His Verfes do all forts of Readers warm, Philofophers instruct, and Women charm. Nor did he all Men in his Verse out-do, But gave the Law in Converfation too: He tun'd the Company where-e'er he came, Still leaving with them fomething of his Flame. He feem'd by Nature made for every thing, And could harangue, and talk, as well as fing; Perfuade in Council, and Affemblies lead;
Now make them bold, and then as much afraid: Give them his Paffions, make them of his Mind; And their Opinion change, as he inclin'd. The English he hath to Perfection brought; And we to speak are by his Measures raught. Thofe very Words, which are in Fashion now, He brought in Credit half an Age ago. Thus Petrarch mended the Italian Tongue; And now they speak the Language which he fung. They both like Honour to their Countries do; Their Saints they both inimitably woo.
They both alike Eternity do giye;
And Sachariffa fhall with Laura live.
Duke of BUCKINGHAM's
Being in Disgrace at Court, in the Year 1674
HEN great Men fall, great Griefs arise, In one, two, three, four Families. When this Man fell, there rofe great Sorrow In Rome, Geneva, Sodom and Gomorrah
DAPHNIS and CHLOE,
By Andrew Marvell, Efq;
He, well read in all the ways By which Men their Siege maintain Knew not that, the Fort to gain, Better 'twas the Siege to raise.
But he came fo full poffeft
With the Grief of Parting thence, That he had not fo much Senfe As to fee he might be bleft.
Till Love in her Language breath'd Words the never spake before; But then Legacies no more To a dying Man bequeath'd.
For, Alas, the time was spent, Now the latest minute's run
When poor Daphnis is undone, Between Joy and Sorrow rent.
At that Why, that Stay my Dear, His diforder'd Locks he tare; And with rouling Eyes did glare, And his cruel Fate forfwear.
As the Soul of one fearce dead, With the fhrieks of Friends aghaft, Looks distracted back in hafte, And then ftreight again is fled.
So did wretched Daphnis look, Frighting her he loved most. At the laft, this Lover's Ghoft Thus his Leave refolved took.
Are my Hell and Heaven join'd More to torture him that dies? Could departure not suffice,
But that you must then grow kind?
Such a wretched Minute found, When thy Favours fhould me wound More than all thy Cruelty?
So to the condemned Wight The delicious Cup we fill; And allow him all he will, For his laft and short Delight.
But I will not now begin Such a Debt unto my Foe; Nor to my Departure owe
What my Prefence could not win.
Abfence is too much alone:
Better 'tis to go in Peace, Than my Loffes to increase By a late Fruition.
Rather I away will pine In a manly Stubbornness,. Than be fatted up exprefs For the Canibal to dine.
Whilft this Grief does thee difarm, All th' Enjoyment of our Love But the ravishment would prove
Of a Body dead while warm.
Gentler times for Love are meant : Who for parting Pleasure ftrain, Gather Rofes in the Rain,
Wet themselves and spoil their Scent.
Farewel therefore all the Fruit
Which I could from Love receive: Joy will not with Sorrow weave, Nor will I this Grief pollute.
Fate I come, as dark, as fad, As thy Malice could defire; Yet bring with me all the Fire That Love in his Torches had. XXI.
At these words away he broke ; As who long has praying ly'n, To his Head's-man makes the Sign, And receives the parting Stroke.
But hence Virgins all beware. Laft Night he with Phlogis flept;
This Night for Dorinda kept; And but rid to take the Air.
Yet he does himself excuse; Nor indeed without a Cause. For, according to the Laws,
Why did Chloe once refuse?
Monfieur St. Euremont. 1684.
W Aller, qui ne fent vien des Maux de la vieillesse,
Dont la vivacité fait honte aux jeunes Gens;
S'attache à la Beauté pour vivre plus long temps, Et ce qu'on nomeroit dans un autre foibleffe, Eft en ce rare Efprit une fage tendresse, Qui le fait refifter à l'injure des Ans.
In English, by T. R.
Ain Gallants, look on Waller, and despair: He, only he, may boaft the Grand Receit; Of Fourfcore Years he never feels the weight: Still in his Element, when with the Fair; There gay, and fresh, drinks in the rofie Air: There happy, he enjoys his leisure hours; Nor thinks of Winter, whilft amidst the Flowers.
Upon the Inimitable Mr. WALLER.
By Mr. George Granville.
HE Witty, and the Brave, furvive the Tomb Poets, and Heroes, Death it felf o'ercome:
By what they write, or alt, Immortal made, They only change their World, but are not Dead
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