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Her every day was fabbath; only free
From hours of prayer, for hours of charity.
Such as the Jews from fervile toil releas'd;
Where works of mercy were a part of reft;
Such as bleft angels exercise above,
Vary'd with facred hymns and acts of love:
Such fabbaths as that one fhe now enjoys,
Ev'n that perpetual one, which the employs
(For fuch viciflitudes in heaven there are)
In praise alternate, and alternate prayer.
All this fhe practis'd here; that when she sprung
Amidst the choirs, at the first fight fhe fung:
Sung, and was fung herself in angels lays;
For, praifing her, they did her Maker praise.
All offices of heaven fo well fhe knew,
Before fhe came, that nothing there was new:
And fhe was fo familiarly receiv'd,

As one returning, not as one arriv'd.

Mufe, down again precipitate thy flight:
For how can mortal eyes sustain immortal light?
But as the fun in water we can bear,

Yet not the fun, but his reflexion there,
So let us view her, here, in what she was,
And take her image in this watery glass:
Yet look not every lineament to fee;
Some will be caft in fhades, and fome will be
So lamely drawn, you'll fcarcely know, 'tis fhe.
For where fuch various virtues we recite,

'Tis like the milky-way, all over bright, But fown fo thick with ftars, 'tis undiftinguifh'd light.




Her virtue, not her virtues let us call;
For one heroic comprehends them all:
One, as a conftellation is but one,

Though 'tis a train of stars, that, rolling on,
Rife in their turn, and in the zodiac run:
Ever in motion; now 'tis faith ascends,
Now hope, now charity, that upward tends,
And downwards with diffufive good defcends.
As in perfumes compos'd with art and coft,
"Tis hard to say what scent is uppermost;
Nor this part musk or civet can we call,
Or amber, but a rich result of all;

So fhe was all a sweet, whofe every part,

In due proportion mix'd, proclaim'd the Maker's art.
No fingle virtue we could most commend,
Whether the wife, the mother, or the friend;

For fhe was all, in that fupreme degree,
That as no one prevail'd, fo all was she.
The feveral parts lay hidden in the piece;
Th' occafion but exerted that, or this.

A wife as tender, and as true withal,
As the first woman was before her fall:
Made for the man, of whom she was a part;
Made, to attract his eyes, and keep his heart.
A fecond Eve, but by no crime accurst;
As beauteous, not as brittle as the firft.
Had fhe been firft, ftill Paradife had been,
And death had found no entrance by her fin.
So fhe not only had preserv'd from ill
Her fex and ours, but liv'd their pattern ftill,

Love and obedience to her lord she bore;

She much obey'd him, but she lov'd him more:
Not aw'd to duty by fuperior fway,

But taught by his indulgence to obey.

Thus we love God, as author of our good;

So fubjects love juft kings, or fo they should.
Nor was it with ingratitude return'd;

In equal fires the blissful couple burn'd;

One joy poffefs'd them both, and in one grief they mourn'd.

His paffion ftill improv'd; he lov'd so fast,

As if he fear'd each day would be her last.
Too true a prophet to foresee the fate

That should fo foon divide their happy state:
When he to heaven entirely must restore

That love, that heart, where he went halves before.
Yet as the foul is all in every part,

So God and he might each have all her heart.
So had her children too; for charity

Was not more fruitful, or more kind than she:
Each under other by degrees they grew;
A goodly perspective of diftant view.
Anchises look'd not with fo pleas'd a face,
In numbering o'er his future Roman race,
And marshaling the heroes of his name,
Ás, in their order, next, to light they came.
Nor Cybele, with half so kind an eye,
Survey'd her fons and daughters of the sky;
Proud, fhall I fay, of her immortal fruit?
As far as pride with heavenly minds

N 2




Her pious love excell'd to all she bore;
New objects only multiply'd it more.
And as the chofen found the pearly grain
As much as every veffel could contain;
As in the blifsful vifion each shall share
As much of glory as his foul can bear;
So did fhe love, and fo difpenfe her care.
Her eldeft thus, by confequence, was best,
As longer cultivated than the reft.

The babe had all that infant care beguiles,
And early knew his mother in her smiles:
But when dilated organs let in day

To the young foul, and gave it room to play,
At his first aptness, the maternal love
Thofe rudiments of reafon did improve:
The tender age was pliant to command;
Like wax it yielded to the forming hand:
True to th' artificer, the labour'd mind
With ease was pious, generous, just, and kind;
Soft for impreffion, from the first prepar'd,
Till virtue with long exercise grew hard:
With every act confirm'd, and made at last
So durable as not to be effac'd,

It turn'd to habit; and, from vices free,
Goodness refolv'd into neceffity.

Thus fix'd the virtue's image, that's her own,
Till the whole mother in the children fhone;
For that was their perfection; she was such,
They never could exprefs her mind too much.


So unexhaufted her perfections were,

That, for more children, fhe had more to spare;
For fouls unborn, whom her untimely death
Depriv'd of bodies, and of mortal breath;
And (could they take th' impreffions of her mind)
Enough still left to fanctify her kind.

Then wonder not to fee this foul extend
The bounds, and feek fome other felf, a friend :
As fwelling feas to gentle rivers glide,

To feek repose, and empty out the tide;
So this full foul, in narrow limits pent,
Unable to contain her, fought a vent,
To issue out, and in some friendly breaft
Discharge her treasures, and fecurely rest:
T'unbofom all the fecrets of her heart,
Take good advice, but better to impart.
For 'tis the blifs of friendship's holy ftate,
To mix their minds, and to communicate;
Though bodies cannot, fouls can penetrate:
Fixt to her choice, inviolably true,

And wifely choofing, for fhe chofe but few.
Some she must have; but in no one could find
A tally fitted for fo large a mind.

The fouls of friends like kings in progrefs are;
Still in their own, though from the palace far:
Thus her friend's heart her country dwelling was,
A fweet retirement to a coarfer place;

Where pomp and ceremonies enter'd not,

Where greatness was shut out, and business well forgot.

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