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Still as they pass, they court and smile on you,
And make your beauty, as themselves, seem new.
To the fair Villars we Dalkeith prefer,
And fairest Morton now as much to her:
So like the Sun's advance your titles show,
Which, as be rises, does the warmer grow.

But thus to style you fair, your sex's praise, Gres you but myrtle, who may challenge bays: From armed foes to bring a royal prize 3,

Shows your brave heart victorious as your eyes. I Judith, marching with the general's head, Can give us passion when her story's read; That may the living do, which brought away Though a less bloody, yet a nobler prey; Who, from our flaming Troy, with a bold hand, Smatch'd her fair charge, the princess, like a brand? A brand! preserv'd to warm some prince's heart, And make whole kingdoms take her brother's 4 part. Venus, from prevailing Greeks, did shrowd The hope of Rome, and sav'd him in a cloud. This gallant act may cancel all our rage, Bern a better, and absolve this age. Dark shades become the portrait of our time; Here weeps Misfortune, and there triumphs Crime! Let him that draws it hide the rest in night; This portion only may endure the light, [shape, There the kind nymph, changing her faultless Bones unhandsome, handsomely to scape, When through the guards, the river, and the sea, Fath, Beauty, Wit, and Courage, made their way. the brave eagle does with sorrow see The forest wasted, and that lofty tree, Which holds her nest, about to be o'erthrown, Before the feathers of her young are grown; Ste will not leave them, nor she cannot stay, But bears them boldly on her wings away: So fled the dame, and o'er the ocean bore Her princely burthen to the Gallic shore. Born in the storms of war, this royal fair, Produc'd like lightning in tempestuous air, Though now she flies her native isle (less kind, less fafe for her than either sea or wind!) Stall, when the blossom of her beauty's blown, See her great brother on the British throne: Where peace shall smile, and no dispute arise, But which rules most, his sceptre, or her eyes.

TO A FAIR LADY,

PLAYING WITH A SNAKE.

SE! that such horrour, and such grace,
Should dwell together in one place;

A fury's arm, an angel's face!

Tis innocence, and youth, which makes

In Chloris' fancy such mistakes,

To start at love, and play with snakes.
By this, and by her coldness, barr'd,
Her servants have a task too hard :

The tyrant has a double guard!
Tarice happy snake! that in her sleeve
May boldly creep; we dare not give
Our thoughts so unconfin'd a leave.

Contented in that nest of snow
He hes, as he his bliss did know,
And to the wood no more would go.

Henrietta Maria, youngest daughter to king
King Charles II. 5 Æneas.

Charles L

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Take heed, fair Eve! you do not make Another tempter of this snake:

A marble one, so warm'd, would speak.

THE NIGHT-PIECE:

or a PICTURE DRAWN IN THE DARK.

DARKNESS, which fairest nymphs disarms,
Defends us ill from Mira's charms:
Mira can lay her beauty by,
Take no advantage of the eye,
Quit all that Lely's art can take,
And yet a thousand captives make.

Her speech is grac'd with sweeter sound,
Than in another's song is found:
And all her well-plac'd words are darts,
Which need no light to reach our hearts.

As the bright stars, and milky way,
Show'd by the night, are hid by day:
So we, in that accomplish'd mind,
Help'd by the night, new graces find,
Which, by the splendour of her view
Dazzled before, we never knew.

While we converse with her, we mark
No want of day, nor think it dark:
Her shining image is a light
Fixt in our hearts, and conquers night.
Like jewels to advantage set,
Her beauty by the shade does get:
There blushes, frowns, and cold disdain,
All that our passion might restrain,
Is hid, and our indulgent mind
Presents the fair idea kind.

Yet, friended by the night, we dare
Only in whispers tell our care:
He, that on her his bold hand lays,
With Cupid's pointed arrows plays;
They with a touch (they are so keen!)
Wound us unshot, and she unseen.

All near approaches threaten death,
We may be shipwreck'd by her breath:
Love, favour'd once with that sweet gale,
Doubles his haste, and fills his sail,
Till he arrive where she must prove
The haven, or the rock, of love.

So we th' Arabian coast do know
At distance, when the spices blow;
By the rich odour taught to steer,
Though neither day nor stars appear.

