As when, beyond our greedy reach, we see
Inviting fruit on too fublime a tree.

All the rich flowers through his Arcadia found,
Amaz'd we fee in this one garland bound.
Had but this copy (which the artift took
From the fair picture of that noble book)

Stood at Kalander's, the brave friends had jarr'd;
And, rivals made, th' enfuing story marr'd.
Just nature, first inftructed by his thought,

That could this deathlefs piece compofe?
In lilies? or the fading rofe?

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

AT PENS-HURST.

AD Dorothea liv'd when mortal's made

This glorious piece tranfcends what he could

think;

So much his blood is nobler than his ink!

TO VAN DYCK.

ARE Artifan, whofe pencil moves,

From thy fhop of beauty we
Slaves return, that enter'd free.
The heedless lover does not know

Whofe eyes they are that wound him fo:
But, confounded with thy art,
aquires her name that has his heart.
Another, who did long refrain,

eels his old wound bleed fresh again, With dear remembrance of that face, Where now he reads new hope of grace: Nor fcorn nor cruelty does find: But gladly fuffers a falfe wind To blow the afhes of defpair rom the reviving brand of care. ool! that forgets her stubborn look This foftnefs from thy finger took. trange! that thy hand fhould not inspire he beauty only, but the fire: fot the form alone, and grace, ut act, and power, of a face. lay't thou yet thyfelf as well, s all the world befides, excel? › you th' unfeign'd truth rehearse, That I may make it live in verfe) Thy thou couldst not, at one affay, hat face to after-times convey, hich this admires. Was it thy wit o make her oft before thee fit? onfefs, and we'll forgive thee this: or who would not repeat that blifs? and frequent fight of fuch a dame ay, with the hazard of his fame? t who can tax thy blameless skill, nough thy good hand had failed ftill; hen nature's felf so often errs? e for this many thousand years ms to have practis'd with much care, frame the race of women fair; t never could a perfect birth oduce before, to grace the earth: hich waxed old, ere it could fee er that amaz'd thy Art, and thee. But now, 'tis done, O let me know here thofe immortal colours grow,

Pyrocles and Mufidorus.

Had held an altar to her power that gave
The peace and glory which thefe alleys have:
Embroider'd fo with flowers where the stood,
That it became a garden of a wood.
Her prefence has fuch more than human grace,
That it can civilize the rudeft 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 fhe fit down, with tops all tow'rds her bow'd,
They round about her into arbors crowd:
Or if fhe walk, in even ranks they stand,
Like fome well-marfhal'd and obfequious band,
Amph on fo made ftones and timber leap
Into fair figures, from a confus'd heap:
All in the fymmetry of her parts is found
A power, like that of harmony in found..

Ye lofty beeches, tell this matchlefs 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.-
Go, boy, and carve this paffion on the bark
Of yonder tree, which stands the facred mark
Of noble Sidney's birth; when fuch benign,
Such more than mortal-making stars did fhine;
That there they cannot but for ever prove
The monument and pledge of humble love:
His humble love, whofe hope fhall ne'er rife
higher,

Than for a pardon that he dares admire.

TO MY LORD OF LEICESTER.

[OT that thy trees at Pens-Hurst groan,

NOT that with their timely load;

And feem to make their filent moan,

That their great lord is now abroad:
They to delight his tafte, or eye,
Would spend themfelves in fruit, and dye.
Not that thy harmless deer repine,

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

Whofe arrows they would gladly stain:
No, nor thy friends, which hold too dear
That peace with France, and keeps thee there.
All these are less than that great cause,
Which now exacts your prefence here;
Wherein there meet the divers laws

Of public and domestic care,
For one bright Nymph our youth contends,
And on your prudent choice depends.

No wonder fleep from careful lovers flies,

SHE

To bath himself in Sachariffa's eyes. As fair Aftræa once from earth to heaven, By ftrife and loud impiety was driven : So with our plaints offended, and our tears, Wife Somnus to that paradife repairs; Waits on her will, and wretches does forfake, To court the Nymph, for whom those wretches

wake.

