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TO PHYLLIS... TO LORD NORTHUMBERLAND.
41 Suspended all the pleasures of your life, TO PHYLLIS.
And shorten'd the short joy of such a wife:
For which your country's more obliged, than Phyllis, 'twas Love that injur'd you,
For many lives of old, less happy, men. And on that rock your Thyrsis threw;
You, that have sacrific'd so great a part Who for proud Cælia could have dy'd,
Of youth, and private bliss, ought to impart While you no less accus'd his pride.
Your sorrow too; and give your friends a right Fond Love his darts at random throws,
As well in your affliction, as delight. And nothing springs from what he sows :
Then with Æmilian courage bear this cross, From foes discharg'd, as often meet
Since public persons only public loss The shining points of arrows fleet,
Ought to affect. And though her form, and youth, In the wide air creating fire;
Her application to your will, and truth; As souls that join in one desire.
That noble sweetness, and that humble state, Love made the lovely Venus burn
(All snatch'd away by such a hasty fate!) In rain, and for the cold youth' mourn,
Might give excuse to any common breast, Who the pursuit of churlish beasts
With the huge weight of so just grief opprest :
Yet, let no portion of your life be stain'd
With passion, but your character maintain'd
To the last act; it is enough her stone
May honour'd be with superscription
Of the sole lady, who had power to move
The great Northumberland to grieve and love.
Then, Phyllis, since our passions are
MY LORD ADMIRAL,
OF HIS LATE SICKNESS AND RECOVERY.
With joy like ours, the Thracian youth invades No more to Love we'll sacrifice,
Orpheus, returning from th' Elysian shades; But to the best of deities :
Embrace the hero, and his stay implore ; And let our hearts, which Love disjoin'd,
Make it their public suit, he would no more
Desert them so; and for his spouse's sake,
Their doubtful hopes with expectation feed,
Eurydice! for whom his numerous moan
Makes listening trees and savage mountains groan: To this great loss a sea of tears is due:
Through all the air his sounding strings dilate But the whole debt not to be paid by you, Sorrow, like that which touch'd our hearts of late. Charge not yourself with all, nor render vain Your pining sickness, and your restless pain, Those showers, the eyes of us your servants rain. At once the land affecting, and the main : Shall grief contract the largeness of that heart, When the glad news, that you were admiral, In which nor fear, nor anger, has a part? (dries, Scarce through the nation spread, 'twas fear'd by all, Virtue would blush, if time should boast (which That our great Charles, whose wisdom shines in you,.. Her sole child dead, the tender mother's eyes) Would be perplexed how to choose a new. Your mind's relief; where reason triumphs so So more than private was the joy, and grief, Over all passions, that they ne'er could grow That at the worst it gave our souls relief, Beyond their limits in your noble breast,
That in our age such sense of virtue liv'd; To harm another, or impeach your rest.
They joy'd so justly, and so justly griev'd. This we observ'd, delighting to obey
Nature (her fairest lights eclipsed) seems One, who did never from his great self stray: Herself to suffer in those sharp extremes : Whose mild example seemed to engage
While not from thine alone thy blood retires, Th' obsequious seas, and teach them not to rage. But from those cheeks which all the world admires.
The brave Æmilius, his great charge laid down, The stem thus threaten'd, and the sap in thee, (The force of Rome, and fate of Macedon) Droop all the branches of that noble tree ! In his lost sons did feel the cruel stroke
Their beauty they, and we our love, suspend, Of changing fortune; and thus highly spoke Nought can our wishes, save thy health, intend. Before Rome's people: “We did oft implore, As lilies overcharg'd with rain, they bend That if the heavens had any bad in store
Their beauteous heads, and with high heaven conFor your Æmilius, they would pour that ill Fold thee within their snowy arms, and cry, (tend; On his own house, and let you flourish still.” He is too faultless, and too young, to die. You on the barren seas, my lord, have spent So like immortals round about thee they Whole springs, and summers to the public lent: Sit, that they fright approaching Death away.
Who would not languish, by so fair a train 9 Adonis.
To be lamented, and restor'd again?
Or, thus withheld, what hasty soul would go, From thy shop of beauty te
Slaves return, that enter'd free.
The next support, fair hope of your great name, But, confounded with thy art, And second pillar of that noble frame,
Inquires her name, that has his heart. By loss of thee would no advantage have,
Another, who did long refrain, But step by step pursue thee to the grave.
Feels his old wound bleed fresh again,
With dear remembrance of that face,
This softness from thy finger took.
The beauty only, but the fire :
May'st thou yet thyself as well,
As all the world besides, excel !
So you th' unfeigned truth rehearse,
(That I may make it live in verse) The world, to which you fly so fast,
Why thou couldst not, at one assay, Conveying day
That face to after-times convey, From us to them, can pay your haste
Which this admires. Was it thy wit, With no such object, nor salute your rise
To make her oft before thee sit ? With no such wonder, as De Mornay's eyes.
Confess, and we'll forgive thee this: Well does this prove
For who would not repeat that bliss ? The errour of those antique books,
And frequent sight of such a dame Which made you move
Buy, with the hazard of his fame? About the world : her charming looks
Yet who can tax thy blameless skill,
When Nature's self so often errs?
Yet never could a perfect birth
Which waxed old, ere it could see Such was Philoclea, and such Dorus'? flame;
Her, that amaz'd thy art, and thee. The matchless Sidney 3, that immortal frame
But now 'tis done, O let me know
Where those immortal colours grow,
No; for this theft thou hast climb'd higher,
AT PENS-HURST. Amaz'd we see in this one garland bound.
Had Dorothea liv?d when mortals made Had but this copy (which the artist took
Choice of their deities, this sacred shade From the fair picture of that noble book)
Had held an altar to her power, that gave
And beauty too, and order can impart,
No less than those of old did Orpheus' lyre :
If she sit down, with tops all tow'rds her bow'd, Rare artisan, whose pencil moves
They round about her into arbours crowd ; Not our delights alone, but loves !
Or if she walk, in even ranks they stand,
Like some well-marshall'd and obsequious band. i Venus. 2 Pamela.
Amphion so made stones and timber leap 3 Sir Philip Sidney. • Pyrocles and Musidorus. Into fair figures, from a confus'd heap:
TO MY LORD OF LEICESTER...OF THE LADY.
43 And in the symmetry of her parts is found Nor would exchange with Jove, to hide the skies A power, like that of harmony in sound.
In dark’ning clouds, the power to close her eyes : Ye lofty beeches, tell this matchless dame, Eyes, which so far all other lights control; That if together ye fed all one flame,
They warm our mortal parts, but these our soul! It could not equalize the hundredth part
Let her free spirit, whose unconquer'd breast Of what her eyes have kindled in my heart ! Holds such deep quiet, and untroubled rest, Go, boy, and carve this passion on the bark Know, that though Venus and her son should spare Of yonder tree, which stands the sacred mark Her rebel heart, and never teach her care; Of noble Sidney's birth; when such benign, Yet Hymen may in force his vigils keep; Such more than mortal making stars did shine ; And, for another's joy, suspend her sleep. That there they cannot but for ever prove The monument and pledge of humble love:
OF THE MISREPORT OF HER BEING PAINTED.
With their wild howlings at fair Cynthia's light;
Her vexed servants blame those envious tongues :
Call Love to witness, that no painted fire
Can scorch men so, or kindle such desire: Not that thy trees at Pens-Hurst groan,
While, unconcerned, she seems mov'd no more Oppressed with their timely load,
With this new malice, than our loves before; And seem to make their silent moan,
But, from the height of her great mind, looks down That their great lord is now abroad:
On both our passions, without smile or frown. They, to delight his taste, or eye,
So little care of what is done below Would spend themselves in fruit, and die.
Hath the bright dame, whom Heaven affecteth so!
Paints her, 'tis true, with the same hand which Not that thy harmless deer repine, And think themselves unjustly slain
Like glorious colours through the flowery meads, · By any other hand than thine,
When lavish nature, with her best attire, Whose arrows they would gladly stain:
Clothes the gay spring, the season of desire. No, nor thy friends, which hold too dear
Paints her, 'tis true, and does her cheek adorn, That peace with France, which keeps thee there.
