Ambition lofe, and have no other scope,
Save Carlifle's favour, to employ their hope.
The Thracian (1) could (though all those tales were

true

The bold Greeks tell) no greater wonders do:
Before his feet fo fheep and lions lay,

Fearless and wrathlefs while they heard him play.
The gay, the wife, the gallant, and the grave,
Subdu'd alike, all but one paffion have :
No worthy mind but finds in her's there is
Something proportion'd to the rule of his :
While the with cheerful, but impartial grace,
(Born for no one, but to delight the race
Of men) like Phobais fo divides her light,
And warms us, that the ftoops not from her height.

XI.

ON MY

LADY DOROTHY SYDNEY'S PICTURE.
SUCH was Philoclea, and fuch Dorus' (2) flame!
The matchlefs Sydney (3), that immortal frame
Of perfect beauty, on two pillars plac'd,
Not his high fancy could one pattern, grac'd
With fuch extremes of excellence, compofe
Wonders fo diftant in one face difclofe!
Such cheerful modefty, fuch hunible flate,
Moves certain love, but with as doubtful fate
As when, beyond our greedy reach, we fee
Inviting fruit on too fublime a tree.

All the rich flow'rs through his Arcadia found,
Amaz'd we fee in this one garland bound.
Had but this copy (which the artist took
From the fair picture of that noble book)
Stord at Kalander's,the brave friends(4) had jarr'd,
And, rivals made, th' enfuing ftory marr'd.
Juft Nature, firft inftructed by his thought,
In his own houfe thus practis'd what he taught.
This glorious piece tranfcends what he could
think,

So much his bloed is nobler than his ink!

XII.

AT PENSHURST.

HAD Dorothea liv'd when mortals made
Choice of their deities, this facred shade
Had held an altar to her pow'r that gave
The peace and glory which these allies have;
Embroider'd fo with flowers where fe ftood,
That it became a garden of a wood.
Her prefence has fuch more than human grace,
'That it can civilize the rudeft place;
And beauty too, and order, can impart,
Where Nature ne'er intended it, nor art.
The plants acknowledge this, and her admite,
No lefs than thofe of old did Orpheus' lyre.

the fit down, with tops all tow'rds her bow'd,
They round about her into arbours crowd;
Or if the walk, in even ranks they ftand,
Like fome well marshall'd and obfequious band.
Amphien fo made ftones and timber leap
Into fair figures froni a confus'd heap:

(1) Orpheur. (2) Pamela, 44) Pylucics and Mundorus,

(3) Sir Pallip Sydney.

And in the symmetry' of her parts is found
A pow'r like that of harmony in found.

Ye lofty Beeches! tell this matchless dame,
That if together ye fed all one flame,
It could not equalize the hundredth part
Of what her eyes have kindled in my heart!-
Go, Boy, and carve this paffion on the bark
Of yonder tree, which ftands the facred mark
Of noble Sydney's birth; when fuch benign,
Such more than mortal-making ftars did fhine,
That there they cannot but for ever prove
The monument and pledge of humble love;
His humble love whofe hope fhall se'er rise higher
Than for a pardon that he dares admire.

WHO CAN SLEEP WHEN SHE PLEASES.

No wonder fleep from careful lovers flies,
To bathe himself in Sachariffa's eyes.
As fair Aftrea once from earth to heav'n,
By ftrife and loud impiety was driv'n;
So with our plaints offended, and our tears,
Wife Somnas to that paradife repairs;
Waits on her will, and wretches does forfake,
To court the nymph for whom those wretches
wake.

More proud than Phoebus of his throne of gold,
Is the foft God thofe fofter limbs to hold;
Nor would exchange with Jove, to hide the skies
In dark'ning clouds, the pow'r to close her eyes;
Eyes which fo far all other lights control,
They warm our mortal parts, but these our foul!

Let her free spirit, whofe unconquer'd breaft
Holds fuch deep quiet and untroubled rest,
Know that though Venus and her fon fhould spare
Her rebel heart, and never teach her care,
Yet Hymen may in force his vigils keep,
And for another's joy fufpend her fleep.

XIV.

OF THE MISREPORT

OF HER BEING PAINTED.

