While some fierce lion does embrace

His breathless corpse, and lick his face: Wrapp'd up in silent fear he lies,

Torn all in pieces if he cries.

OF LOVE.

ASER, in hasty words, or blows,
Itself discharges on our foes;
And sorrow too finds some relief

In tears, which wait upon our grief:
Sesery passion, but fond love,
Cato its own redress does move:
But that alone the wretch inclines
To what prevents his own designs;
Mikes him lament, and sigh, and weep,
Hurder'd, tremble, fawn, and creep;
heures which render him despis'd,
There he endeavours to be priz'd:
ir women, born to be control'd,
Soop to the forward and the bold;
fet the haughty and the proud,
The gay, the frolic, and the loud.
The first the generous steed opprest;
Not kneeling did salute the beast;

with bigh courage, life, and force,
praching, tam'd th' unruly horse.
sely we the wiser East
Hy, supposing them opprest,
Thtyrants' force, whose law is will,
by which they govern, spoil, and kill:
fach symph, but moderately fair,
Commands with no less rigour here.

hold some brave Turk, that walks among
twenty lasses, bright and young,

And beckons to the willing dame,
her'd to quench his present flame,
Beted as many gallants here,

Tu modest guise, and silent fear,
All to one female idol bend,

While her high pride does scarce descend
To mark their follies, he would swear,
That these her guard of eunuchs were;
And that a more majestic queen,
Or bumbler slaves, he had not seen.
All this with indignation spoke,
hrain I struggled with the yoke
Of mighty love: that conquering look,
When next beheld, like lightning strook
My blasted soul, and made me bow
Lower than those I pity'd now.

So the tall stag, upon the brink

Of some smooth stream, about to drink,
Surveying there his armed head,
With shame remembers that he fled
The scorned dogs, resolves to try
The combat next: but, if their cry
levades again his trembling ear,
He strait resumes his wonted care;
leaves the untasted spring behind,
bad, wing'd with fear, outflies the wind.

Beauty like a shadow flies,
And our youth before us dies.
Or, would youth and beauty stay,
Love hath wings, and will away.
Love hath swifter wings than Time:
Change in love to Heaven does climb;
Gods, that never change their state,
Vary oft their love and hate.

Phyllis! to this truth we owe
All the love betwixt us two:
Let not you and I inquire,
What has been our past desire;
On what shepherd you have smil'd,
Or what nymphs I have beguil'd:
Leave it to the planets too,
What we shall hereafter do:
For the joys we now may prove,
Take advice of present love.

49

TO MY LORD OF FALKLAND. BRAVE Holland leads, and with him Falkland goes. Who hears this told, and does not strait suppose We send the Graces and the Muses forth, To civilize and to instruct the North? Not that these ornaments make swords less sharp: Apollo bears as well his bow as harp; And though he be the patron of that spring, Where in calm peace the sacred virgins sing, He courage had to guard th' invaded throne Of Jove, and cast the ambitious giants down.

Ah, noble friend! with what impatience all That know thy worth, and know how prodigal Of thy great soul thou art, (longing to twist Bays with that ivy, which so early kiss'd Thy youthful temples) with what horrour we Think on the blind events of war and thee! To Fate exposing that all-knowing breast Among the throng, as cheaply as the rest; Where oaks and brambles (if the copse be burn'd) Confounded lie, to the same ashes turn'd.

Some happy wind over the ocean blow This tempest yet, which frights our island so! Guarded with ships, and all the sea our own, From Heaven this mischief on our heads is thrown. In a late dream, the Genius of this land, Amaz'd, I saw, like the fair Hebrew stand; When first she felt the twins begin to jar, And found her womb the seat of civil war. Inclin'd to whose relief, and with presage Of better fortune for the present age, Heaven sends, quoth I, this discord for our good; To warm, perhaps, but not to waste our blood: To raise our drooping spirits, grown the scorn Of our proud neighbours; who ere long shall mourn (Though now they joy in our expected harins) We had occasion to resume our arms.

A lion, so with self-provoking smart, (His rebel tail scourging his nobler part) Calls up courage; then begins to roar, And charge his foes, who thought him mad before.

his

TO PHYLLIS.

PILLIS! why should we delay Pleasures shorter than the day? Coaid we (which we never can!) Stretch our lives beyond their span, VOL VIIL

FOR DRINKING OF HEALTHS. LET brutes and vegetals, that cannot think, So far as drought and nature urges, drink:

E.

Rebekah.

