Your Thyrsis lately, when he thought
He had his fleeting Calia caught.
'Twas shaped like her, but, for the fair,
He fill'd his arms with yielding 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 chased,
But she that did a virgin seem,
Possess'd, appears a wand'ring stream;
For his supposed love, a third

Lays greedy hold upon a bird,
And stands amazed to find his dear
A wild inhabitant of the air.

To these old tales such nymphs as you
Give credit, and still make them new;
The am'rous now like wonders find
In the swift changes of your mind.
But, Cælia, if you apprehend
The Muse of your incensèd 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 falc'ners, take delight

Not in the quarry, but the flight.

TO A LADY,

FROM WHOM HE RECEIVED A SILVER PEN.

1 MADAM! intending to have tried The silver favour which you gave, In ink the shining point I dyed,

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

2 Suppose you had deserved to take From her fair hand so fair a boon, Yet how deservèd I to make

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

3 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!'

4 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.

CHLORIS! 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.

TO A LADY IN RETIREMENT.

1 SEES not my love how time resumes

The glory which he lent these flowers? Though none should taste of their perfumes, Yet must they live but some few hours: Time what we forbear devours!

2 Had Helen, or the Egyptian Queen,1
Been ne'er so thrifty of their graces,
Those beauties must at length have been
The spoil of age, which finds out faces
In the most retired places.

3 Should some malignant planet bring

A barren drought, or ceaseless shower, Upon the autumn or the spring,

And spare us neither fruit nor flower;
Winter would not stay an hour.

16 Egyptian Queen': Cleopatra.

4 Could the resolve of love's neglect
Preserve you from the violation

Of coming years, then more respect
Were due to so divine a fashion,
Nor would I indulge my passion.

TO MR GEORGE SANDYS,1

ON HIS TRANSLATION OF SOME PARTS OF THE BIBLE.

1 How bold a work attempts that pen,

Which would enrich our vulgar tongue
With the high raptures of those men
Who, here, with the same spirit sung
Wherewith they now assist the choir
Of angels, who their songs admire!

2 Whatever those inspired souls

Were urged to express, did shake
The aged deep and both the poles;

Their num'rous thunder could awake
Dull earth, which does with Heaven consent
To all they wrote, and all they meant.

3 Say, sacred bard! what could bestow
Courage on thee to soar so high?

Tell me, brave friend! what help'd thee so
To shake off all mortality?

To light this torch, thou hast climb'd higher

Than he who stole celestial fire.2

'Sandys,' besides his 'Ovid,' which Pope read and relished in his boyhood, versified some of the poetical parts of the Bible.-2 Celestial fire': Prometheus.

K

TO THE KING,

UPON HIS MAJESTY'S HAPPY RETURN.

THE rising sun complies with our weak sight,
First gilds the clouds, 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.
All are obnoxious! and this faulty land,
Like fainting Esther, does before you stand,
Watching your sceptre. The revolted sea
Trembles to think she did your foes obey.
Great Britain, like blind Polypheme, of late,
In a wild rage, became the scorn and hate
Of her proud neighbours, who began to think
She, with the weight of her own force, would sink.
But you are come, and all their hopes are vain;
This giant isle has got her eye again.
Now she might spare the ocean, and oppose
Your conduct to the fiercest of her foes.
Naked, the Graces guarded you from all
Dangers abroad; and now your thunder shall.
Princes that saw you, diff'rent passions prove,
For now they dread the object of their love;