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And while upon that face I fed my sight,

When such are only priz'd by wretched ways Methought she vanish'd up to Titan's light; Who with a golden fleece them can adorn! Who gilding with his rays each bill and plain, When avarice and lust are counted praise, Seem'd to have brought the golden world again. And bravest minds lire, orphan-like, forlorn!

Why was not I born in that golden age,
When gold yet was not known? and those black arts

By wbich base worldlings vilely play their parts,

With horrid aets staining Earth's stately stage?

To have been then, O Heaven! 't bad been my bliss, I.

But bless me now, and take me soon from this. TRIUMPHINC chariots, statucs, crowns of bays, Sky-threat'ning arches, the rewards of worth, Books heavenly-wise in sweet harmonious lays, Which men divine unto the world set forth: States which ambitious minds, in blood, do raise,

PORTRAIT OF THE COUNTESS OF PERTH. From frozen Tanais unto sun-burnt Gange,

SONNET Gigantic framnes held wonders rarely strange, Like spiders' webs, are made the sport of days. Tre goddess that in Amathus doth reign, Nothing is constant but in constant change, With silver trammels, and sappbire-colour'd eyes, What's done still is undone, and when undone

When naked from her mother's crystal plain, into sume other fasbion doth it range;

She first appear'd unto the wond'ring skies: Thus goes the floating world beneath the Moon:

Or when the golden apple to obtain, Wherefore, my mind, above time, motion, place, Her blushing snow amazed Ida's trees, Rise up, and steps unknown to nature trace. Did never look in half so fair a guise,

As she here drawn all other ages stain.

O God what beauties to inflame the soul,

And hold the hardest hearts in chains of gold !

Fair locks, sweet face, Love's stately capitol, Too long I followed have my fond desire,

Pure neck which doth that heavenly frame uphold, And too long panted on the ocean streams,

If Virtue would to mortal eyes appear, Too long refreshment sought amidst the fire, To ravish sense she would your beauty wear. Pursu'd those joys which to my soul are blames. Ah when I had what most I did admire, And seen of life's delights the last extremes, I found all but a rose hedg'd with a brier, A nought, a thought, a masquerade of dreams. Ir Heaven, the stars, and Nature did her grace Henceforth on thee, my only good, I'll think, With all perfections found the Moon above, For only thou canst grant what I do crave:

And what excelleth in this lower place, Thy nail my pen shall be ; thy blood mine ink; Found place in her to breed a world of love: Thy winding-sheet my paper'; study, grave: If angels' gleams shine on her fairest face, (prove, Aud till my soul forth of this body flee,

Which makes Heaven's joy, on Earth, the gazer No hope I'll have, but only only thee.

And her bright eyes (the orbs which beauty move)
As Phæbus dazzle in his glorious race.
Wbat pencil paint, what colour to the sight

So sweet a shape can show? the blushing morn,

The red must lend, the milky way the white, To spread the azure canopy of Heaven,

And night the stars which her rich crown adorn; And spangle it all with sparks of burning gold.

To draw her right then, and make all agree, To place this ponderous globe of Earth so even,

The Heaven the table, Zeuxis Jove must be. That it should all, and nought should it uphold; With motions strange, t’indue the planets seven), And Jove to make so mild, and Mars so bold;

ON THAT SAME DRAWN WITH A PENCIL. To temper what is moist, dry, hot, and cold, Of all their jars that sweet accords are given ;Lord, to thy wisdom's nought, nought to thy might: | When with brave art the curious painter drew But that thou should'st, thy glory laid aside,

This heavenly shape, the hand why made he bear Come basely in mortality to bide,

With golden veins that flow'r of purple hue, And die for those deserv'd an endless night:

Which follows on the planet of the ycar? A wonder is so far above our wit,

Was it to show how in our hemisphere,
That angels stand amaz'd to think on it.'

Like him she shines, nay that effects more true
Of power, and wonder do in her appear,

While he but flow’rs, and she doth minds subdue.