With the same art, wherewith she paints the mom: All these are less than that great cause,
With the same art, wherewith she gildeth so Which now exacts your presence here;
Those painted clouds, which form Thaumantias' bow. Wherein there meet the divers laws Of public and domestic care.
OF HER PASSING THROUGH A CROWD OF PEOPLE. For one bright nymph our youth contends, As in old Chaos (heaven with earth confus'd, And on your prudent choice depends.
And stars with rocks together crush'd and bruis'd) Not the bright shield of Thetis' sons,
The Sun his light no further could extend (For which such stern debate did rise,
Than the next hill, which on his shoulders lean'd; That the great Ajax Telamon
So in this throng bright Sacharissa far'd, Refus'd to live without the prize)
Oppress'd by those, who strove to be her guard : Those achive peers did more engage,
As ships, thongh never so obsequious, fall Than she the gallants of our age.
Foul in a tempest on their admiral.
A greater favour this disorder brought That beam of beauty, which begun
Unto her servants, than their awful thought To warm us so, when thou wert here,
Durst entertain, when, thus compellid, they prest Now scorches like the raging sun, When Sirius does first appear.
The yielding marble of her snowy breast.
While Love insults, disguised in the cloud, O fix this flame; and let despair
And welcome force of that unruly crowd.
So th' amorous tree, while yet the air is calm,
- Into his arms, and mingles all their boughs;
Though loth be seems her tender leaves to press, WHO CAN SLEEP WHEN SHE PLEASES.
More loth he is that friendly storin should cease;
From whose rude bounty he the double use
At once receives, of pleasure and excuse.
PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE
Fair Sacharissa lov'd, but lov'd in vain :
Like Phæbus sung the no less amorous boy ; s Achilles.
Like Daphne she, as lovely, and as coy!
THE STORY OF
With numbers he the flying nymph pursues ;
TO MRS. BRAUGHTON,
SERVANT TO SACHARISSA.
Fair fellow-servant ! may your gentle ear
Prove more propitious to my slighted care, Urg'd with his fury, like a wounded deer,
Than the bright dame's we serve: for her relief O'er these he fled; and now approaching near, (Vex'd with the long expressions of my grief) Had reach'd the nymph with his harmonious lay, Receive these plaints: nor will her high disdain Whom all his charms could not incline to stay. Forbid my humble muse to court her train. Yet, what he sung in his immortal strain,
So, in those nations which the sun adore, Though unsuccessful, was not súng in vain : Sume modest Persian, or some weak-ey'd Moor, All, but the nymph that should redress his wrong, No higher dares advance his dazzled sight, Attend his passion, and approve his song.
Than to some gilded cloud, which near the light
Thy skilful hand contributes to our woe,
And whets those arrows which confound us so;
A thousand Cupids in those curls do sit, ARCADIÆ juvenis Thyrsis, Phobique sacerdos,
(Those curious nets !) thy slender fingers knit : Ingenti frustra Sacharissæ ardebat amore.
The graces put not more exactly on Haud Deus ipse olim Daphni majora canebat ;
Th' attire of Venus, when the ball she won : Nec fuit asperior Daphne, nec pulchrior illâ :
Than Sacharissa by thy care is drest, Carminibus Phæbo dignis premit ille fugacem
When all our youth prefers her to the rest. Per rupes, per saxa, volans per florida vates
You the soft season know, when best her mind Pascua : formosam nunc his componere nympham, May be to pity or to love inclin'd: Nunc illis crudelem insanâ mente solebal.
In some well-chosen hour supply his fear, Audiit illa procul miserum, cytharamque sonantem; Whose hopeless love durst never tempt the ear Audiit, at nullis respexit mota querelis !
Of that stern goddess : you, her priest, declare Ne tamen omnino caneret desertus, ad alta
What offerings may propitiate the fair : Sidera perculsi referunt nova carmina montes.
Rich orient pearl, bright stones that ne'er decay, Sic, non quæsitis cumulatus laudibus, olim
Or polish'd lines, which longer last than they. Elapsâ reperit Daphne sua laurea Phæbus.
Por if I thought she took delight in those,
Wing'd with bold love, I'd fly to fetch such gems
But since her eyes, her teeth, her lip excels
All that is found in mines, or fishes' shells; Say, lovely dream! where couldst thou find Her nobler part as far exceeding these, Shades to counterfeit that face?
