How could the youth, alas! but bend,
When his whole heav'n upon him lean'd?
If ought by him amifs were done,
"Twas that he let you rife fo foon.
Que fighs are heard; just heav'n declares
The fenfe it has of lovers' cares:
She that fo far the rest outshin'd,
Sylvia the fair, while fhe was kind,
As if her frowns impair'd her brow,
Seems only not unhandsome now.
So, when the sky makes us endure
A storm, itself becomes obfcure.
Hence 'tis that I conceal my flame,
Hiding from Flavia's felf her name,
Left fhe, provoking Heav'n, fhould prove
How it rewards neglected love.
Better a thousand fuch as I,
Their grief untold, should pine and die,
Than her bright morning, overcast
With fullen clouds, fhould be defac'd,
LATELY on yonder fwelling bush,
Big with many a coming rofe,
This early bud began to blush,
And did but half itself difclofe :
I pluck'd it though no better grown,
And now you fee how full 'tis blown.
Still as I did the leaves infpire,
With fuch a purple light they fhone,
As if they had been made of fire,
And fpreading fo would flame anon.
All that was meant by air or fun,
To the young flow'r, my breath has done.
If our loose breath so much can do,
What may the fame in forms of love,
Of pureft love and music too,
When Flavia it afpires to move?
When that which lifeless buds perfuades
To wax more foft, her youth invades ?
ON THE DISCOVERY
OF A LADY'S PAINTING.
PYGMALION's fate revers'd is mine;
His marble love took flesh and bloed :
All that I worshipp'd as divine,
That beauty! now 'tis understood
Appears to have no more of life
Than that whereof he fram'd his wife.
As women yet, who apprehend
Some fudden cause of causeless fear,
Although that feeming caufe take end,
And they behold no danger near,
A fhaking through their limbs they find,
Like leaves faluted by the wind:
So though the beauty do appear
No beauty, which amaz'd me so;
Yet from my breast I cannot tear
The paffion which from thence did grow;
Nor yet out of my fancy rafe
The print of that fuppofed face.
A real beauty, though too near,
The fond Narciffus did admire:
I dote on that which is no where;
The fign of beauty feeds my fire.
No mortal flame was e'er fo cruel
As this, which thus furvives the fuel!
OF LOVING AT FIRST SIGHT.
NOT caring to obferve the wind,
Or the new fea explore,
Snatch'd from myself, how far behind
Already I behold the shore!
May not a thousand dangers fleep
In the smooth bofom of this deep?
No: 'tis fo rockless and so clear,
That the rich bottom does appear
Pav'd all with precious things; not tors
From fhipwreck'd veffels, but there borne.
Sweetnefs, truth, and ev'ry grace,
Which time and ufe are wont to teach,
The cye may in a moment reach,
And read diftinctly in her face.
Some other nymphs with colours faint,
And pencil flow, may Cupid paint,
And a weak heart in time deftroy;
She has a ftamp, and prints the Boy:
Can with a fingle look inflame
The coldest breaft, the rudeft tame.
THE SELF-BANISHED.
It is not that I love you lefs,
Than when before your feet I lay;
But to prevent the fad increase
Of hopeless love, I keep away,
In vain, alas! for cv'ry thing
Which I have known belong to you,
Your form does to my fancy bring,
And makes my old wounds bleed anew.
Who in the fpring, from the new fun,
Already has a fever got,
Too late begins those shafts to shun,
Which Phoebus through his veins has shot:
Too late he would the pain affuage, And to thick fhadows does retire; About with him he bears the rage, And in his tainted blood the fire,
But vow'd I have, and never muft Your banish'd fervant trouble you; For if I break, you may mistrust The vow I made to love you too,
As lately I on filver Thames did ride,
Sad Galatea on the bank Ifpy'd:
Such was her look as forrow taught to shine
And thus fhe grac'd me with a voice divine.
GAL. You that can tune your founding ftrings
Of ladies' beauties, and of love to tell, [fo well,
Once change your note, and let your lute report
The jufteft grief that ever touch'd the Court.
THYR. Fair nymph! I have in your delights no
Nor ought to be concerned in your care; [fhare,
Yet would I fing, if I your forrows knew,
And to my aid invoke no muse but you.
