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The royal bird poffeffes all the boughs,
Joy of our age, and fafety of the next!
To waste thy spirits, and diffuse thy blood :
Our feas no longer shall our power confine.
A brave romance who would exactly frame
But the fair pearl, and glory of the fea :
The man † to whom great Maro gives fuch fame,
THE APOLOGY OF SLEEP,
For not approaching the Lady, who can do any thing but fleep when the pleaseth.
Y charge it is thofe breaches to repair,
Which nature takes from forrow, toil, and care:
Reft to the limbs, and quiet, I confer
On troubled minds: but nought can add to her,
Whom Heaven, and her transcendent thoughts, have
Bright as the deathless Gods, and happy, she
Should I with lightning fill her awful hand,
No cloud in fo ferene a manfion find,
Which holds resemblance with thofe fpotless skies,
Jove's dreadful temples in the dew of fleep.
And, fince the Mufes do invoke my power,
Who, while my hand that fairer light confines,
WE Gods, that have the power
To trouble and compose
All that's beneath your bower,
Calm filence on the feas, on earth, impose.
Fair Venus, in thy soft arms
The God of Rage confine; For thy whispers are the charms
Which only can divert his fierce defign.
What though he frown, and to tumult do incline?
Thou the flame
Kindled in his breast canft tame,
With that fnow which unmelted lies on thine.
Great Goddefs, give this thy facred island reft,
That no ftorm disturb us, while
Thy chief care, our Halcyon, builds her neft.
Great Gloriana! fair Gloriana!
Bright as high heaven is, and fertile as earth;
Whose beauty relieves us,
Whose royal bed gives us
Both glory and peace :
Our present joy, and all our hopes increase.
To the QUEEN-MOTHER of FRANCE, upon her Landing.
GREAT Queen of Europe! whence thy offspring
All the chief crowns; where Princes are thy heirs :
To Delos was here fhines a Nymph as bright,
Or why did you so much regard the wind?
Scarce could the ocean (though inrag'd) have tost
Among her deathlefs progeny did go :
A wreath of towers adorn'd her reverend head,
Thy god-like race muft fway the age to come;
Would thofe commanders of mankind obey
Down at her royal feet; compose their jars,
The COUNTRY to my Lady of CARLISLE.
MADAM, of all the facred Mufe infpir'd
Orpheus alone could with the woods comply;
Their rude inhabitants his song admir'd,
And nature's felf, in those that could not lye : Your beauty next our folitude invades, And warms us, fhining through the thickest shades.
Nor ought the tribute, which the wondering court
Which echo-like, the country does return: