The paffion that I had for thee,
The faith, the love, the conftancy!
And, that I may successful prove,
Transform myfelf to what you love.
Fool that I was, so much to prize
Thofe fimple virtues you despise;
Fool! that with fuch dull arrows ftrove,
Or hop'd to reach a flying dove;
For you, that are motion still,

Decline our force, and mock our skill
Who, like Don Quixote do advance
Against a wind-mill our vain lance.

Now will I wander through the air,
Mount, make a ftoop at every Fair;
And, with a fancy unconfin'd
(As lawless as the fea or wind)
Pursue you wherefo'er you fly,

And with your various thoughts comply.
The formal ftars do travel fo,
As we their names and courses know;
And he that on their changes looks,
Would think them govern'd by our books:
But never were the clouds reduc'd
To any art the motion us'd
By thofe free vapours are fo light,
So frequent, that the conquer'd fight
Defpairs to find the rules that guide
Those gilded fhadows as they flide.
And therefore of the fpacious air
Jove's royal confort had the care :
And by that power did once escape,
Declining bold Ixion's rape;
She with her own refemblance grae'd
A fhining cloud, which he embrac'd.

Such was that image, fo it fmil'd
With feeming kindnefs, which beguil'd
Your Thyrfis lately, when he thought
He had his fleeting Calia caught.
'Twas fhap'd like her; but for the Fair
He fill'd his arms with yielding air.

A fate for which he grieves the less, Because the Gods had like fuccefs. VOL. II.

For, in their story, one, we see,
Pursues a nymph, and takes a tree :
A fecond, with a lover's hafte,
Soon o'ertakes whom he had chac'd;
But the that did a Virgin feem,
Poffeft, appears a wandering stream:
For his fuppofed Love, a third,
Lays greedy hold upon a bird;
And ftands amaz'd, to find his dear
A wild inhabitant of th'air.

To these old tales fuch nymphs as you
Give credit, and ftill make them new;
The amorous now like wonders find,
In the fwift changes of your mind.
But, Cælia, if you apprehend
The Muse of your incenfed friend;
Nor would that he record your blame,
And make it live, repeat the fame;
Again deceive him, and again,
And then he fwears he'll not complain
For ftill to be deluded fo,

Cofe to the nymph's fain'd garment ! Here
The coming fpring would first 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 Son, advance;
And a fair image to prefent,
Of what the Boy fo long had meant.
'f'was fuch a chance as this made all
The world into this order fall;
Thus the firft lovers on the clay
Of which they were compofed lay:
So in their prime, with equal grace,
Met the first patterns of our race.

Then blush 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?
How could the youth, alas! but bend
When his whole heaven upon him lean'd?
If aught by him amifs were done,
"Twas that he let you rife fo foon.

OF SYLVIA.

OUR fighs are heard, juft Heaven declares

The fenfe it has of lover's cares:
She that has fo far the reft outfhin'd,
Sylvia the fair, while fhe was kind,
As if her frowns impair'd her brow,
Seems only not unhandfome now.

So when the sky makes us endure
A ftorm, itself becomes obfcure.

Hence 'tis that I conceal my flame,
Hiding from Flavia's felf her name;
Left the, provoking heaven, fhould prove
How it rewards neglected love.
Better a thousand fuch as I,

Their grief untold, fhould pine and die,
Than her bright morning, overeaft
With fullen clouds, fhould be defac'd.

THE BUD.

LATELY on yonder fwelling bush,

Big with many a coming rofe, This early bud began to blush,

And did but half itfelf 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 flower, my breath has done.

If our loose breath so much can do, What may the fame in forms of love, Of pureft love, and mufic too,

When Flavia it infpires to move? When that, which lifelefs buds perfuades To wax more foft, her youth invades ?

B

SONG.

EHOLD the brand of beauty tot!

See how the motion does dilate the flame! Delighted Love his spoils does boaft, And triumph in this game. Fire, to no place confin'd, Is both our wonder and our fear; Moving the mind,

As lightning hurled through the air.

