Heaven he oblig'd that plac'd her in the skies;
Rewarding Phoebus for infpiring fo
His noble brain, by likening to those eyes
His joyful beams: but Phœbus is thy foe;
And neither aids thy fancy nor thy fight;
So ill thou rhym'ft against so fair a light.
HEY tafte of death that do at heaven arrive;
But we this paradife approach alive.
Inftead of Death, the dart of Love does strike;
And renders all within these walls alike:
The high in titles, and the fhepherd, here
Forgets his greatnefs, and forgets his fear.
All stand amaz'd, and, gazing on the Fair,
Lofe thought of what themselves or others are:
Ambition lofe; and have no other scope,
Save Carlifle's favour to employ their hope.
The Thracian could (though all those tales were true
The bold Greeks tell) no greater wonders do :
Before his feet fo fheep and lions lay,
Fearless, and wrathlefs, while they heard him play.
The gay, the wife, the gallant, and the grave,
Subdued alike, all but one paffion have :
No worthy mind, but finds in her's there is
Something proportion'd to the rule of his :
While the with chearful, but impartial grace,
(Born for no one, but to delight the race
Of men) like Phoebus, fo divides her light,
And warms us, that the ftoops not from her height.
TO PHYLLIS.
PHYLLIS, 'twas Love that injur'd you,
And on that rock your Thyrfis threw ;
Who for proud Cælia could have dy'd,
While you no less accus'd his pride.
Fond Love his darts at random throws,
And nothing springs from what he fows:
From foes difcharg'd as often meet
The fhining points of arrows fleet,
In the wide air creating fire;
As fouls that join in one defire.
Love made the lovely Venus burn
In vain, and for the cold youth mourn,
Who the pursuit of churlish beasts
Prefer'd, to fleeping on her breasts.
Love makes fo many hearts the prize
Of the bright Carlifle's conquering eyes;.
Which the regards no more, than they
The tears of leffer Beauties weigh..
So have I feen the loft clouds pour
Into the sea an useless shower;
And the vex'd failors curfe the rain,
For which poor fhepherds pray'd in vain.
Then, Phyllis, fince our paffions are
Govern'd by chance; and not the care,
But sport of Heaven, which takes delight
To look upon this Parthian fight
Of Love, ftill flying, or in chase,
Never encountering face to face;
No more to Love we'll facrifice,
But to the best of Deities:
And let our hearts, which Love disjoin'd,
By his kind mother be combin'd.
To my Lord of NORTHUMBERLAND, upon the Death of his Lady.
O this great lofs a fea of tears is due:
But the whole debt not to be paid by you.
Charge not yourself with all, nor render vain
Thofe fhowers, the eyes of us your fervants rain.
Shall grief contract the largenefs of that heart,
In which nor fear, nor anger, has a part?
Virtue would blush, if time should boast (which dries,
Her fole child dead, the tender mother's eyes)
Your mind's relief; where reafon triumphs fo
Over all paffions, that they ne'er could grow
Beyond their limits in your noble breast,
To harm another, or impeach your rest.
This we obferv'd, delighting to obey
One, who did never from his great felf ftray:
Whofe mild example feemed to engage
Th' obfequious feas, and teach them not to rage.
The brave Æmilius, his great charge laid down,
(The force of Rome, and fate of Macedon)
In his loft fons did feel the cruel ftroke
Of changing Fortune; and thus highly spoke
Before Rome's people; " We did oft implore,
“That if the heavens had any bad in 'ore
"For your Æmilius, they would pour that ill
"On his own house, and let you flourish still."
You on the barren feas, my Lord, have spent
Whole fprings; and fummers to the public lent:
Sufpended all the pleasures of your life,
And shorten'd the fhort joy of fuch a wife :
For which your country's more obliged, than
For many lives of old, less happy, men.
You, that have facrific'd fo great a part
Of youth, and private blifs, ought to impart
Your forrow too; and give your friends a right
As well in your affliction, as delight.
Then with Æmilian-courage bear this cross,
Since public perfons only public lofs
Ought to affect. And though her form, and youth,
Her application to your will, and truth;
That noble sweetness, and that humble state,
(All snatch'd away by such a hafty fate!)
Might give excufe to any common breast,
With the huge weight of so just grief opprest:
Yet let no portion of your life be stain'd
With paffion, but your character maintain'd
To the last act: it is enough her stone
May honour'd be with fuperfcription
Of the fole Lady, who had power to move
The great Northumberland to grieve, and love.
To my LORD ADMIRAL, of his late Sickness and Recovery.
joy like ours, the Thracian youth invades Orpheus, returning from th' Elyfian shades;
Embrace the Hero, and his ftay implore;
Make it their public fuit, he would no more
Defert them fo; and for his fpouse's fake,
His vanish'd love, tempt the Lethean lake:
The Ladies too, the brightest of that time,
(Ambitious all his lofty bed to climb)
Their doubtful hopes with expectation feed,
Who fhall the fair Eurydice fucceed:
Eurydice! for whom his numerous moan
Makes liftening trees and favage mountains groan :
Through all the air his founding strings dilate
Sorrow, like that which touch'd our hearts of late.
Your pining fick nefs, and your reftlefs pain,
At once the land affecting, and the Main:
When the glad news that you were Admiral
Scarce through the nation spread, 'twas fear'd by all
That our great Charles, whose wisdom fhines in you,
Would be perplexed how to chufe a new.
So more than private was the joy, and grief,
That at the worft it gave our fouls relief,
That in our age fuch fenfe of virtue liv'd;
They joy'd fo juftly, and fo juftly griev'd.
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