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As, when loud winds a well-grown oak would rend
Up by the roots, this way and that they bend
His reeling trunk, and with a boisterous sound
Scatter his leaves, and strew them on the ground,
He fixed stands; as deep his roots do lie
Down to the centre, as his top is high:
No less on every side the hero prest,
Feels love, and pity, shake his noble breast,

And down his cheeks though fruitless tears do roll,
Unmov'd remains the purpose of his soul.
Then Dido, urged with approaching fate,
Begins the light of cruel Heaven to hate.
Her resolution to dispatch, and die,
Confirm'd by many a horrid prodigy!
The water, consecrate for sacrifice,
Appears all black to her amazed eyes;
The wine to putrid blood converted flows,
Which from her none, not her own sister, knows.
Besides, there stood, as sacred to her lord 8,
A marble temple which she much ador'd,
With snowy fleeces and fresh garlands crown'd:
Hence every night proceeds a dreadful sound;
Her husband's voice invites her to his tomb,
And dismal owls presage the ills to come.
Besides, the prophecies of wizards old
Increas'd her terrour, and her fall foretold:
Scorn'd and deserted to herself she seems,
And finds Æneas cruel in her dreams.

So, to mad Pentheus, double Thebes appears,
And furies howl in his distemper'd ears.
Orestes so, with like distraction tost,
Is made to fly his mother's angry ghost.

Now grief and fury to their height arrive;
Death she decrees, and thus does it contrive.
Her grieved sister, with a cheerful grace,
(Hope well dissembled shining in her face)
She thus deceives. Dear sister! let us prove
The cure I have invented for my love.
Beyond the land of Ethiopia lies

The place where Atlas does support the skies:
Hence came an old magician, that did keep
Th' Hesperian fruit, and made the dragon sleep:
Her potent charms do troubled souls relieve,
And, where she lists, makes calmest minds to grieve:
The course of rivers, and of heaven, can stop,
And call trees down from th' airy mountain's top.
Witness, ye gods! and thou, my dearest part!
How loth I am to tempt this guilty art.
Erect a pile, and on it let us place
That bed, where I my ruin did embrace:
With all the relics of our impious guest,
Arms, spoils, and presents, let the pile be drest;
(The knowing woman thus prescribes) that we
May rase the man out of our memory.

Thus speaks the queen, but hides the fatal end
For which she doth those sacred rites pretend.
Nor worse effects of grief her sister thought
Would follow, than Sichæus' murder wrought;
Therefore obeys her: and now, heaped high,
The cloven oaks and lofty pines do lie;
Hung all with wreaths and flowery garlands round;
So by herself was her own funeral crown'd!
Upon the top the Trojan's image lies,
And his sharp sword, wherewith anon she dies.
They by the altar stand, while with loose hair
The magic prophetess begins her prayer:
On Chaos, Erebus, and all the gods,
Which in th' infernal shades have their abodes,

Sichæus.

She loudly calls, besprinkling all the room
With drops, suppos'd from Lethe's lake to come
She seeks the knot, which on the forehead grows
Of new foal'd colts, and herbs by moonlight mows-
A cake of leaven in her pious hands

Holds the devoted queen, and barefoot stands :
One tender foot was bare, the other shod,
Her robe ungirt, invoking every god,
And every power, if any be above,
Which takes regard of ill-requited love!

Now was the time, when weary mortals steep
Their careful temples in the dew of sleep:
On seas, on earth, and all that in them dwell,
A death-like quiet and deep silence fell;
But not on Dido! whose untamed mind
Refus'd to be by sacred night confin'd:
A double passion in her breast does move,
Love, and fierce anger for neglected love.
Thus she afflicts her soul: What shall I do?
With fate inverted, shall I humbly woo?
And some proud prince, in wild Numidia born,
Pray to accept me, and forget my scorn?
Or, shall I with th' ungrateful Trojan go,
Quit all my state, and wait upon my foe?
Is not enough, by sad experience! known
The perjur'd race of false Laomedon?
With my Sidonians shall I give them chase,
Bands hardly forced from their native place?~-
No:-die! and let this sword thy fury tame;
Nought but thy blood can quench this guilty flame.
Ah, sister! vanquish'd with my passion, thou
Betray'dst me first, dispensing with my vow.
Had I been constant to Sichæus still,
And single liv'd, I had not known this ill!

Such thoughts torment the queen's enraged breast, While the Dardanian does securely rest

In his tall ship, for sudden flight prepar'd;
To whom once more the son of Jove appear'd;
Thus seems to speak the youthful deity,
Voice, hair, and colour, all like Mercury.

Fair Venus' seed! canst thou indulge thy sleep,
Nor better guard in such great danger keep?
Mad, by neglect to lose so fair a wind!
If here thy ships the purple morning find,
Thou shalt behold this hostile harbour shine
With a new fleet, and fires, to ruin thine:
She meditates revenge, resolv'd to die;
Weigh anchor quickly, and her fury fly.

This said, the god in shades of night retir'd. Amaz'd Æneas, with the warning fir'd, Shakes off dull sleep, and rousing up his men, Behold! the gods command our flight again. Fall to your oars, and all your canvass spread: What god soe'er that thus vouchsafes to lead, We follow gladly, and thy will obey, Assist us still, smoothing our happy way, And make the rest propitious!-With that word, He cuts the cable with his shining sword: Through all the navy doth like ardour reign, They quit the shore, and rush into the main : Plac'd on their banks, the lusty Trojans sweep Neptune's smooth face, and cleave the yielding deep

ON THE PICTURE OF A FAIR YOUTH,

TAKEN AFTER HE WAS DEAD.

As gather'd flowers, while their wounds are new, Look gay and fresh, as on the stalk they grew,

BREDE OF DIVERS COLOURS...TO MY LORD PROTECTOR.

Torn from the root that nourish'd them a while
(Not taking notice of their fate) they smile,
And, in the hand which rudely pluck'd them, show
Fairer than those that to their autumn grow:
So love and beauty still that visage grace;
Death cannot fright them from their wonted place.
Alive, the hand of crooked Age had marr'd
Those lovely features, which cold Death has spar'd.

No wonder then he sped in love so well,
When his high passion he had breath to tell;
When that accomplish'd soul, in this fair frame,
No business had, but to persuade that dame,
Whose mutual love advanc'd the youth so high,
That, but to Heaven, he could no higher fly.

ON A

BREDE OF DIVERS COLOURS,

WOVEN BY FOUR ladies.

Twɛ twenty slender virgin-fingers twine
This curious web, where all their fancies shine:
As Nature them, so they this shade have wrought,
Son as their hands, and various as their thought.
Not Juno's bird, when, his fair train disspread,
He wooes the female to his painted bed;
No, not the bow, which so adorns the skies,
So glorious is, or boasts so many dyes.

A PANEGYRIC

TO MY LORD PROTECTOR,

OF THE PRESENT GREATNESS, AND JOINT INTEREST, OF
HIS HIGHNESS AND THIS NATION.

WHILE with a strong, and yet a gentle, hand,
You bridle faction, and our hearts command,
Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe,
Make us unite, and make us conquer too:
Let partial spirits still aloud complain,
Thank themselves injur'd that they cannot reign,
And own no liberty, but where they may
Without control upon their fellows prey.
Above the waves as Neptune show'd his face,
To chide the winds, and save the Trojan race;
So has your highness, rais'd above the rest,
Surms of ambition, tossing us, represt.
Your drooping country, torn with civil hate,
Restor'd by you, is made a glorious state;
The seat of empire, where the Irish come,
And the unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom.
The sea's our own: and now, all nations greet,
With bending sails, each vessel of our fleet:
Your power extends as far as winds can blow,
Or swelling sails upon the globe may go.

Heaven (that hath plac'd this island to give law,
To balance Europe, and her states to awe)
In this conjunction doth on Britain smile,
The greatest leader, and the greatest isle!
Whether this portion of the world were rent,
By the rude ocean, from the continent,
Or thus created; it was sure design'd
To be the sacred refuge of mankind.

Hither th' oppressed shall henceforth resort,
Justice to crave, and succour, at your court;
And then your highness, not for ours alone,
But for the world's protector shall be known.

Fame, swifter than your winged navy, flies
Through every land, that near the ocean lies;
Sounding your name, and telling dreadful news
To all that piracy and rapine use.

Might hope to lift her head above the rest:
What may be thought impossible to do

With such a chief the meanest nation blest,

By us, embraced by the sea and you ?

Lords of the world's great waste, the ocean, we
Whole forests send to reign upon the sea;
And every coast may trouble, or relieve:
But none can visit us without your leave.
Angels and we have this prerogative,
That none can at our happy seats arrive:
While we descend at pleasure, to invade
The bad with vengeance, and the good to aid.
Our little world, the image of the great,
Like that, amidst the boundless ocean set,
Of her own growth hath all that nature craves,
And all that's rare, as tribute from the waves.

As Egypt does not on the clouds rely,

But to the Nile owes more than to the sky;

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So, what our Earth, and what our Heaven, denies,
Our ever-constant friend, the sea, supplies.

The taste of hot Arabia's spice we know,
Free from the scorching sun that makes it grow
Without the worm, in Persian silks we shine;
And, without planting, drink of every vine.
To dig for wealth, we weary not our limbs ;
Gold, though the heaviest metal, hither swims.
Ours is the harvest where the Indians mow,
We plough the deep, and reap what others sow.
Things of the noblest kind our own soil breeds;
Stout are our men, and warlike are our steeds:
Rome, though her eagle through the world had
Could never make this island all her own. [flown,

Here the third Edward, and the Black Prince too,
France-conquering Henry flourish'd, and now you;
For whom we stay'd, as did the Grecian state,
Till Alexander came to urge their fate.
When for more worlds the Macedonian cry'd,
He wist not Thetis in her lap did hide
Another yet: a world reserv'd for you,
To make more great than that he did subdue.
He safely might old troops to battle lead,
Against th' unwarlike Persian and the Mede,
Whose hasty flight did, from a bloodless field,
More spoils than honour to the victor yield.
A race unconquer'd, by their clime made bold,
The Caledonians, arm'd with want and cold,
Have, by a fate indulgent to your fame,
Been from all ages kept for you to tame.
Whom the old Roman wall, so ill confin'd,
With a new chain of garrisons you bind:
Here foreign gold no more shall make them come;
Our English iron holds them fast at home.
They, that henceforth must be content to know
No warmer region than their hills of snow,
May blame the sun; but must extol your grace,
Which in our senate hath allow'd them place.

Prefer'd by conquest, happily o'erthrown,
Falling they rise, to be with us made one:
So kind dictators made, when they came home,
Their vanquish'd foes free citizens of Rome.

Like favour find the Irish, with like fate
Advanc'd to be a portion of our state;
While by your valour, and your bounteous mind,
Nations divided by the sea are join'd.
Holland, to gain your friendship, is content
To be our out guard on the continent:
She from her fellow-provinces would go,
Rather than hazard to have you her foe.
In our late fight, when cannons did diffuse,
Preventing posts, the terrour and the news,
Our neighbour princes trembled at their roar:
But our conjunction makes them tremble more.
Your never-failing sword made war to cease,
And now you heal us with the acts of peace;
Our minds with bounty and with awe engage,
Invite affection, and restrain our rage.

Less pleasure take brave minds in battles won,
Than in restoring such as are undone :
Tigers have courage, and the rugged bear,
But man alone can, whom he conquers, spare.
To pardon, willing, and to punish, loth,
You strike with one hand, but you heal with both;
Lifting up all that prostrate lie, you grieve
You cannot make the dead again to live.
When Fate or errour had our age misled,
And o'er this nation such confusion spread;
The only cure, which could from Heaven come down,
Was so much power and piety in one!
One! whose extraction from an ancient line
Gives hope again, that well-born men may shine:
The meanest in your nature, mild and good;
The noblest rest secured in your blood.
Oft have we wonder'd, how you hid in peace
A mind proportion'd to such things as these;
How such a ruling sp'rit you could restrain,
And practise first over yourself to reign.
Your private life did a just pattern give,
How fathers, husbands, pious sons, should live;
Born to command, your princely virtues slept,
Like humble David's, while the flock he kept.
But when your troubled country call'd you forth,
Your flaming courage and your matchless worth,
Dazzling the eyes of all that did pretend,
To fierce contention gave a prosperous end.
Still, as you rise, the state, exalted too,
Finds no distemper while 'tis chang'd by you;
Chang'd like the world's great scene! when without
noise,

The rising sun night's vulgar lights destroys.

