THE COUNTESS OF CARLISLE IN MOURNING.*
WHEN from black clouds no part of sky is clear,
But just so much as lets the sun appear,
Heaven then would seem thy image, and reflect
Those sable vestments, and that bright aspect.
A spark of virtue by the deepest shade
Of sad adversity is fairer made;
Nor less advantage doth thy beauty get;
A Venus rising from a sea of jet!
Such was the appearance of new formed light,
While yet it struggled with eternal night.
Then mourn no more, lest thou admit increase
Of glory by thy noble lord's decease.
We find not that the laughter-loving damet
Mourned for Anchises; 'twas enough she came
To grace the mortal with her deathless bed,
And that his living eyes such beauty fed;
Had she been there, untimely joy, through all
Men's hearts diffused, had marred the funeral.
Those eyes were made to banish grief: as well
Bright Phoebus might affect in shades to dwell,
As they to put on sorrow: nothing stands,
But power to grieve, exempt from thy commands.
If thou lament, thou must do so alone;
Grief in thy presence can lay hold on none.
Yet still persist the memory to love
Of that great Mercury of our mighty Jove,
* The Earl of Carlisle, according to Clarendon, came into England with James I., and by the prudence of his conduct secured more popularity than any of his countrymen. He was twice married-first to the sole daughter and heir of Lord Denny, and afterwards to the Lady Lucy Percy. Luxurious in his habits, and costly in his personal expenses, he lived superbly and died poor. 'He left behind him,' says Clarendon, the reputation of a very fine gentleman and a most accomplished courtier; and after having spent in a very jovial life above four hundred thousand pounds, which, upon a strict computation, he received from the crown, he left not a house nor an acre of land to be remembered by.' He died in 1636.
Who, by the power of his enchanting tongue,
Swords from the hands of threatening monarchs wrung.
War he prevented, or soon made it cease,
Instructing princes in the arts of peace;
Such as made Sheba's curious queen resort
To the large hearted Hebrew's famous court.
Had Homer sat amongst his wondering guests,
He might have learned at those stupendous feasts,
With greater bouuty, and more sacred state,
The banquets of the gods to celebrate.
But oh! what elocution might he use,
What potent charms, that could so soon infuse
His absent master's love into the heart
Of Henrietta! forcing her to part
From her loved brother, country, and the sun,
And, like Camilla, o'er the waves to run
Into his arms!* while the Parisian dames
Mourn for the ravished glory; at her flames
No less amazed than the amazed stars,
When the bold charmer of Thessalia wars
With Heaven itself, and numbers does repeat,
Which call descending Cynthia from her seat.
IN ANSWER TO ONE WHO WRIT A LIBEL
AGAINST THE COUNTESS OF CARLISLE.
WHAT fury has provoked thy wit to dare,
With Diomede, to wound the Queen of Love?
Thy mistress' envy, or thine own despair?
Not the just Pallas in thy breast did move
So blind a rage, with such a different fate;
He honour won where thou hast purchased hate.
She gave assistance to his Trojan foe;
Thou, that without a rival thou mayst love,
* Lord Carlisle was appointed with Lord Holland to represent Prince Charles at the marriage with the Princess Henrietta in Paris.
Dost to the beauty of this lady owe,
While after her the gazing world does move.
Canst thou not be content to love alone?
Or is thy mistress not content with one?
Hast thou not read of Fairy Arthur's shield,
Which, but disclosed, amazed the weaker eyes
Of proudest foes, and won the doubtful field?
So shall thy rebel wit become her prize.
Should thy iambics swell into a book,
All were confuted with one radiant look.
Heaven he obliged that placed her in the skies;
Rewarding Phoebus, for inspiring so
His noble brain, by likening to those eyes
His joyful beams; but Phoebus is thy foe,
And neither aids thy fancy nor thy sight,
So ill thou rhym'st against so fair a light.
THEY
THEY taste of death that do at heaven arrive;
But we this paradise approach alive.
Instead of death, the dart of love does strike,
And renders all within these walls alike.
The high in titles, and the shepherd, here
Forgets his greatness, and forgets his fear.
All stand amazed, and gazing on the fair,
Lose thought of what themselves or others are;
Ambition lose, and have no other scope,
Save Carlisle's favour, to employ their hope.
The Thracian* could (though all those tales were true
The bold Greeks tell) no greater wonders do;
Before his feet so sheep and lions lay,
Fearless and wrathless while they heard him play.
The gay, the wise, the gallant, and the grave,
Subdued alike, all but one passion have;
No worthy mind but finds in hers there is
Something proportioned to the rule of his;
While she with cheerful, but impartial grace,
(Born for no one, but to delight the race
Of men) like Phoebus so divides her light,
And warms us, that she stoops not from her height.
PHYLLIS! 'twas love that injured you,
And on that rock your Thyrsis threw;
Who for proud Celia could have died,
While you no less accused his pride.
Fond Love his darts at random throws,
And nothing springs from what he sows;
From foes discharged, as often meet
The shining points of arrows fleet,
In the wide air creating fire,
As souls that join in one desire.
Love made the lovely Venus burn
In vain, and for the cold youth* mourn,
Who the pursuit of churlish beasts
Preferred to sleeping on her breasts.
Love makes so many hearts the prize
Of the bright Carlisle's conquering eyes,
Which she regards no more than they
The tears of lesser beauties weigh.
So have I seen the lost clouds pour
Into the sea a useless shower;
And the vexed sailors curse the rain
For which poor shepherds prayed in vain.
Then, Phyllis, since our passions are
Governed by chance; and not the care,
But sport of heaven, which takes delight
To look upon this Parthian fight
Of love, still flying, or in chase,
Never encountering face to face;
No more to love we'll sacrifice,
But to the best of deities;
And let our hearts, which love disjoined,
By his kind mother be combined.
TO THE QUEEN MOTHER OF FRANCE, UPON HER LANDING.*
GREAT Queen of Europe! where thy offspring wears
All the chief crowns; where princes are thy heirs; †
As welcome thou to sea-girt Britain's shore,
As erst Latona (who fair Cynthia bore)
To Delos was; here shines a nymph as bright,
By thee disclosed, with like increase of light.
Why was her joy in Belgia confined?
Or why did you so much regard the wind?
Scarce could the ocean, though enraged, have tossed
Thy sovereign bark, but where the obsequious coast
* Mary de Medicis, flying from the persecutions of Richelieu, took sanctuary in England, upon the invitation of the Queen, in 1638. The people gave her a very rough reception, and her landing led to a tumult in which lives were lost, and it was found necessary to employ force to protect her against the violence of the populace. Her subsequent residence at St. James's Palace, where she lived upon the bounty of the country, being allowed a pension of 3000l. a month, became a source of constant irritation; and at length, in 1641, the Parliament interfered, and procured her removal, mitigating the severity of the measure by granting a sum of 10,000l., nominally for the expenses of her journey, but really as a provision against want. The wretched close of her life at Cologne, in the following year, presents one of the most extraordinary reverses of fortune in the annals of history.
The royalties with which Mary de Medicis was directly related connected her with most of the reigning Sovereigns of Europe. She was the daughter of the Grand Duke of Tuscany, the widow of Henry IV., and the mother of the King of France, the Queens of England and Spain, and the Duchess of Savoy.
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