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When Damon, who design'd to pass the day
MENALCAS. With hounds and horns, and chase the flying prey, Rose early from his bed; but soon be found Damon, behold yon breaking purple cloud; The welkin pitch'd with sullen clouds around, Hear'st thou not hymns and songs divinely loud ? An eastern wind, and dew upon the ground. There mounts Amyntas; the young cherubs play Thus while he stood, and sighing did survey About their godlike mate, and sing him on his way. The fields, and curst th' ill omens of the day, He cleaves the liquid air, behold he flies, He saw Menalcas come with heavy pace;
And every moment gains upon the skies. Wet were his eyes, and cheerless was his face: The new-come guest admires th' ethereal state, He wrung his hands, distracted with his care, The sapphire portal, and the golden gate; And sent his voice before him from afar.
And now, admitted in the shining throng, “Return," he cry'd, “ return, unhappy swain, He shows the passport which he brought along, The spungy clouds are filld with gathering rain: His passport is his innocence and grace, The promise of the day not only cross'd,
Well known to all the natives of the place. But ev'n the spring, the spring itself, is lost. Now sing, ye joyful angels, and admire Amyntas-oh!”—he could not speak the rest, Your brother's voice, that comes to mend your quire: Nor needed, for presaging Damon guess'd.
Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow;
DEATH OF A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN,
He who could view the book of Destiny, The mother's features, and the father's soul. And read whatever there was writ of thee, Then thus he cry'd: “The morn bespoke the news: O charming youth, in the first opening page, The Morning did her cheerful light diffuse: So many graces in so green an age, But see how suddenly she chang'd her face, Such wit, such modesty, such strength of mind, And brought on clouds and rain, the day's disgrace; A soul at once so manly, and so kind; Just such, Amyntas, was thy promis'd race. Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er, What charms adoru'd thy youth, where Nature And after some few leaves should find no more, smil'd,
Nought but a blank remain, a dead void space, And more than man was given us in a child ! A step of life that promisd such a race. His infancy was ripe: a soul sublime
We must not, dare not think, that Heaven began In years so tender that prevented time:
A child, and could not finish him a man; Heaven gave him all at once; then snatch'd away, Reflecting what a mighty store was laid Ere mortals all his beauties could survey :
Of rich materials, and a model made:
As more was never to one soul allow'd:
Yet, after this profusion spent in vain,
Nothing but mouldering ashes to remain, The mother, lovely, though with grief opprest, I guess not, lest I split upon the shelf, Reclin'd his dying bead upon her breast,
Yet, durst I guess, Heaven kept it for himself; The mournful family stood all around;
And, giving us the use, did soon recal,
For 'tis improper speech to say he dy'd :
But the taint Adam left on every son.
'Twas but th' original forfeit of his blood : Like one who durst his destiny control :
And that so little, that the river ran Yet with becoming grief he bore his part,
More clear than the corrupted fount began. Resign'd his son, but not resign'd his heart. Nothing remain'd of the first muddy clay; Patient as Job; and may he live to see,
The length of course had wash'd it in the way: Like him, a new increasing family!
So deep, and yet so clear, we might behold
The gravel bottom, and that bottom gold.
As such we lov'd, admir'd, almost ador'd,
Gave all the tribute mortals could afford, Such is my wish, and such my prophecy.
Perhaps we gave so much, the powers above For yet, my friend, the beauteous mould remains; Grew angry at our superstitious love : Long may she exercise her fruitful pains ! For when we more than human homage pay, But, ah! with better hap, and bring a race The charming cause is justly snatch'd away. More lasting, and endued with equal grace ! Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone : Equal she may, but further none can go :
And yet we murmur that he went so soon: For he was all that was exact below.
Though miracles are short and rarely shown,
Hear then, ye mournful parents, and divide
EPITAPH ON TIIE LADY WHITMORE.
Fair, kind, and true, a treasure each alone,
A wife, a mistress, and a friend in one,
Rest in this tomb, rais'd at thy husband's cost, Then, when you have refin'd to that degree, Imagine all in one, and think that one is he.
Here sadly summing, what he had, and lost.
Come, virgins, ere in equal bands ye join,
Compound for all the rest, with longer life;
And wish your vows, like hers, may be return'd,
Ye sacred relics, which your marble keep,
Here, undisturb'd by wars, in quiet sleep :
Discharge the trust, which, when it was below,
Fairbone's undaunted soul did undergo,
And be the town's Palladium from the foe.
Alive and dead these walls he will defend :
Great actions great examples must attend.
The Candian siege his early valour knew,
Where Turkish blood did his young hands imbrue. To welcome in the Spring.
