And takes his Stand upon a Rife,
Beyond what Poets' Pindus is ;
Encamp'd on Hills of glowing Snow,
Which Strawberries produce below.
Which fairest in the World are found,
And which are like its Figure, round.
T'whose Whitenefs nothing fhall compare,
Unless thofe Streams, may come from there;
And which might for that Whiteness feem
Thofe very Streams, and pafs for them.

Such Beauty here we view befide,

Without its old Companion, Pride;

Virtue without Formality,

And Mirth still mixt with Piety;

Courteous Smiles without Defign,

As innocent as Infants' are,

While Virtues thus embellifh'd shine,

And take Addition from the Fair.

Whate'er that's great in Belles is found,

On which their greater Pride they' ground,

If

If we examine, will appear

To rife from fome fmall Likeness hére.
In Ages near, in Worth the fame,

What's faid of one, muft t'other claim.
In vain I strive with fainter Touch
What (were his Sachariffa fuch).
Waller had ne'er effay'd to fing,
Had ev'ry Muse tun'd each a String.
Then cease my more unequal Lays,
At beft ye but detra&t by Praife.
Oh! cou'd ye fit Conceptions raise
Of what is good, fweet, humble, gay,

Defcribe but Thofe, and Those are They.

I'

To CELIA.

Loves makes a Poet.

Fought within these Lines appear

That may delight my CELIA's Ear; T

Nor prove unworthy of her Name,

And raise to me fome little Fame;
It is but juft I fhou'd confefs

From whence proceeds this Happiness.
'Twas the infpir'd my Infant Lays,
And tun'd my Lyre to fing her Praise;
And now my lab'ring Breaft infpires
With fomething more than Phebus' Fires.

Him you invoke, whofe grov'ling Senfe

Ne'er felt a greater Influence.

Apollo, ten to one, may fhow,

With Skill to draw the twanging Bow

He

He may

direct us in the Ufe

Of ev'ry Herbs medic'nal Juice ;

But 'tis from Love we have the Bays,

He causes all harmonious Lays.
'Twas he cou'd Waller's Fancy raise,
To fing his Sachariffa's Praise.

Why then do Bards so oft prepare
Tinvoke Apollo's helpefs Care?
While yet it is fome CELIA's Eyes
That make the fprightly Paffions rise.
If ought then here thou'd give Offence,
'Twas want of CELIA's Influence,

When the retracts her wonted Love,
My stubborn Lyre forgets to move.
But tho' fhe wou'd neglect my Flame,
If yet she loves her dearer Name,
That to fecure, fhe ftrait must bring
What only gives my Fancy wing,
And in fit Numbers makes me fing

Her

Her Praife, who firft my Strains cou'd move,
And which muft ceafe, now the to love.

The Character of an Happy Life.

A Relique of Sir PHILIP SIDNEY.

OW happy is He born or taught

H°

Who ferveth not another's Will, Whofe Armour is his honeft Thought,

And fimple Truth his higheft Skill.

Whofe Paffions not his Masters are,
Whofe Soul is ftill prepar'd for Death,

Unty'd unto the World with Care

Of Princely Love, or vulgar Breath.

Who hath his Life from Rumours freed,

Whole Confcience is his ftrong Retreat;
I

Whofe