More proud than Phœbus of his throne of gold
As the foft Ged, thofe fofter limbs to hold:
Nor would exchange with Jove, to hide the skies
In darkning clouds, the power to close her eyes:
Eyes, which fo far all other lights control,
They warm our mortal parts, but thefe our foul!
Let her free fpirit, whofe unconquer'd breast
Holds fuch deep quiet, and untroubled rett,
Know, that though Venus and her fon fhould
fpare

Her rebel heart, and never teach her care;
Yet Hymen may in force his vigils keep;
And, for another's joy, fufpend her fleep.

OF THE MIS-REPORT OF HER BEING PAINTED.

As when a fort of wolves infeft the night, With their wild howlings at fair Cynthia's light;

The noise may chase fweet flumber from her eyes,

But never reach the mistress of the skies:
So, with the news of Sachariffa's wrongs,
Her vexed fervants blame thofe envious tongues:
Call Love to witnefs, that no painted fire
Can fcorch men fo, or kindle fuch defire:
While, unconcerned, the feems 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 paffions, without smile or frown.
So little care of what is done below
Hath the bright dame, whom Heaven affecteth

fo!

* Achilles.

S in old Chaos (heaven with earth confus'd,

And dars with rocks together crufb'd and

bruis'd)

The Sun his light no further could extend
Than the next hill, which on is fhoulders lean':
So in this throng bright Sachariffa far'd,
Oppress'd by those who strove to be her guard:
As fhips, though never fo obfequious, fall
Foul in a tempeft on their Admiral.
A greater favor this diforder brought
Unto her fervants, than their awful thought
Durft entertain, when thus compeil'd they pre
The yielding marble of her fnowy breaft.
While Love infults, difguifed in the cloud,
And welcome force of that unruly crowd.
So th' amorous tree, while yet the air is calm,
Juft diftance keeps from his defired Palm:
But when the wind her ravish'd branches thro
Into his arms, and mingles all their boughs;
Though loth he feems her tender leaves to pres
More loth he is that friendly form fhould ceafe,
From whose rude bounty he the double ufe
At once receives, of pleasure and excuse.

THE STORY OF PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE APPLICA

HYRSIS, a youth of the infpir'd train, Fair Sachariffa lov'd, but lov'd in vain Like Phoebus fung the no lefs amorous boy; With Numbers he the flying Nymph purfues; Like Daphne fhe, as lovely, and as coy! Such is the chace, when love and fancy leads, With Numbers fuch as Phœbus' felf might uk! O'er craggy mountains, and through floway Invok'd to teftify the lover's care, meads; Or form fome image of his cruel Fair. Urg'd with his fury, like a wounded deer, O'er thefe he fled; and now approaching meat, Had reach'd the Nymph with his harmonious by, Whom all his charms could not incline to fly. Yet, what he fung in his immortal strain, Though unfuccefsful, was not fung in vain: All, but the Nymph that fhould redress his wrong. Attend his paffion, and approve his fong. Like Phœbus thus, acquiring unfought praise, He catch'd at love, and fill'd his arms with hays

SAY, lovely Dream! where couldft thou find

Shades to counterfeit that face?

Colors of this glorious kind

Come not from any mortal place.

In heaven itself thou fure wert dreft
With that angel-like disguise :
Thus deluded am I bleft,

And fee my joy with closed eyes.
But ah! this image is too kind

To be other than a dream: Cruel Sachariffa's mind

Never put on that fweet extreme!

Fair Dream! if thou intend'ft me grace,
Change that heavenly face of thine;

Paint defpis'd love in thy face,
And make it to appear like mine.

Pale, wan, and meagre let it look,
With a pity-moving fhape
Such as wander by the brook

Of Lethe, or from graves escape.

Then to that matchlefs Nymph appear,
In whofe fhape thou fhineft fo;
Softly in her fleeping ear,

With humble words exprefs my woe.
Perhaps from greatnefs, ftate, and pride,
Thus furprised she may fall:
Sleep does difproportion hide,

And death refembling, equals all.

TO MRS. BRAUGHTON,

SERVANT TO SACHARISSA.

AIR fellow-fervant! may your gentle ear Prove more propitious to my flighted care, Than the bright dame's we ferve: for her relief (Vex'd with the long expreffions of my grief) VOL. II.

Receive thefe plaints: nor will her high difdain Forbid my humble Muse to court her train.

