What doleful crys are these that fright my sence,
Sad as the Groans of dying Innocence?
The killing Accents now more near Aproach,
And the Infectious Sound,
Spreads and Inlarges all around;
And does all Hearts with Grief and Wonder touch.
The famous Grinhil dead! even he,
That cou'd to us give Immortalitie;
Is to the Eternal silent Groves withdrawn,
Those sullen Groves of Everlasting Dawn;
Youthful as Flowers, scarce blown, whose opening Leaves,
A wond'rous and a fragrant Prospect gives,
Of what it's Elder Beauties wou'd display,
When they should flourish up to ripning May.
Witty as Poets, warm'd with Love and Wine,
Yet still spar'd Heaven and his Friend,
For both to him were Sacred and Divine:
Nor could he this no more then that offend.
Fixt as a Martyr where he friendship paid,
And Generous as a God,
Distributing his Bounties all abroad;
And soft and gentle as a Love-sick Maid.
Sad as the Groans of dying Innocence?
The killing Accents now more near Aproach,
And the Infectious Sound,
Spreads and Inlarges all around;
And does all Hearts with Grief and Wonder touch.
The famous Grinhil dead! even he,
That cou'd to us give Immortalitie;
Is to the Eternal silent Groves withdrawn,
Those sullen Groves of Everlasting Dawn;
Youthful as Flowers, scarce blown, whose opening Leaves,
A wond'rous and a fragrant Prospect gives,
Of what it's Elder Beauties wou'd display,
When they should flourish up to ripning May.
Witty as Poets, warm'd with Love and Wine,
Yet still spar'd Heaven and his Friend,
For both to him were Sacred and Divine:
Nor could he this no more then that offend.
Fixt as a Martyr where he friendship paid,
And Generous as a God,
Distributing his Bounties all abroad;
And soft and gentle as a Love-sick Maid.
II.
Great Master of the Noblest Mysterie,
That ever happy Knowledge did inspire;
Sacred as that of Poetry,
And which the wond'ring World does equally admire.
Great Natures work we do contemn,
When on his Glorious Births we meditate:
The Face and Eies, more Darts receiv'd from him,
Then all the Charms she can create.
The Difference is, his Beauties do beget
In the inamour'd Soul a Vertuous Heat:
While Natures Grosser Pieces move,
In the course road of Common Love:
So bold, yet soft, his touches were;
So round each part's so sweet and fair.
That as his Pencil mov'd men thought it prest,
The Lively imitating rising Breast,
Which yield like Clouds, where little Angels rest:
The Limbs all easy as his Temper was;
Strong as his Mind, and manly too;
Large as his Soul his fancy was, and new:
And from himself he copyed every Grace,
For he had all that cou'd adorn a Face,
All that cou'd either Sex subdue.
That ever happy Knowledge did inspire;
Sacred as that of Poetry,
And which the wond'ring World does equally admire.
Great Natures work we do contemn,
When on his Glorious Births we meditate:
The Face and Eies, more Darts receiv'd from him,
Then all the Charms she can create.
The Difference is, his Beauties do beget
In the inamour'd Soul a Vertuous Heat:
While Natures Grosser Pieces move,
In the course road of Common Love:
So bold, yet soft, his touches were;
So round each part's so sweet and fair.
That as his Pencil mov'd men thought it prest,
The Lively imitating rising Breast,
Which yield like Clouds, where little Angels rest:
The Limbs all easy as his Temper was;
Strong as his Mind, and manly too;
Large as his Soul his fancy was, and new:
And from himself he copyed every Grace,
For he had all that cou'd adorn a Face,
All that cou'd either Sex subdue.
III.
Each Excellence he had that Youth has in its Pride,
And all Experienc'd Age cou'd teach,
At once the vigorous fire of this,
And every vertue which that cou'd Express.
In all the heights that both could reach;
And yet alas, in this Perfection di'd.
Dropt like a Blossom with the Northern blast,
(When all the scatter'd Leaves abroad were cast;)
As quick as if his fate had been in hast:
So have I seen an unfixt Star,
Out-shine the rest of all the Numerous Train,
As bright as that which Guides the Marriner,
Dart swiftly from its darken'd Sphere:
And nere shall sight the World again.
And all Experienc'd Age cou'd teach,
At once the vigorous fire of this,
And every vertue which that cou'd Express.
In all the heights that both could reach;
And yet alas, in this Perfection di'd.
Dropt like a Blossom with the Northern blast,
(When all the scatter'd Leaves abroad were cast;)
As quick as if his fate had been in hast:
So have I seen an unfixt Star,
Out-shine the rest of all the Numerous Train,
As bright as that which Guides the Marriner,
Dart swiftly from its darken'd Sphere:
And nere shall sight the World again.
IV.
Ah why shou'd so much knowledge die!
Or with his last kind breath,
Why cou'd he not to some one friend bequeath
The Mighty Legacie!
But 'twas a knowledge given to him alone,
That his eternis'd Name might be
Admir'd to all Posteritie,
By all to whom his grateful Name was known.
Come all ye softer Beauties, come;
Bring Wreaths of Flowers to deck his tomb;
Mixt with the dismal Cypress and the Yew,
For he still gave your Charmes their due:
And from the injuries of Age and Time,
Preserv'd the sweetness of your Prime:
And best knew how t' adore that Sweetness too;
Bring all your Mournful Tributes here,
And let your Eyes a silent sorrow wear,
Till every Virgin for a while become
Sad as his Fate, and like his Picture's Dumb.
Or with his last kind breath,
Why cou'd he not to some one friend bequeath
The Mighty Legacie!
But 'twas a knowledge given to him alone,
That his eternis'd Name might be
Admir'd to all Posteritie,
By all to whom his grateful Name was known.
Come all ye softer Beauties, come;
Bring Wreaths of Flowers to deck his tomb;
Mixt with the dismal Cypress and the Yew,
For he still gave your Charmes their due:
And from the injuries of Age and Time,
Preserv'd the sweetness of your Prime:
And best knew how t' adore that Sweetness too;
Bring all your Mournful Tributes here,
And let your Eyes a silent sorrow wear,
Till every Virgin for a while become
Sad as his Fate, and like his Picture's Dumb.
A Ballad on Mr. J. H. to Amoret, asking why I was so sad.
My Amoret, since you must know,
The Grief you say my Eyes do show:
Survey my Heart, where you shall find,
More Love then for your self confin'd.
And though you chide, you'll Pity too,
A Passion which even Rivals you.
The Grief you say my Eyes do show:
Survey my Heart, where you shall find,
More Love then for your self confin'd.
And though you chide, you'll Pity too,
A Passion which even Rivals you.
