the prize of Love.
This fort of your fair self, if 't be not won,
He is repuls'd indeed, but you're undone.

TO THE NAME Above every NAME, THE NAME OF JESUS.

A HYMN.

I SING the name which none can say
But touch'd with an interior ray;

The name of our new peace; our good:
Our bliss, and supernatural blood:
The name of all our lives and loves.
Hearken, and help, ye holy doves,
The high-born brood of day, you bright
Candidates of blissful light,

The heirs elect of love; whose names belong
Unto the everlasting life of song;

All ye wise souls, who in the wealthy breast
Of this unbounded name build your warm nest.
Awake, my glory, soul, (if such thou be,
And that fair word at all refer to thee)
Awake and sing,

That they convene and come away

To wait at the love-crowned doors of that
Illustrious day.

Shall we dare this, my soul? we'll do't and bring
No other note for't, but the name we sing.
Wake, lute and harp,

And every sweet-lipp'd thing
That talks with tuneful string,
Start into life, and leap with me
Into a hasty fit-tun'd harmony.

Nor must you think it much
Tobey my bolder touch;

I have authority in Love's name to take you,
And to the work of love this morning wake you;
Wake; in the name

Of him who never sleeps, all things that are,
Or, what's the same,
Are musical;
Answer my call

And come along;

Help me to meditate mine immortal song.
Come, ye soft ministers of sweet sad mirth,
Bring all your houshold-stuff of Heav'n on Earth;
O you, my soul's most certain wings,

Complaining pipes, and prattling strings,

Bring all the store

[no more,

Of sweets you have; and murmur that you have Come, ne'er to part,

Nature and art!

Come, and come strong,

To the conspiracy of our spacious song.

Bring all the pow'rs of praise

Your provinces of well-united worlds can raise ;
Bring all your lutes and harps of Heav'n and Earth;
What e'er cooperates to the common mirth,
Vessels of vocal joys,

Or you, more noble architects of intellectual noise,
Cymbals of Heav'n, or human spheres,
Solicitors of souls or ears;

And when you are come, with all
That you can bring or we can call;

O may you fix

For ever here, and mix

Your selves into the long

And everlasting series of a deathless song;
Mix all your many worlds, above,
And loose them into one of love.

Cheer thee, my heart!

For thou too hast thy part
And place in the great throng
Of this unbounded all-embracing song.
Pow'rs of my soul, be proud!
And speak loud

To all the dear-bought nations this redeeming name,
And in the wealth of one rich word proclaim
New similies to Nature.

May it be no wrong
Blest Heav'ns, to you, and you superior song,
That we, dark sons of dust and sorrow,
A while dare borrow

The name of your delights and our desires,
And fit it to so far inferior lyres.

Our murmurs have their music too,
Ye mighty orbs, as well as you,

Nor yields the noblest nest

Of warbling Seraphim to the ears of love,
A choicer lesson than the joyful breast
Of a poor panting turtle-dove.
And we, low worms, have leave to do
The same bright business (ye third Heav'ns) with

[rot.

Home, and lodge them in his heart.
O that it were as it was wont to be!
When thy old friends of fire, all full of thee,
Fought against frowns with smiles; gave glorious
To persecutions; and against the face [chase
Of Death and fiercest dangers, durst with brave
And sober pace march on to meet a grave.
On their bold breasts about the world they bore thee,
And to the teeth of Hell stood up to teach thee;
In centre of their inmost souls they wore thee,
Where racks and torments striv'd in vain to reach
Little, alas, thought they [thee.

Who tore the fair breasts of thy friends,
Their fury but made way

For thee; and serv'd them in thy glorious ends.
What did their weapons but with wider pores
Enlarge thy flaming breasted lovers

More freely to transpire

That impatient fire

The heart that hides thee hardly covers ?
What did their weapons but set wide the doors
For thee: fair purple doors, of love's devising;
The ruby windows which inrich'd the East
Of thy so oft repeated rising?

Each wound of theirs was thy new morning;
And reinthron'd thee in thy rosy nest,
With blush of thine own blood thy day adorning :
It was the wit of love o'erflow'd the bounds
Of wrath, and made the way through all these
Welcome, dear, all-adored name! [wounds,

For sure there is no knee
That knows not thee.

Or if there be such sons of shame,
Alas what will they do

When stubborn rocks shall bow,
And hills hang down their heav'n-saluting heads
To seek for humble beds

Of dust, where in the bashful shades of night
Next to their own low nothing they may lie,
And couch before the dazzling light of thy dread
They that by love's mild dictate now
Will not adore the,

Shall then with just confusion, bow
And break before thee.

[majesty

IN THE GLORIOUS EPIPHANY OF OUR LORD GOD,

A HYMN SUNG AS BY THE THREE KINGS.

1. KING.

BRIGHT babe, whose awful beauties make The morn incur a sweet mistake;