GAL. Hear then, and let your fong augment our Which is fo great as not to wifh relief.
She that had all which Nature gives, or Chance, Whom Fortune join'd with Virtue to advance To all the joys this island could afford, The greatest miftrefs, and the kindeft lord; Who with the royal mix'd her noble blood, And in high grace with Gloriana stood; Her bounty, fweetness, beauty, goodness, fuch, That none e'er thought her happiness too much; So well inclin'd her favours to confer, And kind to all, as Heav'n had been to her! The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife, So well fhe acted in this fpan of life, That though few years (too few, alas!) she told, She feem'd in all things but in beauty old. As unripe fruit, whofe verdant ftalks do cleave Clofe to the tree, which grieves no less to leave The smiling pendant which adorns her fo, And until Autumn on the boughs should grow; So feem'd her youthful foul, not eas❜ly forc'd, Or from fo fair, fo fweet, a feat divorc'd: Her fate at once did hafty seem and flow; At once too cruel, and unwilling too. THYR. Under how hard a law are mortals
Whom now we envy, we anon must mourn:
What Heav'n fets higheft, and feems most to prize,
Is foon removed from our wond'ring eyes!
But fince the fifters did fo foon untwine
So fair a thread, I'll ftrive to piece the line.
Vouchsafe, fad nymph to let me know the dame,
And to the mufes I'll commend her name :
Make the wide country echo to your moan,
The lift'ning trees, and favage mountains groan.
What rock's not moved, when the death is fung
Of one fo good, fo lovely, and fo young?
GAL. "Twas Hamilton!-whom I had nam'd before,
But naming her, grief lets me fay no more.
So we fome antique hero's ftrength
Learn by his lance's weight and length;
As these vaft beams exprefs the beast,
Whose shady brows alive they drest.
Such game, while yet the world was new,
The mighty Nimrod did pursue.
What huntsman of our feeble race,
Or dogs, dare fuch a monster chace?
Refembling, with each blow he strikes,
The charge of a whole troop of pikes.
O fertile Head! which ev'ry year
Could fuch a crop of wonder bear!
That teeming earth did never bring,
So foon, fo hard, fo huge a thing;
Which might it never have been caft,
(Each year's growth added to the last)
These lofty branches had fupply'd
The earth's bold fon's prodigious pride:
Heav'n with these engines had been scal'd,
When mountains heap'd on mountains fail'd,
BALLS of this metal flack'd Atlanta's pace,
And on the am'rous youth (a) bestow'd the race:
Venus, (the nymph's mind measuring by her own)
Whom the rich fpoils of cities overthrown
Had proftrated to Mars, could well advise
Th' advent'rous lover how to gain the prize.
Nor lefs may Jupiter to gold ascribe,
For when he turn'd himself into a bribe,
Who can blame Danae, or the brazen tow'r,
That they withstood not that almighty show'r?
Never till then did love make Jove put on
A form more bright and nobler than his own;
Nor were it juft, would he refume that shape,
That flack devotion fhould his thunder 'fcape.
'Twas not revenge for griev'd Apollo's wrong,
Those afs's ears on Midas' temples hung,
But fond repentance of his happy with,
Because his meat grew metal like his dish.
Would Bacchus blefs me fo, I'd constant hold
Upon my wish, and die creating gold.
UPON BEN. JOHNSON.
Which her whole face beholding on thy ftage,
MIRROR of Pocts! mirror of our age!
Pleas'd and difpleas'd with her own faults, endures
A remedy like thofe whom mufic cures.
Thou haft alone thofe various inclinations
Which Nature gives to ages, fexes, nations:
So traced with thy all-refembling pen,
That whate'er cuftom has impos'd on men,
Or ill-got habit, (which deforms them fo,
That fcarce a brother can his brother know)
Is reprefented to the wond'ring eyes
Of all that fee or read thy Comedies.
Whoever in thofe glaffes looks, may find
The spots return'd, or graces, of his mind;
And by the help of fo divine an art,
At leifure view and dress his nobler part.
Narciffus, cozen'd by that flattʼring well,
Which nothing could but of his beauty tell,
Had here, difcov'ring the deform'd estate
Of his fend mind, preferv'd himself with hate.
