Such chearful modesty, fuch humble state,
Moves certain love; but with as doubtful fate,
As when, beyond our greedy reach, we see
Inviting fruit on too fublime a tree.

All the rich flowers through his Arcadia found,
Amaz'd we see in this one garland bound.

Had but this copy (which the artift took
From the fair picture of that noble book)
Stood at Kalander's, the brave friends * had jarr`d;
And, rivals made, th' enfuing story marr'd.
Juft nature, first inftructed by his thought,

In his own house thus practis'd what he taught:
This glorious piece transcends what he could think;
So much his blood is nobler than his ink!

TO VAN DYCK.

ARE Artifan, whofe pencil moves

RA

Not our delights alone, but loves!

From thy fhop of beauty we

Slaves return, that enter'd free.

The heedlefs lover does not know

Whofe eyes they are that wound him fo:
But, confounded with thy art,
Inquires her name that has his heart.
Another, who did long refrain,

Feels his old wound bleed fresh again,
With dear remembrance of that face,
Where now he reads new hope of grace:

*Pyrocles and Mufidorus,

Nor

Like Neptune, and his fea-born Niece, fhall be
The fhining glories of the land and sea :

With courage guard, and beauty warm, our age;
And lovers fill with like poetic rage.

STA

The world to which you fly fo fast,
Conveying day

From us to them, can pay your haste

With no fuch object, nor falute your rife

With no fuch wonder, as De Mornay's eyes.

Well does this prove

The error of thofe antique books,
Which made you move

About the world: her charming looks
Would fix your beams, and make it ever day,
Did not the rolling earth fnatch her away.

On my Lady DOROTHY SIDNEY'S Picture.

OUCH was Philoclea, and fuch + Dorus' flame;

SUCH

The matchlefs Sidney, 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 !

* Venus. + Pamela.

Sir Philip Sidney.

Such

Such chearful modefty, such humble state,
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 flowers through his Arcadia found,
Amaz'd we see in this one garland bound.
Had but this copy (which the artift took
From the fair picture of that noble book)
Stood at Kalander's, the brave friends * had jarr`d;
And, rivals made, th' enfuing story marr'd.
Just nature, first inftructed by his thought,

In his own house thus practis'd what he taught:
This glorious piece tranfcends what he could think;
So much his blood is nobler than his ink!

TO VAN DYCK.

Artifan, whofe moves

Not our delights alone, but loves!

From thy fhop of beauty we

Slaves return, that enter'd free.

The heedlefs lover does not know

Whofe eyes they are that wound him fo:

But, confounded with thy art,
Inquires her name that has his heart.
Another, who did long refrain,

Feels his old wound bleed fresh again,
With dear remembrance of that face,
Where now he reads new hope of grace:

* Pyrocles and Mufidorus,

Nor

Like Neptune, and his fea-born Niece, fhall be
The fhining glories of the land and fea

With courage guard, and beauty warm, our age;
And lovers fill with like poetic rage.

S O N G.

TAY, Phoebus, ftay!

STA

The world to which you fly fo fast,
Conveying day

From us to them, can pay your haste

With no fuch object, nor falute your rife

With no fuch wonder, as De Mornay's eyes.

Well does this prove

The error of thofe antique books,
Which made you move

About the world: her charming looks
Would fix your beams, and make it ever day,
Did not the rolling earth fnatch her away.

On my Lady DOROTHY SIDNEY's Picture.

UCH was Philoclea, and fuch + Dorus' flame;

SUCH

The matchlefs Sidney, 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 !

* Venus. + Pamela.

Sir Philip Sidney.

Such

Such chearful modesty, such humble state,
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 flowers through his Arcadia found,
Amaz'd we fee in this one garland bound.
Had but this copy (which the artift took
From the fair picture of that noble book)
Stood at Kalander's, the brave friends * had jarr'd;
And, rivals made, th' ensuing story marr'd.
Just nature, first inftructed by his thought,
In his own house thus practis'd what he taught:
This glorious piece tranfcends what he could think;
So much his blood is nobler than his ink!

TO VAN

DYCK.

OARE Artifan, whofe pencil moves

R

Not our delights alone, but loves!

From thy fhop of beauty we

Slaves return, that enter'd free.

The heedlefs lover does not know

Whofe eyes they are that wound him so:
But, confounded with thy art,

Inquires her name that has his heart.
Another, who did long refrain,

Feels his old wound bleed fresh again,
With dear remembrance of that face,
Where now he reads new hope of grace:

*Pyrocles and Mufidorus,

Nor