High heaven the glory does increase
Of all her fhining lamps, this artful way:
The fun in figures, fuch as thefe,
Joys with the moon to play:

To the fweet ftrains they advance,
Which do refult from their own spheres;
As this nymph's dance

Moves with the numbers which the hears.

ON THE DISCOVERY OF A LADY'S PAINTING

PYGMALION's fatore vef and blood;

YGMALEON's fate revers'd is mine:

All that I worship'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 caufe of caufelefs fear,
Although that feeming cause 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 fo; 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 doat 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.

TO A LADY,

PROM WHOM HE RECEIVED A SILVER Pen.

MADAMI intending to have try'd

The filver favour which you gave, In ink the fhining point I dy'd,

And drench'd it in the fable wave: When, griev'd to be fo foully ftain'd, On you it thus to me complain'd. Suppofe you had deferv'd to take

From her fair hand fo fair a boon;
Yet how deferved I to make

So ill a change; who ever won
Immortal praife for what I wrote,
Inftructed by her noble thought?
I, that expreffed her commands

To mighty Lords and Princely dames,
Always moft welcome to their hands;
Proud that I would record their names;
Muft now be taught an humble style,
Some meaner beauty to beguile.

So I, the wrong'd pen to please,
Make it my humble thanks exprefs
Unto your Ladyfhip, in thefe:

And now 'tis forc'd to confefs,
That your great felf did ne'er indite,
Nor that, to one more noble, write.

27

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 the deep?
No: 'tis fo rockless and fo clear,
That the rich bottom does appear
Pav'd all with precious things; not torn
From fhip-wreck'd veffels, but there born.
Sweetness, truth, and every grace,
Which time, and use, are wont to teach,
The eye may in a moment reach,
And read distinctly 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 coldeft breast, and rudeft tame.

IT

THE

SELF-BANISH'D.

T 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 every 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 thofe fhafts to fhun,
Which Phoebus through his veins has shot.
Too late he would the pain affwage,

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 must

Your banish'd fervant trouble you;
For if I break, you may miftruft
The vow I made to love you too.

THYRSIS.

AS lately I on filver Thames did ride,

Sad Galatea on the bank I fpy'd: Such was her look as forrow taught to shine; And thus fhe grac'd me with a voice divine.

GALATEA.

You that can tune your founding strings fo well,

Of Ladies' beauties, and of love to tell,

Once change your note; and let your lute report The jufteft grief that ever touch'd the Court.

THYR SIS.

Fair nymph! I have in your delights no fhare; Nor ought to be concerned in your care; Yet would I fing, if I your forrows knew ; And to my aid invoke no Mufe but you.

GALATEA.

ON THE HEAD OF A STAG.

S Learn by his lance's weight and length;

we fome antique Hero's ftrength

As these vaft beams exprefs the beaft,
Whofe fhady brows alive they dreft.
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 chafe ?
The charge of a whole troop of pikes.
Refembling, with each blow he strikes,
O fertile head! which every year
Could fuch a crop of wonder bear!
The teeming earth did never bring,
So foon, fo hard, fo huge a thing:
Which might it never have been cast,
(Each year's growth added to the last)
Thefe lofty branches had supply'd
The Earth's bold fons' prodigious pride:
Heaven with thefe engines had been fcal'd,

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 ifland could afford,
'The greatest Mistress, and the kindest Lord:
Who with the royal, mix'd her noble, blood;
And in high grace with Gloriana stood:

Her bounty, fweetnefs, beauty, goodness, such,
That none e'er thought her happiness too much :
So well inclin'd her favours to confer,
And kind to all, as Heaven had been to her!
The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife,
So well she acted in the 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 stalks do cleave
Close to the tree, which grieves no less to leave
The fmiling pendant which adorns her fo,
And until autumn, on the bough fhould grow:
So feem'd her youthful foul, not eafily forc'd,
Or from fo fair, fo fweet, a feat divorc'd.
Her fate at once did hafty feem, and flow;
At once too cruel, and unwilling too.

