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Yet let no portion of your life be ftain'd
With paffion, but your character maintain'd
To the laft Act: it is enough her stone
May honour'd be with fuperfcription

Of the fole Lady, who had pow'r to move
The great NORTHUMBERLAND to grieve, and love.

To my LORD ADMIRAL, of his late Sickness and Recovery.

ITH joy like ours, the THRACIAN youth invades
ORPHEUS, returning from th' ELYSIAN fhades;

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 LETH EAN lake:
The Ladies too, the brighteft of that time,
(Ambitious all his lofty bed to climb)
Their doubtful hopes with expectation feed,
Who fhall the fair EU RYDICE fucceed:
EURYDICE! for whom his num'rous moan
Makes lift'ning trees, and favage mountains groan:
Thro' all the air his founding ftrings dilate
Sorrow, like that which touch'd our hearts of late.
Your pining fickness, and your restless pain,
At once the land affecting, and the Main:
When the glad news that you were Admiral
Scarce thro' the nation spread, 'twas fear'd by all

That our Great CHARLES, whose wisdom shines in you,
Would be perplexed how to chufe a new.

So

So more than private was the joy, and grief,
That at the worst it gave our fouls relief,
That in our age such sense of virtue liv'd;
They joy'd fo juftly, and fo juftly griev'd.
Nature (her faireft lights eclipfed,) feems
Her felf to fuffer in those sharp extremes:
While not from thine alone thy blood retires,
But from thofe cheeks which all the world admires.
The stem thus threaten'd, and the fap in thee,
Droop all the branches of that noble tree!
Their beauty they, and we our loves fufpend,
Nought can our wishes, fave thy health, intend.
As lillies over-charg'd with rain, they bend

Their beauteous heads, and with high heav'n contend:
Fold thee within their fnowy arms, and cry
He is too faultlefs, and too young, to dye.
So like Immortals round about thee they
Sit, that they fright approaching Death away.
Who would not languish, by fo fair a train
To be lamented, and restor'd again?

Or thus with-held, what hafty foul would go,
Though to the Bleft? O'er young ADONIS fo
Fair VENUS mourn'd, and with the precious fhow'r
Of her warm tears cherish'd the springing flow'r.
The next fupport, fair hope of your great name,
And fecond pillar of that noble frame,
By lofs of thee would no advantage have,
But step by step perfue thee to the grave.
And now, relentless Fate about to end
The line, which backward does so far extend
That antique ftock, which still the world fupplies
With bravest spirits, and with brightest eyes;

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Kind PHOEBUs interpofing, bid me fay

Such ftorms no more shall shake that houfe; but they

Like NEPTUNE, and his

fea-born Neice, fhall be

The fhining glories of the land and fea:

With courage guard, and beauty warm, our age;
And lovers fill with like poetic rage.

SONG.

STAY, PHOEBUS, ftay!

The world to which you fly so fast,
Conveying day

From us to them, can pay your haste
With no fuch object, nor falute your rife
With no fuch wonder, as DE MORNAY's eyes.

Well do's this prove

The error of thofe antique books,

Which made you move

About the world: her charming looks Would fix your beams, and make it ever day, Did not the rowling earth snatch her away.

On my Lady DOROTHY SIDNEY's Picture.

UCH was PHILOCLEA, and fuch * DORUS' flame!

SUCH was fuch mortal frame

Of perfect beauty, on two pillars plac'd:
Not his high fancy could one pattern, grac'd
With fuch extremes of excellence, compofe;
Wonders fo diftant in one face difclofe!

Venus. Pamela. + Sir Philip Sidney.

Such

Such chearful modesty, fuch humble state,
Moves certain love; but with as doubtful fate,
As when, beyond our greedy reach, we fee
Inviting fruit on too fublime a tree.

All the rich flow'rs through his ARCADIA found,
Amaz'd we fee in this one garland bound.
Had but this copy, (which the artist took
From the fair picture of that noble book)

*

Stood at KALAN DE R's, the brave friends had jarr'd; And, rivals made, th' enfuing ftory marr'd.

Juft nature first instructed by his thought,

In his own house thus practis'd what he taught:
This glorious piece transcends what he could think;
So much his blood is nobler than his ink!

R

To VAN DYCK.

ARE Artifan, whofe pencil moves
Not our delights alone, but loves!

From thy fhop of beauty we

Slaves return, that enter'd free.

The heedlefs lover does not know
Whose eyes they are that wound him so:
But, confounded with thy art,
Inquires her name that has his heart.
Another, who did long refrain,
Feels his old wound bleed fresh again,
With dear remembrance of that face,
Where now he reads new hope of grace;

Pyrocles and Mufidorus.

C 4

Nor

Nor fcorn, nor cruelty does find :
But gladly fuffers a false wind
To blow the ashes of despair
From the reviving brand of care.
Fool! that forgets her ftubborn look
This foftnefs from thy finger took.
Strange! that thy hand fhould not infpire
The beauty only, but the fire:
Not the form alone, and grace,
But act, and power, of a face.
May't thou yet thy felf as well,
As all the world befides, excel !
So you th' unfeigned truth rehearse,
(That I may make it live in verse)
Why thou could'ft not, at one assay,
That face to after-times convey,
Which this admires. Was it thy wit
To make her oft before thee fit?
Confefs, and we'll forgive thee this:
For who would not repeat that bliss ?
And frequent fight of fuch a dame
Buy, with the hazard of his fame?
Yet who can tax thy blameless skill,
Though thy good hand had failed ftill;
When nature's felf fo often errs?
She for this many thousand years
Seems to have practis'd with much care,
To frame the race of women fair;
Yet never could a perfect birth
Produce before, to grace the earth:
Which waxed old, e're it could fee

Her that amaz'd thy Art, and thee.

But

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