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That whom ill fate would ruin, it prefers;
For all the miserable are made her's.
So the fair tree, whereon the eagle builds,
Poor sheep from tempests, and their shepherds,
The royal bird possesses all the boughs,
But shade and shelter to the flock allows.
Joy of our age, and safety of the next!
For which so oft thy fertile womb is vext:
Nobly contented, for the public good,
To waste thy spirits, and diffuse thy blood:
What vast hopes may these islands entertain,
Where monarchs, thus descended, are to reign!
Led by commanders of so fair a line,
Cur seas no longer shall our power confine.

A brave romance, who would exactly frame,
First brings his knight from some immortal dame :
And then a weapon, and a flaming shield,
Right as his mother's eyes, he makes him wield;
None might the mother of Achilles be,
But the fair pearl', and glory of the sea:
The man to whom great Maro gives such fame,
From the high bed of heavenly Venus came:
And our next Charles, whom all the stars design
Like wonders to accomplish, spring from thine.

THE APOLOGY OF SLEEP,

FOR NOT APPROACHING THE LADY, WHO CAN DO ANY
THING BUT SLEEP WHEN SHE PLEASETH.

My charge it is those breaches to repair,

Which nature takes from sorrow, toil, and care:
Rest to the limbs, and quiet, I confer

Os troubled minds: but nought can add to her,

¦ From Heaven, and her transcendent thoughts, have

plac'd

Abone those ills which wretched mortals taste.

Bright as the deathless gods, and happy, she
from all that may infringe delight is free:
Love at her royal feet his quiver lays,
And not his mother with more haste obeys.
Such real pleasures, such true joys suspense,
What dream can I present to recompense?

Should I with lightning fill her awful hand,
And make the clouds seem all at her command:
Or place her in Olympus' top, a guest
Among th' immortals, who with nectar feast:
That power would seem, that entertainment, short
Of the true splendour of her present court:
Where all the joys, and all the glories, are,
Of three great kingdoms, sever'd from the care.
I that of fumes and humid vapours made,
Ascending do the seat of sense invade,
So cloud in so serene a mansion find,
To overcast her ever-shining mind:
Which holds resemblance with those spot! s skies,
Where Bowing Nilus want of rain supplies;

That crystal heaven, where Phoebus never shrouds
His golden beams, nor wraps his face in clouds.
But what so hard which numbers cannot force?
So stoops the moon, and rivers change their course.
The bold Masonian 3 made me dare to steep
Joe's dreadful temples in the dew of sleep.
And, since the muses do invoke my power,
I shall no more decline that sacred bower,
Where Gloriana, their great mistress, lies:
Bat, gently taming those victorious eyes,

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GREAT queen of Europe! whence thy offspring wears
All the chief crowns; where princes are thy heirs;
As welcome thou to sea-girt Britain's shore,
As erst Latona (who fair Cynthia bore)
To Delos was: here shines a nymph as bright,
By thee disclos'd, with like increase of light.
Why was her joy in Belgia contin'd?
Or why did you so much regard the wind?
Scarce could the ocean (though inrag'd) have tost
Thy sovereign bark, but where th' obsequious coast
Pays tribute to thy bed: Rome's conquering hand
More vanquish'd nations under her command
Never reduc'd: here Berecynthia so
Among her deathless progeny did go:

A wreath of towers adorn'd her reverend head,
Mother of all that on ambrosia fed.
Thy godlike race must sway the age to come;
As she Olympus peopled with her womb.

Would those cominanders of mankind obey
Their honour'd parent; all pretences lay
Down at her royal feet; compose their jars,
And on the growing Turk discharge these wars:
The Christian knights that sacred tomb should wrest
From pagan hands, and triumph o'er the east:
Our England's prince and Gallia's dolphin might
Like young Rinaldo and Tancredi fight:
In single combat by their swords again
The proud Argantes, and fierce Soldan, slain :
Again might we their valiant deeds recite,
And with your Tuscan Muse 4 exalt the fight.

4 Tasso.

THE COUNTRY TO

MY LADY OF CARLISLE.

MADAM, of all the sacred muse inspir'd
Orpheus alone could with the woods comply;
Their rude inhabitants his song admir'd,

And nature's self, in those that could not lie:
Your beauty next our solitude invades,
And warms us, shining through the thickest shades.
Nor ought the tribute, which the wondering court
Pays your fair eyes, prevail with you to scorn
The answer, and consent, to that report,

Which echo-like, the country does return! Mirrors are taught to flatter, but our springs Present th' impartial images of things. A rural judge dispos'd of beauty's prize; A simple shepherd was prefer'd to Jove: Down to the mountains from the partial skies Came Juno, Pallas, and the queen of Love, To plead for that, which was so justly given To the bright Carlisle of the court of Heaven. Carlisle a name which all our woods are taught, Loud as their Amarillis, to resound: Carlisle a name which on the bark is wrought Of every tree, that's worthy of the wound: From Phoebus' rage, our shadows, and our streams, May guard us better, than from Carlisle's beams.

THE COUNTESS OF CARLISLE

IN MOURNING.

WHEN from black clouds no part of sky is clear,
But just so much as lets the sun appear;
Heaven then would seem thy image, and reflect
Those sable vestments, and that bright aspect.
A spark of virtue by the deepest shade
Of sad adversity is fairer made;
Nor less advantage doth thy beauty get:
A Venus rising from a sea of jet!
Such was th' appearance of new-formed light,
While yet it struggled with eternal night.
Then mourn no more, lest thou admit increase
Of glory, by thy noble lord's decease.
We find not, that the laughter-loving dame
Mourn'd for Anchises; 'twas enough she came
To grace the mortal with her deathless bed,
And that his living eyes such 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 shades to dwell,
As they to put on sorrow: nothing stands,
But power to grieve, exempt from thy commands.
If thou lament, thou must do so alone;
Grief in thy presence can lay hold of none.
Yet still persist 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
War he prevented, or soon made it cease; [wrung.
Instructing princes in the arts of peace;
Such as made Sheba's curious queen resort
To the large-hearted Hebrew's 7 famous court.
Had Homer sat amongst his wondering guests,
He might have learn'd at those stupendous feasts,
6 Venus. 7 Solomon.

5 Paris.

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With greater bounty, and more sacred state,
The banquets of the gods to celebrate.
But oh! what elocution might he use,
What potent charms, that could so soon infuse
His absent master's love into the heart
Of Henrietta! forcing her to part

From her lov'd brother, country, and the sun;
And, like Camilla, o'er the waves to run
Into his arms; while the Parisian dames
Mourn'd for the ravish'd glory; at her flames
No less amaz'd, than the amaz'd stars,
When the bold charmer of Thessalia wars
With heaven itself; and numbers does repeat,
Which call descending Cynthia from her seat.

IN ANSWER TO ONE WHO WRIT A LIBEL AGAINST THE COUNTESS OF CARLISLE.

WHA

HAT 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 just Pallas in thy breast did move So blind a rage, with such a different fate: He honour won, where thou hast purchas'd hate. She gave assistance to his Trojan foe;

Thou, that without a rival thou may'st love, Dost to the beauty of this lady owe;

While after her the gazing world does move, Canst thou not be content to love alone? Or, is thy mistress not content with one? Hast thou not read of fairy Arthur's shield, Which, but disclos'd, amaz'd the weaker eyes Of proudest foes, and won the doubtful field? So shall thy rebel wit become her prize. Should thy iambics swell into a book, All were confuted with one radiant look. Heaven he oblig'd that plac'd her in the skies Rewarding Phoebus for inspiring so

His noble brain, by likening to those eyes

His joyful beams: but Phœbus is thy foe;
And neither aids thy fancy nor thy sight;
So ill thou rhym'st against so fair a light.

OF HER CHAMBER.

THEY taste of death, that do at heaven arrive
But we this paradise approach alive.
Instead of Death, the dart of Love does strike;
And renders all within these walls alike:
The high in titles, and the shepherd, here
Forgets his greatness, and forgets his fear.
All stand amaz'd, and, gazing on the fair,
Lose thought of what themselves or others are:
Ambition lose; and have no other scope,
Save Carlisle's favour to employ their hope. [true
The Thracian could (though all those tales were
The bold Greeks tell) no greater wonders do:
Before his feet so sheep and lions lay,
Fearless, and wrathless, while they heard him play.
The gay, the wise, the gallant, and the grave,
Subdued alike, all but one passion have:
No worthy mind, but finds in her's there is
Something proportion'd to the rule of his :
While she with cheerful, but impartial grace,
(Born for no one, but to delight the race
Of men) like Phœbus, so divides her light,

And warms us, that she stoops not from her height.

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TO PHYLLIS.

PHYLLIS, 'twas Love that injur'd you,
And on that rock your Thyrsis 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 sows :
From foes discharg'd, as often meet
The shining points of arrows fleet,
In the wide air creating fire;
As souls that join in one desire.