Amyntas on a Holyday
As fine as any Lord of May,
Amongst the Nimphs, and jolly Swaines,
That feed their Flocks upon the Plaines:
Met in a Grove beneath whose shade,
A Match of Dancing they had made.
As fine as any Lord of May,
Amongst the Nimphs, and jolly Swaines,
That feed their Flocks upon the Plaines:
Met in a Grove beneath whose shade,
A Match of Dancing they had made.
His Cassock was of Green, as trim
As Grass upon a River brim;
Untoucht or sullied with a spot,
Unprest by either Lamb or Goat:
And with the Air it loosely play'd,
With every motion that he made.
As Grass upon a River brim;
Untoucht or sullied with a spot,
Unprest by either Lamb or Goat:
And with the Air it loosely play'd,
With every motion that he made.
His Sleeves a-many Ribbons ties,
Where one might read Love-Mysteries:
As if that way he wou'd impart,
To all, the Sentiments of his Heart,
Whose Passions by those Colours known,
He with a Charming Pride wou'd own.
Where one might read Love-Mysteries:
As if that way he wou'd impart,
To all, the Sentiments of his Heart,
Whose Passions by those Colours known,
He with a Charming Pride wou'd own.
His Bonnet with the same was Ti'd,
A Silver Scrip hung by his Side:
His Buskins garnisht A-la-mode,
Were grac'd by every step he Trod;
Like Pan, a Majesty he took,
And like Apollo when he spoke.
A Silver Scrip hung by his Side:
His Buskins garnisht A-la-mode,
Were grac'd by every step he Trod;
Like Pan, a Majesty he took,
And like Apollo when he spoke.
His Hook a Wreath of Flowers Braid,
The Present of some Love-sick Maid,
Who all the morning had bestow'd,
And to her Fancy now compos'd:
Which fresher seem'd when near that place,
To whom the Giver Captive was.
The Present of some Love-sick Maid,
Who all the morning had bestow'd,
And to her Fancy now compos'd:
Which fresher seem'd when near that place,
To whom the Giver Captive was.
His Eyes their best Attracts put on,
Designing some should be undone;
For he could at his pleasure move,
The Nymphs he lik'd to fall in Love:
Yet so he order'd every Glance,
That still they seem'd but Wounds of Chance.
Designing some should be undone;
For he could at his pleasure move,
The Nymphs he lik'd to fall in Love:
Yet so he order'd every Glance,
That still they seem'd but Wounds of Chance.
He well cou'd feign an Innocence,
And taught his Silence Eloquence;
Each Smile he us'd, had got the force,
To Conquer more than soft Discourse:
Which when it serv'd his Ends he'd use,
And subtilly thro' a heart infuse.
And taught his Silence Eloquence;
Each Smile he us'd, had got the force,
To Conquer more than soft Discourse:
Which when it serv'd his Ends he'd use,
And subtilly thro' a heart infuse.
His Wit was such it cou'd controul
The Resolutions of a Soul;
That a Religious Vow had made,
By Love it nere wou'd be betra'd:
For when he spoke he well cou'd prove
Their Errors who dispute with Love.
The Resolutions of a Soul;
That a Religious Vow had made,
By Love it nere wou'd be betra'd:
For when he spoke he well cou'd prove
Their Errors who dispute with Love.
With all these Charms he did Address
Himself to every Shepherdess:
Until the Bag-pipes which did play,
Began the Bus'ness of the day;
And in the taking forth to Dance,
The Lovely Swain became my Chance.
Himself to every Shepherdess:
Until the Bag-pipes which did play,
Began the Bus'ness of the day;
And in the taking forth to Dance,
The Lovely Swain became my Chance.
To whom much Passion he did Vow,
And much his Eyes and Sighs did show;
And both imploy'd with so much Art,
I strove in vain to guard my Heart;
And ere the Night our Revels crost,
I was intirely won and lost.
And much his Eyes and Sighs did show;
And both imploy'd with so much Art,
I strove in vain to guard my Heart;
And ere the Night our Revels crost,
I was intirely won and lost.
Let me advise thee, Amoret,
Fly from the Baits that he has set
In every grace; which will betray
All Beauties that but look that way:
But thou hast Charms that will secure
A Captive in this Conquerour.
Fly from the Baits that he has set
In every grace; which will betray
All Beauties that but look that way:
But thou hast Charms that will secure
A Captive in this Conquerour.
Our Cabal.
Come, my fair Cloris, come away,
Hast thou forgot 'tis Holyday?
And lovely Silvia too make haste,
The Sun is up, the day does waste:
Do'st thou not hear the Musick loud,
Mix'd with the murmur of the Crowd?
How can thy active Feet be still,
And hear the Bag-pipes chearful Trill?
Hast thou forgot 'tis Holyday?
And lovely Silvia too make haste,
The Sun is up, the day does waste:
Do'st thou not hear the Musick loud,
Mix'd with the murmur of the Crowd?
How can thy active Feet be still,
And hear the Bag-pipes chearful Trill?
Mr. V. U.
Urania's drest as fine and gay,
As if she meant t' out-shine the day;
Or certain that no Victories
Were to be gain'd but by her Eyes;
Her Garment's white, her Garniture
The springing Beauties of the Year,
Which are in such nice Order plac'd,
That Nature is by Art disgrac'd:
Her natural Curling Ebon Hair,
Does loosly wanton in the Air.
As if she meant t' out-shine the day;
Or certain that no Victories
Were to be gain'd but by her Eyes;
Her Garment's white, her Garniture
The springing Beauties of the Year,
Which are in such nice Order plac'd,
That Nature is by Art disgrac'd:
Her natural Curling Ebon Hair,
Does loosly wanton in the Air.
Mr. G. V.
With her the young Alexis came,
Whose Eyes dare only speak his Flame:
Charming he is, as fair can be,
Charming without Effeminacy;
Only his Eyes are languishing,
Caus'd by the Pain he feels within;
Yet thou wilt say that Languishment
Is a peculiar Ornament.
Deck'd up he is with Pride and Care,
All Rich and Gay, to please his Fair:
The Price of Flocks h' has made a Prey
To th' Usual Vanity of this day.
Whose Eyes dare only speak his Flame:
Charming he is, as fair can be,
Charming without Effeminacy;
Only his Eyes are languishing,
Caus'd by the Pain he feels within;
Yet thou wilt say that Languishment
Is a peculiar Ornament.
Deck'd up he is with Pride and Care,
All Rich and Gay, to please his Fair:
The Price of Flocks h' has made a Prey
To th' Usual Vanity of this day.
My dear Brother J. C.
After them Damon Piping came,
Who laughs at Cupid and his Flame;
Swears, if the Boy should him approach,
He'd burn his Wings with his own Torch:
But he's too young for Love t' invade,
Though for him languish many a Maid.