But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad
In flesh and blood fo well, that Plato had
Beheld, what his high fancy once embrac'd;
Virtue with colours, fpeech and motion grac'd.
The fundry postures of thy copious Muse
Who would express, a thousand tongues must use,
Whe's fate's no lefs peculiar than thy art;
For as thou couldst all characters impart,
So none could render thine, which still efcapes,
Like Proteus, in variety of shapes;
Who was nor this, nor that; but all we find,
And all we can imagine, in mankind.
ON MR. JOHN FLETCHER's PLAYS. FLETCHER! to thee we do not only owe All these good plays, but those of others too : Thy wit repeated does fupport the stage, Credits the laft, and entertains this age. No worthies, form'd by any Mufe but thine, Could purchase robes to make themselves fo fine. What brave commander is not proud to fee Thy brave Melantius in his gallantry? Our greatest ladies love to fee their scorn Outdone by thine in what themselves have worn: Th' impatient widow, e'er the year be done, Sees thy Afpafia weeping in her gown.
I never yet the tragic ftrain affay'd, Deterr'd by that inimitable maid(1); And when I venture at the comic style, Thy Scornful Lady feems to mock my toil. Thus has thy Mufe at once improv'd and marr'd Our fport in plays, by rend'ring it too hard! So when a fort of lufty fhepherds throw The bar by turns, and none the rest outgo So far, but that the best are meas'ring cafts, Their emulation and their pastime lasts; But if fome brawny yeoman of the guard Step in, and tofs the axletree a yard Or more beyond the furtheft mark, the reft Defpairing ftand; their sport is at the best.
DR. GEORGE ROGERS,
On bis taking the degree of Doctor in Phyfic at Padua, in the year 1664.
WHEN as of old the earth's bold children strove, With hills on hills, to fcale the throne of Jove, Pallas and Mars ftood by their fov'reign's fide, And their bright arms in his defence employ'd;
While the wife Phoebus, Hermes, and the reft,
Who joy in peace, and love the Mufes bef,
Defcending from their fo distemper'd feat,
Our groves and meadows chofe for their retreat.
There first Apollo try'd the various use
Of herbs, and learn'd the virtues of their juice,
And fram'd that art, to which who can pretend
A jufter title than our noble Friend?
Whom the like tempeft drives from his abode,
And like employment entertains abroad.
This crowns him here, and in the bays fo earn'd,
His country's honour is no less concern'd,
Since it appears not all the English rave,
To ruin bent; fome ftudy how to fave:
And as Hippocrates did once extend
His facred art, whole cities to amend;
So we, brave Friend! fuppofe that thy great skill,
Thy gentle mind, and fair example, will,
At thy return, reclaim our frantic ifle,
Their fpirits calm, and peace again shall smile.
EDM. WALLER, Anglus.
Patavij typis Pauli Frambotti.
CHLORIS AND HYLAS.
MADE TO A SARABAND.
HYLAS, oh Hylas! why fit we mute,
Now that each bird faluteth the spring?
Wind up the flacken'd ftrings of thy lute,
Never canst thou want matter to fing;
For love thy breast does fill with such a fire,
That whatfoe'er is fair moves thy defire.
HYL. Sweeteft! you know the sweetest of things
Of various flow'rs the bees do compose;
Yet no particular taste it brings
Of violet, woodbine, pink, or rofe:
So love the refult is of all the graces
Which flow from a thousand fev'ral faces.
CHLO. Hylas! the birds which chant in this
Could we but know the language they use,
They would instruct us better in love,
And reprehend thy inconftant Mufe;
For love their breasts does fill with fuch a fire,
That what they once do choose, bounds their de
CON. The virtuous joys thou hast, thou wouldst fhould still
Laft in their pride; and wouldst not take it i!!
If rudely, from sweet dreams, and for a toy, Thou wak'd: he wakes himself that does enjoy.
CON. They who know all the wealth they have are poor;
He's only rich that cannot tell his store.
PRO. Not he that knows the wealth he has is poor,
PRO. How can the joy or hope which you allow But he that dares not touch nor use his store.