Had you, some ages past, this race of glory
Run, with amazement we should read your story:
But living virtue, all achievements past,
Meets envy still, to grapple with at last.
This Cæsar found; and that ungrateful age,
With losing him, went back to blood and rage:
Mistaken Brutus thought to break their yoke,
But cut the bond of union with that stroke.
That sun once set, a thousand meaner stars
Gave a dim light to violence and wars;
To such a tempest as now threatens all,
Did not your mighty arm prevent the fall.

If Rome's great senate conld not wield that sword,
Which of the conquer'd world had made them lord;
What hope had ours, while yet their power was new,
To rule victorious armies, but by you?

You! that had taught them to subdue their foes,
Could order teach, and their high spirits compose:
To every duty could their minds engage,
Provoke their courage, and command their rage.
So, when a lion shakes his dreadful mane,
And angry grows, if he that first took pain
To tame his youth, approach the haughty beast,
He bends to him, but frights away the rest.
As the vex'd world, to find repose, at last
Itself into Augustus' arms did cast;
So England now does, with like toil opprest,
Her weary head upon your bosom rest.
Then let the Muses, with such notes as these,
Instruct us what belongs unto our peace!
Your battles they hereafter shall indite,
And draw the image of our Mars in fight;
Tell of towns storm'd, of armies over-run,
And mighty kingdoms by your conduct won;
How, while you thunder'd, clouds of dust did choke
Contending troops, and seas lay hid in smoke.
Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse,
And every conqueror creates a Muse:
Here in low strains your milder deeds we sing;
But there, my lord! we'll bays and olive bring
To crown your head, while you in triumph ride
O'er vanquish'd nations, and the sea beside;
While all your neighbour princes unto you,
Like Joseph's sheaves, pay reverence and bow.

OF OUR LATE

WAR WITH SPAIN,

AND FIRST VICTory at sea near st. lucar, 1651.
Now, for some ages, had the pride of Spain
Made the sun shine on half the world in vain,
While she bid war to all, that durst supply
The place of those her cruelty made die.
Of Nature's bounty men forbore to taste,
And the best portion of the earth lay waste.
From the new world, her silver and her gold
Came, like a tempest, to confound the old.
Feeding with these the brib'd electors' hopes,
Alone she gives us emperors and popes:
With these accomplishing her vast designs,
Europe was shaken with her Indian mines.

When Britain, looking with a just disdain
Upon this gilded majesty of Spain,
And, knowing well that empire must decline,
Whose chief support and sinews are of coin,
Her native force and virtue did oppose,
To the rich troublers of the world's repose.

And now some months, incamping on the main,
Our naval army had besieged Spain:
They, that the whole world's monarchy design'd,
Are to their ports by our bold fleet confin'd,
From whence our Red Cross they triumphant see,"
Riding without a rival on the sea.

Others may use the ocean as their road,
Only the English make it their abode,
Whose ready sails with every wind can fly,
And make a covenant with th' inconstant sky;
Our oaks secure, as if they there took root,
We tread on billows with a steady foot.

Meanwhile, the Spaniards in America
Near to the line the sun approaching saw,

DEATH OF THE LORD PROTECTOR...TO THE KING.

And hop'd their European coasts to find
Clear'd from our ships by the autumnal wind:
Their huge capacious galleons, stuff'd with plate,
The labouring winds drive slowly tow'rds their fate.
Before St. Lucar they their guns discharge,
To tell their joy, or to call forth a barge:

63

And, their young foes endeavouring to retrieve,
With greater hazard than they fought, they dive.
With these returns victorious Montagu,
With laurels in his hand, and half Peru.
Let the brave generals divide that bough,
Our great protector hath such wreaths enough:

This heard some ships of ours, (though out of view) His conquering head has no more room for bays.