From thence returning with deserv'd applause, But in the close of night,
Against the Moors his well-flesh'd sword he draws; When Philomel begins her heavenly lay,
The same the courage, and the same the cause. They cease their mutual spite,
His youth and age, his life and death, combine,
As in some great and regular design,
All of a piece throughout, and all divine.
Still nearer Heaven his virtues shone more bright, So ceas'd the rival crew,
when Purcell came; Like rising flames expanding in their beight; They sung no more, or only sung his fame :
The martyr's glory crown'd the soldier's fight. Struck dumb, they all admir'd the godlike man:
More bravely British general never fell,
Nor general's death was e'er reveng'd so well;
Which his pleas'd eyes beheld before their close, As be too late began.
Follow'd by thousand victims of his foes.
To his lamented loss for time to come
His pious widow consecrates this toinb.
Had sent him back before.
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
The first, in loftiness of thought surpass'd; Now live secure, and linger out your days; The next, in majesty; in both the last. The gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's lays, The force of Nature could no further go; Nor know to mend their choice.
To make a third, she join'd the former two.
Rests here, rewarded by an heavenly prince;
For what his earthly could not recompense.
Or, if they happen, learn true honour here.
AT BATH, AND IS THERE INTERRED. Which, to preserve them, Heaven confind in thee. Below this marble monument is laid
Few subjects could a king like thine deserve: All that Heaven wants of this celestial majd.
And fewer, such a king, so well could serve. Preserve, O sacred Tomb, thy trust consign'd;
Blest king, blest subject, whose exalted state The mould was made on purpose for the mind :
By sufferings rose, and gave the law to Fate. And she would lose, if, at the latter day,
Such souls are rare, but mighty patterns giren One atom could be mix'd of other clay.
To Earth, and meant for ornaments to Heaven. Such were the features of her heavenly face, Her limbs were form'd with such harmonious grace: So faultless was the frame, as if the whole
UPON THE EARL OF ROCHESTER'S BEING DISMISSED mos Or like the Sun eclips'd, with shaded light:
THE TREASURY, IN 1687. Too piercing, else, to be sustain'd by sight.
Here lies a creature of indulgent Fate, Each thought was visible that roll'd within :
From Tory Hyde rais’d to a chit of state;
In chariot now, Elisha like, he's hurl'd
To th' upper empty regions of the world :
The airy thing cuts through the yielding sky s All white, a virgin-saint, she sought the skies:
And as it goes does into atoms fly: For marriage, though it sullies not, it dies.
While we on Earth see, with no small delight, High though her wit, yet humble was her mind;
The bird of prey turn’d to a paper kite. As if she could not, or she would not, find
With drunken pride and rage he did so swell, How much her worth transcended all her kind.
The hated thing without compassion fell; Yet she had learn'd so much of Heaven below,
By powerful force of universal prayer, That when arriv'd, she scarce had more to know:
The ill-blown bubble is now turn'd to air;
To his first less than nothing he is gone,
By his preposterous transaction !
INTENDED FOR DRYDEN'S WIFE.
Here lies my wife: here let her lic!
ON THE DUTCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH'S PICTURE. So fair, so young, so innocent, so sweet,
Sure we do live by Cleopatra's age, So ripe a judgment, and so rare a wit,
Since Sunderland does govern now the stage: Require at least an age in one to meet.
She of Septimius had nothing made, In her they metbut long they could not stay, 'Twas gold too fine to mix without allay.
Pompey alone had been by her betray'd. Heaven's image was in her so well exprest,
Were she a poet, she would surely boast, Her very sight upbraided all the rest ;
That all the world for pearls had well been lost Too justly ravish'd from an age like this, Now she is gone, the world is of a piece.
DESCRIPTION OF OLD JACOB TONSON'.
With leering look, bull-fac'd, and freckled fair,
With two left legs, with Judas colour'd hair, MONUMENT OF THE MARQUIS OF WINCHESTER. And frowzy pores, that taint the ambient air. He, who in impions- times undaunted stood,
i On Tonson's refusing to give Dryden the price And midst rebellion durst be just and good! he asked for his Virgil, the poet sent him the above; Whose arms asserted, and whose sufferings more and added, “Tell the dog, that he who wrote them, Confirm'd the cause for which be fought before ; can write more." The money was paid.
SONGS, ODES, AND A MASQUE.
II. A SONG FOR ST. CECILIA'S DAY, 1687.
TIE FAIR STRANGER.
Happy and free, securely blest ; No beauty could disturb my rest; My amorous heart was in despair, To find a new victorious fair.