As when a fort of wolves infeft the night
With their wild howlings at fair Cynthia's light,
The noise may chafe fweet flumber from our eyes,
But never reach the mistress of the skies;
So with the news of Sachariffa's wrongs,
Her vexed fervants blame thofe envious tongues;
Call Love to witnefs that no painted fire
Can fcorch men fo, or kindle fuch defire;
While, unconcerned, the feems mov'd no more
With this new malice than our loves before;
But from the height of her great mind looks dowɛ
On both our paffions, without fmile or frown.
Sa little care of what is done below
Hath the bright dame whom Heav'n affecteth fo
Paints her, 'tis true, with the fame hand which
spreads

Like glorious colours through the flow'ry meads
When lavish Nature, with her beft attire,
Clothes the gay spring, the seafon of defire.

Paints her, 'tis true, and does her cheek adorn
With the fame art wherewith the paints the morn;
With the fame art wherewith the gilded fo
Thofe painted clouds which form Thaumantias' bow.
XV.

OF HER PASSING

THROUGH A CROWD OF PEOPLE.

As in old chaos (heav'n with earth confus'd,
And stars with rocks together crush'd and bruis'd)
The fun bis light no further could extend
Than the next hill, which on his fhoulders lean'd;
So in this throng bright Sacharissa far'd,
Opprefs'd by those who ftrove to be her guard;
As fhips, though never so obfequious, fall
Foul in a tempeft on their admiral.
A greater favour this diforder brought
Unto her fervants than their awful thought
Durft entertain; when thus compell'd, they preft
The yielding marble of her snowy breast.
While love infults, disguised in the cloud
And welcome force of that unruly crowd.
So th' amorous tree, while yet the air is calm,
Juft diftance keeps from his defired palm;
But when the wind her ravish'd branches throws
Into his arms, and mingles all their boughs,
Though loth he seems her tender leaves to press,
More loth he is that friendly ftorm fhould cease,
From whofe rude bounty he the double use
At once receives, of pleasure and excufe.

XVL

THE STORY OF

PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE

APPLIED.

XVII.

Haud Deus ipfe olim Daphni majora canebat ;
Nec fuit afperior Daphne, nec pulchrior illa:
Carminus Phobo dignis premit ille fugacem
Per rupes, per faxa, volans per florida vates
Pafcua: formofam nunc his componere nympham,
Nunc illis crudelem infanâ mente folebat.
Audiit illa procul miferum, cytharamque fonan-
Audiît, at nullis refpexit mota querelis!
(tem;
Ne tamen omnino caneret defertus, ad alta
Sidera perculfi referunt nova carmina montes.
Sic, non quæfitus cumulatus laudibus, olim
Elapfâ reperit Daphne fua laurea Phoebus,

XVIII.

AT PENSHURST.

WHILE in this park 1 fing, the lift'ning deer
Attend my paffion, and forget to fear;
When to the beeches I report my flame,
They bow their heads, as if they felt the fame.
To gods appealing, when I reach their bow'rs
With loud complaints, they answer me in fhow'rs.
To thee a wild and cruel foul is giv'n, [heav'n!
More deaf than trees, and prouder than the
Love's foe profefs'd! why doft thou falfely feign
Thyfelf a Sydney? from which noble train
He sprung (a), that could so far exalt the name
Of Love, and warm our nation with his flame;
That all we can of love or high defire
Seems but the fmoke of am'rous Sydney's fire,
Nor call her mother who fo well does prove
One breast may hold both chastity and love,
Never can fhe, that fo exceeds the spring
In joy and bounty, be suppos'd to bring
One fo deftructive. To no human ftock
We owe this fierce unkindness, but the rock,
That cloven rock produc'd thee, by whofe fide
Nature, to recompenfe the fatal pride

Of fuch ftern beauty, plac'd those healing springs(b)
Which not more help than that destruction brings.
Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone,

I might, like Orpheus, with my num'rous moan
Melt to compaffion: now my trait'rous fong
With thee confpires to do the finger wrong;
While thus I fuffer not myself to lofe
The memory of what augments my woes;
But with my own breath still foment the fire,
Which flames as high as fancy can aspire!

