Wherein there meet the divers laws

Of public and domestic care.

For one bright nymph our youth contends,
And on your prudent choice depends.

4 Not the bright shield of Thetis' son1

(For which such stern debate did rise,
That the great Ajax Telamon

Refused to live without the prize),
Those Achive peers did more engage
Than she the gallants of our age.

5 That beam of beauty, which begun
To warm us so when thou wert here,
Now scorches like the raging sun,
When Sirius does first appear.
Oh, fix this flame! and let despair
Redeem the rest from endless care.

TO MRS BRAUGHTON, SERVANT TO
SACCHARISSA.

FAIR fellow-servant! may your gentle ear
Prove more propitious to my slighted care
Than the bright dame's we serve: for her relief
(Vex'd with the long expressions of my grief)
Receive these plaints; nor will her high disdain
Forbid my humble Muse to court her train.

So, in those nations which the sun adore,
Some modest Persian, or some weak-eyed Moor,
No higher dares advance his dazzled sight,
Than to some gilded cloud, which near the light.

Thetis' son': Achilles.

10

Of their ascending god adorns the east,
And, graced with his beams, outshines the rest.
Thy skilful hand contributes to our woe,
And whets those arrows which confound us so.
A thousand Cupids in those curls do sit
(Those curious nets!) thy slender fingers knit.
The Graces put not more exactly on

Th' attire of Venus, when the ball she won,
Than Saccharissa by thy care is dress'd,
When all our youth prefers her to the rest.

You the soft season know when best her mind
May be to pity, or to love, inclined:
In some well-chosen hour supply his fear,
Whose hopeless love durst never tempt the ear
Of that stern goddess. You, her priest, declare
What offerings may propitiate the fair;
Rich orient pearl, bright stones that ne'er decay,
Or polish'd lines, which longer last than they;
For if I thought she took delight in those,
To where the cheerful morn does first disclose,
(The shady night removing with her beams),
Wing'd with bold love, I'd fly to fetch such
But since her eyes, her teeth, her lip excels
All that is found in mines or fishes' shells,
Her nobler part as far exceeding these,
None but immortal gifts her mind should please.
The shining jewels Greece and Troy bestow'd
On Sparta's queen,1 her lovely neck did load,
And snowy wrists; but when the town was burn'd,
Those fading glories were to ashes turn'd;

gems.

Her beauty, too, had perished, and her fame,
Had not the Muse redeemed them from the flame.

TO MY YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY.1

1 WHY came I so untimely forth

Into a world which, wanting thee,
Could entertain us with no worth
Or shadow of felicity?

That time should me so far remove
From that which I was born to love!

2 Yet, fairest blossom! do not slight
That age which you may know so soon;
The rosy morn resigns her light

And milder glory to the noon;

And then what wonders shall you do,
Whose dawning beauty warms us so?

3 Hope waits upon the flow'ry prime;
And summer, though it be less gay,
Yet is not look'd on as a time

Of declination or decay;

For with a full hand that does bring
All that was promised by the spring.

、

TO AMORET.2

FAIR! that you may truly know
What you unto Thyrsis owe,

I will tell you how I do
Saccharissa love and you.

Joy salutes me, when I set
My bless'd eyes on Amoret;

Lady Lucy Sidney' the younger sister of Lady Dorothea; afterwards married to Sir John Pelham.-2 Amoret': see Life.'

But with wonder I am strook,
While I on the other look.

If sweet Amoret complains,
I have sense of all her pains;
But for Saccharissa I
Do not only grieve, but die.
All that of myself is mine,
Lovely Amoret! is thine;
Saccharissa's captive fain
Would untie his iron chain,

And, those scorching beams to shun,
To thy gentle shadow run.

If the soul had free election
To dispose of her affection,

I would not thus long have borne
Haughty Saccharissa's scorn;
But 'tis sure some power above,
Which controls our wills in love!
If not love, a strong desire
To create and spread that fire
In my breast, solicits me,
Beauteous Amoret! for thee.

'Tis amazement more than love,
Which her radiant eyes do move;
If less splendour wait on thine,
Yet they so benignly shine,
I would turn my dazzled sight
To behold their milder light;
But as hard 'tis to destroy
That high flame, as to enjoy;
Which how eas❜ly I may do,
Heaven (as eas'ly scaled) does know!

Amoret! as sweet and good
As the most delicious food,

Which, but tasted, does impart
Life and gladness to the heart.

Saccharissa's beauty's wine,
Which to madness doth incline;
Such a liquor as no brain
That is mortal can sustain.
Scarce can I to heaven excuse
The devotion which I use
Unto that adorèd dame;
For 'tis not unlike the same
Which I thither ought to send;
So that if it could take end,
"Twould to heaven itself be due
To succeed her, and not you,
Who already have of me
All that's not idolatry;

Which, though not so fierce a flame,
Is longer like to be the same.

Then smile on me, and I will prove
Wonder is shorter-liv'd than love.

TO MY LORD OF FALKLAND.1

BRAVE Holland leads, and with him Falkland goes:
Who hears this told, and does not straight suppose
We send the Graces and the Muses forth

To civilise and to instruct the north?

Not that these ornaments make swords less sharp;
Apollo bears as well his bow as harp; 2
And though he be the patron of that spring,
Where, in calm peace, the sacred virgins sing,

1 'Lord of Falkland': referring to the unsuccessful expedition of Charles I. against Scotland in 1639, frustrated by the cowardice or treachery of Lord Holland.-Bow as harp': Horace, Ode iv., lib. 3.