His lovely Ayr, his chearful Face,
Adorn'd with many a Youthful Grace,
Beget more Sighs then if with Arts
He should design to conquer Hearts:
The Swains as well as Nymphs submit
To's Charms of Beauty and of Wit.
He'll sing, he'll dance, he'll pipe and play,
And wanton out a Summer's day;
And wheresoever Damon be,
He's still the Soul o'th' Companie.
Who laughs at Cupid and his Flame;
Swears, if the Boy should him approach,
He'd burn his Wings with his own Torch:
But he's too young for Love t' invade,
Though for him languish many a Maid.
His lovely Ayr, his chearful Face,
Adorn'd with many a Youthful Grace,
Beget more Sighs then if with Arts
He should design to conquer Hearts:
The Swains as well as Nymphs submit
To's Charms of Beauty and of Wit.
He'll sing, he'll dance, he'll pipe and play,
And wanton out a Summer's day;
And wheresoever Damon be,
He's still the Soul o'th' Companie.
My dear Amoret, Mrs. B.
Next Amoret, the true Delight
Of all that do approach her sight:
The Sun in all its Course ne'er met
Ought Fair or Sweet like Amoret.
Alone she came, her Eyes declin'd,
In which you'll read her troubled Mind;
Yes, Silvia, for she'l not deny
She loves, as well as thou and I.
'Tis Philocles, that Proud Ingrate,
That pays her Passion back with Hate;
Whilst she does all but him despise,
And clouds the lustre of her Eyes:
But once to her he did address,
And dying Passion too express;
But soon the Amorous Heat was laid,
He soon forgot the Vows he'd made;
Whilst she in every Silent Grove,
Bewails her easie Faith and Love.
Numbers of Swains do her adore,
But she has vow'd to love no more.
Of all that do approach her sight:
The Sun in all its Course ne'er met
Ought Fair or Sweet like Amoret.
Alone she came, her Eyes declin'd,
In which you'll read her troubled Mind;
Yes, Silvia, for she'l not deny
She loves, as well as thou and I.
'Tis Philocles, that Proud Ingrate,
That pays her Passion back with Hate;
Whilst she does all but him despise,
And clouds the lustre of her Eyes:
But once to her he did address,
And dying Passion too express;
But soon the Amorous Heat was laid,
He soon forgot the Vows he'd made;
Whilst she in every Silent Grove,
Bewails her easie Faith and Love.
Numbers of Swains do her adore,
But she has vow'd to love no more.
Mr. J. B.
Next Jolly Thirsis came along,
With many Beauties in a Throng.
With many Beauties in a Throng.
Mr. Je. B.
With whom the young Amyntas came,
The Author of my Sighs and Flame:
For I'll confess that Truth to you,
Which every Look of mine can show.
Ah how unlike the rest he appears!
With Majesty above his years!
His Eyes so much of Sweetness dress,
Such Wit, such Vigour too express;
That 'twou'd a wonder be to say,
I've seen the Youth, and brought my Heart away.
Ah Cloris! Thou that never wert
In danger yet to lose a Heart,
Guard it severely now, for he
Will startle all thy Constancy:
For if by chance thou do'st escape
Unwounded by his Lovely Shape,
Tempt not thy Ruine, lest his Eyes
Joyn with his Tongue to win the Prize:
Such Softness in his Language dwells,
And Tales of Love so well he tells,
Should'st thou attend their Harmony,
Thou'dst be Undone, as well as I;
For sure no Nymph was ever free,
That could Amyntas hear and see.
The Author of my Sighs and Flame:
For I'll confess that Truth to you,
Which every Look of mine can show.
Ah how unlike the rest he appears!
With Majesty above his years!
His Eyes so much of Sweetness dress,
Such Wit, such Vigour too express;
That 'twou'd a wonder be to say,
I've seen the Youth, and brought my Heart away.
Ah Cloris! Thou that never wert
In danger yet to lose a Heart,
Guard it severely now, for he
Will startle all thy Constancy:
For if by chance thou do'st escape
Unwounded by his Lovely Shape,
Tempt not thy Ruine, lest his Eyes
Joyn with his Tongue to win the Prize:
Such Softness in his Language dwells,
And Tales of Love so well he tells,
Should'st thou attend their Harmony,
Thou'dst be Undone, as well as I;
For sure no Nymph was ever free,
That could Amyntas hear and see.
Mr. N. R. V.
With him the lovely Philocless,
His Beauty heightned by his Dress,
If any thing can add a Grace
To such a Shape, and such a Face,
Whose Natural Ornaments impart
Enough without the help of Art.
His Shoulders cover'd with a Hair,
The Sun-Beams are not half so fair;
Of which the Virgins Bracelets make,
And where for Philocless's sake:
His Beauty such, that one would swear
His face did never take the Air.
On's Cheeks the blushing Roses show,
The rest like whitest Daisies grow:
His Lips, no Berries of the Field,
Nor Cherries, such a Red do yield.
His Eyes all Love, Soft'ning Smile;
And when he speaks, he sighs the while:
His Bashful Grace, with Blushes too,
Gains more then Confidence can do.
With all these Charms he does invade
The Heart, which when he has betray'd,
He slights the Trophies he has won,
And weeps for those he has Undone;
As if he never did intend
His Charms for so severe an End.
And all poor Amoret can gain,
Is pitty from the Lovely Swain:
And if Inconstancy can seem
Agreeable, 'tis so in him.
And when he meets Reproach for it,
He does excuse it with his Wit.
His Beauty heightned by his Dress,
If any thing can add a Grace
To such a Shape, and such a Face,
Whose Natural Ornaments impart
Enough without the help of Art.
His Shoulders cover'd with a Hair,
The Sun-Beams are not half so fair;
Of which the Virgins Bracelets make,
And where for Philocless's sake:
His Beauty such, that one would swear
His face did never take the Air.
On's Cheeks the blushing Roses show,
The rest like whitest Daisies grow:
His Lips, no Berries of the Field,
Nor Cherries, such a Red do yield.
His Eyes all Love, Soft'ning Smile;
And when he speaks, he sighs the while:
His Bashful Grace, with Blushes too,
Gains more then Confidence can do.
With all these Charms he does invade
The Heart, which when he has betray'd,
He slights the Trophies he has won,
And weeps for those he has Undone;
As if he never did intend
His Charms for so severe an End.
And all poor Amoret can gain,
Is pitty from the Lovely Swain:
And if Inconstancy can seem
Agreeable, 'tis so in him.
And when he meets Reproach for it,
He does excuse it with his Wit.
Mr. E. B. and Mrs. F. M.
