And, feeling first what they indite,
New credit give to ancient light.
Amongst these few, our author brings
His well known pedigree from kings.*
This book, the image of his mind,
Will make his name not hard to find;
I wish the throng of great and good
Made it less easily understood!

TO THE DUCHESS OF ORLEANS,

WHEN SHE WAS TAKING LEAVE OF THE COURT AT DOVER.†

THAT sun of beauty did among us rise;

England first saw the light of your fair eyes;

In English, too, your early wit was shown;
Favour that language, which was then your own,
When, though a child, through guards you made your
What fleet or army could an angel stay?

Thrice happy Britain! if she could retain

[way;

Whom she first bred within her ambient main.
Our late burned London, in apparel new,
Shook off her ashes to have treated you;
But we must see our glory snatched away,
And with warm tears increase the guilty sea;
No wind can favour us; howe'er it blows,
We must be wrecked, and our dear treasure lose!
Sighs will not let us half our sorrows tell,-
Fair, lovely, great, and best of nymphs, farewell!

*The Earl of Berkeley was descended in a direct line from the royal house of Denmark. The founder of the family was a younger son of the King of Denmark, and came to England with William the Conqueror.

+ The Duchess of Orleans, the youngest daughter of Charles I., came to England on the 14th May, 1670, for the purpose of bringing about a league between England and France against the Dutch. She remained a fortnight at Dover, where Charles and the court gave her a brilliant reception. Shortly after her return, she was poisoned by her husband, at St. Cloud, in the 26th year of her age. The Duke entertained doubts of her fidelity, which she declared on her deathbed to be unfounded.

CHI

TO CHLORIS.

HLORIS! what's eminent, we know
Must for some cause be valued so;
Things without use, though they be good,
Are not by us so understood.

The early rose, made to display
Her blushes to the youthful May,

Doth yield her sweets, since he is fair,
And courts her with a gentle air.
Our stars do show their excellence
Not by their light, but influence;
When brighter comets, since still known
Fatal to all, are liked by none.
So your admired beauty still
Is, by effects, made good or ill.

TO THE KING.

GREAT Sir! disdain not in this piece to stand,

Supreme commander both of sea and land.

Those which inhabit the celestial bower,
Painters express with emblems of their power;
His club Alcides, Phoebus has his bow,
Jove has his thunder, and your navy you.
But your great providence no colours here
Can represent; nor pencil draw that care,
Which keeps you waking to secure our peace,
The nation's glory, and our trade's increase;
You, for these ends, whole days in council sit,
And the diversions of your youth forget.

Small were the worth of valour and of force,
If your high wisdom governed not their course;
You as the soul, as the first mover you,
Vigour and life on every part bestow;

How to build ships, and dreadful ordnance cast, Instruct the artists, and reward their haste.

So Jove himself, when Typhon heaven does brave, Descends to visit Vulcan's smoky cave, Teaching the brawny Cyclops how to frame His thunder, mixed with terror, wrath, and flame. Had the old Greeks discovered your abode, Crete had not been the cradle of their god; On that small island they had looked with scorn, And in Great Britain thought the thunderer born.

TO THE DUCHESS,

WHEN HE PRESENTED THIS BOOK TO HER ROYAL HIGHNESS.

MADA

ADAM! I here present you with the rage, And with the beauties, of a former age; Wishing you may with as great pleasure view This, as we take in gazing upon you.

Thus we writ then: your brighter eyes inspire
A nobler flame, and raise our genius higher.
While we your wit and early knowledge fear,
To our productions we become severe;
Your matchless beauty gives our fancy wing,
Your judgment makes us careful how we sing.
Lines not composed, as heretofore, in haste,
Polished like marble, shall like marble last,
And make you through as many ages shine,
As Tasso has the heroes of your
line.

Though other names our wary writers use,
You are the subject of the British muse;
Dilating mischief to yourself unknown,

Men write, and die, of wounds they dare not own. So the bright sun burns all our grass away, While it means nothing but to give us day.

THESE VERSES WERE WRIT IN THE TASSO OF HER ROYAL HIGHNESS.*

TAS

ASSO knew how the fairer sex to grace,
But in no one durst all perfection place.
In her alone that owns this book is seen
Clorinda's spirit, and her lofty mien,
Sophronia's piety, Erminia's truth,

Armida's charms, her beauty, and her youth.
Our princess here, as in a glass, does dress
Her well-taught mind, and every grace express.
More to our wonder than Rinaldo fought,
The hero's race excels the poet's thought,

THE TRIPLE COMBAT.†

WHEN through the world fair Mazarin had run,
Bright as her fellow-traveller, the sun,

* These verses are said, on the authority of the Duke of Buckingham, to have cost Waller the greatest part of a summer in composition and correction. They were written in her Royal Highness's copy of Tasso, when the court was at Windsor. The Duchess, described by her contemporaries as a woman of exquisite beauty, was the daughter of Alphonso d'Este, Duke of Modena, to whose family Tasso is understood to have paid special homage in the character of Rinaldo. Waller alludes to the circumstance in the previous poem.

In 1675, the beautiful Duchess of Mazarin (who, under the influence of her uncle, the Cardinal, had rejected the suit of Charles II. in his exile) arrived in England, divorced from her husband, and wrecked in fortune. Taking refuge in the English court, where she was received with distinction, she contemplated the conquest of the King. The Duchess of Portsmouth was at this time in the ascendant, and much court scandal and amusement sprang from the rivalry of the 'illustrious pair,' as they are called by Waller. The struggle, however, did not last long, for the Duchess of Mazarin conceived a sudden caprice for the Prince de Monaco, and abandoned her design upon Charles. Who the third lady, described in the poem as Chloris, may have been must remain matter of conjecture, where there were so many to whose fugitive influence it might apply.

Hither at length the Roman eagle flies,
As the last triumph of her conquering eyes.
As heir to Julius, she may pretend

A second time to make this island bend;
But Portsmouth, springing from the ancient race
Of Britons, which the Saxon here did chase,
As they great Cæsar did oppose, makes head,
And does against this new invader lead.
That goodly nymph, the taller of the two,
Careless and fearless to the field does go.
Becoming blushes on the other wait,
And her young look excuses want of height.
Beauty gives courage; for she knows the day
Must not be won the Amazonian way.
Legions of Cupids to the battle come,

For Little Britain these, and those for Rome.
Dressed to advantage, this illustrious pair
Arrived, for combat in the list appear.
What may the Fates design! for never yet
From distant regions two such beauties met.
Venus had been an equal friend to both,
And victory to declare herself seems loth;
Over the camp, with doubtful wings, she flies,
Till Chloris shining in the field she spies.
The lovely Chloris well-attended came,
A thousand Graces waited on the dame;
Her matchless form made all the English glad,
And foreign beauties less assurance had;
Yet, like the Three on Ida's top, they all
Pretend alike, contesting for the ball;
Which to determine, Love himself declined,
Lest the neglected should become less kind.
Such killing looks! so thick the arrows fly!
That 'tis unsafe to be a stander-by.
Poets, approaching to describe the fight,

Are by their wounds instructed how to write.
They with less hazard might look on, and draw
The ruder combats in Alsatia ;