Till you, descending on our plains,
II. ON THE YOUNG STATESMEN.
From harmony, from heavenly harmony
This universal frame began :
Of jarring atoms lay,
And could not heave her head,
“ Arise, ye more than dead." Then cold, and hot, and moist, and dry, In order to their stations leap,
And Music's power obey.
This universal frame began:
From harmony to harmony
When Jubal struck the chorded shell,
To worship that celestial sound.
Within the hollow of that shell,
That spoke so sweetly and so well. What passion cannot Music raise and quell?
The trumpet's loud clangor
Excites us to arms,
And mortal alarms.
Of the thundering drum
The soft complaining flute
The woes of hopeless lovers,
Sharp violins proclaim
For the fair, disdainful dame.
What human voice can reach,
To mend the choirs above.
Sequacious of the lyre:
Mistaking Earth for Heaven.
CLARENDON had law and sense,
Clifford was fierce and brave;
Help'd to support the knave.
'Twill turn all politics to jests, To be repeated like John Dory,
When fiddlers sing at feasts. Protect us, mighty Providence,
What would these madmen have ? First, they would bribe us without pence, Deceive us without common sense,
And without power enslave.
Shall free-born men, in humble awe,
Submit to servile shame; Who froin consent and custom draw The same right to be ruld by law,
Which kings pretend to reign
The duke shall wield his conquering sword,
The chancellor make a speech, The king shall pass bis honest word, The pawn'd revenue sums afford,
And then, come kiss my breech. So have I seen a king on chess
(His rooks and knights withdrawn, His queen and bishops in distress) Shifting about, grow less and less,
With here and there a pawn.
As from the power of sacred lays,
The spheres began to move, And sung the great Creator's praise
To all the bless'd above ;
So when the last and dreadful hour
“ By their praying and whining, This crumbling pageant shall devour,
And clasping and twining, The trumpet shall be heard on high,
And panting and wishing, The dead shall live, the living die,
And sighing and kissing,
And sighing and kissing so close."
He saw the sad wound, and in pity drew near;
Then show'd her his arrow, and bid her not fear;
When the balm was infus'd, she was not at a loss, TEARS OF AMYNTA, FOR THE DEATH OF DAMON.
What they meant by their sighing, and kissing so
By their praying and whining, (close;
And clasping and twining, On a bank, beside a willow,
And panting and wishing, Heaven her covering, earth her pillow,
And sighing and kissing,
And sighing and kissing so close.
THE LADY'S SONG. “ Time, I dare thee to discover
A CHOIR of bright beauties in spring did appear, Such a youth, and such a lover ;
To choose a May lady to govern the year; Oh! so true, so kind was he!
All the nymphs were in white, and the shepherds in Damon was the pride of Nature,
green; Charming in his every feature;
The garland was given, and Phyllis was queen: Damon liv'd alone for me;
But Phyllis refus'd it, and sighing did say,
I'll not wear a garland while Pan is away.
While Pan, and fair Syrinx, are fled from our shore,
The Graces are banish'd, and Love is no more: “ Never shall we curse the morning,
The soft god of pleasure, that warm'd our desires, Never bless the night returning,
Has broken his bow, and extinguish'd his fires: Sweet embraces to restore:
And vows that himself, and his mother, will mour, Never shall we both lie dying,
Till Pan and fair Syrinx in triumph return.
Forbear your addresses, and court us no more;
For we will perform what the deity swore :
But if you dare think of deserving our charms, Love and Damon are no more."
Away with your sheephooks, and take to your arms:
SYLVIA the fair, in the bloom of fifteen,
O pity, and distinguish me! She saw the men eager, but was at a loss,
As I from thousand beauties more Wha, they meant by their sighing, and kissing so
Distinguish you, and only you adore. By their praying and whining,
Your face for conquest was design'd, And clasping and twining,
Your every motion charms my mind; And panting and wishing,
Angels, when you your silence break, And sighing and kissing,
Forget their hymns, to hear you speak; And sighing and kissing so close.
But when at once they hear and view,
Are loth to mount, and long to stay with you. “ Ah!" she cry'd; “ah! for a languishing maid, In a country of Christians, to die without aid ! No graces can your form improve, Not a Whig, or a Tory, or Trimmer at least, But all are lost, unless you love; Or a Protestant parson, or Catholic priest, While that sweet passion you disdain, T' instruct a young virgin, that is at a loss, Your veil and beauty are in vain : What they meant by their sighing, and kissing so In pity then prevent my fate, close !
For after dying all reprieve's too late.