Love made the lovely Venus burn hrain, and for the cold youth 9 mourn, Who the pursuit of churlish beats Preferr'd, to sleeping on her breasts.

Love makes so many hearts the prize Of the bright Carlisle's conquering eyes; Which she regards no more, than they The tears of lesser beauties weigh. So have I seen the lost clouds pour Into the sea an useless shower; And the vex'd sailors curse the rain, For which poor shepherds pray'd in vain. Then, Phyllis, since our passions are Govern'd by chance; and not the care, But sport of Heaven, which takes delight To look upon this Parthian fight Of Love, still flying, or in chase, Never encountering face to face; No more to Love we'll sacrifice, But to the best 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.

To this great loss a sea 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 servants rain. Shall grief contract the largeness of that heart, In which nor fear, nor anger, has a part? [dries, Virtue would blush, if time should boast (which Her sole child dead, the tender mother's eyes) Your mind's relief; where reason triumphs so Over all passions, that they ne'er could grow Beyond their limits in your noble breast, To harm another, or impeach your rest. This we observ'd, delighting to obey One, who did never from his great self stray: Whose mild example seemed to engage Th' obsequious seas, and teach them not to rage. The brave Emilius, his great charge laid down, (The force of Rome, and fate of Macedon) In his lost sons did feel the cruel stroke Of changing fortune; and thus highly spoke Before Rome's people: "We did oft implore, That if the heavens had any bad in store For your Emilius, they would pour that ill On his own house, and let you flourish still." You on the barren seas, my lord, have spent Whole springs, and summers to the public lent:

9 Adonis.

Suspended all the pleasures of your life,
And shorten'd the short joy of such a wife:
For which your country's more obliged, than
For many lives of old, less happy, men.
You, that have sacrific'd so great a part
Of youth, and private bliss, ought to impart
Your sorrow too; and give your friends a right
As well in your affliction, as delight.

Then with Emilian courage bear this cross,
Since public persons only public loss

Ought to affect. And though her form, and youth,
Her application to your will, and truth;
That noble sweetness, and that humble state,
(All snatch'd away by such a hasty fate!)
Might give excuse to any common breast,
With the huge weight of so just grief opprest:
Yet, let no portion of your life be stain'd
With passion, but your character maintain'd
To the last act; it is enough her stone
May honour'd be with superscription

Of the sole lady, who had power to move
The great Northumberland to grieve and love.

ΤΟ

MY LORD ADMIRAL,

OF HIS LATE SICKNESS AND RECOVERY.

WITH joy like ours, the Thracian youth invades
Orpheus, returning from th' Elysian shades;
Embrace the hero, and his stay implore;
Make it their public suit, he would no more
Desert them so; and for his spouse's sake,
His vanish'd love, tempt the Lethean lake:
The ladies too, the brightest of that time,
(Ambitious all his lofty bed to climb)
Their doubtful hopes with expectation feed,
Who shall the fair Eurydice succeed:
Eurydice for whom his numerous moan

Makes listening trees and savage mountains groan:
Through all the air his sounding strings dilate
Sorrow, like that which touch'd our hearts of late.
Your pining sickness, and your restless pain,
At once the land affecting, and the main:
When the glad news, that you were admiral,
Scarce through the nation spread, 'twas fear'd by all,
That our great Charles, whose wisdom shines in you,
Would be perplexed how to choose a new.
So more than private was the joy, and grief,
That at the worst it gave our souls relief,
That in our age such sense of virtue liv'd;
They joy'd so justly, and so justly griev'd.
Nature (her fairest lights eclipsed) seems
Herself to suffer in those sharp extremes:
While not from thine alone thy blood retires,
But from those cheeks which all the world admires.
The stem thus threaten'd, and the sap in thee,
Droop all the branches of that noble tree!
Their beauty they, and we our love, suspend,
Nought can our wishes, save thy health, intend.
As lilies overcharg'd with rain, they bend
Their beauteous heads, and with high heaven con-
Fold thee within their snowy arms, and cry, [tend;
He is too faultless, and too young, to die.
So like immortals round about thee they
Sit, that they fright approaching Death away.
Who would not languish, by so fair a train
To be lamented, and restor'd again?