Or would he else to virtue's glorious light

Her constant course make known, or is 't that he What hapless bap had I for to be born

Doth parallel her bliss with Clitia's plight: In these unbappy times, and dying days

Right so, and thus, he reading in her eye Of this now doting world, when good decays, Some lover's end, to grace what he did grave, Love's quite extinct, and virtue's held a scom! For Cypress tree, this mourning flow'r her gave.


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To none: nor is it seen that princes' lives. MADRIGAL

Can saved be by their prerogatives :

No more was thine ; who, clos'd in thy cold lead, My thoughts hold mortal strife,

Dost from thyself a mournful lecture read I do detest my life,

Of mau's short-dated glory. Learn, you kings, And with lamenting cries,

You are, like him, but penetrable things; Peace to my soul to bring,

Though you from demi-gods derive your birth, Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize: You are at best but honourable earth : But he grim grinning king,

And howe'er sifted from that coarser bran
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise, Which doth compound, and knead the common man,
Late having deckt with beauty's rose his tomb, Nothing immortal, or from earth refin'd
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. About you, but your office and your mind.

Hear then, break your false glasses, which present
You greater than your Maker ever meant.
Make truth your mirror now, since you find all

That fatter yoni, confuted by his fall.

Yet since it was decreed thy life's bright sun UPON THE VICTORIOUS KING OF SWEDEN, GUSTAVUS

Must be eclips'd ere thy full course was run,
Be proud thou didst in thy black obsequies

With greater glory set than others rise :
Like a cold fatal sweat which ushers death, For in thy death, as life, thou holdest one
My thoughts hang on me; and by labouring breath, Most just and regular proportion.
Stopt up with sighs, my fancy big with woes Look how the circles drawn by compass meet
Feels two twin mountains struggle in her throws, Indivisibly, joined head to feet;
Of boundless sorrow th' one, th' other of sin ; And by continued points which them unite
For less let no man call it, to begin

Grow at once circular, and infinite: Where honour ends in great Gustavus' flame, So did thy fate and honour both contend That still burnt out and wasted to a name, To match thy brave beginning with thine end. Does barely live with us; and when the stuff Therefore thou hadst, instead of passing-bells, Wbich fed it fails, the taper turns to suuff: The drums and cannons' thunder for thy kpells; With this poor snuff, this airy shadow, we And in the field thou didst triumphing die, Of fame and honour must contented be,

Closing thy eyelids with a victory; Since from the vain grasp of our wishes fled That so by thousands that there lost their breath, Their glorious substances, now he is dead.

King-like thou might'st be waited on in death. Speak it again, and louder, louder yet,

Liv'd Plutarch now, and would of Cæsar tell, Else whilst we hear the sound, we shall forget He could make none but thee his parallel, What it delivers; let hoarse Rumour cry

Whose tide of glory, swelling to the brim, Till she so many echoes multiply,

Needs borrow no addition from him: That may like numerous witnesses confute

When did great Julius in any clime Our unbelieving souls, that would dispute

Achieve so much, and in so short a time? And doubt this truth for ever, this one way Or if he did, yet sbalt thou in that land Is left our incredulity to sway,

Single for him, and unexampled stand. Tawaken our deaf sense, and make our ears When o'er the Germans first his eagle towrid, As open and dilated as our tears;

What saw the legions which on them he poor'd, That we may feel the blow, and feeling grieve But massy bodies made their swords to try, At what we would not fain, but must believe, Subjects, not for his fight, but slarery? And in that horrid faith behold the world

In that so vast expanded piece of ground From her proud height of expectation burl'd; (Now Sweden's theatre and scorn) he found Stooping with him, as if she strove to have

Nothing worth Cæsar's valour, or his fear, No lower centre now, than Sweden's grave. No conqu’ring army, nor a Tilly there,

0! could not all the purchas'd victories Whose strength, nor wiles, nor practice in the far Like to thy fame thy flesh immortalize?