Be ftyled virtuous, and the end not fo?
Talk in your fleep, and fhadows ftill admire!
'Tis True, he wakes that feels this real fire:
But to fleep better; for whoe'er drinks deep
Of this Nepenthe, rocks himself asleep.
CON. Fruition adds no new wealth, but deftreys,
And while it plealeth much, yet ftill it cloys.
Who thinks he should be happier made for that,
As reas'nably might hope he might grow fat
By eating to a furfeit: this once past,
What relishes? ev'n kisses lose their tafte.
PRO. Bleflings may be repeated while they cloy. But fhall we ftarve, 'caufe furfeitings destroy? And if fruition did the taste impair Of kiffes, why should yonder happy pair, Whofe joys juft Hymen warrants all the night, Confume the day too in this lefs delight?
CON. Urge not 'tis neceffary; alas! we know The homelieft thing that mankind does is fo. The world is of a large extent we fee
And must be peopled; children there must be :So must bread too; but fince there are enough Born to that drudgery, what need we plough? PRO. I need not plough, fince what the stooping
Are like romances read, or fcenes once feen:
Fruition dulls or spoils the play much more
Than if one read or knew the plot before."
PRO. Plays and romances read and feen, do fall
In our opinions; yet not feen at all,
Whom would they please? To an heroic tale
Would you not liften, left it should grow ftale?
CON. 'Tis expectation makes a bleffing dear; Heav'n were not heav'n if we knew what it were. PRO. If 'twere not heav'n, if we knew what it were,
"Twould not be heav'n to those that now are there. CON. And as in profpects we are there pleas'd
Where fomething keeps the eye from being loft,
And leaves us room to guefs; fo here restraint
Holds up delight, that with excefs would faint.
PRO. Refraint preferves the pleasure we have
got,
But he ne'er has it that enjoys it not.
In goodly profpects who contracts the space,
Or takes not all the bounty of the place?
We wish remov'd what standeth in our light,
And Nature blame for limiting our fight;
Where you ftand wifely winking, that the view
Of the fair profpect may be always new.
FOR HAVING LOVED BEFORE.
THEY that never had the use
Of the grape's furprising juice,
To the r delicious cup
All their reafon render up;
Neither do nor care to know
Whether it be best or no.
So they that are to love inclin'd,
Sway'd by chance, not choice, or art,
To the first that's fair or kind,
Make a prefent of their heart:
It is not the that first we love,
But whom dying we approve.
To man, that as in th' ev'ning made,
Stars gave the first delight,
Admiring, in the gloomy fhade,
Thofe little drops of light:
Then at Aurora, whose fair hand
Remov'd them from the fkies,
He gazing tow'rd the caft did stand,
She entertain'd his eyes.
But when the bright fun did appear,
All those he 'gan defpife;
His wonder was determin'd there,
And could no higher rife.
He neither might, nor with'd to know
A more refulgent light:
For that (as mine your beautics now)
Employ'd his utmost fight.
OR, A PICTURE DRAWN IN THE DARK.
DARKNESS, which faireft nymphs difarms,
Defends us ill from Mira's charms :
Mira can lay her beauty by,
Take no advantage of the eye,
Quit all that Lely's art can take,
And yet a thousand captives make.
Her fpeech is grac'd with fweeter found
Than in another's fong is found;
And all her well-plac'd words are darts,
Which need no light to reach our hearts,
As the bright ftars and Milky Way, Shew'd by the night, are hid by day; So we, in that accomplish'd mind, Help'd by the night, new graces find, Which by the fplendour of her view, Dazzled before, we never kąew.
While we converfe with her, we mark
No want of day, nor think it dark :
Her fhining image is a light
Fix'd in our hearts, and conquers night.
Like jewels to advantage fet,
Her beauty by the shade does get;
There blushes, frowns, and cold disdain,
All that our paffion might restrain,
Is hid, and our indulgent mind
Presents the fair idea kind.
Yet friended by the night, we dare
Only in whispers tell our care:
He that on her his bold hand lays
With Cupid's pointed arrows plays;
They with a touch, (they are to keen
Wound as unshot, and the unfeen.
