Then shall the wretched few, that do repine, See and recant their blasphemies in wine; Then shall they grieve, that thought I've sung too free, High and aloud of thy true worth and thee, And their fowl heresies and lips submit To th' all-forgiving breath of Amoret; And me alone their angers object call, That from my height so miserably did fall; And crie out my invention thin and poor, Who have said nought, since I could say no more. <85.1> Charles Cotton the younger, Walton's friend. He was born on the 28th of April, 1630. He married, in 1656, Isabella, daughter of Sir Thomas Hutchinson, of Owthorp, co. Notts, Knight. See Walton's ANGLER, ed. 1760, where a life of Cotton, compiled from the notes of the laborious Oldys, will be found. The poet died in 1687, and, two years later, his miscellaneous verses were printed in an octavo volume. <85.2> i.e. the shadow of myself. <85.3> A crime, from the Latin PIACULUM which, from meaning properly AN ATONEMENT, was afterwards used to express WHAT REQUIRED an atonement, i.e. an offence or sin. <85.4> The sky in the early part of the morning, before it is clouded by mists. <85.5> Phaeton. <85.6> 0riginal reads, OF MILLIONS BROKEN MORE. The above is certainly preferable; but the reader may judge for himself. It should be borne in mind that the second part of LUCASTA was not even printed during the poet's life. If he had survived to republish the first portion, and to revise the second perhaps we should have had a better text. ADVICE TO MY BEST BROTHER, COLL: FRANCIS LOVELACE.<86.1> Frank, wil't live unhandsomely? trust not too far Thy self to waving seas: for what thy star, Calculated by sure event, must be, Look in the glassy-epithete,<86.2> and see. Yet settle here your rest, and take your state, And in calm halcyon's nest ev'n build your fate; Prethee lye down securely, Frank, and keep With as much no noyse the inconstant deep As its inhabitants; nay, stedfast stand, As if discover'd were a New-found-land, Fit for plantation here. Dream, dream still, Lull'd in Dione's cradle; dream, untill Horrour awake your sense, and you now find Your self a bubbled pastime for the wind; And in loose Thetis blankets torn and tost. Frank, to undo thy self why art at cost? Nor be too confident, fix'd on the shore: For even that too borrows from the store Of her rich neighbour, since now wisest know (And this to Galileo's judgement ow), The palsie earth it self is every jot As frail, inconstant, waveing, as that blot We lay upon the deep, that sometimes lies Chang'd, you would think, with 's botoms properties; But this eternal, strange Ixion's wheel Of giddy earth ne'er whirling leaves to reel, Till all things are inverted, till they are Turn'd to that antick confus'd state they were.