Of the fole Lady, who had pow'r to move
The great NORTHUMBERLAND to grieve, and love.
To my LORD ADMIRAL, of his late
Sickness and Recovery.
joy like ours, the THRACIAN youth
invades
ORPHEUS, returning from th' ELYSIAN fhades;
Embrace the Hero, and his ftay implore;
Make it their public fuit, he would no more
Defert them fo; and for his spouse's fake,
His vanish'd love, tempt the LETHEAN lake:
The Ladies too, the brighteft of that time,
(Ambitious all his lofty bed to climb)
Their doubtful hopes with expectation feed,
Who fhall the fair EURYDICE fucceed:
EURYDICE! for whom his num'rous moan
Makes lift'ning trees, and favage mountains groan :
Thro' all the air his founding ftrings dilate
Sorrow, like that which touch'd our hearts of late.
Your pining fickness, and your reftless pain,
At once the land affecting, and the Main :
When the glad news that you were Admiral
Scarce thro' the nation spread, 'twas fear'd by all.
That our great CHARLES, whofe wisdom shines in
Would be perplexed how to chufe a new.
So more than private was the joy, and grief,
That at the worst it gave our fouls relief,
That in our age fuch fenfe of virtue liv'd;
They joy'd fo juftly, and so justly griev❜d.
Nature (her fairest lights eclipsed) seems
Herself to fuffer in thofe fharp extremes :
While not from thine alone thy blood retires,
But from those cheeks which all the world admires.
The ftem thus threaten'd, and the fap in thee,
Droop all the branches of that noble tree!
Their beauty they, and we our love fufpend,
Nought can our wishes, fave thy health, intend.
As lilies over-charg'd with rain, they bend
Their beauteous heads, and with high heav'n contend:
Fold thee within their fnowy arms, and cry
He is too faultlefs, and too young, to dye.
So like Immortals round about thee they
Sit, that they fright approaching Death away.
Who would not languish, by so fair a train
To be lamented, and reftor'd again?
Or thus with-held, what hafty foul would go,
Though to the Bleft? O'er young ADONIS fo
Fair VENUS mourn'd, and with the precious fhow'r
Of her warm tears cherish'd the springing flow'r.
The next fupport, fair hope of your great name,
And second pillar of that noble frame,
By lofs of thee would no advantage have,
But step by step pursue thee to the grave.
And now, relentless Fate about to end
The line, which backward does fo far extend
That antique ftock, which ftill the world fupplies.
With braveft fpirits, and with brightest eyes;
Kind PHOEBUS interpofing bid me fay
Such storms no more shall shake that houfe; but they Like NEPTUNE, and his fea-born Niece, fhall be The fhining glories of the land and fea:
With courage guard, and beauty warm, our age; And lovers fill with like poetic rage.
The world to which you fly fo fast,
Conveying day
From us to them, can pay your hafte
With no fuch object, nor falute your rife
With no fuch wonder, as DE MORNAY's eyes.
Well does this prove
The error of those antique books,
Which made you move
About the world: her charming looks
Would fix your beams, and make it ever day,
Did not the rowling earth snatch her away.
On my Lady DOROTHY SIDNEY's Picture.
UCH was PHILO CLEA, and fuch Do Rus'flame;
The+matchless SIDNEY that immortal frame Of perfect beauty, on two pillars plac'd: Not his high fancy could one pattern, grac'd With fuch extremes of excellence, compofe; Wonders fo diftant in one face difclofe! Such chearful modefty, fuch humble state, Moves certain love; but with as doubtful fate, As when, beyond our greedy reach, we fee Inviting fruit on too fublime a tree.
All the rich flow'rs through his ARCADIA found,
Amaz'd we see in this one garland bound.
Had but this copy (which the artist took
From the fair picture of that noble book)
Sir PHILIP SIDNEY.
Stood at KALANDER'S, the brave friends * had jarr'd;
And, rivals made, th' enfuing ftory marr❜d.
Juft nature firft inftructed by his thought,
In his own houfe thus practis'd what he taught :
This glorious piece trancends what he could think;
So much his blood is nobler than his ink!
ARE Artifan, whofe pencil moves
Not our delights alone, but loves!
From thy fhop of beauty we
Slaves return, that enter'd free,
The heedlefs lover does not know
Whofe e eyes they are that wound him fo;
But, confounded with thy art,
Inquires her name that has his heart.
Another, who did long refrain,
Feels his old wound bleed fresh again,
With dear remembrance of that face,
Where now he reads new hope of grace;
Nor fcorn, nor cruelty does find:
But gladly fuffers a falfe wind
To blow the afhes of defpair
From the reviving brand of care.
Fool! that forgets her stubborn look
This foftnefs from thy finger took.
Strange! that thy hand should not infpire
The beauty only, but the fire:
Not the form alone, and grace,.
But act, and power, of a face.
May'st thou yet thyfelf as well,
As all the world befides, excel!
*PYROCLES and MUSIDOR US.
So you th' unfeigned truth rehearfe,
(That I may make it live in verfe)
Why thou cou'dft not, at one affay,
That face to after-times convey,
Which this admires. Was it thy wit
To make her oft before thee fit?
Confefs, and we'll forgive thee this;
For who would not repeat that blifs
And frequent fight of fuch a dame
Buy, with the hazard of his fame;
Yet who can tax thy blameless skill,
Though thy good hand had failed ftill;
When natures felf fo often errs;
She for this many thousand years
Seems to have practis'd with much care,
To frame the race of women fair;
Yet never could a perfect birth
Produce before, to grace the earth:
Which waxed old, e're it could fee
Her that amaz'd thy Art, and thee.
But now 'tis done, O let me know
Where thofe immortal colors grow,
That could this deathlefs piece compofe ?----
In lillies or the fading rofe?
No; for this theft thou haft clinib'd high't,
Than did PROMETHEUS for his fire.
At PENS-HUR S. T.
AD DOROTHEA liv'd when mortals made
Choice of their Deities, this facred shade Had held an altar to her pow'r, that gave The peace, and glory, which thefe alleys have: Embroider'd
|