terms of art in every tongue bearing more of the idiom of it than any other words. We hear indeed among our poets, of the thundering of guns, the smoke, the disorder, and the slaughter; but all these are common notions. And certainly, as those who in a logical dispute keep in general terms would hide a fallacy; so those who do it in any poetical description would veil their ignorance. this but to a person who has been ever forward to appear in all employments whither his honour and generosity have called him. The latter part of my poem, which describes the fire, I owe, first to the piety and fatherly affection of our monarch to his suffering subjects; and, in the second place, to the courage, loyalty, and magnanimity of the city; both which were so conspicuous, that I wanted words to celebrate them as they deserve. I have called my poem historical, not epic, though both Descriptas servare vices operumque colores, the actions and actors are as much heroic as any Cur ego, si nequeo ignoroque, poeta salutor? poem can contain. But since the action is not properly one, nor that accomplished in the last suc- For my own part, if I had little knowledge of the cesses, I have judged it too bold a title for a few sea, yet I have thought it no shame to learn: and stanzas, which are little more in number than a if I have made some few mistakes, it is only, as single Iliad, or the longest of the Eneids. For this you can bear me witness, because I have wanted reason (I mean not of length, but broken action, opportunity to correct them; the whole poem being tied too severely to the laws of history) I am apt to first written, and now sent you from a place where agree with those, who rank Lucan rather among I have not so much as the converse of any seaman. historians in verse than epic poets: in whose room, Yet though the trouble I had in writing it was great, if I am not deceived, Silius Italicus, though a worse it was no more than recompensed by the pleasure. writer, may more justly be admitted. I have cho- I found myself so warm in celebrating the praises sen to write my poem in quatrains, or stanzas of of military men, two such especially as the prince four in alternate rhyme, because I have ever judged and general, that it is no wonder if they inspired them more noble, and of greater dignity, both for me with thoughts above my ordinary level. And the sound and number, than any other verse in use I am well satisfied, that, as they are incomparably amongst us; in which I am sure I have your ap- the best subject I ever had, excepting only the royal probation. The learned languages have certainly family, so also, that this I have written of them is a great advantage of us, in not being tied to the much better than what I have performed on any slavery of any rhyme; and were less constrained other. I have been forced to help out other arguin the quantity of every syllable, which they might ments; but this has been bountiful to me: they vary with spondees or dactyls, besides so many other have been low and barren of praise, and I have exhelps of grammatical figures, for the lengthening alted them, and made them fruitful; but hereor abbreviation of them, than the modern are in the Omnia sponte sua reddit justissima tellus. I have close of that one syllable, which often confines, and had a large, a fair, and a pleasant field; so fertile, more often corrupts, the sense of all the rest. But that, without my cultivating, it has given me two in this necessity of our rhymes, I have always harvests in a summer, and in both oppressed the found the couplet verse most easy, though not so reaper. All other greatness in subjects is only proper for this occasion: for there the work is counterfeit: it will not endure the test of danger; sooner at an end, every two lines concluding the the greatness of arms is only real: other greatness labour of the poet; but in quatrains he is to carry burthens a nation with its weight; this supports it it further on, and not only so, but to bear along in with its strength. And as it is the happiness of the his head the troublesome sense of four lines toge- age, so it is the peculiar goodness of the best of ther. For those, who write correctly in this kind, kings, that we may praise his subjects without ofmust needs acknowledge, that the last line of the fending him. Doubtless it proceeds from a just stanza is to be considered in the composition of the confidence of his own virtue, which the lustre of no first. Neither can we give ourselves the liberty of other can be so great as to darken in him; for the making any part of a verse for the sake of rhyme, good or the valiant are never safely praised under or concluding with a word which is not current a bad or a degenerate prince. But to return from English, or using the variety of female rhymes; all this digression to a further account of my poem; I which our fathers practised: and for the female must crave leave to tell you, that as I have endearhymes, they are still in use amongst other nations; voured to adorn it with noble thoughts, so much with the Italian in every line, with the Spaniard more to express those thoughts with elocution. The promiscuously, with the French alternately; as composition of all poems is, or ought to be, of wit; those who have read the Alarique, the Pucelle, or and wit in the poet, or wit-writing, (if you will give any of their later poems, will agree with me. And me leave to use a school-distinction) is no other besides this, they write in Alexandrins, or verses of than the faculty of imagination in the writer, which, six feet; such as amongst us is the old translation like a nimble spaniel, beats over and ranges through of Homer by Chapman: all which, by lengthening the field of memory, till it springs the quarry it of their chain, makes the