As when, beyond our greedy reach, we see All the rich flowers through his Arcadia found, Stood at Kalander's, the brave friends had jarr'd; That could this deathlefs piece compofe? No; for this theft thou hast olimb'd higher, AT PENS-HURST. AD Dorothea liv'd when mortal's made In his own houfe thus practis'd what he taught: H choice of their Deities, this facred fhade This glorious piece tranfcends what he could think; So much his blood is nobler than his ink! TO VAN DYCK. ARE Artifan, whofe pencil moves, From thy fhop of beauty we Whofe eyes they are that wound him fo: eels 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 rom the reviving brand of care. ool! that forgets her stubborn look This foftnefs from thy finger took. trange! that thy hand fhould not inspire he beauty only, but the fire: fot the form alone, and grace, ut act, and power, of a face. lay't thou yet thyfelf as well, s all the world befides, excel? › you th' unfeign'd truth rehearse, That I may make it live in verfe) Thy thou couldst not, at one affay, hat face to after-times convey, hich this admires. Was it thy wit o make her oft before thee fit? onfefs, and we'll forgive thee this: or who would not repeat that blifs? and frequent fight of fuch a dame ay, with the hazard of his fame? t who can tax thy blameless skill, nough thy good hand had failed ftill; hen nature's felf so often errs? e for this many thousand years ms to have practis'd with much care, frame the race of women fair; t never could a perfect birth oduce before, to grace the earth: hich waxed old, ere it could fee er that amaz'd thy Art, and thee. But now, 'tis done, O let me know here thofe immortal colours grow, Pyrocles and Mufidorus. Had held an altar to her power that gave Ye lofty beeches, tell this matchlefs dame, Than for a pardon that he dares admire. TO MY LORD OF LEICESTER. [OT that thy trees at Pens-Hurst groan, NOT that with their timely load; And feem to make their filent moan, That their great lord is now abroad: And think themselves unjustly flain Whofe arrows they would gladly stain: Of public and domestic care, No wonder fleep from careful lovers flies, SHE To bath himself in Sachariffa's eyes. As fair Aftræa once from earth to heaven, By ftrife and loud impiety was driven : So with our plaints offended, and our tears, Wife Somnus to that paradife repairs; Waits on her will, and wretches does forfake, To court the Nymph, for whom those wretches wake. More proud than Phœbus of his throne of gold Her rebel heart, and never teach her care; OF THE MIS-REPORT OF HER BEING PAINTED. As when a fort of wolves infeft the night, With their wild howlings at fair Cynthia's light; The noise may chase fweet flumber from her eyes, But never reach the mistress of the skies: On both our paffions, without smile or frown. fo! * Achilles. S in old Chaos (heaven with earth confus'd, And dars with rocks together crufb'd and bruis'd) The Sun his light no further could extend THE STORY OF PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE APPLICA HYRSIS, a youth of the infpir'd train, Fair Sachariffa lov'd, but lov'd in vain Like Phoebus fung the no lefs amorous boy; With Numbers he the flying Nymph purfues; Like Daphne fhe, as lovely, and as coy! Such is the chace, when love and fancy leads, With Numbers fuch as Phœbus' felf might uk! O'er craggy mountains, and through floway Invok'd to teftify the lover's care, meads; Or form fome image of his cruel Fair. Urg'd with his fury, like a wounded deer, O'er thefe he fled; and now approaching meat, Had reach'd the Nymph with his harmonious by, Whom all his charms could not incline to fly. Yet, what he fung in his immortal strain, Though unfuccefsful, was not fung in vain: All, but the Nymph that fhould redress his wrong. Attend his paffion, and approve his fong. Like Phœbus thus, acquiring unfought praise, He catch'd at love, and fill'd his arms with hays SAY, lovely Dream! where couldft thou find Shades to counterfeit that face? Colors of this glorious kind Come not from any mortal place. In heaven itself thou fure wert dreft And fee my joy with closed eyes. To be other than a dream: Cruel Sachariffa's mind Never put on that fweet extreme! Fair Dream! if thou intend'ft me grace, Paint defpis'd love in thy face, Pale, wan, and meagre let it look, Of Lethe, or from graves escape. Then to that matchlefs Nymph appear, With humble words exprefs my woe. And death refembling, equals all. TO MRS. BRAUGHTON, SERVANT TO SACHARISSA. AIR fellow-fervant! may your gentle ear Prove more propitious to my flighted care, Than the bright dame's we ferve: for her relief (Vex'd with the long expreffions of my grief) VOL. II. Receive thefe plaints: nor will her high difdain Forbid my humble Muse to court her train. So, in those nations which the fun adore, Some modeft Perfian, or fome weak-eyed Moor, No higher dares advance his dazzled fight, Than to fome gilded cloud, which near the light Of their afcending God adorns the east, And, graced with his beams, out-fhines the reft. Thy fkilful hand