So, in those nations which the fun adore, Some modeft Perfian, or fome weak-eyed Moor, No higher dares advance his dazzled fight, Than to fome gilded cloud, which near the light Of their afcending God adorns the east, And, graced with his beams, out-fhines the reft. Thy fkilful hand contributes to our woe, And whets thofe arrows which confound us fo; A thousand Cupids in thofe curls do fit, (Thofe curious nets!) thy flender fingers knit : The Graces put not more exactly on Th' attire of Venus, when the Ball fhe won: Than Sachariffa by thy care is dreft, When all our youth prefers her to the reft.

You the foft feafon know, when beft her mind May be to pity or to love inclin'd:

In fome well-chofen hour supply his fear,
Whofe hopeless love durft never tempt the ear
Of that ftern Goddefs: you, her priest, declare
What offerings may propitiate the Fair:
Rich orient pearl, bright ftones that ne'er decay,
Or polifh'd lines which longer laft than they.
For if I thought fhe took delight in those,
To where the chearful morn docs first disclofe
(The fhady night removing with her beams)
Wing'd with bold love, I'd fly to fetch fuch gems.
But fince her eyes, her teeth, her lip excels
All that is found in mines, or fishes' fhells;
Her nobler part, as far exceeding thefe,
None but immortal gifts her mind should please.
The fhining jewels Greece and Troy bestow'd
On Sparta's Queen, her lovely neck did load,
And fnowy wrifts: but when the town was
burn'd,

*

Those fading glories were to afhes turn'd:

Her beauty too had perish'd, and her fame,
Had not the Mufe redeem'd them from the flame.

AT PENS-HURST.

HILE in the park 1 fing, the listening deer

WE

Attend my paffion, and forget to fear :
When to the beeches I report my flame,
They bow their heads, as if they felt the fame:
To Gods appealing, when I reach their bowers
With loud complaints, they answer me in showers.
To Thee a wild and cruel foul is given,

More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven!

Love's foe profefs'd! why doft thou falfely feign
Thyfelf a Sidney? from which noble strain
+ He fprung, that could fo far exalt the name
Of Love, and warm our nation with his flame;
That all we can of love or high defire,
Seems but the smoke of amorous Sidney's fire.
Nor call her mother, who fo well does prove
One breast may hold both chastity and love.
Never can fhe, that fo exceeds the spring
In joy and bounty, be fuppos'd to bring

One fo deftructive: to no human stock
We owe this fierce unkindness; but the rock
That cloven rock produc'd thee, by whose fide
Nature, to recompenfe the fatal pride

Of fuch ftern beauty, plac'd those * healing fprings;

Which not more help, than that deftruction brings.

Thy heart no ruder than the rugged ftone,

I might, like Orpheus, with my numerous moan
Melt to compaffion: now, my traiterous fong
With thee confpires, to do the finger wrong
While thus I fuffer not myself to lofe
The memory of what augments my woes:
But with my own breath ftill foment the fire,
Which flames as high as fancy can aspire!

This laft complaint th' indulgent ears did pierce Of juft Apollo, prefident of verfe; Highly concerned that the Mufe should bring Damage to one, whom he had taught to fing; Thus he advis'd me: "On yon aged tree "Hang up thy lute, and hic thee to the fea; "That there with wonders thy diverted mind "Some truce at least may with this paffion find." Ah cruel Nymph! from whom her humble fwain Mies for relief unto the raging Main;

And from the winds and tempefts does expect
A milder fate than from her cold neglect!
Yet there he 'll pray, that the unkind may prove
Bleft in her choice, and vows his endless love
Springs from no hope of what she can confer,
But from those gifts which Heaven has heap'd or
her.

TO MY YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY.

HY came I fo untimely forth

WHY

Into a world, which, wanting thee,

Could entertain us with no worth,

Or fhadow of felicity?

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

Yet, fairest bloffom! do do not flight

That age which you may know fo foon: The rofy morn refigns her light,

And milder glory, to the noon : And then what wonders fhall you do, Whofe dawning beauty warms us fo? Hope waits upon the flowery prime;

And fummer, though it be lefs 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 promis'd by the fpring.

TO AMORET.

AIR! that you may truly know

F What you unto Thyrfis owe;

I will tell you how I do
Sachariffa love, and You.