Next hand in hand the smiling Pair,
Martillo, and the Lovely Fair:
A Bright-Ey'd Phillis, who they say,
Ne'er knew what Love was till to day:
Long has the Gen'rous Youth in vain
Implor'd some Pity for his Pain.
Early abroad he would be seen,
To wait her coming on the Green,
To be the first that t' her should pay
The Tribute of the New-born Day;
Presents her Bracelets with their Names,
And Hooks carv'd out with Hearts and Flames.
And when a stragling Lamb he saw,
And she not by to give it Law,
The pretty Fugitive he'd deck
With Wreaths of Flowers around its Neck;
And gave her ev'ry mark of Love,
Before he could her Pity move.
But now the Youth no more appears
Clouded with Jealousies and Fears:
Nor yet dares Phillis softer Brow
Wear Unconcern, or Coldness now;
But makes him just and kind Returns;
And as He does, so now She burns.
Martillo, and the Lovely Fair:
A Bright-Ey'd Phillis, who they say,
Ne'er knew what Love was till to day:
Long has the Gen'rous Youth in vain
Implor'd some Pity for his Pain.
Early abroad he would be seen,
To wait her coming on the Green,
To be the first that t' her should pay
The Tribute of the New-born Day;
Presents her Bracelets with their Names,
And Hooks carv'd out with Hearts and Flames.
And when a stragling Lamb he saw,
And she not by to give it Law,
The pretty Fugitive he'd deck
With Wreaths of Flowers around its Neck;
And gave her ev'ry mark of Love,
Before he could her Pity move.
But now the Youth no more appears
Clouded with Jealousies and Fears:
Nor yet dares Phillis softer Brow
Wear Unconcern, or Coldness now;
But makes him just and kind Returns;
And as He does, so now She burns.
Mr. J. H.
Next Lysidas, that haughty Swain,
With many Beauties in a Train,
All sighing for the Swain, whilst he
Barely returns Civility.
Yet once to each much Love he Vowd,
And strange Fantastique Passion show'd.
Poor Doris, and Lucinda too,
And many more whom thou dost know,
Who had not power his Charms to shun,
Too late do find themselves Undone.
His Eyes are Black, and do transcend
All Fancy e'er can comprehend;
And yet no Softness in 'em move.
They kill with Fierceness, not with Love:
Yet he can dress 'em when he list,
With Sweetness none can e'er resist.
His Tongue no Amorous Parley makes,
But with his Looks alone he speaks.
And though he languish yet he'l hide,
That grateful knowledge with his Pride;
And thinks his Liberty is lost,
Not in the Conquest, but the Boast.
Nor will but Love enough impart,
To gain and to secure a heart:
Of which no sooner he is sure,
And that its Wounds are past all Cure.
But for New Victories he prepares,
And leaves the Old to its Despairs:
Success his Boldness does renew,
And Boldness helps him Conquer too,
He having gain'd more hearts than all
Th' rest of the Pastoral Cabal.
With many Beauties in a Train,
All sighing for the Swain, whilst he
Barely returns Civility.
Yet once to each much Love he Vowd,
And strange Fantastique Passion show'd.
Poor Doris, and Lucinda too,
And many more whom thou dost know,
Who had not power his Charms to shun,
Too late do find themselves Undone.
His Eyes are Black, and do transcend
All Fancy e'er can comprehend;
And yet no Softness in 'em move.
They kill with Fierceness, not with Love:
Yet he can dress 'em when he list,
With Sweetness none can e'er resist.
His Tongue no Amorous Parley makes,
But with his Looks alone he speaks.
And though he languish yet he'l hide,
That grateful knowledge with his Pride;
And thinks his Liberty is lost,
Not in the Conquest, but the Boast.
Nor will but Love enough impart,
To gain and to secure a heart:
Of which no sooner he is sure,
And that its Wounds are past all Cure.
But for New Victories he prepares,
And leaves the Old to its Despairs:
Success his Boldness does renew,
And Boldness helps him Conquer too,
He having gain'd more hearts than all
Th' rest of the Pastoral Cabal.
Mr. Ed. Bed.
With him Philander, who nere paid
A Sigh or Tear to any Maid:
So innocent and young he is,
He cannot guess what Passion is.
But all the Love he ever knew,
On Lycidas he does bestow:
Who pays his Tenderness again,
Too Amorous for a Swain to a Swain.
A softer Youth was never seen,
His Beauty Maid; but Man, his Mein:
And much more gay than all the rest;
And but Alexis finest Dress'd.
His Eyes towards Lycidas still turn,
As sympathising Flowers to the Sun;
Whilst Lycidas whose Eyes dispense
No less a grateful Influence,
Improves his Beauty, which still fresher grows:
Who would not under two such Suns as those?
Cloris you sigh, what Amorous grown?
Pan grant you keep your heart a home:
For I have often heard you Vow,
If any cou'd your heart subdue,
Though Lycidas you nere had seen,
It must be him, or one like him:
Alas I cannot yet forget,
How we have with Amyntas sat
Beneath the Boughs for Summer made,
Our heated Flocks and Us to shade;
Where thou wou'dst wond'rous Stories tell,
Of this Agreeable Infidel.
By what Devices, Charms and Arts,
He us'd to gain and keep his Hearts:
And whilst his Falsehood we wou'd Blame,
Thou woud'st commend and praise the same.
And did no greater pleasure take,
Then when of Lycidas we spake;
By this and many Sighs we know,
Thou'rt sensible of Loving too.
Come Cloris, come along with us,
And try thy power with Lycidas;
See if that Vertue which you prize,
Be proof against those Conquering Eyes.
That Heart that can no Love admit,
Will hardly stand his shock of Wit;
Come deck thee then in all that's fine,
Perhaps the Conquest may be thine;
They all attend, let's hast to do,
What Love and Musick calls us to.
A Sigh or Tear to any Maid:
So innocent and young he is,
He cannot guess what Passion is.
But all the Love he ever knew,
On Lycidas he does bestow:
Who pays his Tenderness again,
Too Amorous for a Swain to a Swain.
A softer Youth was never seen,
His Beauty Maid; but Man, his Mein:
And much more gay than all the rest;
And but Alexis finest Dress'd.
His Eyes towards Lycidas still turn,
As sympathising Flowers to the Sun;
Whilst Lycidas whose Eyes dispense
No less a grateful Influence,
Improves his Beauty, which still fresher grows:
Who would not under two such Suns as those?
Cloris you sigh, what Amorous grown?
Pan grant you keep your heart a home:
For I have often heard you Vow,
If any cou'd your heart subdue,
Though Lycidas you nere had seen,
It must be him, or one like him:
Alas I cannot yet forget,
How we have with Amyntas sat
Beneath the Boughs for Summer made,
Our heated Flocks and Us to shade;
Where thou wou'dst wond'rous Stories tell,
Of this Agreeable Infidel.
