We find not that the laughter-loving dame
Mourn'd for Anchifes; 'twas enough fhe came
To grace the mortal with her deathlefs bed,
And that his living eyes fuch beauty fed :
Had she been there, untimely joy through all
Men's hearts diffus'd had marr'd the funeral.
Those eyes were made to banish grief: as well
Bright Phoebus might affect in fhades to dwell,
As they to put on forrow: nothing stands,
But power to grieve, exempt from thy commands.
If thou lament, thou muft do fo alone;
Grief in thy prefence can lay hold of none.
Yet ftill perfift the memory to love
Of that great Mercury of our mighty Jove:
Who, by the power of his inchanting tongue,
Swords from the hands of threatening Monarchs wrung.
War he prevented, or foon made it cease;
Inftructing Princes in the arts of peace ;
Such as made Sheba's curious Queen refort
To the large-hearted Hebrew's famous Court.
Had Homer fat amongft his wondering guests,
He might have learn'd at those stupendous feafts,
With greater bounty, and more facred state,
The banquets of the Gods to celebrate.
But oh! what elocution might he use,
What potent charms, that could fo foon infufe
His abfent Master's love into the heart
Of Henrietta! forcing her to part
From her lov'd brother, country, and the fun;
And, like Camilla, o'er the waves to run
Into his arms: while the Parifian dames
Mourn for the ravish'd glory; at her flames
No lefs amaz'd, than the amazed stars,
When the bold charmer of Theffalia wars
With Heaven itfelf; and Numbers does repeat,
Which call defcending Cynthia from her seat.
In answer to one who writ a Libel against the Countess of CARLISLE.
WHAT fury has provok'd thy wit to dare,
With Diomede, to wound the Queen of love?
Thy mistress' envy, or thine own despair?
Not the juft Pallas in thy breast did move
So blind a rage, with fuch a different fate :
He honor won, where thou haft purchas'd hate.
gave affiftance to his Trojan foe;
Thou, that without a rival thou may'st love,
Doft to the beauty of this Lady owe;
While after her the gazing world does move.
Canft thou not be content to love alone?
Or, is thy mistress not content with one?
Haft thou not read of Fairy Arthur's shield,
Which but difclos'd, amaz'd the weaker eyes
Of proudest foes, and won the doubtful field?
So fhall thy rebel wit become her prize.
Should thy Iambics fwell into a book,
All were confuted with one radiant look.
Heaven he oblig'd that plac'd her in the skies;
Rewarding Phoebus for infpiring fo
His noble brain, by likening to those eyes
His joyful beams: but Phoebus is thy foe;
And neither aids thy fancy nor thy fight;
So ill thou rhym'st against so fair a light.
HEY taste of death that do at heaven arrive;
But we this paradife approach alive.
Inftead of Death, the dart of Love does strike;
And renders all within thefe walls alike:
The high in titles, and the fhepherd, here
Forgets his greatnefs, and forgets his fear.
All stand amaz'd, and, gazing on the Fair,
Lofe thought of what themselves or others are :
Ambition lofe; and have no other scope,
Save Carlisle's favour to employ their hope,
The Thracian could (though all thofe tales were true The bold Greeks tell) no greater wonders do :
Before his feet fo fheep and lions lay,
Fearless, and wrathlefs, while they heard him play.
The gay, the wife, the gallant, and the
grave,
Subdued alike, all but one paffion have :
No worthy mind, but finds in her's there is
Something proportion'd to the rule of his :
While the with chearful, but impartial grace,
(Born for no one, but to delight the race
Of men) like Phoebus, fo divides her light,
And warms us, that she stoops not from her height.
TO PHYLLIS.
PHYLLIS, 'twas Love that injur'd you,
And on that rock your Thyrfis threw;
Who for proud Cælia could have dy'd,
While you no less accus'd his pride.
Fond Love his darts at random throws,
And nothing springs from what he fows:
From foes discharg'd as often meet
The shining points of arrows fleet,
In the wide air creating fire;
As fouls that join in one defire.
Love made the lovely Venus burn
In vain, and for the * cold youth mourn,
Who the pursuit of churlish beasts
Prefer'd, to fleeping on her breasts.
Love makes fo many hearts the prize
Of the bright Carlisle's conquering eyes;
Which he regards no more, than they
The tears of leffer Beauties weigh.
So have I feen the loft clouds pour
Into the fea an ufelefs fhower;
And the vex'd failors curfe the rain,
For which poor shepherds pray'd in vain.
Then, Phyllis, fince our paffions are
Govern'd by chance; and not the care,
But fport of Heaven, which takes delight
To look upon this Parthian fight
Of Love, ftill flying, or in chase,
Never encountering face to face;
No more to Love we'll facrifice,
But to the beft of Deities:
And let our hearts, which Love disjoin'd,
By his kind mother be combin'd.
To my Lord of NORTHUMBERLAND, upon the Death of his Lady.
O this great lofs a fea of tears is due:
But the whole debt not to be paid by you.
Charge not yourself with all, nor render vain
Those showers, the eyes of us your fervants rain.
Shall grief contract the largenefs of that heart,
In which nor fear, nor anger, has a part?
Virtue would blush, if time should boast (which dries,
Her fole child dead, the tender mother's eyes)
Your mind's relief; where reafon triumphs fo
Over all paffions, that they ne'er could grow
Beyond their limits in your noble breast,
To harm another, or impeach your rest.
This we obferv'd, delighting to obey
One, who did never from his great self stray:
Whofe mild example feemed to engage
Th' obfequious feas, and teach them not to rage.
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