Your lute may wind its ftrings but little higher,
To tune their notes to that immortal quire.
Your art is perfect here; your numbers do,
More than our books, make the rude atheist know,
That there's a Heav'n, by what he hears below.

As in fome piece, while Luke his skill expreft,
A cunning angel came, and drew the rest:
So, when you play, fome godhead does impart
Harmonious aid, divinity helps art;

Some cherub finishes what you begun,

And to a miracle improves a tune.

To burning Rome when frantick Nero play'd,
Viewing that face, no more he had survey'd
The raging flames; but ftruck with strange surprise,
Confeft them lefs than thofe of Anna's eyes:
But, had he heard thy lute, he foon had found
His rage eluded, and his crime aton'd:

Thine, like Amphion's hand, had wak'd the ftone,
And from deftruction call'd the rifing town:
Malice to Mufick had been forc'd to yield;
Nor could he burn fo faft, as thou cou'dft build.

PICTURE OF SENECA

DYING IN A BATH.

BY JORDA I N.

AT THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF EXETER'S

AT BURLEIGH HOUSE.

WHILE cruel Nero only drains

The moral Spaniard's ebbing veins,
By study worn, and slack with age,
How dull, how thoughtless is his rage !
Heighten'd revenge he should have took ;
He should have burnt his tutor's book;
And long have reign'd fupreme in vice:
One nobler wretch can only rise;
'Tis he whofe fury shall deface

The ftoic's image in this piece.

* Jacques Jordain was born at Antwerp in 1584; was a difciple of Adam van Oort, but was indebted to Rubens for the principal part of his knowledge in the art of painting: "He painted with extraordinary freedom, eafe, and expedition; there is a brilliancy and harmony in his colouring, and a good understanding of the Chiaro Scuro: His compofition is rich, his expreffion natural and strong, but his design wanted elegance and tafte. He ftudied and copied nature, yet he neither selected its beauties, nor rejected its defects. He knew how to give his figures a good relief, though frequently incorrect in the outlines; but his pencil is always excellent, and for a free and spirited touch, no painter can be accounted his fuperior." Pilkington's Dictionary of Painters. He died in 1678, aged 84 years. C 3

For

For while unhurt, divine Jordain,
Thy work and Seneca's remain,
He ftill has body, ftill has foul,

And lives and speaks, reftor'd and whole.

WHILE blooming youth, and gay delight

Sit on thy rofy cheeks confeft, Thou haft, my dear, undoubted right

To triumph o'er this deftin'd breast.

My reason bends to what thy eyes ordain :
For I was born to love, and thou to reign.
II.

But would you meanly thus rely

On power, you know I must obey? Exert a legal tyranny;

And do an ill, because you may?

Still must I thee, as atheifts Heaven adore ;
Not fee thy mercy, and yet dread thy power?

III.

Take heed, my dear, youth flies apace;

As well as Cupid, Time is blind : Soon must thofe glories of thy face

The fate of vulgar beauty find:

The thousand loves, that arm thy potent eye,

Muft drop their quivers, flag their wings, and die.

IV. Then

IV.

Then wilt thou figh, when in each frown
A hateful wrinkle more appears;
And putting peevish humours on,

Seems but the fad effect of years:
Kindness itself too weak a charm will prove,
To raise the feeble fires of aged love.

V.

Forc'd compliments, and formal bows
Will fhow thee just above neglect :
The heat with which thy lover glows,
Will fettle into cold respect :

A talking dull platonic I shall turn;
Learn to be civil, when I cease to burn.

VI.

Then fhun the ill, and know, my dear,
Kindness and conftancy will prove
The only pillars fit to bear

So vaft a weight as that of love.

If thou can't wish to make my flames endure,
Thine must be very fierce, and very pure.

VII.

Haste, Celià, haste, while youth invites,
Obey kind Cupid's present voice;
Fill ev'ry fenfe with foft delights,

And give thy foul a loose to joys:

Let millions of repeated bliffes prove,
That thou all kindness art, and I all love.

VIII.

Be mine, and only mine; take care

Thy looks, thy thoughts, thy dreams to guide To me alone; nor come fo far,

As liking any youth befide:

What men e'er court thee, fly 'em, and believe, They 're ferpents all, and thou the tempted Eve.

IX.

So fhall I court thy dearest truth,
When beauty ceases to engage;
So thinking on thy charming youth,
I'll love it o'er again in age:

So Time itself our raptures fhall improve,
While still we wake to joy, and live to love.

AN