By what Devices, Charms and Arts,
He us'd to gain and keep his Hearts:
And whilst his Falsehood we wou'd Blame,
Thou woud'st commend and praise the same.
And did no greater pleasure take,
Then when of Lycidas we spake;
By this and many Sighs we know,
Thou'rt sensible of Loving too.
Come Cloris, come along with us,
And try thy power with Lycidas;
See if that Vertue which you prize,
Be proof against those Conquering Eyes.
That Heart that can no Love admit,
Will hardly stand his shock of Wit;
Come deck thee then in all that's fine,
Perhaps the Conquest may be thine;
They all attend, let's hast to do,
What Love and Musick calls us to.
SONG.
The Willing Mistriss.
Amyntas led me to a Grove,
Where all the Trees did shade us;
The Sun it self, though it had Strove,
It could not have betray'd us:
The place secur'd from humane Eyes,
No other fear allows,
But when the Winds that gently rise,
Doe Kiss the yeilding Boughs.
Where all the Trees did shade us;
The Sun it self, though it had Strove,
It could not have betray'd us:
The place secur'd from humane Eyes,
No other fear allows,
But when the Winds that gently rise,
Doe Kiss the yeilding Boughs.
Down there we satt upon the Moss,
And did begin to play
A Thousand Amorous Tricks, to pass
The heat of all the day.
A many kisses he did give:
And I return'd the same
Which made me willing to receive
That which I dare not name.
And did begin to play
A Thousand Amorous Tricks, to pass
The heat of all the day.
A many kisses he did give:
And I return'd the same
Which made me willing to receive
That which I dare not name.
His Charming Eyes no Aid requir'd
To tell their softning Tale;
On her that was already fir'd,
'Twas Easy to prevaile.
He did but Kiss and Clasp me round,
Whilst those his thoughts Exprest:
And lay'd me gently on the Ground;
Ah who can guess the rest?
To tell their softning Tale;
On her that was already fir'd,
'Twas Easy to prevaile.
He did but Kiss and Clasp me round,
Whilst those his thoughts Exprest:
And lay'd me gently on the Ground;
Ah who can guess the rest?
SONG.
Love Arm'd.
Love in Fantastique Triumph satt,
Whilst Bleeding Hearts a round him flow'd,
For whom Fresh paines he did Create,
And strange Tryanick power he show'd;
From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire,
Which round about, in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desire,
Enough to undo the Amorous World.
Whilst Bleeding Hearts a round him flow'd,
For whom Fresh paines he did Create,
And strange Tryanick power he show'd;
From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire,
Which round about, in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desire,
Enough to undo the Amorous World.
From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his Pride and Crueltie;
From me his Languishments and Feares,
And every Killing Dart from thee;
Thus thou and I, the God have arm'd,
And sett him up a Deity;
But my poor Heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the Victor is, and free.
From thee his Pride and Crueltie;
From me his Languishments and Feares,
And every Killing Dart from thee;
Thus thou and I, the God have arm'd,
And sett him up a Deity;
But my poor Heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the Victor is, and free.
SONG.
The Complaint.
Amyntas that true hearted Swaine,
Upon a Rivers Banck was lay'd,
Where to the Pittying streames he did Complaine
On Silvia that false Charming Maid
While shee was still regardless of his paine.
Ah! Charming Silvia, would he cry;
And what he said, the Echoes wou'd reply:
Be kind or else I dy: Ech:—I dy.
Be kind or else I dy: Ech:—I dy.
Upon a Rivers Banck was lay'd,
Where to the Pittying streames he did Complaine
On Silvia that false Charming Maid
While shee was still regardless of his paine.
Ah! Charming Silvia, would he cry;
And what he said, the Echoes wou'd reply:
Be kind or else I dy: Ech:—I dy.
Be kind or else I dy: Ech:—I dy.
Those smiles and Kisses which you give,
Remember Silvia are my due;
And all the Joyes my Rivall does receive,
He ravishes from me not you:
Ah Silvia! can I live and this believe?
Insensibles are toucht to see
My Languishments, and seem to pitty me:
Which I demand of thee: Ech:—of thee.
Which I demand of thee: Ech:—of thee.
Remember Silvia are my due;
And all the Joyes my Rivall does receive,
He ravishes from me not you:
Ah Silvia! can I live and this believe?
Insensibles are toucht to see
My Languishments, and seem to pitty me:
Which I demand of thee: Ech:—of thee.
Which I demand of thee: Ech:—of thee.
Set by Mr. Banister.
SONG.
The Invitation.
Damon I cannot blame your will,
'Twas Chance and not Design did kill;
For whilst you did prepare your Charmes,
On purpose Silvia to subdue:
I met the Arrows as they flew,
And sav'd her from their harms.
'Twas Chance and not Design did kill;
For whilst you did prepare your Charmes,
On purpose Silvia to subdue:
I met the Arrows as they flew,
And sav'd her from their harms.
Alas she cannot make returnes,
Who for a Swaine already Burnes;
A Shepherd whom she does Caress:
With all the softest marks of Love,
And 'tis in vaine thou seek'st to move
The cruel Shepherdess.
Who for a Swaine already Burnes;
A Shepherd whom she does Caress:
With all the softest marks of Love,
And 'tis in vaine thou seek'st to move
The cruel Shepherdess.
Content thee with this Victory,
Think me as faire and young as she:
I'le make thee Garlands all the day,
And in the Groves we'l sit and sing;
I'le Crown thee with the pride o'th' Spring,
When thou art Lord of May.
Think me as faire and young as she:
I'le make thee Garlands all the day,
And in the Groves we'l sit and sing;
I'le Crown thee with the pride o'th' Spring,
When thou art Lord of May.
SONG.
When Jemmy first began to Love,
He was the Gayest Swaine
That ever yet a Flock had drove,
Or danc't upon the Plaine.
T'was then that I, weys me poor Heart,
My Freedom threw away;
And finding sweets in every smart,
I cou'd not say him nay.
He was the Gayest Swaine
That ever yet a Flock had drove,
Or danc't upon the Plaine.
T'was then that I, weys me poor Heart,
My Freedom threw away;
And finding sweets in every smart,
I cou'd not say him nay.
And ever when he talkt of Love,
He wou'd his Eyes decline;
And every sigh a Heart would move,
Gued Faith and why not mine?
He'd press my hand, and Kiss it oft,
In silence spoke his Flame.
And whilst he treated me thus soft,
I wisht him more to Blame.
He wou'd his Eyes decline;
And every sigh a Heart would move,
Gued Faith and why not mine?
He'd press my hand, and Kiss it oft,
In silence spoke his Flame.
