A fhaking thro' their limbs they find,
Like leaves faluted by the wind:
So, though the beauty do appear
No beauty, which amaz'd me fo;
Yet from my breast I cannot tear
The paffion, which from thence did grow;
Nor yet out of my fancy rafe
The print of that fuppofed face.
A real beauty, though too near,
The fond NARCISSUS did admire:
I doat on that which is no where ;
The fign of beauty feeds my fire.
No mortal flame was e'er fo cruel
As this, which thus furvives the fuel!
To a LADY, from whom he received a
Silver Pen.
ADAM! intending to have try'd
The filver favor which you gave,
In ink the fhining point I dy'd,
And drench'd it in the fable wave: When, griev'd to be fo foully ftain'd, On you it thus to me complain'd. Suppofe you had deferv'd to take From her fair hand fo fair a boon ; Yet how deferved I to make
So ill a change; who ever won Immortal praise for what I wrote, Inftructed by her noble thought?
I, that expreffed her commands
To mighty Lords and Princely dames, Always moft welcome to their hands; Proud that I would record their names, Muft now be taught an humble style, Some meaner beauty to beguile !
So I, the wronged pen to please,
Makes it my humble thanks express
Unto your Ladyship, in these :
And now 'tis forced to confefs,
That your great self did ne'er indite,
Nor that, to one more noble, write.
HLORIS! fince first our calm of peace
Was frighted hence, this good we find,
Your favors with your fears increase,
And growing mifchiefs make you kind.
So the fair tree, which ftill preferves
Her fruit, and state, while no wind blows,
In ftorms from the uprightness swerves;
And the glad earth about her ftrows
With treasure, from her yielding bows.
WHILE I listen to thy voice,
CHLORIS! I feel my life decay:
That pow'rful noise
Calls my fleeting foul away.
Oh! fupprefs that magic sound,
Which deftroys without a wound.
Peace, CHLORIS, peace! or finging die;
That together you, and I,
To heav'n may go :
For all we know
Of what the Bleffed do above
Is, that they fing, and that they love.
Of Loving at First Sight,
OT caring to obferve the wind,
Or the new fea explore,
Snatch'd from myfelf, how far behind
Already I behold the shore!
May not a thousand dangers fleep
In the fmooth bofom of this Deep?
No 'tis fo rocklefs, and fo clear,
That the rich bottom does appear
Pav'd all with precious things; not torn
From fhip-wreck'd veffels, but there born.
Sweetnefs, truth, and ev'ry grace,
Which time, and ufe, are wont to teach,
The eye may in a moment reach,
And read distinctly in her face.
Some other nymphs, with colors faint,
Some pencil flow, may CUPID paint,
And a weak heart in time deftroy;
She has a ftamp, and prints the Boy :
Can, with a fingle look, inflame
The coldest breast, the rudeft tame.
T is not that I love you lefs,
Than when before your feet I lay:
But, to prevent the fad increase
Of hopeless love, I keep away.
In vain, alas! for ev'ry thing,
Which I have known belong to you,
Your form does to my fancy bring,
And make my old wounds bleed anew.
Who in the fpring, from the new fun
Already has a fever got,
Too late begins those fhafts to fhun,
Which PHOEBUS thro' his veins has hot :
Too late he would the pain afswage,
And to thick fhadows does retire : About with him he bears the rage, And in his tainted blood the fire. But vow'd I have, and never muft Your banish'd fervant trouble you : For if I break, you may mistrust
The vow I made to love you too,
Tell her that wastes her time, and me,
That now he knows,
When I refemble her to thee,
How fweet, and fair, fhe feems to be.
Tell her that's young,
And fhuns to have her graces fpy'd,
That hadft thou fprung
In deferts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended dy`d.
Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retir'd :
Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be defir'd,
And not blush so to be admir'd.
Then die! that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee:
How Imall a part of time they fhare,
That are fo wond'rous fweet, and fair!
Slately I on filver THAMES did ride,
Sad GALATEA on the bank I spy'd :
Such was her look as forrow tàught to shine;
And thus the grac'd me with a voice divine.
You that can tune your founding ftrings fo well,
Of Ladies' beauties, and of love to teil,
Once change your note; and let your lute report
The jufteft grief that ever touch'd the Court.
Fair nymph! I have in your delights no share;
Nor ought to be concerned in your care:
Yet would I fing, if I your forrows knew ;
And to my aid invoke no Mufe but you.
Hear then, and let your fong augment our grief, Which is fo great, as not to wish relief.
She that had all which nature gives, or chance ;
Whom fortune join'd with virtue to advance
To all the joys this ifland could afford,
The greatest Mistress, and the kindeft Lord:
Who with the royal, mixt her noble, blood;
And in high grace with GLORIANA stood:
Her bounty, fweetnefs, beauty, goodness, fuch,
That none e'er thought her happiness too much :
So well-inclin'd her favors to confer,
And kind to all, as heav'n had been to her!
The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife,
So well the acted in the span of life,
That tho' few years (too few alas !) she told,
She feem'd in all things, but in beauty, old.
As unripe fruit, whofe verdant ftalks do cleave
Clofe to the tree, which grieves no less to leave
The fmiling pendant which adorns her fo,
And until autumn, on the bough fhould grow:
So feem'd her youthful foul not eas'ly forc'd,
Or from fo fair, fo fweet, a feat divorc'd.
Her fate at once did haftily feem, and flow;
At once too cruel, and unwilling too.
Under how hard a law are mortals born!
Whom now we envy, we anon muit mourn :
What heav'n fets higheft, and feems moft to prizę,
Is foon remov'd from our wond'ring eyes!
But fince the Sifters did fo foon untwine
So fair a thread, I'll strive to piece the line.
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