And, swift as eagles, to the quarry flew:

So heedless lambs, which for their mothers bleat,
Wake hungry lions, and become their meat.
Amir'd, they soon begin that tragic play,
And with their smoky cannon banish day:
Night, horrour, slaughter, with confusion meets,
And in their sable arms embrace the fleets.
Through yielding planks the angry bullets fly,
And, of one wound, hundreds together die:
Bum under different stars, one fate they have,
The ship their coffin, and the sea their grave!
Bold were the men which on the ocean first
Spread their new sails, when shipwreck was the

worst:

More danger now from man alone we find,
Than from the rocks, the billows, or the wind.
They that had sail'd from near th' antarctic pole,
Their treasure safe, and all their vessels whole,
in sight of their dear country ruin'd be,
Without the guilt of either rock or sea!
What they would spare, our fiercer art destroys,
Surpassing storms in terrour and in noise.
One Jove from Ida did both hosts survey,
And, when he pleas'd to thunder, part the fray:
Here, Heaven in vain that kind retreat should sound:
The louder cannon had the thunder drown'd.
Some we made prize: while others, burnt and rent,
With their rich lading to the bottom went:
Do sinks at once (so Fortune with us sports!)
The pay of armies, and the pride of courts.
Jain man! whose rage buries as low that store,
As avarice had digg'd for it before:

What Earth, in her dark bowels, could not keep
From greedy hands, lies safer in the deep,
Where Thetis kindly does from mortals hide
These seeds of luxury, debate, and pride.
And now, into her lap the richest prize
Fell, with the noblest of our enemies:
The marquis 9 (glad to see the fire destroy
Wealth, that prevailing foes were to enjoy)
Out from his flaming ship his children sent,
To perish in a milder element:

Then laid him by his burning lady's side,
And, since he could not save her, with her dy'd.
Spices and gums about them melting fry,
And, phoenix-like, in that rich nest they die:
Alive, in flames of equal love they burn'd;
And now, together are to ashes turn'd:
Ashes! more worth than all their funeral cost,
Than the huge treasure which was with them lost,
*These dying lovers, and their floating sons,
Sospend the fight, and silence all our guns:
Beauty and youth, about to perish, finds
Such poble pity in brave English minds,
That (the rich spoil forgot, their valour's prize)
All labour now to save their enemies.
How frail our passions! how soon changed are
Car wrath and fury to a friendly care!
They, that but now for honour and for plate
Made the sea blush with blood, resign their hate,

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Then let it be, as the glad nation prays:
Let the rich ore forthwith be melted down,
And the state fix'd by making him a crown;
With ermin clad and purple, let him hold
A royal sceptre, made of Spanish gold.

UPON THE

DEATH OF THE LORD PROTECTOR. We must resign! Heaven his great soul doth claim In storms, as loud as his immortal fame : His dying groans, his last breath shakes our isle; And trees, uncut, fall for his funeral pile; About his palace their broad roots are tost Into the air. So Romulus was lost! New Rome in such a tempest miss'd her king, And, from obeying, fell to worshipping. On Oeta's top thus Hercules lay dead, With ruin'd oaks and pines about him spread. The poplar too, whose bough he wont to wear On his victorious head, lay prostrate there. Those his last fury from the mountain rent: Our dying hero from the continent Ravish'd whole towns, and forts from Spaniards reft, As his last legacy to Britain left. The ocean, which so long our hopes confin'd, Could give no limits to his vaster mind; Our bounds' enlargement was his latest toil, Nor hath he left us prisoners to our isle: Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke. From civil broils he did us disengage, Found nobler objects for our martial rage, And, with wise conduct, to his country show'd The ancient way of conquering abroad.

Ungrateful then! if we no tears allow To him, that gave us peace and empire too. Princes, that fear'd him, grieve, concern'd to see No pitch of glory from the grave is free. Nature herself took notice of his death, And, sighing, swell'd the sea with such a breath, That, to remotest shores her billows roll'd, Th' approaching fate of their great ruler told.

TO THE KING,

UPON HIS MAJESTY'S HAPPY RETURN.

THE rising Sun complies with our weak sight,
First gilds the clonds, then shows his globe of light
At such a distance from our eyes, as though
He knew what harm his hasty beams would do.
But your full majesty at once breaks forth
In the meridian of your reign. Your worth,
Your youth, and all the splendour of your state,
(Wrapp'd up, till now, in clouds of adverse fate!)
With such a flood of light invade our eyes,
And our spread hearts with so great joy surprise,
That, if your grace incline that we should live,
You must not, sir! too hastily forgive.
Our guilt preserves us from th' excess of joy,
Which scatters spirits, and would life destroy.

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