Might the fierce torrent of his triumphs bar; Were not thy virtue nor thy valour charms But that thy winged sword twice made him yield, To guard thy body from those outward harms Both from his trenches beat, and from the field. Which could not reach thy soul? Could not thy spirit Besides, the Roman thought he had done much, Lend something wbich thy frailty could inherit, Did he the banks of Rbenus only touch : From thy diviner part, that death nor heat, But though his march was bounded by the Rhine, Nor envy's bullets e'er could penetrate?

Not Oder nor the Danube thee confine. Could not thy early trophies in stern fight

And but thy frailty did thy fame prevent, Turn from the Pole, the Dane, the Muscovite? Thou hadst thy conquest stretch'd to such extent Which were thy triumphs, seeds as pledges sown, Thou might'st Vienna reach, and after Spain; That, when thy honour's harvest was ripe grown, From Mulda to the Baltic ocean. With full plumd wing thou faulcon-like could fly, But Death hath spann'd thee, nor must re divir And cuff the eagle in the German sky,

What here thou hadst to finish thy design; Forcing his iron beak, and feathers feel

Or who shall thee succeed as champion They were not proof 'gainst thy victorious steel. For liberty, and for religion. Could not all these protect thee, or prevail Thy task is done : as in a watch the spring, To fright that coward Death, who oft grew pale Wound to the height, relaxes with the string; To look thee and thy battles in the face?

So thy steel nerves of conquest, from their steep Alas! they could not; Destiny gives place Ascent declin'd, lie slackt in thy last sleep


Rest then, triumphant soul, for ever rest,

Mæliades, O that by Ister's streams, And, like the phenix in her spicy nest.

'Mong sounding trumpets, fiery twinkling gleams Embalm’d with thine own merit, upward fly,

Of warm vermilion swords, and cannons' roar, Borne in a cloud of perfume to the sky;

Balls thick as rain pour'd on the Caspian shore, Whilst, as in deathless urns, each noble mind Mongst broken spears, 'mongst ringing helms and Treasures thine ashes which are left behind.

shields, And if perhaps no Cassiopeian spark

Huge beaps of slaughter'd bodies ’long the fields, (Which in the north did thy first rising mark) In Turkish blood made red like Mars's star, Shine v'er thy hearse, the breath of our just praise Thou endedst had thy life, and christian war; Shall to the Grmament thy virtues raise;

Or as brave Bourbon, thou hadst made old Rome, There fix and kindle them into a star,

Queen of the world, thy triumph, and thy tomb ! Whose influence may crown thy glorious war.

So Heaven's fair face, to th' unborn world, which
A book had been of thy illustrious deeds: [reads,
So to their nephews, aged sires had told
The high exploits perform'd by thee of old;

Towns ras'd, and rais'd, victorious, vanquish'd bands,

Pierce tyrants flying, foil'd, kill'd by thy hands :
And in rich arras virgins fair had wrought
The bays and trophies to thy country brought:

While some new Homer, imping wings to fame,

Deaf Nilus' dwellers had made hear thy name.

That thou didst not attain these honour's spheres, O HEAVENS !. then is it true that thou art gone, Through want of worth it was not, but of years. And left this woful isle her loss to moan;

A youth more brave, pale Troy with trembling walls Mæliades, bright day-star of the west,

Did never see, nor she whose name appals A comet blazing terrour to the east;

Both Titan's golden bow'rs, in bloody fights, Aud neither that thy spirit so heavenly wise, Must'ring on Mars bis field, such Mars-like knights. Nor body (though of earth) more pure than skies, The Hearens had brought thee to the bighest height Nor royal stem, nor thy sweet tender age,

Of wit and courage, showing all their might Of cruel destinies could quench the rage ?

When they thee fram'd. Ah me! that what is brave O fading hopes ! O short-while lasting joy

On Earth, they as their own so soon should crave ! Of earth-born man, that one hour can destroy! Moliades sweet courtly nymphs deplore, Then even of Virtue's spoils Death trophies rears, From Thule to Hydaspes' pearly shore. (pass As if he gloried most in many tears.