And whilst he treated me thus soft,
I wisht him more to Blame.
Sometimes to feed my Flocks with him,
My Jemmy wou'd invite me:
Where he the Gayest Songs wou'd sing,
On purpose to delight me.
And Jemmy every Grace displayd,
Which were enough I trow,
To Conquer any Princely Maid,
So did he me I Vow.
My Jemmy wou'd invite me:
Where he the Gayest Songs wou'd sing,
On purpose to delight me.
And Jemmy every Grace displayd,
Which were enough I trow,
To Conquer any Princely Maid,
So did he me I Vow.
But now for Jemmy must I mourn,
Who to the Warrs must go;
His Sheephook to a Sword must turne:
Alack what shall I do?
His Bag-pipe into War-like Sounds,
Must now Exchanged bee:
Instead of Braceletts, fearful Wounds;
Then what becomes of me?
Who to the Warrs must go;
His Sheephook to a Sword must turne:
Alack what shall I do?
His Bag-pipe into War-like Sounds,
Must now Exchanged bee:
Instead of Braceletts, fearful Wounds;
Then what becomes of me?
To Mr. Creech (under the Name of Daphnis) on his Excellent Translation of Lucretius.
Thou great Young Man! Permit amongst the Crowd
Of those that sing thy mighty Praises lowd,
My humble Muse to bring its Tribute too.
Inspir'd by thy vast flight of Verse,
Methinks I should some wondrous thing rehearse,
Worthy Divine Lucretius, and Diviner Thou.
But I of Feebler Seeds design'd,
Whilst the slow moving Atomes strove,
With careless heed to form my Mind:
Compos'd it all of Softer Love.
In gentle Numbers all my Songs are Drest,
And when I would thy Glories sing,
What in strong manly Verse I would express,
Turns all to Womannish Tenderness within,
Whilst that which Admiration does inspire,
In other Souls, kindles in mine a Fire.
Let them admire thee on—Whilst I this newer way
Pay thee yet more than they:
For more I owe, since thou hast taught me more,
Then all the mighty Bards that went before.
Others long since have Pal'd the vast delight;
In duller Greek and Latin satisfy'd the Appetite:
But I unlearn'd in Schools, disdain that mine
Should treated be at any Feast but thine.
Till now, I curst my Birth, my Education,
And more the scanted Customes of the Nation:
Permitting not the Female Sex to tread,
The mighty Paths of Learned Heroes dead.
The God-like Virgil, and great Homers Verse,
Like Divine Mysteries are conceal'd from us.
We are forbid all grateful Theams,
No ravishing thoughts approach our Ear,
The Fulsom Gingle of the times,
Is all we are allow'd to understand or hear.
But as of old, when men unthinking lay,
Ere Gods were worshipt, or ere Laws were fram'd
The wiser Bard that taught 'em first t' obey,
Was next to what he taught, ador'd and fam'd;
Gentler they grew, their words and manners chang'd,
And salvage now no more the Woods they rang'd.
So thou by this Translation dost advance
Our Knowledg from the State of Ignorance,
And equals us to Man! Ah how can we,
Enough Adore, or Sacrifice enough to thee.
Of those that sing thy mighty Praises lowd,
My humble Muse to bring its Tribute too.
Inspir'd by thy vast flight of Verse,
Methinks I should some wondrous thing rehearse,
Worthy Divine Lucretius, and Diviner Thou.
But I of Feebler Seeds design'd,
Whilst the slow moving Atomes strove,
With careless heed to form my Mind:
Compos'd it all of Softer Love.
In gentle Numbers all my Songs are Drest,
And when I would thy Glories sing,
What in strong manly Verse I would express,
Turns all to Womannish Tenderness within,
Whilst that which Admiration does inspire,
In other Souls, kindles in mine a Fire.
Let them admire thee on—Whilst I this newer way
Pay thee yet more than they:
For more I owe, since thou hast taught me more,
Then all the mighty Bards that went before.
Others long since have Pal'd the vast delight;
In duller Greek and Latin satisfy'd the Appetite:
But I unlearn'd in Schools, disdain that mine
Should treated be at any Feast but thine.
Till now, I curst my Birth, my Education,
And more the scanted Customes of the Nation:
Permitting not the Female Sex to tread,
The mighty Paths of Learned Heroes dead.
The God-like Virgil, and great Homers Verse,
Like Divine Mysteries are conceal'd from us.
We are forbid all grateful Theams,
No ravishing thoughts approach our Ear,
The Fulsom Gingle of the times,
Is all we are allow'd to understand or hear.
But as of old, when men unthinking lay,
Ere Gods were worshipt, or ere Laws were fram'd
The wiser Bard that taught 'em first t' obey,
Was next to what he taught, ador'd and fam'd;
Gentler they grew, their words and manners chang'd,
And salvage now no more the Woods they rang'd.
So thou by this Translation dost advance
Our Knowledg from the State of Ignorance,
And equals us to Man! Ah how can we,
Enough Adore, or Sacrifice enough to thee.
The Mystick Terms of Rough Philosophy,
Thou dost so plain and easily express;
Yet Deck'st them in so soft and gay a Dress:
So intelligent to each Capacity,
That they at once Instruct and Charm the Sense,
With heights of Fancy, heights of Eloquence;
And Reason over all Unfetter'd plays,
Wanton and undisturb'd as Summers Breeze;
That gliding murmurs o're the Trees:
And no hard Notion meets or stops its way.
It Pierces, Conquers and Compels,
Beyond poor Feeble Faith's dull Oracles.
Faith the despairing Souls content,
Faith the Last Shift of Routed Argument.
Thou dost so plain and easily express;
Yet Deck'st them in so soft and gay a Dress:
So intelligent to each Capacity,
That they at once Instruct and Charm the Sense,
With heights of Fancy, heights of Eloquence;
And Reason over all Unfetter'd plays,
Wanton and undisturb'd as Summers Breeze;
That gliding murmurs o're the Trees:
And no hard Notion meets or stops its way.
It Pierces, Conquers and Compels,
Beyond poor Feeble Faith's dull Oracles.
Faith the despairing Souls content,
Faith the Last Shift of Routed Argument.
Hail Sacred Wadham! whom the Muses Grace
And from the Rest of all the Reverend Pile;
Of Noble Pallaces, design'd thy Space:
Where they in soft retreat might dwell.
They blest thy Fabrick, and said—Do thou,
Our Darling Sons contain;
We thee our Sacred Nursery Ordain,
They said and blest, and it was so.
And if of old the Fanes of Silvian Gods,
Were worshipt as Divine Abodes;
If Courts are held as Sacred Things,
For being the Awful Seats of Kings.
What Veneration should be paid,
To thee that hast such wondrous Poets made.