This last complaint th' indulgent ears did pierce Of juft Apollo, prefident of verfe; Highly concerned that the Mufe fhould bring Damage to one whom he had taught to fing: Thus he advis'd me: “On yon' aged tree "Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the fea, "That there with wonders thy diverted mind "Some truce, at least, may with this paflion find.”. Ah, cruel Nymph! from whom her humble swain Flies for relief into the raging main,

And from the winds and tempests does expect
A milder fate than from her cold neglect!
Yet there he'll pray that the unkind may prove
Bleft in her choice; and vows this endless love
Springs from no hope of what she can confer,
But from those gifts which heav'n has heap'd on ke
(b) Tunbridge Wells
(4) Sir Philip Sydney.

Fij

For in vain to either breaft
Still beguiled Love does come,
'Where he finds a foreign guest,
Neither of your hearts at home.
Debtors thus with like defign,
When they never mean to pay,
That they may the law decline,
To fome friend make all away.

Not the filver doves that fly,
Yok'd in Cytherea's car,
Not the wings that lift fo high,
And convey her fon so far,

Are fo lovely, fweet, and fair,
Or do more ennoble love;
Are fo choicely match'd a pair,.
Or with more confent do move.

XX.

A LA MALADE.

Au, lovely Amoret! the care
Of all that know what's good or fair!
Is heav'n become our rival too?
Had the rich gifts conferr'd on you
So amply thence, the common end
Of giving lovers--to pretend?

Hence to this pining ficknefs (meant
To weary thee to a confent
Of leaving us) no pow'r is giv'n
Thy beauties to impair; for Heav'n
Solicits thee with fuch a care,
As rofes from their stalks we tear,
When we would ftill preserve them new
And fresh as on the bush they grew.

With fuch a grace you entertain, And look with fuch contempt on pain, That, languishing, you conquer more, And wound us deeper than before. So lightnings which in ftorms appear, Scorch more than when the fkies are clear.

And as pale fickness does invade Your frailer part, the breaches made In that fair lodging, ftill more clear Make the bright gueft, your foul, appear. So nymphs o'er pathlefs mountains borne, Their light robes by the brambles torn, From their fair limbs, expofing new And unknown beauties to the view

Of following gods, increase their flame, And hafte to catch the flying game,

XXI.

UPON THE DEATH

OF MY LADY RICH.

MAY thofe already curs'd Effexian plains,
Where hafty death and pining fickness reigns,
Prove all a defert! and none there make stay,
But favage beafts, or men as wild as they !
There the fair light which all our island grac❜d,
Like Hero's taper in the window plac'd,
Such fate from the malignant air did find,
As that exposed to the boift'rous wind.

Ah, cruel Heav'n! to fnatch fo foon away
Her for whofe life, had we had time to pray,
With thousand vows and tears we fhould have

fought

That fad decree's fufpenfion to have wrought.
But we, alas! no whisper of her pain
Heard, till 'twas fin to with her here again.
That horrid word, at once, like lightning fpread,
Strook all our ears,-The Lady Rich is dead!
Heart-rending news! and dreadful to those few
Who her resemble, and her steps purfue;

That Death fhould licenfe have to range among
The fair, the wife, the virtuous, and the young!

The Paphian Queen (1) from that fierce battle
With gored hand, and veil fo rudely torn, [borne,
Like terror did among th' immortals breed,
Taught by her wound that goddeffes may bleed.
All ftand amazed! but beyond the rest
Th' heroic dame (2) whofe happy womb she bleft,
Mov'd with just grief, expoftulates with Heav'n,
Urging the promise to th' obfequious giv❜n,
Of longer life; for ne'er was pious foul
More apt t' obey, more worthy to control.
A skilful eye at once might read the race
Of Caledonian monarchs in her face,
And fweet humility: her look and mind
At once were lofty, and at once were kind.
There dwelt the fcorn of vice, and pity too,
For thofe that did what she disdain'd to do:
So gentle and fevere, that what was bad,
At once her hatred and her pardon had.
Gracious to all; but where her love was due,
So faft, fo faithful, loyal, and fo true,
That a bold hand as foon might hope to force
The rolling lights of heav'n, as change her course.
Some happy angel, that beholds her there,
Inftruct us to record what fhe was here!
And when this cloud of forrow's overblown,
Through the wide world we'll make her graces
known.