When Forth, thy nurse, Forth where thou first didst Forc'd by hard fates, do Heavens neglect our cries? | Thy tender days, (who smild oft on ber glass, Are stars set only to act tragedies?

To see thee gaze) meand'ring with her streams, Then let them do their worst, since thou art gone, Heard thou hadst left this round, from Phæbus' Raise whom thou list to thrones, enthron’d dethrone; She sought to fly, but forced to return [beains Stain princely how'rs with blood, and even to Gange, By neighbouring brooks, she set herself to mourn : In cypress sad, glad Hymen's torches change. And as she rush'd her Cyclades among, [wrong. Ah! thou hast left to live; and in the time She seem’d to plain that Heaven had done her When scarce thou blossom’dst in thy pleasant prime: With a hoarse plaint, Clyde down her steepy rocks, So falls by northern blast a virgin rose,

And Tweed through her green mountains clad with At half that doth her bashful bosom close;

flocks, So a sweet flower Janguishing decays,

Did wound the ocean murmuring thy death;
That late did blush when kiss'd by Phæbus' rays; The ocean it roard about the earth,
So Phoebus mounting the meridian's height,

And to the Mauritanian Atlas told,

[rollid Chok'd by pale Phæbe, faints unto our sight; Who shrunk through grief, and down bis white hairs Astonish'd Nature sullen stands to see

Hugestreams of tears, which changed were to floods, The life of all this all so chang'd to be;

Wherewith he drown'd the neighbour plains and In gloomy gowns the stars this loss deplore, The lesser brooks, as tbey did bubbling go, (woods. The sea with murmuring mountains beats the shore, Did keep a consort to the public woe. Black darkness reels o'er all, in thousand show'rs The shepherds left their flocks with downcast eyes, The weeping air on earth ber sorrow pours, 'Sdaining to look up to the angry skies : That, in a palsy, quakes to see so soon

Some brake their pipes, and some in sweet-sad lays
Her lover set, and night burst forth ere noon. Made senseless things amazed at thy praise.
If Heaven, alas! ordain'd thee young to die,

His reed Alexis hung upon a tree,
Why was 't not where thou might'st thy valour try; And with his tears made Doven great to be.
And to the wond'ring world at least set forth Mæliades sweet courtly nymphs deplore,
Some little spark of thy expected worth?

From Thule to Hydaspes' pearly shore.

Chaste maids, which haunt fair Aganippe's well,

And you, in Tempe's sacred shade who dwell, The name which in these verses is given unto Let fall your harps, cease tunes of joy to sing, prince Henry, is that which he himself, in the Dishevelled make all Parnassus ring challenges of his martial sports and masquerades, | With anthems sad; thy music Phæbus turn was wont to use; Mæliades, prince of the isles, To doleful plaints, whilst joy itself doth mourn. which in anagram maketh a word most worthy of Dead is thy darling who adorn'd thy bays, such a knight as he was, a knight (if time had suf- Who oft was wont to cherish thy sweet lays, fered his actions to answer the world's expectation,) And to a trumpet raise thy amorous style, only worthy of such a world, Miles à Deo.

That floating Delos envy might this isle.

You, Acidalian archers, break your bows,

Thou sweeter songs dost bear, and carollings, Your torches quench, with tears blot beauty's snows, Whilst Heavens do dance, and choirs of angels sings, And bid your weeping mother yet again

Than muddy minds could feign ; even our ancoy A second Adon's death, nay Mårs his plain. (If it approach that place) is chang'd tu joy. His eyes once were your darts; pay, even his name, Rest, blessed soul, rest satiate with the sight Wherever heard, did every heart inflame.