50

A more indulgent mistress guides our sp'rits,
Reason, that dares beyond our appetites:
She would our care, as well as thirst, redress,
And with divinity rewards excess.
Deserted Ariadne, thus supply'd,
Did perjur'd Theseus' cruelty deride:
Bacchus embrac'd, from her exalted thought
Banish'd the man, her passion, and his fault.
Bacchus and Phoebus are by Jove ally'd,
And each by other's timely heat supply'd:
All that the grapes owe to his ripening fires,
Is paid in numbers which their juice inspires.
Wine fills the veins, and healths are understood
To give our friends a title to our blood:
Who, naming me, doth warm his courage so,
Shows for my sake what his bold hand would do.

SONG.

CHLORIS farewell! I now must go:
For if with thee I longer stay,

Thy eyes prevail upon me so,

I shall prove blind, and lose my way.

Fame of thy beauty, and thy youth,

Among the rest, me hither brought:
Finding this fame fall short of truth,

Made me stay longer than I thought.
For I'm engag'd, by word and oath,
A servant to another's will:
Yet, for thy love, I'd forfeit both,
Could I be sure to keep it still.
But what assurance can I take?

When thou, foreknowing this abuse,
For some more worthy lover's sake,

May'st leave me with so just excuse. For thou may'st say, 'twas not thy fault, That thou didst thus inconstant prove; Being by my example taught,

To break thy oath, to mend thy love.

No, Chloris, no: I will return,

And raise thy story to that height,
That strangers shall at distance burn,
And she distrust me reprobate.

Then shall my love this doubt displace,
And gain such trust, that I may come
And banquet sometimes on thy face,
But make my constant meals at home.

OF MY LADY ISABELLA

PLAYING ON THE LUTE.

[ear,

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'.

TO A LADY

SINGING A SONG OF HIS COMPOSING.

CHLORIS, yourself you so excel,

When you vouchsafe to breathe my thought, That, like a spirit, with this spell

Of my own teaching, I am caught.

That eagle's fate and mine are one,

Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espy'd a feather of his own,

Wherewith he wont to soar so high.

Had Echo with so sweet a grace
Narcissus' loud complaints return'd,

Not for reflection of his face,

But of his voice, the boy had burn'd.

OF MRS. ARDEN.

BEHOLD, and listen, while the fair
Breaks in sweet sounds the willing air,
And, with her own breath, fans the fire
Which her bright eyes do first inspire.
What reason can that love control,
Which more than one way courts the soul?
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 conspire,
Men' strive not, but deplore the fire.

OF THE

MARRIAGE OF THE DWARFS.

DESIGN 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 Heav'n seem'd to frame,
And measure out this only dame.

Thrice happy is that humble pair,
Beneath the level of all care!
Over whose heads those arrows fly
Of sad distrust and jealousy:
Secured in as high extreme,
As if the world held none but them.

To him the fairest nymphs do show
Like moving mountains topp'd with snow;
And every man a Polypheme
Does to his Galatea seem:
None may presume her faith to prove;
He proffers death, that proffers love.

Ah! Chloris! that kind Nature thus
From all the world had sever'd us:
Creating for ourselves us two,
As Love has me for only you!

LOVE'S FAREWELL.

TRADING the path to nobler ends,
A long farewell to love I gave:
Resar'd my country, and my friends,
All that remain'd of me should have.
And this resolve, no mortal dame,

None but those eyes, could have o'erthrown:
The nymph I dare not, need not, name,
So high, so like herself alone.

This the tall oak, which now aspires
Above the fear of private fires,
Grand design'd for nobler use,

At to make warm, but build the house,

1 Though from our meaner flames secure,
Mast that which falls from Heaven endure.

FROM A CHILD.

May, as, in some climes, the warmer sun
Miles it full summer ere the spring's begun,
And with ripe fruit the bending boughs can load,
Before our violets dare look abroad:

measure not, by any common use,
The early love your brighter eyes produce.
The lately your fair hand in woman's weed
Tap'd my glad head, I wish'd me so indeed,
That hasty time might never make me grow
Out of those favours you afford me now;
That I might ever such indulgence find,
Andy not blush, or think yourself too kind,
now, I fear, while I these joys express,
Bega to think how you may make them less:
The sound of love makes your soft heart afraid,
dard itself, though but a child invade,
And innocently at your white breast throw
A dart as white, a ball of new-fall'n snow.

ON A GIRDLE.