sphere of their activity hunted after: or, without metaphor, which searches the larger. I have dwelt too long upon the choice over all the memory for the species or ideas of those of my stanza, which you may remember is much things which it designs to represent. Wit written better defended in the preface to Gondibert; and is that which is well defined, the happy result of therefore I will hasten to acquaint you with my en- thought, or product of imagination. But to prodeavours in the writing. In general I will only say, ceed from wit, in the general notion of it, to the I have never yet seen the description of any naval proper wit of an heroic or historical poem; I judge fight in the proper terms which are used at sea: it chiefly to consist in the delightful imaging of and if there be any such in another language, as persons, actions, passions, or things. It is not the that of Lucan in the third of his Pharsalia, yet I jerk or sting of an epigram, nor the seeming contracould not avail myself of it in the English; the diction of a poor antithesis, (the delight of an ill judging audience in a play of rhyme) nor the gingle | I esteem the divinest part of all his writings, the Dixeris egregiè, notum si callida verbum of a more poor paranomasia; neither is it so much Plague, the Country, the Battle of the Bulls, the the morality of a grave sentence, affected by Lucan, Labour of the Bees, and those many other excelbut more sparingly used by Virgil; but it is some lent images of Nature, most of which are neither lively and apt description, dressed in such colours great in themselves, nor have any natural ornament of speech, that it sets before your eyes the absent to bear them up: but the words wherewith he deobject, as perfectly, and more delightfully than scribes them are so excellent, that it might be well Nature. So then the first happiness of the poet's applied to him, which was said by Ovid, Materiem imagination is properly invention or finding of the superabat opus: the very sound of his words has thought; the second is fancy, or the variation, de- often somewhat that is connatural to the subject; riving or moulding of that thought, as the judgment and while we read him, we sit, as in a play, beholdrepresents it proper to the subject; the third is elo-ing the scenes of what he represents. To perform cution, or the art of clothing and adorning that this, he made frequent use of tropes, which you thought, so found and varied, in apt, significant, know change the nature of a known word, by apand sounding words: the quickness of the imagina-plying it to some other signification; and this is it tion, is seen in the invention, the fertility in the which Horace means in his epistle to the Pisos: fancy, and the accuracy in the expression. For the two first of these, Ovid is famous amongst the poets; for the latter, Virgil. Ovid images more often the movements and affections of the mind, either combating between two contrary passions, or extremely But I am sensible I have presumed too far to endiscomposed by one. His words therefore are the tertain you with a rude discourse of that art which least part of his care; for he pictures Nature in you both know so well, and put into practice with disorder, with which the study and choice of words so much happiness. Yet, before I leave Virgil, I is inconsistent. This is the proper wit of dialogue must own the vanity to tell you, and by you the or discourse, and consequently of the drama, where world, that he has been my master in this poem: all that is said is to be supposed the effect of sudden I have followed him every where, I know not with thought; which, though it excludes not the quick-what success, but I am sure with diligence enough: ness of wit in repartees, yet admits not a too curious election of words, too frequent allusions, or use of tropes, or in fine any thing that shows remoteness of thought or labour in the writer. On the other side, Virgil speaks not so often to us in the person of another, like Ovid, but in his own: he relates almost all things as froin himself, and thereby gains more liberty than the other, to express his thoughts with all the graces of elocution, to write more figuratively, and to confess as well the labour as the force of his imagination. Though he describes his Dido well and naturally, in the violence of her passions, yet he must yield in that to the Myrrha, the Biblis, the Althaea, of Ovid; for, as great an admirer of him as I am, I must acknowledge, that if I see not more of their souls than I see of Dido's, at least I have a greater concernment for them: and that convinces me, that Ovid has touched those tender strokes more delicately than Virgil could. But when action or persons are to be described, when any such image is to be set before us, how bold, how masterly are the strokes of Virgil! We see the objects he presents us with in their native figures, in their proper motions; but so we see them, as our own eyes could never have beheld them so beautiful in themselves. We see the soul of the poet, like that universal one of which he speaks, informing and moving through all his pic tures: Totamque infusa per artus Lumenque juventæ Purpureum, et lætos oculis afflârat honores: See his Tempest, his Funeral Sports, his Combat of Turnus and Eneas: and in his Georgies, which my images are many of them copied from him, and the rest are imitations of him. My expressions also are as near as the idioms of the two languages would admit of in translation. And this, sir, I have done with that boldness, for which I will stand accountable to any of our little critics, who, perhaps, are no better acquainted with him than I am. Upon your first perusal of this poem, you have taken notice of some words, which I have innovated (if it be too bold for me to say refined) upon