So fresh the wound is, and the grief fo vaft,
That all our art and pow'r of fpeech is waste.
Here paflion fways, but there the Muse shall raise
Eternal monuments of louder praise.

There our delight complying with her fame,
Shall have occafion to recite thy name,
Fair Sacharifla—and now only fair!
To facred friendship we'll an altar rear,

(1) Venus, (2) Christian Countess of Devonshire

(Such as the Romans did erect of old)
Where on a marble pillar fhall be told
The lovely paffion each to other bare,
With the refemblance of that matchless pair.
Narciffus to the thing for which he pin'd
Was not more like than your's to her fair mind,
Save that she grac'd the fev'ral parts of life,
A fpotlefs virgin, and a faultlefs wife.

Such was the fweet converfe 'twixt her and you,
As that he holds with her affociates now.

How falfe is Hope, and how regardless Fate,
That fuch a love fhould have fo fhort a date!
Lately I saw her, fighing, part from thee:
(Alas that the last farewell should be!)
So look'd Aftræa, her remove design'd,
On those diftreffed friends fhe left behind.
Consent in virtue knit your hearts so fast,
That still the knot, in spite of death, does last ;
For as your tears, and forrow-wounded foul,
Prove well that on your part this bond is whole,
So all we know of what they do above,
Is that they happy are, and that they love.
Let dark oblivion, and the hollow grave,
Content themselves our frailer thoughts to have :"
Well chofen love is never taught to die,
But with our nobler part invades the sky.
Then grieve no more that one so heav'nly shap'd,
The crooked hand of trembling age escap'd :
Rather, fince we beheld her not decay,
But that the vanish'd so entire away,
Her wondrous beauty and her goodness merit
We should suppose that some propitious spirit
In that celeftial form frequented here,
And is not dead, but ceases to appear.

XXII.

OF LOVE.

ANGER, in hafty words or blows,
Itfelf discharges on our foes;
And forrow too, finds fome relief
In tears, which wait upon our grief:
So ev'ry paffion, but fond love,
Unto its own redress does move;
But that alone the wretch inclines
To what prevents his own designs;
Makes him lament, and figh, and weep,
Disorder'd, tremble, fawn, and creep;
Postures which render him defpis'd,
Where he endeavours to be priz'd.
For women, (born to be control'd)
Stoop to the forward and the bold;
Affect the haughty and the proud,
The gay, the frolic and the loud.
Who first the gen'rous steed oppreft,
Not kneeling did falute the beast;
But with high courage, life, and force,
Approaching, tam'd th' unruly horfe.
Unwifely we the wifer Eaft
Pity, fuppofing them oppreft
With tyrants' force, whofe law is will,
By which they govern, fpoil, and kill :
Each nymph, but moderately fair,
Commands with no less rigour here.
Should fome brave Turk, that walks among
His twenty laffes, bright and young,

And beckons to the willing dame,
Preferr'd to quench his present flame,
Behold as many gallants here,
With modeft guise and filent fear,
All to one female idol bend,

While her high pride does fcarce defcend
To mark their follies, he would fwear
That these her guard of eunuchs were,
And that a more magestic queen,
Or humbler flaves, he had not feen.
All this with indignation spoke,
In vain I struggled with the yoke
Of mighty Love: that conq'ring look,
When next beheld, like lightning strook
My blafted foul, and made me bow
Lower than those I pity'd now.

So the tall ftag, upon the brink
of fome smooth stream about to drink,
Surveying there his armed head,
With fhame remembers that he fled
The fcorned dogs, refolves to try
The combat next; but if their cry
Invades again his trembling ear,
He ftrait refumes his wonted care,
Leaves the untasted spring behind,
And, wing'd with fear, outflies the wind.

XXIII.

