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As in fortune's worst distress
To believe thy promises;
Which so brave a change foretold,
Such a stream of happiness,

Such mountain hopes of glitt'ring gola,
Such honours, friendships, offices,
In love and arms so great success;
That I e'en hugg'd myself with the conceit,
Was myself party in the cheat,

And in my very bosom laid

That fatal Hope by which I was betray'd,
Thinking myself already rich and great :
And in that foolish thought despis'd
Th' advice of those who out of love advis'd;
As I'd foreseen what they did not foresee,
A torrent of felicity,

And rudely laugh'd at those, who pitying wept for me.

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But of this expectation, when't came to❜t,
What was the fruit?

In sordid robes poor disappointment came,
Attended by her handmaids, grief and shame;
No wealth, no titles, no friend could I see,
For they still court prosperity,

Nay, what was worst of what mischance could do,
My dearest love forsook me too;

My pretty love, with whom, had she been true,
Even in banishment,

I could have liv'd most happy and content,
Her sight which nourish't me withdrew,
I then, although too late, perceiv'd
I was by flattering Hope deceiv'd,
And call'd for it t' expostulate
The treachery and foul deceit :
But it was then quite fled away,
And gone some other to betray,
Leaving me in a state

By much more desolate,
Than if when first attack't by fate,
I had submitted there

And made my courage yield unto despair.
For Hope, like cordials, to our wrong
Does but our miseries prolong,

Whilst yet our vitals daily waste,

And not supporting life, but pain,

Call their false friendships back again,

And unto death, grim death, abandon us at last.

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Nor is there any thing below

Worth a man's wishing, or his care,
When what we wish begets our wo,

And Hope deceiv'd becomes despair.
Then, thou seducing Hope, farewell,
No more thou shalt of sense bereave me,
No more deceive me,

I now can countercharm thy spell,

And for what's past, so far I will be even,
Never again to hope for any thing but Heaven."

For the same reason the conclusion of his Ode to Melancholy ought not to be omitted :

"Go, foolish soul, and wash thee white,

Be troubled for thine own misdeeds
That heav'nly sorrow comfort breeds.

And true contrition turns delight.
Let princes thy past services forget,

Let dear-bought friends thy foes become,

Though round with misery thou art beset,

With scorn abroad and poverty at home,
Keep yet thy hands but clear, and conscience pure,
And all the ills thou shalt endure
Will on thy worth such lustre set

As shall outshine the brightest coronet.
And men at last will be asham'd to see,

That still,

For all their malice, and malicious skill,

Thy mind revive as it was us'd to be,

And that they have disgrac't themselves to honor thee."

Similar pathos and sensibility are apparent in many other of Cotton's pieces, particularly in his Quatrains on Morning, Noon, and Evening; his Hymn on Christmas Day; his verses on The World, on Death, and on Contentment; and more particularly in his stanzas on Retirement, addressed to Izaak Walton. The extracts from Cotton's poems will be concluded with his "Contentation," which he also addressed to Walton; but it must first be observed that justice to his fame as a poet, as well as to his personal character, renders it very desirable that the more valuable of his productions should be reprinted. That the public would appreciate the collection is almost certain; for the late Mr Coleridge, when speaking of Waller's song, "Go, lovely Rose, &c.," has truly observed, "If I had happened to have had by me the Poems of Cotton, more but far less deservedly celebrated as the author of Virgil Travestied, I should have indulged myself, and I think have gratified many who are not acquainted with his serious works, by selecting some admirable specimens of this style. There are not a few of his poems replete with every excellence of thought, images and passions which we expect or desire in the poetry of the milder muse; and yet so worded, that the reader sees no one reason either in the selection or the order of the

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words, why he might not have said the very same in an appropriate conversation, and cannot conceive how indeed he could have expressed such thoughts otherwise, without loss or injury to his meaning." 8

"CONTENTATION.

DIRECTED TO MY DEAR FATHER, AND MOST WORTHY FRIEND,
MR IZAAC WALTON.

HEAV'N, what an age is this! what race
Of giants are sprung up, that dare
Thus fly in the Almighty's face,
And with his providence make war!

I can go no where but I meet

With malcontents, and mutineers, As if in life was nothing sweet And we must blessings reap in tears.

O senseless man, that murmurs still For happiness, and does not know, Even though he might enjoy his will, What he would have to make him so.

Is it true happiness to be

By undiscerning fortune plac't, In the most eminent degree,

Where few arrive, and none stand fast?

Titles and wealth are fortune's toils Wherewith the vain themselves ensnare! The great are proud of borrow'd spoils, The miser's plenty breeds his care.

The one supinely yawns at rest,
Th' other eternally doth toil,
Each of them equally a beast,

A pamper'd horse, or lab'ring moil.

The Titulado's oft disgrac'd,

By public hate, or private frown, And be whose hand the creature rais'd,

Has yet a foot to kick him down.

The drudge who would all get, all save, Like a brute beast both feeds, and lics, Prone to the earth, he digs his grave,

And in the very labour dies.

Excess of ill-got, ill-kept pelf,

Does only death, and danger breed, Whilst one rich worldling starves himself With what would thousand others feed.

By which we see what wealth and pow'r Although they make men rich and great, The sweets of life do often sour,

And gull ambition with a cheat.

Nor is he happier than these,
Who in a moderate estate,
Where he might safely live at ease,
Has lusts that are immoderate.

For he, by those desires misled,

Quits his own vine's securing shade, T'expose his naked, empty head

To all the storms man's peace invade. Nor is he happy who is trim,

Trick't up in favours of the fair, Mirrors, with every breath made dim, Birds caught in every wanton snare.