THYRSIS.

Under how hard a law are mortals born! Whom now we envy, we anon must mourn: What Heaven fets higheft, and seems most to prize. Is foon removed from our wondering eyes!

TO A LADY IN RETIREMENT.

EES not my Love, how time refumes

SE

The glory which he lent thefe flowers? Though none fhould tafte of their perfumes, Yet muft they live but fome few hours: Time, what we forbear, devours!

Had Helen, or th' † Egyptian Queen,
Been fo thrifty of their graces;
Those beauties muft at length have been
The spoil of age which find out faces
In the most retired places.

Should fome malignant planet bring

A barren drought, or ceaseless shower, Upon the autumn, or the fpring,

And fpare us neither fruit nor flower;
Winter would not stay an hour.
Could the refolve of Love's neglect

Preferve you from the violation
Of coming years, then more refpe&
Were due to fo divine a fashion;
Nor would I indulge my passion.
+ Cleopatra,

* Parcæ.

THE MISER'S SPEECH; IN A MASQUE.

ALLS of this metal flack'd At'lanta's pace,

Band of the amorous youth beftow'd the

race:

Venus (the nymph's mind measuring by her own)
Whom the rich fspoils of cities overthrown
Had proftrated to Mars, could well advise
The adventurous lover how to gain the prize.
Nor lefs may Jupiter to gold afcribe:
For, when he turn'd himself into a bribe,
Who can blame Danaë, or the brazen tower,
That they withstood not that almighty shower?
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 scape.
'Twas not revenge for griev'd Apollo's wrong,
Thofe afs's ears on Midas' temples hung:
But fond repentance of his happy wish,
Because his meat grew metal like his dish.
Would Bacchus blefs me fo, I'd conftant hold
Unto my wish, and die creating gold.

find

A remedy like those whom mufic cures. Thou haft alone these 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 scarce a brother can his brother know) Is reprefented to the wondering eyes Of all that fee or read thy comedies. Whoever in those glaffes looks, may The spots return'd, or graces, of his mind: And, by the help of fo divine an art, At leifure view and drefs his nobler part. Narciffus, cozen'd by that flattering Well, Which nothing could but of his beauty tell, Had here, difcovering the deform'd estate Of his fond 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 exprefs, a thousand tongues must use ; Whose fate's no lefs peculiar than thy art; For as thou could'st all characters impart, So none could render thine; which still escape, Like Proteus, in variety of shapes: Who was, nor this, nor that; but all we find, And all we can imagine, in mankind.

* Hippomenes.

Thy wit repeated, does fupport the stage;
Credits the laft, and entertains this age.
No worthies, form'd by any mufe but thine,
Could purchafe 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 fcorn
Out-done by thine, in what themselves have worn:
Th' impatient widow, ere the year be done,
Sees thy Afpafia weeping in her gown.

I never yet the Tragic ftrain affay'd,
Deter'd by that inimitable + Maid.
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 mar'd
Our sport in plays, by rendering it too hard!
So, when a fort of lufty fhepherds throw
The bar by turns, and none the reft out-go
So far, but that the best are measuring casts,
Their emulation and their pastime lasts:
But, if fome brawny yeoman of the guard
Step in, and tofs the axle-tree a yard,
Or more, beyond the furthest mark, the rest,
Defpairing ftand, their sport is at the best.

TO MR. GEORGE SANDY S,

ON HIS

H

TOW bold a work attempts the pen, Which would enrich our vulgar tongue With the high raptures of those men,

Who here with the fame spirit fung, Wherewith they now aflift the choir Of angels, who their fong admire! Whatever those inspired fouls

Were urged to exprefs, did fhake The aged Deep, and both the Poles;

Their numerous thunder could awake Dull earth, which does with Heaven confent To all they wrote, and all they meant. Say, facred Bard! what could beftow

Courage on thee to foar so high? Tell me, brave friend! what help'd thee fo To fhake off all mortality?

To light this torch thou hast climb'd higher, Than he who ftole celeftial fire.