To Gods for fear, Devotion was design'd,
And Safety made us bow to Majesty;
Poets by Nature Aw and Charm the Mind,
Are born not made by dull Religion or Necessity.
And from the Rest of all the Reverend Pile;
Of Noble Pallaces, design'd thy Space:
Where they in soft retreat might dwell.
They blest thy Fabrick, and said—Do thou,
Our Darling Sons contain;
We thee our Sacred Nursery Ordain,
They said and blest, and it was so.
And if of old the Fanes of Silvian Gods,
Were worshipt as Divine Abodes;
If Courts are held as Sacred Things,
For being the Awful Seats of Kings.
What Veneration should be paid,
To thee that hast such wondrous Poets made.
To Gods for fear, Devotion was design'd,
And Safety made us bow to Majesty;
Poets by Nature Aw and Charm the Mind,
Are born not made by dull Religion or Necessity.
The Learned Thirsis did to thee belong,
Who Athens Plague has so divinely Sung.
Thirsis to wit, as sacred friendship true,
Paid Mighty Cowley's Memory its due.
Thirsis who whilst a greater Plague did reign,
Then that which Athens did Depopulate:
Scattering Rebellious Fury o're the Plain,
That threaten'd Ruine to the Church and State,
Unmov'd he stood, and fear'd no Threats of Fate.
That Loyal Champion for the Church and Crown,
That Noble Ornament of the Sacred Gown,
Still did his Soveraign's Cause Espouse,
And was above the Thanks of the mad Senate-house.
Strephon the Great, whom last you sent abroad,
Who Writ, and Lov'd, and Lookt like any God;
For whom the Muses mourn, the Love-sick Maids
Are Languishing in Melancholly Shades.
The Cupids flag their Wings, their Bows untie,
And useless Quivers hang neglected by,
And scatter'd Arrows all around 'em lye.
By murmuring Brooks the careless Deities are laid,
Weeping their rifled power now Noble Strephon's Dead.
Who Athens Plague has so divinely Sung.
Thirsis to wit, as sacred friendship true,
Paid Mighty Cowley's Memory its due.
Thirsis who whilst a greater Plague did reign,
Then that which Athens did Depopulate:
Scattering Rebellious Fury o're the Plain,
That threaten'd Ruine to the Church and State,
Unmov'd he stood, and fear'd no Threats of Fate.
That Loyal Champion for the Church and Crown,
That Noble Ornament of the Sacred Gown,
Still did his Soveraign's Cause Espouse,
And was above the Thanks of the mad Senate-house.
Strephon the Great, whom last you sent abroad,
Who Writ, and Lov'd, and Lookt like any God;
For whom the Muses mourn, the Love-sick Maids
Are Languishing in Melancholly Shades.
The Cupids flag their Wings, their Bows untie,
And useless Quivers hang neglected by,
And scatter'd Arrows all around 'em lye.
By murmuring Brooks the careless Deities are laid,
Weeping their rifled power now Noble Strephon's Dead.
Ah Sacred Wadham! should'st thou never own
But this delight of all Mankind and thine;
For Ages past of Dulness, this alone,
This Charming Hero would Attone.
And make thee Glorious to succeeding time;
But thou like Natures self disdain'st to be,
Stinted to Singularity.
Even as fast as she thou dost produce,
And over all the Sacred Mystery infuse.
No sooner was fam'd Strephon's Glory set,
Strephon the Soft, the Lovely and the Great;
But Daphnis rises like the Morning-Star,
That guides the Wandring Traveller from afar.
Daphnis whom every Grace, and Muse inspires,
Scarce Strephons Ravishing Poetic Fires
So kindly warm, or so divinely Cheer.
Advance Young Daphnis, as thou hast begun,
So let thy Mighty Race be run.
Thou in thy large Poetick Chace,
Begin'st where others end the Race.
If now thy Grateful Numbers are so strong,
If they so early can such Graces show,
Like Beauty so surprizing, when so Young,
What Daphnis will thy Riper Judgment do,
When thy Unbounded Verse in their own Streams shall flow!
What Wonder will they not produce, }
When thy Immortal Fancy's loose; }
Unfetter'd, Unconfin'd by any other Muse! }
Advance Young Daphnis then, and mayst thou prove
Still sacred in thy Poetry and Love.
May all the Groves with Daphnis Songs be blest,
Whilst every Bark is with thy Disticks drest.
May Timerous Maids learn how to Love from thence
And the Glad Shepherd Arts of Eloquence.
And when to Solitude thou would'st Retreat,
May their tun'd Pipes thy Welcome celebrate.
And all the Nymphs strow Garlands at thy Feet.
May all the Purling Streams that murmuring pass,
The Shady Groves and Banks of Flowers,
The kind reposing Beds of Grass,
Contribute to their Softer Hours.
Mayst thou thy Muse and Mistress there Caress,
And may one heighten to 'thers Happiness.
And whilst thou so divinely dost Converse,
We are content to know and to admire thee in thy Sacred Verse.
But this delight of all Mankind and thine;
For Ages past of Dulness, this alone,
This Charming Hero would Attone.
And make thee Glorious to succeeding time;
But thou like Natures self disdain'st to be,
Stinted to Singularity.
Even as fast as she thou dost produce,
And over all the Sacred Mystery infuse.
No sooner was fam'd Strephon's Glory set,
Strephon the Soft, the Lovely and the Great;
But Daphnis rises like the Morning-Star,
That guides the Wandring Traveller from afar.
Daphnis whom every Grace, and Muse inspires,
Scarce Strephons Ravishing Poetic Fires
So kindly warm, or so divinely Cheer.
Advance Young Daphnis, as thou hast begun,
So let thy Mighty Race be run.
Thou in thy large Poetick Chace,
Begin'st where others end the Race.
If now thy Grateful Numbers are so strong,
If they so early can such Graces show,
Like Beauty so surprizing, when so Young,
What Daphnis will thy Riper Judgment do,
When thy Unbounded Verse in their own Streams shall flow!
What Wonder will they not produce, }
When thy Immortal Fancy's loose; }
Unfetter'd, Unconfin'd by any other Muse! }
Advance Young Daphnis then, and mayst thou prove
Still sacred in thy Poetry and Love.
May all the Groves with Daphnis Songs be blest,
Whilst every Bark is with thy Disticks drest.
May Timerous Maids learn how to Love from thence
And the Glad Shepherd Arts of Eloquence.
And when to Solitude thou would'st Retreat,
May their tun'd Pipes thy Welcome celebrate.
And all the Nymphs strow Garlands at thy Feet.
May all the Purling Streams that murmuring pass,
The Shady Groves and Banks of Flowers,
The kind reposing Beds of Grass,
Contribute to their Softer Hours.