his Latin; which, as I offer not to introduce into English prose, so I hope they are neither improper, nor altogether inelegant in verse; and, in this, Horace will again defend me. Et nova fictaque nuper habebunt verba fidem, si The inference is exceeding plain: for if a Roman poet might have liberty to coin a word, supposing only that it was derived from the Greek, was put into a Latin termination, and that he used this liberty but seldom, and with modesty; how much more justly may I challenge that privilege to do it with the same prerequisites, from the best and most judicious of Latin writers! In some places, where either the fancy or the words were his, or any other's, I have noted it in the margin, that I might not seem a plagiary; in others I have neglected it, to avoid as well tediousness, as the affectation of doing it too often. Such descriptions or images well wrought, which promise not for mine, are, as I have said, the adequate delight of heroic poesy; for they beget admiration, which is its proper object; as the images of the burlesque, which is contrary to this, by the same reason begct laughter; for the one shows Nature beautified, as in the picture of a fair woman, which we all admire; the other shows her deformed, as in that of a lazar, or of a fool with distorted face and ant que gestures, at which we cannot forbear to laugh, because it is a deviation from Nature. But though the same images serve equally for the epic poesy, and for the historic and panegyric, which are branches of it, yet a several sort of sculpture is to be used in them. If some of them are to be like those of Juvenal, stantes in curribus Emiliani, heroes drawn in their triumphal chariots, and in their full proportion; others are to be like that of Virgil, spirantia mollius æra: there is somewhat more of softness and tenderness to be shown in them. You will soon find I write not this without concern. Some, who have seen a paper of verses, which I wrote last year to her highness the dutchess, have accused them of that only thing I could defend in them. They said, I did humi serpere; that I wanted not only height of fancy, but dignity of words, to set it off. I might well answer with that of Horace, nunc non erat his locus; I knew I addressed them to a lady, and accordingly I affected the softness of expression, and the smoothness of measure, rather than the height of thought; and in what I did endeavour, it is no vanity to say I have succeeded. I detest arrogance; but there is some difference betwixt that and a just defence. But I will not further bribe your candour, or the reader's. I leave them to speak for me; and, if they can, to make out that character, not pretending to a greater, which I have given them. And now, sir, it is time I should relieve you from the tedious length of this account. You have better and more profitable employment for your hours, and I wrong the public to detain you longer. In conclusion, I must leave my poem to you with all its faults, which I hope to find fewer in the printing by your emendations. I know you are not of the number of those, of whom the younger Pliny speaks; nec sunt parum multi, qui carpere amicos suos judicium vocant; I am rather too secure of you on that side. Your candour in pardoning my errours may make you more remiss in correcting them; if you will not withal consider that they come into the world with your approbation, and through your hands. I beg from you the greatest favour you can confer upon an absent person, since I repose upon your management what is dearest to me, my fame and reputation; and therefore I hope it will stir you up to make my poem fairer by many of your blots; if not, you know the story of the gamester who married the rich man's daughter, and, when her father denied the portion, christened all the children by his surname, that if, in conclusion, they must beg, they should do so by one name, as well as by the other. But since the reproach of my faults will light on you, it is but reason I should do you that justice to the readers, to let them know, that, if there be any thing tolerable in this poem, they owe the argument to your choice, the writing to your encouragement, the correction to your judgment, and the care of it to your friendship, to which he must ever acknowledge himself to owe all things, who is, ANNUS MIRABILIS: THE YEAR OF WONDERS, 1666. In thriving arts long time had Holland grown, Crouching at home and cruel when abroad: Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own; Our king they courted, and our merchants aw'd. Trade, which like blood should circularly flow, For them alone the Heavens had kindly heat: And in hot Ceilon spicy forests grew. The Sun but seem'd the labourer of the year; Each waxing Moon supply'd her watery store, To swell those tides which from the line did bear Their brim-full vessels to the Belgian shore. Thus, mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long, What peace can be, where both to one pretend? [land: Behold two nations then, engag'd so far, Who only can his vast designs withstand. See how he feeds th' Iberian with delays, To render us his timely friendship vain: And while his secret soul on Flanders preys, He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain. Such deep designs of empire does he lay O'er them, whose cause he seems to take in hand; And prudently would make them lords at sea, To whom with ease he can give laws by land. This saw our king; and long within his breast His pensive counsels balanc'd to and fro: He griev'd the land he freed should be oppress'd, And he less for it than usurpers do. His generous mind the fair ideas drew Of fame and honour, which in dangers lay; He first survey'd the charge with careful eyes, At length resolv'd t' assert the watery ball, It seems as every