WEEPING. WHILE Celia's tears make sorrow bright, And thus thro' mists we see the sun, 5 Which else we durst not gaze upon. These silver drops, like morning dew, So from one cloud soft show'rs we view, 10 The baby in that sunny sphere So like a Phaëton appears, That Heav'n, the threaten'd world to spare, 15 Thought fit to drown him in her tears; Else might th' ambitious nymph aspire To set, like him, heav'n too on fire. 18 V. E. OF ROCHESTER. ON SILENCE. I. SILENCE! Coeval with eternity, Thou wert ere Nature's self began to be; 'Twas one vast nothing all, and all slept fast in thee. II. 5 Thine was the sway ere heav'n was form'd, or earth. forth. III. Then various elements against thee join'd, In one more various animal combin❜d, And fram'd the clam'rous race of busy human-kind. IV. The tone mov'd gently first, and speech was low, Till wrangling Science taught it noise and show, 11 And wicked Wit arose, thy most abusive foe. V. But rebel wit deserts thee oft' in vain : Lost in the maze of words he turns again, And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign. VI. Afflicted Sense thou kindly dost set free, Oppress'd with argumental tyranny, And routed Reason finds a safe retreat in thee. VII. With thee in private modest Dulness lies, And in thy bosom lurks in Thought's disguise; Thou varnisher of fools, and cheat of all the wise! VIII. Yet thy indulgence is by both confest; Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast, And 'tis in thee at last that Wisdom seeks for rest. IX. 16. 20 26 Silence! the knave's repute, the whore's good name, X. But couldst thou seize some tongues that now are free, How church and state should be oblig'd to thee! At senate and at bar how welcome wouldst thou be? XI. 31 Yet speech ev❜n there submissively withdraws Past services of friends, good deeds of foes, The country wit, religion of the town, The courtier's learning, policy o' th' gown, 35 Are best by thee express'd, and shine in thee alone. The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry, 40 VI. E. OF DORSET. ARTEMISIA. THO' Artemisia talks by fits Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride, 5 Are oddly join'd by Fate: On her large squab you find her spread, 10 Like a fat corpse upon a bed, That lies and stinks in state. She wears no colours (sign of grace) On any part except her face; All white and black beside : 15 Dauntless her look, her gesture proud, Her voice theatrically loud, And masculine her stride. |