Tar, which her slender waist confin'd,
Stall now my joyful temples bind :
No monarch but would give his crown,
His arts might do what this has done.
was my Heaven's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer:
joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Dad all within this circle move!

compass! and yet there Det all that's good, and all that's fair: e me but what this ribband bound, Take all the rest the Sun goes round.

TO THE MUTABLE FAIR. Ha Celia for thy sake I part With all that grew so near my heart; The passion that I had for thee, The faith, the love, the constancy! , that I may successful prove, pasform myself to what you love. Fool that I was! so much to prize Those simple virtues you despise :

Fod that with such dull arrows strove, Ur bop'd to reach a flying dove.

For you, that are in motion still,
Decline our force, and mock our skill;
Who, like Don Quixote, do advance
Against a windmill our vain lance.

Now will I wander through the air,
Mount, make a stoop at every fair;
And, with a fancy unconfin'd,
(As lawless as the sea or wind)
Pursue you wheresoe'er you fly,
And with your various thoughts comply.
The formal stars do travel so,

As we their names and courses know;
And he that on their changes looks,
Would think them govern'd by our books:
But never were the clouds reduc'd
To any art: the motions us'd
By those free vapours are so light,
So frequent, that the conquer'd sight
Despairs to find the rules, that guide
Those gilded shadows as they slide,
And therefore of the spacious air
Jove's royal consort had the care,
And by that power did once escape,
Declining bold Ixion's rape;
She with her own resemblance grac'd
A shining cloud, which he embrac’d.

Such was that image, so it smil'd
With seeming kindness, which beguil'd
Your Thyrsis lately, when he thought
He had his fleeting Cælia caught.
'Twas shap'd like her; but for the fair,
He fill'd his arms with vielding air.

A fate for which he grieves the less,
Because the gods had like success.
For in their story, one, we see,
Pursues a nymph, and takes a tree:
A second, with a lover's haste,
Soon overtakes whom he had chas'd;
But she, that did a virgin seem,
Possest, appears a wandering stream:
For his supposed love, a third
Lays greedy hold upon a bird;
And stands amaz'd to find his dear
A wild inhabitant of th' air.

1

To these old tales, such nymphs as you
Give credit, and still make them new;
The amorous now like wonders find,
In the swift changes of your mind.

But, Cælia, if you apprehend
The Muse of your incensed friend,
Nor would that he record your blame,
And make it live, repeat the same;
Again deceive him, and again,
And then he swears he'll not complain:
For still to be deluded so,

Is all the pleasure lovers know;
Who, like good falconers, take delight,
Not in the quarry, but the flight.

TO FLAVIA,

SONG.

Tis not your beauty can engage
My wary heart:
The Sun, in all his pride and rage,
Has not that art;
And yet he shines as bright as you,
If brightness could our souls subdue.

52

'Tis not the pretty things you say,

Nor those you write,

Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey:

For that delight,

The graces of a well-taught mind,
In some of our own sex we find.

No, Flavia! 'tis your love I fear:
Love's surest darts,
Those which so seldom fail him, are
Headed with hearts:
Their very shadows make us yield;
Dissemble well, and win the field.

THE FALL.

SEE! how the willing earth gave way,
To take th' impression where she lay!
See! how the mould, as loth to leave
So sweet a burden, still doth cleave
Close to the nymph's stain'd garment! Here
The coming spring would first appear;
And all this place with roses strow,
If busy feet would let them grow.

Here Venus smil'd, to see blind Chance
Itself, before her son, advance;
And a fair image to present,

Of what the boy so long had meant.
'Twas such a chance as this made all
The world into this order fall.
Thus the first lovers, on the clay,
Of which they were composed, lay:
So in their prime, with equal grace,
Met the first patterns of our race.

Then blush not, fair! or on him frown,
Or wonder how you both came down;
But touch him, and he'll tremble strait:
How could he then support your weight?
How could the youth, alas! but bend,
When his whole Heaven upon him lean'd?
If aught by him amiss were done,
"Twas, that he let you rise so soon.

I pluck'd it, though no better grown;
And now you see how full 'tis blown.
Still as I did the leaves inspire,

With such a purple light they shone,
As if they had been made of fire,

And, spreading so, would flame anon: All that was meant by air or sun, To the young flower, my breath has done. If our loose breath so much can do,

What may the same in forms of love, Of purest love, and music too,

When Flavia it aspires to move? When that, which lifeless buds persuades To wax more soft, her youth invades?

SONG.

