For thou may'ft fay, 'twas not thy fault
That thou didst thus inconftant prove;
Being by my example taught
To break thy oath, to mend thy love.
No, Chloris, no: I will return,
And raife thy story to that height,
That ftrangers fhall at diftance burn;
And the diftruft me reprobate.
Then shall my love this doubt displace,
And gain fuch truft, that I may come
And banquet fometimes on thy face,
But make my conftant meals at home.
Of my Lady ISABELLA playing on the lute.
UCH moving founds, from fuch a carelefs touch!
So unconcern'd herself, and we fo much!
What art is this, that with fo little pains
Tranfports us thus, and o'er our spirits reigns?
The trembling ftrings about her fingers crowd,
And tell their joy for every kiss aloud :
Small force there needs to make them tremble fo;
Touch'd by that hand, who would not tremble too?
Here Love takes stand, and, while fhe charms the ear,
Empties his quiver on the listening deer:
Mufic fo foftens and difarms the mind,
That not an arrow does refiftance find.
Thus the fair tyrant celebrates the prize,
And acts herself the triumph of her eyes:
So Nero once, with harp in hand, survey'd
His flaming Rome, and as it burn'd he play'd.
To a LADY finging a Song of his compofing.
HLORIS, yourself you so excel,
When vouchsafe to breathe my thought,
That, like a fpirit, with this fpell
Of my own teaching, I am caught.
That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which, on the shaft that made him die,
Efpy'd a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to foar fo high.
Had Echo with fo fweet a grace
Narciffus' loud complaints return'd,
Not for reflection of his face,
But of his voice, the boy had burn'd.
OF MRS. ARDEN.
EHOLD, and liften, while the Fair
Breaks in fweet founds the willing air:
And, with her own breath, fans the fire
Which her bright eyes do first inspire.
What reafon can that love control,
Which more than one way courts the foul?
So, when a flash of lightning falls
On our abodes, the danger calls
For human aid; which hopes the flame
To conquer, though from heaven it came :
But, if the winds with that confpire,
Men ftrive not, but deplore the fire.
Of the MARRIAGE of the DWARFS.
ESIGN, or chance, make others wive;
But nature did this match contrive:
Eve might as well have Adam fled,
As she deny'd her little bed
To him, for whom Heaven feem'd to frame,
And measure out, this only dame.
Thrice happy is that humble pair,
Beneath the level of all care!
Over whose heads thofe arrows fly
Of fad diftruft, and jealoufy:
Secured in as high extreme,
As if the world held none but them.
To him the fairest nymphs do fhow
Like moving mountains topp'd with fnow
And every man a Polypheme
Does to his Galatea feem:
None may prefume her faith to prove;
He proffers death that proffers love.
Ah, Chloris! that kind nature thus
From all the world had fever'd us;
Creating for ourselves us two,
As love has me for only you!
READING the path to nobler ends,
A long farewell to love I gave:
Refolv'd my country, and my friends,
All that remain'd of me fhould have.
And this refolve no mortal dame,
None but thofe eyes, could have o'erthrown The nymph I dare not, need not, name,
So high, fo like herself alone.
Thus the tall oak, which now afpires
Above the fear of private fires;
Grown and defign'd for nobler ufe,
Not to make warm, but build the house;
Though from our meaner flames fecure,
Muft that which falls from heaven endure.
Makes it full fummer ere the fpring's begun : And with ripe fruit the bending boughs can load, Before our violets dare look abroad:
So, measure not by any common use,
The early love your brighter eyes produce.
When lately your fair hand in woman's weed
Wrap'd my glad head, I wish'd me fo indeed,
That hafty time might never make me grow
Out of thofe favours you afford me now:
That I might ever fuch indulgence find;
And you not blush, or think yourself too kind.
Who now, I fear, while I these joys exprefs,
Begin to think how you may make them lefs:
The found of love makes your soft heart afraid,
And guard itself, though but a child invade,
And innocently at your white breast throw
A dart as white, a ball of new-fall'n fnow.
ON A GIRDLE.
HAT which her flender waift confin'd,
Shall now my joyful temples bind:
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arms might do what this has done.
It was my heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer:
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move!
A narrow compafs! and yet there
Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair:
Give me but what this riband bound,
Take all the reft the fun goes round.
ERE, Cælia! for thy fake I part
With all that grew fo near my heart:
The paffion that I had for thee,
The faith, the love, the conftancy!
And, that I may fuccefsful prove,
Transform myself to what
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