Or, thus withheld, what hasty soul would go,
Though to the blest? O'er her Adonis so
Fair Venus mourn'd, and with the precious shower
Of her warm tears cherish'd the springing flower.
The next support, fair hope of your great name,
And second pillar of that noble frame,
By loss of thee would no advantage have,
But step by step pursue thee to the grave.
And now, relentless Fate about to end
The line, which backwards does so far extend
That antique stock, which still the world supplies
With bravest spirits, and with brightest eyes;
Kind Phoebus interposing, bid me say, [they,
Such storms no more shall shake that house; but
Like Neptune, and his sea-born niece', shall be
The shining glories of the land and sea :
With courage guard, and beauty warm, our age;
And lovers fill with like poetic rage.

SONG.

STAY, Phœbus, stay!

The world, to which you fly so fast,
Conveying day

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From us to them, can pay your haste With no such object, nor salute your rise With no such wonder, as De Mornay's eyes.

Well does this prove

The errour of those antique books,

Which made you move

About the world: her charming looks Would fix your beams, and make it ever day, Did not the rolling earth snatch her away.

ON MY

LADY DOROTHY SIDNEY'S PICTURE.
SUCH was Philoclea, and such Dorus' ' flame;
The matchless Sidney 3, that immortal frame
Of perfect beauty, on two pillars plac'd :
Not his high fancy could one pattern, grac'd
With such extremes of excellence, compose;
Wonders so distant in one face disclose!
Such cheerful modesty, such humble state,
Moves certain love; but with as doubtful fate,
As when, beyond our greedy reach, we see
Inviting fruit on too sublime a tree.

All the rich flowers through his Arcadia found,
Amaz'd we see in this one garland bound.
Had but this copy (which the artist took
From the fair picture of that noble book)
Stood at Kalander's, the brave friends 4 had jarr'd;
And, rivals made, th' ensuing story marr'd.
Just Nature, first instructed by his thought,
In his own house thus practis'd what he taught:
This glorious piece transcends what he could think;
So much his blood is nobler than his ink!

TO VAN DYCK.

RARE artisan, whose pencil moves

Not our delights alone, but loves!

1 Venus.

3 Sir Philip Sidney.

From thy shop of beauty we
Slaves return, that enter'd free.
The heedless lover does not know
Whose eyes they are, that wound him so:
But, confounded with thy art,

Inquires her name, that has his heart.
Another, who did long refrain,
Feels his old wound bleed fresh again,
With dear remembrance of that face,
Where now he reads new hope of grace:
Nor scorn nor cruelty does find:
But gladly suffers a false wind
To blow the ashes of despair
From the reviving brand of care.
Fool! that forgets her stubborn look
This softness from thy finger took.
Strange! that thy hand should not inspire
The beauty only, but the fire:
Not the form alone, and grace,
But act, and power, of a face.
May'st thou yet thyself as well,
As all the world besides, excel !
So you th' unfeigned truth rehearse,
(That I may make it live in verse)
Why thou couldst not, at one assay,
That face to after-times convey,
Which this admires. Was it thy wit
To make her oft before thee sit?
Confess, and we'll forgive thee this:
For who would not repeat that bliss?
And frequent sight of such a dame
Buy, with the hazard of his fame?
Yet who can tax thy blameless skill,
Though thy good hand had failed still;
When Nature's self so often errs?
She, for this many thousand years,
Seems to have practis'd with much care,
To frame the race of women fair;
Yet never could a perfect birth
Produce before, to grace the earth:
Which waxed old, ere it could see
Her, that amaz'd thy art, and thee.

But now 'tis done, O let me know
Where those immortal colours grow,
That could this deathless piece compose?
In lilies? or the fading rose?

No; for this theft thou hast climb'd higher,
Than did Prometheus for his fire.

AT PENS-HURST.

HAD Dorothea liv'd when mortals made
Choice of their deities, this sacred shade
Had held an altar to her power, that gave
The peace and glory which these alleys have:
Embroider'd so with flowers where she stood,
That it became a garden of a wood.

Her presence has such more than human grace,
That it can civilize the rudest place:
And beauty too, and order can impart,
Where Nature ne'er intended it, nor art.
The plants acknowledge this, and her admire,
No less than those of old did Orpheus' lyre:

If she sit down, with tops all tow'rds her bow'd,
They round about her into arbours crowd;

Or if she walk, in even ranks they stand,
Like some well-marshall'd and obsequious band.
Amphion so made stones and timber leap
4 Pyrocles and Musidorus. Into fair figures, from a confus'd heap:

2 Pamela.

!

TO MY LORD OF And in the symmetry of her parts is found A power, like that of harmony in sound.