Of him whose beams (though dazzling) do deligbt; Tagus did court his love with golden streams, Life of all lives, cause of each other cause ; Rhine with his towns, fair Seine with all she claims, The sphere and centre where the mind doth pause; But ah! (poor lovers) death did them betray, Narcissus of himself, himself the well, And, not suspected, made their bopes his prey ! Lover, and beauty that doth all excel, Tagus bewails his loss in golden streams,

Rest, happy soul, and wonder in that glass, Rhine with his towns, fair Seine with all she claims. Where seen is all that shall be, is, or was, Mæliades sweet courtly nymphs deplore,

While shall be, is, or was, do pass away,
From Thule to Hydaspes' pearly shore. [brings And nothing be, but an eternal day.

Eye-pleasing meads, whose painted plain forth For ever rest; thy praise fame will enrol
White, golden, azure flow'rs, which once were kings, In golden annals, while about the pole
To mourning black their shining colours dye, The slow Bootes turns, or Sun doth rise
Bow down their heads, while sighing zephyrs fly. With scarlet scarf to cheer the mouming skies
Queen of the fields, whose blush makes blush the The virgins on thy tomb will garlands bear

Of flow'rs, and with each flow'r let fall a tear.
Sweet rose, a prince's death in purple mourn; Mæliades sweet courtly nymphs deplore,
O hyacinths, for aye your Al keep still,

From Thule to Hydaspes' pearly shore.
Nay, with more marks of woe your leaves now fill:
And you, O tlow'r, of Helen's tears that 's born,

OF jet,
Into these liquid pearls again you turn :

Or porbyry, Your green locks, forests, cut; to weeping myrrhs,

Or that white stone To deadly cypress, and ink-dropping firs,

Paros affords alone, Your palms and myrtles change; from shadows dark,

Or these, in azure dye, Wing'd syrens, wail, and you, sad echoes, mark

Which seem to scorn the sky; The lamentable accents of their moan,

Here Memphis' wouders do not set, And plain that brave Mæliades is gone.

Nor Artemisia's huge frame, Stay, sky, thy turning course, and now become

That keeps so long her lover's name, A stately arch, unto the earth bis tomb:

Make no great marble Atlas stoop witb gold, And over it still wat’ry Iris keep,

To please the vulgar eye shall it bebold. And sad Electra's sisters, who still weep:

The Muses, Phæbus, Love, have raised of their tears Mæliades sweet courtly nymphs deplore,

A crystal tomb to him, through which bis worth From Thule to Hydaspes' pearly shore.

Dear ghost, forgive these our untimely tears,
By which our loving mind, though weak, appears :
Our loss, not thine (when we complain) we weep,
For thee the glistering walls of Heaven do keep,

Beyond the planet's wheels, 'bove highest source
Of spheres, that turns the lower in his course :

Stay, passenger, see where enclosed lies
Where Sun doth never set, nor ugly Night

'The paragon of princes, fairest frame,
Ever appears in mourning garments dight: Time, mature, place, could show to mortal eyes,
Where Boreas' stormy trumpet doth not sound, In worth, wit, virtue, miracle of faine :
Nor clouds in lightnings bursting, minds astound.

At least that part the earth of him could claim
From cares, cold climates far, and hot desire, This marble holds (hard like the destinies:)
Where Time's exil'd, and ages ne'er expire; For as to his brave spirit, and glorious name,
'Mong purest spirits environed with beans,

The one the world, the other fills the skies. Thou think'st all things below t' have been but Th’immortal amaranthus, princely rose, dreams;

Sad violet, and that sweet flow'r that bears And joy'st to look down to the azur'd bars

In sanguine spots the tenour of our woes, Of Heaven, powder'd with troops of streaming stars; | Spread on this stone, and wash it with your tears; And in their turning temples to behold,

Then go and tell from Gades unto Inde, In silver robe the Moon, the Sun in gold;

You saw where Earth's perfections were contin'd. Like young eye-speaking lovers in a dance, With majesty by turns retire, advance: Thou wonder'st Earth to see hang like a ball, Clos'd in the mighty cloister of this all; And that poor men should prove so madly fond,