All near approaches threaten death;
We may be shipwreck'd by her breath:
Love, favour'd once with that fweet gale,
Doubles his hafte, and fills his fail,
Till he arrive where the must prove
The haven or the rock of love,
So we th' Arabian coaft do know At distance, when the fpices blow; By the rich odour taught to fteer, Tho' neither day nor ftars appear.
PART OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF
TRANSLATED.
Beginning at V. 437.
---Tal efque miferrima fetus Fertque reiertque forur.
And ending with
Adaixi torquent fpumas, et cærula vearuat. V. $83. ALL this her weeping sister (a) docs repeat To the ftern man (b), whom nothing could entreat! Loft were her pray'rs, and fruitless were her tears; Fate and great Jove had ftopp'd his gentle ears. As when loud winds a well-grown oak would rend Up by the roots, this way and that they bend His reeling trunk, and with a boift'rous found Scatter his leaves, and strew them on the ground, He fixed ftands; as deep his roots doth lie Down to the centre, as his top is high: No lefs on every fide the hero preft, Feels love and pity fhake his noble breast,
Befides there ftood, as facred to her lord (c),
A marble temple which the much ador'd,
With fnowy fleeces and fresh garlands crown'd;.
Hence ev'ry night proceeds a dreadful found
Her husband's voice invites her to his tomb,
And difmal owls prefage the ills to come.
Befides, the prophecies of wizards old
Increas'd her terror, and her fall foretold:
Scorn'd and deferted to herself she seems,
And finds Æneas cruel in her dreams.
So to mad Pentheus double Thebes appears,
And furies howl in his diftemper'd ears.
Oreftes fa, with like diftraction toft,
Is made to fly his mother's angry ghoft.
Now grief and fury to their height arrive.
Death the decrees, and thus does it contrive.
Her grieved fifter, with a cheerful grace,
(Hope well diffembled fhining in her face)
She thus deceives. Dear Sifter! let us prove
The cure I have invented for my love.
Beyond the land of Ethiopia lies
The place where Atlas does fupport the skies;
Hence came an old magician, that did keep
Th' Hefperian fruit, and made the dragon fleep:
Her potent charms do troubled fouls relieve,
And, where the lifts, makes calmeft minds to grieve:
The course of rivers, and of heav'n, can stop,
And call trees down from th' airy mountain's top.
Witnefs, ye Gods! and thou, my deareft part!
How loth I am to tempt this guilty art.
Ereet a pile, and on it let us place
That bed where I my ruin did embrace:
With all the reliques of our impious guest,
Arms, fpoils, and prefents, let the pile be dreft
(The knowing woman thus prescribes) that we
May raise the man out of our memory.
Thus fpeaks the Queen, but hides the fatal end
For which the doth thofe facred rights pretend.
Nor worse effects of grief her fifter thought
Would follow, than Sichæus' murder wrought;
Therefore obeys her: and now, heaped high
The cloven oaks and lufty pines do lic;
Hung all with wreaths and flow'ry garlands round,
So by herself was her own fun'ral crown'd!
Upon the top the Trojan's image lies;
And his fharp fword, wherewith anon fhe dies.
They by the alter ftand, while with loose hair
The magic prophetess begins her pray'r:
On Chaos, Erebus, and all the gods
Which in th' infernal fhades have their abodes,
She loudly calls, befprinkling all the room
And down his cheeks though fruitless tears do roll, With drops, fuppes'd from Lethe's lake to come.
Unmov'd remains the purpofe of his foul.
Then Dido, urged with approaching fate,
Begins the light of cruel Heav'n to hate.
Her refolution to dispatch and die,
Confirm'd by many a horrid prodigy!
The water confecrate for facrifice,
Appears all black to her amazed eyes;
The wine to putrid blood converted flows,
Which from her none, not her own fifter, knows.
She feeks the knot which on the forehead grows Of new foal'd colts, and herbsby moonlight mow
A cake of leaven in her pious hands
Holds the devoted Queen, and barefoot stands :
One tender foot was bare, the other shod,
Her robe ungirt, invoking ev'ry god,
And ev'ry pow'r, if any be above,
Which takes regard of ill-requited love!
Now was the time when weary mortals steep Their careful temples in the dew of fleep:
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