Mayst thou thy Muse and Mistress there Caress,
And may one heighten to 'thers Happiness.
And whilst thou so divinely dost Converse,
We are content to know and to admire thee in thy Sacred Verse.
To Mrs. W. On her Excellent Verses (Writ in Praise of some I had made on the Earl of Rochester) Written in a Fit of Sickness.
Enough kind Heaven! to purpose I have liv'd,
And all my Sighs and Languishments surviv'd.
My Stars in vain their sullen influence have shed,
Round my till now Unlucky Head:
I pardon all the Silent Hours I've griev'd,
My Weary Nights, and Melancholy Days;
When no Kind Power my Pain Reliev'd,
I lose you all, ye sad Remembrancers,
I lose you all in New-born Joys,
Joys that will dissipate my Falling Tears.
The Mighty Soul of Rochester's reviv'd,
Enough Kind Heaven to purpose I have liv'd.
I saw the Lovely Phantom, no Disguise,
Veil'd the blest Vision from my Eyes,
'Twas all o're Rochester that pleas'd and did surprize.
Sad as the Grave I sat by Glimmering Light,
Such as attends Departing Souls by Night.
Pensive as absent Lovers left alone,
Or my poor Dove, when his Fond Mate was gone.
Silent as Groves when only Whispering Gales,
Sigh through the Rushing Leaves,
As softly as a Bashful Shepherd Breaths,
To his Lov'd Nymph his Amorous Tales.
So dull I was, scarce Thought a Subject found,
Dull as the Light that gloom'd around;
When lo the Mighty Spirit appear'd,
All Gay, all Charming to my sight;
My Drooping Soul it Rais'd and Cheer'd,
And cast about a Dazling Light.
In every part there did appear,
The Great, the God-like Rochester,
His Softness all, his Sweetness everywhere.
It did advance, and with a Generous Look,
To me Addrest, to worthless me it spoke:
With the same wonted Grace my Muse it prais'd,
With the same Goodness did my Faults Correct;
And careful of the Fame himself first rais'd,
Obligingly it School'd my loose Neglect.
The soft, the moving Accents soon I knew
The gentle Voice made up of Harmony;
Through the Known Paths of my glad Soul it flew;
I knew it straight, it could no others be,
'Twas not Alied but very very he.
So the All-Ravisht Swain that hears
The wondrous Musick of the Sphears,
For ever does the grateful Sound retain,
Whilst all his Oaten Pipes and Reeds,
The Rural Musick of the Groves and Meads,
Strive to divert him from the Heavenly Song in vain.
He hates their harsh and Untun'd Lays,
Which now no more his Soul and Fancy raise.
But if one Note of the remembred Air
He chance again to hear,
He starts, and in a transport cries,—'Tis there.
He knows it all by that one little taste,
And by that grateful Hint remembers all the rest.
Great, Good, and Excellent, by what new way
Shall I my humble Tribute pay,
For this vast Glory you my Muse have done,
For this great Condescension shown!
So Gods of old sometimes laid by
Their Awful Trains of Majesty,
And chang'd ev'n Heav'n a while for Groves and Plains,
And to their Fellow-Gods preferr'd the lowly Swains,
And Beds of Flow'rs would oft compare
To those of Downey Clouds, or yielding Air;
At purling Streams would drink in homely Shells,
Put off the God, to Revel it in Woods and Shepherds Cells;
Would listen to their Rustick Songs, and show
Such Divine Goodness in Commending too,
Whilst the transported Swain the Honour pays
With humble Adoration, humble Praise.
And all my Sighs and Languishments surviv'd.
My Stars in vain their sullen influence have shed,
Round my till now Unlucky Head:
I pardon all the Silent Hours I've griev'd,
My Weary Nights, and Melancholy Days;
When no Kind Power my Pain Reliev'd,
I lose you all, ye sad Remembrancers,
I lose you all in New-born Joys,
Joys that will dissipate my Falling Tears.
The Mighty Soul of Rochester's reviv'd,
Enough Kind Heaven to purpose I have liv'd.
I saw the Lovely Phantom, no Disguise,
Veil'd the blest Vision from my Eyes,
'Twas all o're Rochester that pleas'd and did surprize.
Sad as the Grave I sat by Glimmering Light,
Such as attends Departing Souls by Night.
Pensive as absent Lovers left alone,
Or my poor Dove, when his Fond Mate was gone.
Silent as Groves when only Whispering Gales,
Sigh through the Rushing Leaves,
As softly as a Bashful Shepherd Breaths,
To his Lov'd Nymph his Amorous Tales.
So dull I was, scarce Thought a Subject found,
Dull as the Light that gloom'd around;
When lo the Mighty Spirit appear'd,
All Gay, all Charming to my sight;
My Drooping Soul it Rais'd and Cheer'd,
And cast about a Dazling Light.
In every part there did appear,
The Great, the God-like Rochester,
His Softness all, his Sweetness everywhere.
It did advance, and with a Generous Look,
To me Addrest, to worthless me it spoke:
With the same wonted Grace my Muse it prais'd,
With the same Goodness did my Faults Correct;
And careful of the Fame himself first rais'd,
Obligingly it School'd my loose Neglect.
The soft, the moving Accents soon I knew
The gentle Voice made up of Harmony;
Through the Known Paths of my glad Soul it flew;
I knew it straight, it could no others be,
'Twas not Alied but very very he.
So the All-Ravisht Swain that hears
The wondrous Musick of the Sphears,
For ever does the grateful Sound retain,
Whilst all his Oaten Pipes and Reeds,
The Rural Musick of the Groves and Meads,
Strive to divert him from the Heavenly Song in vain.
He hates their harsh and Untun'd Lays,
Which now no more his Soul and Fancy raise.
But if one Note of the remembred Air
He chance again to hear,
He starts, and in a transport cries,—'Tis there.
He knows it all by that one little taste,
And by that grateful Hint remembers all the rest.
Great, Good, and Excellent, by what new way
Shall I my humble Tribute pay,
For this vast Glory you my Muse have done,
For this great Condescension shown!
So Gods of old sometimes laid by
Their Awful Trains of Majesty,
And chang'd ev'n Heav'n a while for Groves and Plains,
And to their Fellow-Gods preferr'd the lowly Swains,
And Beds of Flow'rs would oft compare
To those of Downey Clouds, or yielding Air;
At purling Streams would drink in homely Shells,
Put off the God, to Revel it in Woods and Shepherds Cells;
Would listen to their Rustick Songs, and show
Such Divine Goodness in Commending too,
Whilst the transported Swain the Honour pays
With humble Adoration, humble Praise.
The Sence of a Letter sent me, made into Verse; To a New Tune.
I.