ANOTHER To toss themselves for a small spot of ground: Nay, that they ev'n dare brave the powers above, A PASSING glance, a lightning long the skies, From this base stage of change that cannot move. Which, ushering thunder, dies straight to our sight; All worldly pomp and pride thou seest arise A spark that doth from jarring mixtures rise, Like smoke, that's scatter'd in the empty skies. Thus drown'd is in th' huge depths of day and night: Other high hills and forests, other tow'rs,

Is this small trifle, life, held in such price Amaz'd thou find'st excelling our poor bow'rs; Of blinded wights, who ne'er judge aught arigt? Courts void of flattery, of malice minds,

Of Parthian shaft so swift is not the flight, Pleasure which lasts, not such as reason blinds. As life, that wastes itself, and living dies.



Ah! what is haman greatness, valour, wit?
What fading beauty, riches, honour, praise ?

To what doth serve in golden thrones to sit,
Thrall Earth’s vast round, triumphal arches raise? Damera dream'd he saw his wife at sport,
That all 's a dream, learn in this prince's fall,

And found that sight was through the horny port. In whom, save death, nought mortal was at all.

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What course of life shonld wretched mortals take?
In books hard questions large contention make.
Care dwells in houses, labour in the field;
Tumultuous seas affrighting dangers yield.
In foreign lands thou never canst be blest:
If rich, thou art in fear; if poor, distress'd.
In wedlock frequent discontentments swell;
Unmarried persons as in deserts dwell.
How many troubles are with children born!
Yet he that wants them counts himself forlorn.
Young men are wanton, and of wisdom void;
Grey hairs are cold, unfit to be employ'd.
Who would not one of these two offers try,
Not to be born; or, being born, 10 die?

While with audacious wings,
I cleav'd those airy ways,
And fill'd (a monster new) with dread and fears,
The feather'd people and their eagle kings:
Dazzled with Phæbus' rays,
And charmed with the music of the spheres,
When quills could more no more, and force did fail,
Though down I fell from Heaven's high azure bounds;
Yet doth renown my losses countervail,
For still the shore my brave attempt resounds.
A sea, an element doth bear my name ;
What mortal's tomb's so great in place or fame?

a Elinramb



World, wonder not, that I
Keep in my breast engraven
That angel's face hath me of rest bereaven.

See, dead and senseless things cannot deny

To lodge so dear a guest:
Of that Medusa strange,

Evin this hard marble stone Who those that did her see in rocks did change,

Receives the same, and loves, but cannot groan.
No image carv'd is this :
Medusa's self it is:
For while at beat of day

To quench her thirst she by this spring did stay,
Her bideous head beholding in this glass,

How comes it, Sleep, that thou
Her senses fail'd, and thus transform'd she was. Even kisses me affords

Of her, dear her, so far who 's absent now?
How did I hear those words,

Which rocks might move, and move the pines to bow?
THE PORTRAIT OF MARS AND VENUS. Ah me! before half day

Why didst thou steal away? FAIR Paphos' wanton queen

Return, I thine for ever will remain, (Not drawn in white and red)

If thou wilt bring with thee that guest again. Is truly here, as when in Vulcan's bed She was of all Heaven's laughing senate seen. Gaze on her hair, and eine, Her brows, the bows of Love,

A PLEASANT DECEIT. Her back with lilies spread:

Over a crystal source Ye also might perceive ber turn and move,

lolas laid his face, But that she neither so will do, nor dare,

Of purling streams to see the restless course. For fear to wake the angry god of war.

But scarce he had o'ershadowed the place,
When in the water he a child espies,
So like himself in stature, face and eyes,

That glad he rose, and cried,

“ Dear mates approach, see whom I have descried, Flouds cannot quench my flames, ah! in this well The boy of whom strange stories shepherds tell, I burn, not drown, for what I cannot tell.

Oft called Hylas, dwelleth in this well."

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