None but immortal gifts her mind should please. Colours of this glorious kind
The shining jewels Greece and Troy bestow'd Come not from any mortal place.
On Sparta's Queen“, her lovely neck did load,
And snowy wrists: but when the town was burn'd, In heaven itself thou sure wert drest
Those fading glories were to ashes turn'd: With that angel-like disguise :
Her beauty too had perish'd, and her fame, Thus deluded am I blest,
Had not the muse redeem'd them from the flame. And see my joy with closed eyes. But ah ! this image is too kind To be other than a dream:
AT PENS-HURST. Cruel Sacharissa's mind
While in the park 1 sing, the listening deer Never put on that sweet extreme !
Attend my passion, and forget to fear: Fair Dream ! if thou intend'st me grace.,
When to the beeches I report my flame, Change that heavenly face of thine;
They bow their heads, as if they felt the same. Paint despis'd love in thy face,
To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers And make it to appear like mine.
With loud complaints, they answer me in showers.
To thee a wild and cruel soul is given, Pale, wan, and meagre, let it look,
More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven! With a pity-moving shape;
Love's foe profess'd! why dost thou falsely feign Such as wander by the brook
Thyself a Sidney? from which noble strain Of Lethe, or from graves escape.
He 7 sprung, that could so far exalt the name Then to that matchless nymph appear,
Of Love, and warm our nation with his flame; In whose shape thou shinest so;
That all we can of love or high desire, Softly in her sleeping ear,
Seems but the smoke of amorous Sidney's fire. With humble words express my woe.
Nor call her mother, who so well does prove
One breast may hold both chastity and love. Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride,
Never can she, that so exceeds the spring
In joy and bounty, be suppos'd to bring
6 Helen. 7 Sir Philip Sidney,
One so destructive: to no human stock
If sweet Amoret complains,
Do not only grieve, but die.
Would untie his iron chain;
If the soul had free election
To dispose of her affection;
This last complaint th' indulgent ears did pierce But 'tis sure some power above,
Which controls our wills in love!
In my breast, solicits me, Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the sea ;
Beauteous Amoret! for thee. That there with wonders thy diverted mind
'Tis amazement more than love, Some truce at least may with this passion find.” Which her radiant eyes do move: Ah, cruel nymph! from whom her humble swain If less splendour wait on thine, Flies for relief unto the raging main;
Yet they so benignly shine, And from the winds and tempests does expect I would turn my dazzled sight A milder fate, than from her cold neglect!
To behold their milder light.
But as hard 'tis to destroy
Amoret! as sweet and good
Life and gladness to the heart.
Sacharissa's beauty's wine,
Which to madness doth incline: Wyy came I so untimely forth
Such a liquor, as no brain Into a world, which, wanting thee,
That is mortal can sustain. Could entertain us with no worth,
Scarce can I to Heaven excuse Or shadow of felicity?
The devotion, which I use That time should me so far remove
Unto that adored dame : Prom that which I was born to love !
For 'tis not unlike the same, Yet, fairest blossom ! do not slight
Which I thither ought to send.
So that if it could take end,
"Twould to Heaven itself be due, And milder glory, to the noon :
To succeed her, and not you: And then what wonders shall you do,
Who already have of me
All that's not idolatry: Whose dawning beauty warms us so?
Which, though not so fierce a flame, Hope waits upon the flowery prime ;
Is longer like to be the same. And summer, though it be less gay,
Then smile on me, and I will prove
Wonder is shorter-liv'd than love.
ON THE FRIENDSHIP BETWIXT
SACHARISSA AND AMORET,
Tell me, lovely loving pair !
Why so kind, and so severe ?
Why so careless of our care, What you unto Thyrsis owe;
Only to yourselves so dear? I will tell you how I do
By this cunning change of hearts, Sacharissa love, and you.
You the power of Love control; Joy salutes me, when I set
While the boy's deluded darts My blest eyes on Amoret :
Can arrive at neither soul. But with wonder I am strook,
For in vain to either breast While I on the other look.
Still beguiled Love does come:
Where he finds a foreign guest; • Tunbridge Wells.
Neither of your hearts at home.