Tunbridge-Wells,

on

Joy falutes me, when I fet My bleft eyes on Amoret: But with wonder I am strook, While I on the other look:

If fweet Amoret complains,
I have fenfe of all her pains:
But for Sacharissa I

Do not only grieve, but die.
All that of myfelf is mine,
Lovely Amoret! is thine,
Sacharifla's captive fain
Would untie his iron chain;
And, thofe fcorching beams to fhub,
To thy gentle fhadow run.

If the foul had free election
To difpofe of her affection;
I would not thus long have borne
Haughty Sacharifla's scorn:
But 'tis fure fome Power above,
Which controls our wills in love!

If not a love, a strong defire
To create and fpread that fire
In my breast, follicits me,
Beauteous Amoret: for thec.

"Tis amazement more than love,
Which her radiant eyes do move:
If lefs fplendor wait on thine,
Yet they fo benignly thine,
I would turn my dazzled fight
To behold their milder light.
But as hard 'tis to destroy
That high flame, as to enjoy:
Which how eas❜ly I might do,
Heaven (as cas'ly fcal'd does know!
Amoret! as sweet and good

As the most delicious food,
Which, but tafted, does impart
Life and gladness to the heart.

Sachariffa's beauty 's wine,
Which to madnefs doth incline:
Such a liquor, as no brain
That is mortal can fuftain.

Scarce can I to heaven excufe
The devotion, which I use
Unto that adored dame:
For 'tis not unlike the fame,
Which I thither ought to send,
So that if it could take end,
"Twould to heaven itself be due,
To fucceed her, and not you:
Who already have of me
All that's not idolatry :

Which, though not fo fierce a flame,
Is longer like to be the fame.

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

UN THE FRIENDSHIP BETWIXT SÁCHARISSA
AND AMORET.

"ELL me, lovely loving Pair!
Why fo kind, and fo fevere

Why fo careless of our care,
Only to yourselves fo dear?

By this cunning change of hearts, You the power of love controul; While the boy's deluded darts

Can arrive at neither foul.

For in vain to either breaft

Still beguil'd Love does come : Where he finds a foreign gueft; Neither of your hearts at home: Debtors thus with like defign,

When they never mean to pay, That they may the law decline, "To fome friend make all away. Not the filver doves that fly, Yok'd in Cythera's car; Not the wings that lift fo high; And convey her fon so far; Are fo lovely, fweet, and fair, Or do more ennoble love; Are fo choicely match'd a pair, Or with more confent do move.

A

TO AMOR E T.

MORET, the Milky Way,
Fram'd of many nameless stars!

The smooth stream, where none can fay,
He this drop to that prefers!

Amoret, my lovely foe!

Tell me where thy ftrength does lie?
Where the power that charms us fo?
In thy foul, or in thy eye?

By that fnowy neck alone:
Or thy grace in motion seen;、
No fuch wonders could be done;

Yet thy waift is ftraight, and clean,
As Cupid's fhaft; or Hermes' rod:
And powerful too, as either God.

A

A LA MALADE.

H lovely Amoret, the care

Of all that know what's good or fair! Is Heaven become our rival too? Had the rich gifts, confer'd on you So amply thence, the common end Of giving lovers, to pretend? Hence, to this pining fickness (meant To weary thee to a confent Of leaving us) no power is given, Thy beauties to impair: for Heaven Solicits thee with such a care, As rofes from the ftalks we tear: When we would ftill preserve them new, And fresh, as on the bush they grew.

With fuch a grace you entertain, And look with fuch contempt on pain, That languishing you conquer more, And wound us deeper than before.

With goarded hand, and veil fo rudely torn, Like terror did among th' Immortals breed; Taught by her wound that Goddeffes may bleed.

All ftand amazed! but beyond the reft Th' heroic dame whofe happy womb the bleft, Mov'd with just grief, expoftulates with Heaven; Urging the promise to th' obfequious given, Of longer life: for ne'er was pious foul More apt t' obey, more worthy to controul. A skilful eye at once might read the race Of Caledonian Monarch's in her face. And fweet humility; her look and mind At once were lofty, and at once were kind. There dwelt the fcorn of vice, and pity too, For thofe that did what the difdain'd to do: So gentle and fevere, that what was bad, At once her hatred, and her pardon had. Gracious to all; but where her love was due, So faft, fo faithful, loyal, and so true, That a bold hand as foon might hope to force The rolling lights of heaven, as change her courfe Some happy Angel, that beholds her there, Inftruct us to record what she was here!