contributes to our woe, And whets thofe arrows which confound us fo; A thousand Cupids in thofe curls do fit, (Thofe curious nets!) thy flender fingers knit : The Graces put not more exactly on Th' attire of Venus, when the Ball fhe won: Than Sachariffa by thy care is dreft, When all our youth prefers her to the reft. You the foft feafon know, when beft her mind May be to pity or to love inclin'd: In fome well-chofen hour supply his fear, * Those fading glories were to afhes turn'd: Her beauty too had perish'd, and her fame, AT PENS-HURST. HILE in the park 1 fing, the listening deer WE Attend my paffion, and forget to fear : More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven! Love's foe profefs'd! why doft thou falfely feign One fo deftructive: to no human stock Of fuch ftern beauty, plac'd those * healing fprings; Which not more help, than that deftruction brings. Thy heart no ruder than the rugged ftone, I might, like Orpheus, with my numerous moan This laft complaint th' indulgent ears did pierce Of juft Apollo, prefident of verfe; Highly concerned that the Mufe should bring Damage to one, whom he had taught to fing; Thus he advis'd me: "On yon aged tree "Hang up thy lute, and hic thee to the fea; "That there with wonders thy diverted mind "Some truce at least may with this paffion find." Ah cruel Nymph! from whom her humble fwain Mies for relief unto the raging Main; And from the winds and tempefts does expect TO MY YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY. HY came I fo untimely forth WHY Into a world, which, wanting thee, Could entertain us with no worth, Or fhadow of felicity? That time should me fo far remove Yet, fairest bloffom! do do not flight That age which you may know fo foon: The rofy morn refigns her light, And milder glory, to the noon : And then what wonders fhall you do, Whofe dawning beauty warms us fo? Hope waits upon the flowery prime; And fummer, though it be lefs gay, Of declination, or decay: TO AMORET. AIR! that you may truly know F What you unto Thyrfis owe; I will tell you how I do Tunbridge-Wells, on Joy falutes me, when I fet My bleft eyes on Amoret: But with wonder I am strook, While I on the other look: If fweet Amoret complains, Do not only grieve, but die. If the foul had free election If not a love, a strong defire "Tis amazement more than love, As the most delicious food, Sachariffa's beauty 's wine, Scarce can I to heaven excufe Which, though not fo fierce a flame, Then fmile on me, and I will prove, Wonder is fhorter-liv'd than love. UN THE FRIENDSHIP BETWIXT SÁCHARISSA "ELL me, lovely loving Pair! Why fo careless of our care, By this cunning change of hearts, You the power of love controul; While the boy's deluded darts Can arrive at neither foul. For in vain to either breaft Still beguil'd Love does come : Where he finds a foreign gueft; Neither of your hearts at home: Debtors thus with like defign, When they never mean to pay, That they may the law decline, "To fome friend make all away. Not the filver doves that fly, Yok'd in Cythera's car; Not the wings that lift fo high; And convey her fon so far; Are fo lovely, fweet, and fair, Or do more ennoble love; Are fo choicely match'd a pair, Or with more confent do move. A TO AMOR E T. MORET, the Milky Way, The smooth stream, where none can fay, Amoret, my lovely foe! Tell me where thy ftrength does lie? By that fnowy neck alone: Yet thy waift is ftraight, and clean, A A LA MALADE. H lovely Amoret, the care Of all that know what's good or fair! Is Heaven become our rival too? Had the rich gifts, confer'd on you So amply thence, the common end Of giving lovers, to pretend? Hence, to this pining fickness (meant To weary thee to a confent Of leaving us) no power is given, Thy beauties to impair: for Heaven Solicits thee with such a care, As rofes from the ftalks we tear: When we would ftill preserve them new, And fresh, as on the bush they grew. With fuch a grace you entertain, And look with fuch contempt on pain, That languishing you conquer more, And wound us deeper than before. With goarded hand, and veil fo rudely torn, Like terror did among th' Immortals breed; Taught by her wound that Goddeffes may bleed. All ftand amazed! but beyond the reft Th' heroic dame whofe happy womb the bleft, Mov'd with just grief, expoftulates with Heaven; Urging the promise to th' obfequious given, Of longer life: for ne'er was pious foul More apt t' obey, more worthy to controul. A skilful eye at once might read the race Of Caledonian Monarch's in her face. And fweet humility; her look and mind At once were lofty, and at once were kind. There dwelt the fcorn of vice, and pity too, For thofe that did what the difdain'd to do: So gentle and fevere, that what was bad, At once her hatred, and her pardon had. Gracious to all; but where her love was due, So faft, fo faithful, loyal, and so true, That a bold hand as foon might hope to force The rolling lights of heaven, as change her courfe Some happy Angel, that beholds her there, Inftruct us to record what she was here! |