ship their sovereign knows, To see this fleet upon the ocean move, Whether they unctuous exhalations are, Fir'd by the Sun, or seeming so alone; Or each some more remote and slippery star, Which loses footing when to mortals shown: Or one, that bright companion of the Sun, New influence from his walks of light did bring. Victorious York did first with fam'd success, To his known valour make the Dutch give place: Thus Heaven our monarch's fortune did confess, Beginning conquest from his royal race. But since it was decreed, auspicious king, In Britain's right that thou shouldst wed the main, Heaven, as a gage, would cast some precious thing, And therefore doom'd that Lawson should be slain. Lawson amongst the foremost met his fate, Whom sea-green Sirens from the rocks lament: Thus as an offering for the Grecian state, He first was kill'd who first to battle went. Their chief blown up in air, not waves, expir'd, To which his pride presum'd to give the law: The Dutch confess'd Heaven present, and retir'd, And all was Britain the wide ocean saw. To nearest ports their shatter'd ships repair, Where by our dreadful cannon they lay aw'd: So reverently men quit the open air, When thunder speaks the angry gods abroad. And now approach'd their fleet from India fraught, Like hunted castors, conscious of their store, Their way-laid wealth to Norway's coasts they bring: There first the North's cold bosom spices bore, By the rich scent we found our perfum'd prey, Fiercer than cannon, and than rocks more hard, The English undertake th' unequal war: Seven ships alone, by which the port is barr'd, Besiege the Indies, and all Denmark dare. These fight like husbands, but like lovers those : These fain would keep, and those more fain enjoy: And to such height their frantic passion grows, That what both love, both hazard to destroy. Amidst whole heaps of spices lights a ball, And though by tempests of the prize bereft, In Heaven's inclemency some ease we find: Our foes we vanquish'd by our valour left, And only yielded to the seas and wind. Nor wholly lost we so deserv'd a prey; For storms, repenting, part of it restor❜d: Which, as a tribute from the Baltic sea, The British ocean sent her mighty lord. Go, mortals, now and vex yourselves in vain For wealth, which so uncertainly must come: When what was brought so far, and with such pain, Was only kept to lose it nearer home. The son, who twice three months on th' ocean tost, Such are the proud designs of human-kind, The undistinguish'd seeds of good and ill, Let Munster's prelate ever be accurst, In whom we seek the German faith in vain : Happy, who never trust a stranger's will, Till now, alone the mighty nations strove; The rest, at gaze, without the lists did stand; And threatening France, plac'd like a painted Jove, Kept idle thunder in his lifted hand. That eunuch guardian of rich Holland's trade, Who envies us what he wants power t' enjoy; Whose noiseful valour does no foe invade, And weak assistance will his friends destroy. Offended that we fought without his leave, With France, to aid the Dutch, the Danes unite: They silently confess that one more brave. Lewis had chas'd the English from his shore; But Charles the French as subjects does invite: Would Heaven for each some Solomon restore, Who, by their mercy, may decide their right! Were subjects so but only by their choice, And not from birth did forc'd dominion take, Our prince alone would have the public voice; And all his neighbours' realms would deserts make. He without fear a dangerous war pursues, Which without rashness he began before: As honour made him first the danger choose, So still he makes it good on virtue's score. The doubled charge his subjects' love supplies, And in his plenty their abundance find. With equal power he does two chiefs create, Since both had found a greater in their own. Both great in courage, conduct, and in fame, The prince long time had courted Fortune's love, The duke beheld, like Scipio, with disdain, That Carthage, which he ruin'd, rise once more; And shook aloft the fasces of the main, Both furl their sails, and strip them for the fight; Borne each by other in a distant line, The sea-built forts in dreadful order move: Now pass'd, on either side they nimbly tack; On high-rais'd decks the haughty Belgians ride, And as the built, so different is the fight: Their mounting shot is on our sails design'd; Deep in their hulls our deadly bullets light, And through the yielding planks a passage find. Our dreaded admiral from far they threat, Whose batter'd rigging their whole war receives: All bare, like some old oak which tempests beat, He stands, and sees below his scatter'd leaves. Heroes of old, when wounded, shelter sought; But he who meets all danger with disdain, Ev'n in their face his ship to anchor brought, And steeple-high stood propt upon the main. At this excess of courage, all amaz'd, The foremost of his foes a while withdraw: And now, as where Patroclus' body lay, To fright those slaves with what they felt be- Ours o'er the duke their pious wings display, Together to the watery camp they haste, Whom matrons passing to their children show: Infants' first vows for them to Heaven are cast, And future people bless them as they go. With them no riotous pomp, nor Asian train, Diffusive of themselves, where'er they pass, And does its image on their men project. Our fleet divides, and straight the Dutch appear, The duke, less numerous, but in courage more, And bloody crosses on his flag-staffs rise. And theirs the noblest spoils of Britain seek. Meantime his busy mariners he hastes, His shatter'd sails with rigging to restore; Straight to the Dutch he turns his dreadful prow, They charge, recharge, and all along the sea Did a like fate with lost Creüsa meet. The night comes on, we eager to pursue |