FOR DRINKING OF HEALTHS. LET brutes and vegetals, that cannot think, So far as drought and nature urges, drink; A more indulgent miftrefs guides our fp'rite, Reason, that dares beyond our appetites: She would our care as well as thirst redress, And with divinity rewards excess. Deferted Ariadne, thus fupply'd, Did perjur'd Thefeus' cruelty deride: Bacchus embrac'd, from her exalted thought Banish'd the man, her paffion and his fault. Bacchus and Phoebus are by Jove ally'd, And each by other's timely heat fupply'd: All that the grapes owe to his rip'ning fires Is paid in numbers which their juice infpires. Wine fills the veins, and healths are understood To give our friends a title to our blood; Who, naming me, doth warm his courage fo, Shews for my fake what his bold hand would do.

eyes:

Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize,
And acts herself the triumph of her
So Nero once, with harp in hand, furvey'd
His flaming Rome, and as it burn'd he play'd.

XXV.

OF MRS. ARDEN.

BEHOLD, and liften, while the fair
Breaks in fweet founds the willing air,
And with her own breath fans the fire,
Which her bright eyes do first inspire.
What reason can that love control,
Which more than one way courts the foul?
So when a flash of lightning falls
On our abodes, the danger calls
For human aid, which hopes the flame
To conquer, though from heav'n it came
But if the winds with that confpire,
Men ftrive not, but deplore the fire.

XXVI.

OF THE

MARRIAGE OF THE DWARFS. DESIGN or Chance makes others wive, But Nature did this match contrive: Eve might as well have Adam fled, As the deny'd her little bed

To him, for whom Heav'n feem'd to frame And measure out this only dame.

Thrice happy is that humble pair,

Beneath the level of all care!
Over whose heads those arrows fly
Of fad distrust and jealousy;
Secured in as high extreme.
As if the world held none but them.

To him the fairest nymphs do fhew
Like moving mountains topp'd with snow;
And ev'ry man a Polypheme
Does to his Galatca feem:

None may prefume her faith to prove;
He proffers death that proffers love.

Ah! Chloris! that kind Nature thus
From all the world had fever'd us;
Creating for ourselves us two,
As Love has me for only you!

XXVIL

LOVE'S FAREWELL. TREADING the path to nobler ends, A long farewell to love I gave, Refolv'd my country and my friends All that remain'd of me fhould have.

And this refolve no mortal dame,

None but thofe eyes could have o'erthrown; 'The nymph I dare not, need not name, So high, fo like herself alone.

Thus the tall oak, which now aspires
Above the fear of private fires,
Grown and defign'd for nobler use,
Not to make warm, but build the house,

Though from our meaner fames fecure, Muft that which falls from heav'n endure,

XXVIII.

FROM A CHILD.
MADAM, as in fome climes the warmer fun
Makes it full fummer e'er the fpring's begun,
And with ripe fruit the bending boughs can load,
Before our violets dare look abroad;

So measure not by any common use
The early love your brighter eyes produce.
When lately your fair hand in woman's weed
Wrapp'd my glad head, I wifh'd me fo indeed,
That hafty time might never make me grow
Out of those favours you afford me now;
That I might ever fuch indulgence find,
And you not blush, or think yourfelf too kind;
Who now, I fear, while I thefe joys exprefs,
Begin to think how you may make them lefs.
The found of love makes your foft heart afraid
And guard itfelf, though but a child invade,
And innocently at your white breast throw
A dart as white, a ball of new-fall'n fnow.

XXIX.

ON A GIRDLE. THAT which her flender waift confin'd, Shall now my joyful temples bind : No monarch but would give his crown, His arms might do what this has done.

It was my heav'n's extremeft fphere, The pale which held that lovely deer. My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, Did all within this circle move!

A narrow compass and yet there Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair; Give me but what this riband bound, Take all the reft the fun goes round.

XXX. THE FALL.

SEE! how the willing earth gave way,
To take th' impreffion where the lay.
See! how the mould, as loth to leave
So fweet a burden, ftill doth cleave
Close to the nymph's ftain'd garment. Here
The coming fpring would firit appear,
And all this place with roses ftrow,
If bufy feet would let them grow.

Here Venus fmil'd to fee blind Chance
Itfelf before her fon advance,
And a fair image to prefent,
Of what the Boy fo long had meant.
'Twas fuch a chance as this made all
The world into this order fall;
Thus the first lovers, on the clay,
Of which they were composed, lay.
So in their prime, with equal grace,
Met the first patterns of our race.

Then bluth not, Fair! or on him frown,
Or wonder how you both came down;
But touch him, and he'll tremble strait;
How could he then fupport your weight?