BEHOLD the brand of beauty tost!

See how the motion does dilate the flame!

Delighted Love his spoils does boast,

And triumph in this game.

Fire, to no place confin'd,

Is both our wonder, and our fear; Moving the mind,

As lightning hurled through the air.

High Heaven the glory does increase

Of all her shining lamps this artful way:
The Sun, in figures, such as these,
Joys with the Moon to play:

To the sweet strains they advance,
Which do result from their own spheres,
As this nymph's dance

Moves with the numbers which she hears.

OF SYLVIA.

OUR sighs are heard, just Heaven declares
The sense it has of lovers' cares:
She, that has so far the rest outshin'd,
Sylvia the fair, while she was kind,
As if her frowns impair'd her brow,
Seems only not unhandsome now.

So when the sky makes us endure
A storm, itself becomes obscure.
Hence 'tis, that I conceal my flame,
Hiding from Flavia's self her name;
Lest she, provoking Heaven, should prove
How it rewards neglected love.
Better a thousand such as I,
Their grief untold, should pine and die,
Than her bright morning, overcast
With sullen clouds, should be defac'd.

THE BUD.

LATELY on yonder swelling bush,

Big with many a coming rose, This early bud began to blush,

And did but half itself disclose :

ON THE

DISCOVERY OF A LADY'S PAINTING.

PYGMALEON's fate revers'd is mine;

His marble love took flesh and blood;
All that I worshipp'd as divine,

That beauty! now 'tis understood,
Appears to have no more of life,
Than that whereof he fram'd his wife.

As women yet, who apprehend

Some sudden cause of causeless fear,
Although that seeming cause take end,
And they behold no danger near,

A shaking through their limbs they find,
Like leaves saluted by the wind:

So, though the beauty do appear

No beauty, which amaz'd me so; Yet from my breast I cannot tear

The passion, which from thence did grow;
Nor yet out of my fancy rase
The print of that supposed face.

A real beauty, though too near,
The fond Narcissus did admire:
I doat on that which is no where;
The sign of beauty feeds my fire.
No mortal flame was e'er so cruel
As this, which thus survives the fuel.

TO A LADY,

FROM WHOM HE RECEIVED A SILVER PEN.

MADAM! intending to have try'd

The silver favour which you gave, In ink the shining point I dy'd,

And drench'd it in the sable wave; When, griev'd to be so foully stain'd, On you it thus to me complain'd.

* Suppose you had deserv'd to take From her fair hand so fair a boon; Yet how deserved I to make

So ill a change, who ever won Immortal praise for what I wrote, Instructed by her noble thought?

* I, that expressed her commands

To mighty lords and princely dames, Always most welcome to their hands,

Proud that I would record their names, Must now be taught an humble style, Some meaner beauty to beguile."

So I, the wronged pen to please,
Make it my humble thanks express
Unto your ladyship, in these:

And now 'tis forced to confess,
That your great self did ne'er indite,
Nor that, to one more noble, write.

TO CHLORIS.

CHLOUS! since first our calm of peace
Was frighted hence, this good we find,
Your favours with your fears increase,
And growing mischiefs make you kind.

So the fair tree, which still preserves

Her fruit and state, while no wind blows; In storms from that uprightness swerves, And the glad earth about her strows With treasure, from her yielding boughs.

May not a thousand dangers sleep In the smooth bosom of the deep? No: 'tis so rockless and so clear, That the rich bottom does appear Pav'd all with precious things; not torn From shipwreck'd vessels, but there born. Sweetness, truth, and every grace, Which time, and use, are wont to teach, The eye may in a moment reach, And read distinctly in her face.

Some other nymphs, with colours faint, And pencil slow, may Cupid paint, And a weak heart in time destroy; She has a stamp, and prints the boy: Can, with a single look, inflame The coldest breast, the rudest tame.

THE SELF-BANISHED.

It is not that I love you less,
Than when before your feet I lay;
But, to prevent the sad increase
Of hopeless love, I keep away.

In vain, alas! for every thing,
Which I have known belong to you,
Your form does to my fancy bring,

And makes my old wounds bleed anew.

Who in the spring, from the new sun
Already has a fever got,

Too late begins those shafts to shun,
Which Phoebus through his veins has shot.

Too late he would the pain assuage,

And to thick shadows does retire; About with him he bears the rage,

And in his tainted blood the fire.

But vow'd I have, and never must

Your banish'd servant trouble you;
For if I break, you may mistrust
The vow I made to love you too.