Woman, man's greatest woe, or bliss, + Does ofter far, than serve, enslave, And with the magic of a kiss

Destroys whom she was made to save.
Oh fruitful grief, the world's disease!
And vainer man to make it so,
Who gives his miseries increase
By cultivating his own woe.

There are no ills but what we make,
By giving shapes and names to things;
Which is the dangerous mistake

That causes all our sufferings.

We call that sickness, which is health, That persecution, which is grace; That poverty, which is true wealth, And that dishonour, which is praise.

Providence watches over all,

And that with an impartial eye, And if to misery we fall,

'Tis through our own infirmity.

'Tis want of foresight makes the bold
Ambitious youth to danger climb,
And want of virtue, when the old
At persecution do repine.

Alas, our time is here so short,

That in what state soe'er 'tis spent, Of joy or woe does not import, Provided it be innocent.

8 Biographia Literaria, vol. ii. p. 96.

But we may make it pleasant too,

If we will take our measures right, And not what Heav'n has done, undo By an unruly appetite.

'Tis Contentation that alone

Can make us happy here below, And when this little life is gone, Will lift us up to Heav'n too.

A very little satisfies

An honest, and a grateful heart, And who would more than will suffice, Does covet more than is his part.

That man is happy in his share,

Who is warm clad, and cleanly fed, Whose necessaries bound his care,

And honest labour makes his bed.

Who free from debt, and clear from crimes,
Honours those laws that others fear,
Who ill of princes in worst times
Will neither speak himself, nor hear.

Who from the busy world retires,
To be more useful to it still,
And to no greater good aspires,
But only the eschewing ill.

Who, with his angle, and his books,
Can think the longest day well spent,
And praises God when back he looks,
And finds that all was innocent.

This man is happier far than he
Whom public business oft betrays,
Through labyrinths of policy,

To crooked and forbidden ways.

The world is full of beaten roads,
But yet so slippery withall,
That where one walks secure, 'tis odds
A hundred and a hundred fall.
Untrodden paths are then the best,
Where the frequented are unsure,
And he comes soonest to his rest,
Whose journey has been most secure.

It is Content alone that makes

Our pilgrimage a pleasure here,
And who buys sorrow cheapest, takes
An ill commodity too dear.

But he has fortunes worst withstood,
And happiness can never miss,
Can covet nought, but where he stood,
And thinks him happy where he is."

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Several stories are related of Cotton's pecuniary distress, but though it is unquestionable that he generally laboured under embarrassments, and that he hints that he had occasionally concealed himself from his creditors, yet there is no better authority for the following anecdotes than tradition. Sir John Hawkins states that "a natural excavation in the rocky hill on which Beresford Hall stands, is shown as Mr Cotton's occasional refuge from the pursuit of his creditors; and but a few years since the granddaughter of the faithful woman who carried him food while in that humiliating retreat, was living ;" and he adds, that during Cotton's confinement on one occasion in a prison in the city, he inscribed these lines on the walls of his apartment :

"A prison is a place of cure
Wherein no one can thrive;
A touchstone sure to try a friend,
A grave for men alive."1

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Cotton's literary merits do not appear to be sufficiently appreciated at the present day, probably because the works by which he is best known are not calculated to create respect for his abilities, and because there is no popular or selected edition of his poems. As his prose writings consist almost entirely of translations

9 Life of Cotton, 382-3.

1 Ibid.

(and with the exception of Montaigne's Essays) of Memoirs of Warriors, whose deeds have been eclipsed by modern prowess, it is not surprising that his labours should be forgotten; but his biographer may refer to them as proofs that indolence at least was not among his faults.

It has been taken for granted that Cotton was at one period of - his life an author by profession, and that he lived by his pen;2 but those who have made this statement, could scarcely have read the prefaces to his publications, wherein he expressly says that he had lost much money by his writings, and that the expectation of gaining anything by them was always very much beneath his thoughts. The fact appears to be that he usually gave his manuscripts to his friend Henry Brome, who incurred the expense of their publication. This arrangement seems to have been sometimes attended with loss to his publisher, and to have produced disputes between them; for in his epistle to John Bradshaw, Esq., describing his journey from London to Beresford, he says

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"And now I'm here set down again in peace
After my troubles, business, voyages,
-The same dull northern clod I was before,
Gravely inquiring how ewes are a score,
How the hay-harvest, and the corn was got,
And if or no there's like to be a rot;
Just the same sot I was ere I remov'd,
Nor by my travel, nor the court improv'd;

-The same old-fashion'd squire, no whit refin'd,
And shall be wiser when the devil's blind:
But find all here too in the self-same state,
And now begin to live at the old rate,

To bub old ale, which nonsense does create,

- Write lewd epistles, and sometimes translate
- Old tales of tubs, of Guyenne, and Provence,
And keep a clutter with th' old blades of France
As D'Avenant did with those of Lombardy,
Which any will receive, but none will buy,
And that has set H. B. and me awry."

Cotton's conduct and character were naturally much influenced by the manners of his times, and by the political feelings of his party. He was generous, frank, and, in pecuniary matters, thoughtless, if not extravagant. A boon companion, and, like all the Cavaliers, a hater of those qualities, as well good as evil, which distinguished the Roundheads. As a son, a husband, a father, and a friend, he appears in an amiable light; and many of his contemporaries bear testimony to his social worth no less strongly than to his talents. His religious impressions appear from his serious writings to have been fervent and sincere; and

2 Vide his Life by Hawkins and others.

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