Waller can never die, of Life fecure
As long as Fame, or aged Time, endure.
A Tree of Life is Sacred Poetry;
Whoe'er has leave to tafte, can never die.
Many Pretenders to the Fruit there be,
Who, against Nature's Will do pluck the Tree ;
They nibble, and are Damn'd: But only those
Have Life, who are by partial Nature chofe.
Waller was Nature's Darling, free to taste
Of all her Store; the Mafter of the Feast:
Not like old Adam, ftinted in his Choice,
But Lord of all the fpacious Paradife.
Mysteriously the Bounteous Gods were kind,
And in his Favour Contradictions join'd.
Honeft and Juft, yet courted by the Great ;
A Poet, yet a plentiful Estate:
Witty, yet wife; unenvy'd, and yet prais'd;
And fhew'd the Age could be with Merit pleas'd.
Malice and Spite, to Virtue certain Foes,
Were dumb to him, nor durft his Fame oppose;
Those cruel Wolves he tam'd, their Rage difarm'd,
And, with his tuneful Song, like Orpheus charm'da
To Love, or Bufinefs, both he was enclin'd,
Could counsel Senates, or make Virgins kind:
The Factious, with persuasive Rhetorick, move,
Or teach difdainful Fair Ones how to love;
The ftubborn of each Sex, to Reafon bring:
Like Caro he could Speak, like Ovid Sing.
Our British Kings are rais'd above the Hearfe,
Immortal made, in his immortal Verfe.
No more are Mars and Jove Poetick Theams,
But the two peaceful Charlefes, and Great James.
Julia, and Delia, do no more delight,
But Sacharissa now is only bright.
Nor can the Paphian Goddess longer move;
But Gloriana is the Queen of Love.
The Father of so many Gods is he,
He must himself be sure some Deity,
Minerva and Apollo fhall fubmit,
And Waller be the only God of Wit.
This equal Rife be to his Merit given,
On Earth the King, the God of Verse in Heaven.
Ariadne deferted by Thefeus, as ske fits upon a Rock in the Ifland Naxos, thus complains.
By Mr. CARTWRIGHT.
Hefeus! O Thefeus heark! but yet in vain
Alas deferted I complain!
It was fome neighbouring Rock, more soft than he,
Whofe hollow Bowels pitied me,
And beating back that false, and cruel Name,
Did comfort and revenge my Flame.
Fell me you Gods, who e'er you are,
Why, O why made you him fo fair?
And tell me, Wretch, why thou
Mad' not thy felf more true?
Beauty from him may Copies take,
And more Majeftick Heroes make,
And falfhood learn a while,
From him too, to beguile.
Reftore my Clew,
'Tis here most due,
For 'tis a Labyrinth of more fubtile Art,
To have fo fair a Face, fo foul a Heart,
The ravenous Vulture tear his Breast,
The rowling Stone difturb his Reft:
Let him next feel
And add one Fable more
To curfing Poets ftore;
And then-yet rather let him live, and twine
His Woof of days, with fome thred ftoln from mine;
But if you'll torture him, how e'er,
Torture my Heart, you'll find him there.
Till my Eyes drank up his,
And his drank mine,
I ne'er thought Souls might kifs,
And Spirits join:
Pictures till then
Took me as much as Men,
Nature and Art
Moving alike my Heart.
But his fair Vifage made me find
Pleasures and Fears,
Hopes, Sighs, and Tears,
As feveral Seafons of the Mind.
Should thine Eye, Venus, on his dwell,
Thou wouldst invite him to thy Shell,
And Caught by that live Jet
Venture the fecond Net,
And after all thy Dangers, faithless he,
Shouldst thou but flumber, would forfake ev'n thee,
The Streams fo court the yielding Banks,
And gliding thence ne'er pay their Thanks,
The Winds fo woo the Flow'rs,
Whifp'ring among fresh Bow'rs,
And having robb'd them of their Smells,
Fly thence perfum'd to other Cells.
This is familiar Hate to Smile and Kill,
Though nothing please thee, yet my Ruin will.
Death hover, hover o'er me then,
Waves let your Crystal Womb
Be both my Fate, and Tomb,
I'll fooner truft the Sea, than Men,
And yet O Nymphs below who fit,
In whofe fwift Floods his Vows he writ; Snatch a sharp Diamond from the richer Mines, And in fome Mirrour grave these fadder Lines, which let fome God convey
To him, that so he may
In that both read at once, and fee
Those looks that caus'd my Destiny.
In Thetis Arms I Ariadne fleep,
Drown'd first by my own Tears, then in the deep;
Twice banished, firft by Love, and then by Hate,
The Life that I preferv'd became my Fate;
Who leaving all, was by him left alone,
That from a Monster freed, himself prov'd one,
That then I----But look! O mine Eyes
Be now true Spies,
Yonder, yonder
Comes my Dear,
Now my Wonder,
Once my Fear.
See Satyrs dance along
In a confufed Throng,
While Horns and Pipes rude noise
Do mad their lufty Joys,
Rofes his forehead Crown,
And that recrowns the Flow'rs,
Where he walks up and down
He makes the defarts Bow'rs,
The Ivy, and the Grape
Hide, not adorn his Shape.
And Green Leaves Cloath his waving Rod, 'Tis either Thefeus, or fome God.
The Deferted SWAIN
HE Mufes Darling, Pride of all the Plains, Daphnis, the foft, the fweeteft of the Swains Long reign'd in Love, for every Nymph he view'd, He caught, he only lookt and he fubdu'd: But now the melancholly Youth retires
Thro' fhady Groves, and wanders thro' the Briars
Sad and alone: At laft beneath a shade
Of fpreading Elm and Beech supinely laid
He figh'd, he shook his Head, and thus he faid:
When I fo long, fo faithfully did wooe,
And did what Conftancy and Truth could do,
Why is my Suit refus'd, my Prayers in vain,
And warm Endeavours damp'd by cold difdain ?
Muft Slights the lean rewards of Virtue prove!
Unhappy Daphnis, fatal in thy Love!
[Bee,
Long drought the Flow'rs, and forms the lab'ring
And unfuccefsful Love hath ruin'd thee.
This Heaven, (had I obferv'd the Omen well)
As confcious of my Fate, did oft foretell;
It show'd my flattering Hope should disappear,
And waste like Vapours toft in flitting Air.
Laft Night when careful of my Flocks I went
To fee my Lambs were fed, and Folds were pent,'
A Flame fhone round my Head, but foon the Light
Decay'd, and all around stood deepest Night.
But is Urania fo averfe to Love!
Could none of all the Rival Shepherds move?
Ah, Agon, how I envy thy Success!
Thy Fortune greater, tho' thy Charms were less:
Without a long fatigue, and tedious Suit
The Door was open'd, and you reach'd the Fruit
Oh how I pine at thy furprizing Joys!
Die Daphnis, fhe is partial in her Choice.
Yet once I hop'd (what cannot Love perfwade?)
More kind returns from the obliging Maid :
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