LEICESTER...OF THE LADY. •

Ye lofty beeches, tell this matchless dame, That if together ye fed all one flame, It could not equalize the hundredth part of what her eyes have kindled in my heart! fx boy, and carve this passion on the bark Of ronder tree, which stands the sacred mark Of noble Sidney's birth; when such benign, Such more than mortal making stars did shine; That there they cannot but for ever prove The monument and pledge of humble love: His tumble love, whose hope shall ne'er rise higher, Than for a pardon that he dares admire.

ΤΟ

MY LORD OF LEICESTER.
Nor that thy trees at Pens-Hurst groan,
Ompressed with their timely load,
And seem to make their silent moan,
That their great lord is now abroad:
They, to delight his taste, or eye,
Found spend themselves in fruit, and die.

Na that thy harmless deer repine,

And think themselves unjustly slain By any other hand than thine,

Whose arrows they would gladly stain: So thy friends, which hold too dear

That peace with France, which keeps thee there.

all these are less than that great cause, Which now exacts your presence here; Therein there meet the divers laws

Of public and domestic care.

For one bright nymph our youth contends,
And on your prudent choice depends.
Not the bright shield of Thetis' son3,
(For which such stern debate did rise,
That the great Ajax Telamon

Refus'd to live without the prize)
Those achive peers did more engage,
Than she the gallants of our age.
That beam of beauty, which begun
To warm us so, when thou wert here,
So scorches like the raging sun,
When Sirius does first appear.
Ofix this flame; and let despair
Redeem the rest from endless care!

OF THE LADY

WHO CAN SLEEP WHEN SHE PLEASES.

No wonder sleep from careful lovers flies,
To bathe himself in Sacharissa's eyes.
As fair Astræa once from earth to heaven,
by strife and loud impiety was driven:
Se with our plaints offended, and our tears,
Tse Somnus to that paradise repairs;
Waits on her will, and wretches does forsake,

75 court the nymph, for whom those wretches wake.
More proud than Phoebus of his throne of gold
is the soft god, those softer limbs to hold:

3 Achilles.

43

Nor would exchange with Jove, to hide the skies
In dark'ning clouds, the power to close her eyes:
Eyes, which so far all other lights control,
They warm our mortal parts, but these our soul!
Let her free spirit, whose unconquer'd breast
Holds such deep quiet, and untroubled rest,
Know, that though Venus and her son should spare
Her rebel heart, and never teach her care;
Yet Hymen may in force his vigils keep;
And, for another's joy, suspend her sleep.

OF THE MISREPORT OF HER BEING PAINTED. As when a sort of wolves infest the night, With their wild howlings at fair Cynthia's light; The noise may chase sweet slumber from her eyes, But never reach the mistress of the skies: So, with the news of Sacharissa's wrongs, Her vexed servants blame those envious tongues: Call Love to witness, that no painted fire Can scorch men so, or kindle such desire: While, unconcerned, she seems mov'd no more With this new malice, than our loves before; But, from the height of her great mind, looks down On both our passions, without smile or frown. So little care of what is done below

Hath the bright dame, whom Heaven affecteth so! Paints her, 'tis true, with the same hand which spreads

Like glorious colours through the flowery meads,
When lavish nature, with her best attire,
Clothes the gay spring, the season of desire.
Paints her, 'tis true, and does her cheek adorn,
With the same art, wherewith she paints the morn:
With the same art, wherewith she gildeth so
Those painted clouds, which form Thaumantias' bow.

OF HER PASSING THROUGH A CROWD OF PEOPLE.

As in old Chaos (heaven with earth confus'd,
And stars with rocks together crush'd and bruis'd)
The Sun his light no further could extend
Than the next hill, which on his shoulders lean'd;
So in this throng bright Sacharissa far'd,
Oppress'd by those, who strove to be her guard:
As ships, though never so obsequious, fall
Foul in a tempest on their admiral.

A greater favour this disorder brought
Unto her servants, than their awful thought
Durst entertain, when, thus compell'd, they prest
The yielding marble of her snowy breast.
While Love insults, disguised in the cloud,
And welcome force of that unruly crowd.
So th' amorous tree, while yet the air is calm,
Just distance keeps from his desired Palm:
But when the wind her ravish'd branches throws
Into his arms, and mingles all their boughs;
Though loth he seems her tender leaves to press,
More loth he is that friendly storm should cease;
From whose rude bounty he the double use
At once receives, of pleasure and excuse.

THE STORY OF

PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE

APPLIED.

THYRSIS, a youth of the inspired train,
Fair Sacharissa lov'd, but lov'd in vain:
Like Phoebus sung the no less amorous boy;
Like Daphne she, as lovely, and as coy!

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