From the same point of heav'n their course advance, And move in measures of their former dance; Restor❜d in you, and the same place adorns; Born of her blood, and make a new Platonic year. (For beauty still is fatal to the line) Had Chaucer liv'd that angel-face to view, 25 30 Or had you liv'd to judge the doubtful right, 35 And conqu❜ring Theseus from his side had sent Already have the Fates your path prepar'd, The ready Nereids heard, and swam before To smoothe the seas; a soft Etesian gale 50 40 45 The land, if not restrain'd, had met your way, His father and his grandsire known to fame : 55 Aw'd by that house, accustom❜d to command, At your approach they crowded to the port, 60 And, scarcely landed, you create a court: Wip'd all the tears of three campaigns away. As when the dove, returning, bore the mark So when you came, with loud repeated cries, 75 And God advanc'd his rainbow in the skies, 70 To sign inviolable peace restor❜d; The sharpen'd share shall vex the soil no more, go 94 Till the fair blessing we vouchsafe to send ; New from her sickness, to that Northern air; That they may see you as you shone before; For yet th' eclipse not wholly past, you wade 105 Through some remains and dimness of a shade. 110 A subject in his prince may claim a right, Nor suffer him, with strength impair'd, to fight: Till force returns his ardour we restrain, And curb his warlike wish to cross the main. Now past the danger, let the learn'd begin Th' inquiry, where disease could enter in ? How those malignant atoms forc'd their way?[prey? What in the faultless frame they found to make their Where ev'ry element was weigh'd so well, That Heav'n alone, who mix'd the mass, could tell Which of the four ingredients could rebel; And where, imprison'd in so sweet a cage, A soul might well be pleas'd to pass an age. And yet the fine materials made it weak ; Porcelain, by being pure, is apt to break : E'en to your breast the sickness durst aspire, And, forc'd from that fair temple to retire, Prophanely set the holy place on fire. 115 120 126 In vain your lord, like young Vespasian, mourn'd, A most detested act of gratitude; E'en this had been your elegy, which now Is offer'd for your health, the table of my vow. 130 Your angel, sure, our Morley's mind inspir'd, To find the remedy your ill requir'd; As once the Macedon, by Jove's decree, Was taught to dream an herb for Ptolomee: Or by his middle science did he steer, And saw some great contingent good appear, 140 144 An heir from you who may redeem the failing kind. Bless'd be the pow'r which has at once restor'd The hopes of lost succession to your lord! Joy to the first and last of each degree, Virtue to courts, and what I long'd to see, To you the Graces, and the Muse to me! 150 O daughter of the Rose! whose cheeks unite 155 For him you waste in tears your widow'd hours, |