But even their names were to be made anew,—
Who could not but create them all from you?
He, that but saw you wear the wheaten hat,
Would call you more than Ceres, if not that :
And, drest in shepherd's tire, who would not say
You were the bright Enone, Flora, May?
If dancing, all would cry the Idalian Queen
Were leading forth the Graces on the greene.
And, armed to the chase, go bare her bow,
Diana alone so hit, and hunted so.
There's none so dull, that for your style would aske,
That saw you put on Pallas' plumèd caske:
Or, keeping your due state, that would not cry,
There Juno sate, and yet no peacock by.
So are you Nature's index, and restore,
In your selfe, all treasure lost of th' age before.
'HE harmony of colours, features, grace,
Resulting airs (the magic of a face)
Of musical sweet tunes, all which combin'd
To crown one sovereign beauty, lie confin'd
To thy dark vault: she was a cabinet
Where all the choicest stones of price were set;
Whose native colour and pure lustre lent
Her eye, cheek, lip, a dazzling ornament;
Whose rare and hidden virtues did express
Her inward beauties and mind's fairer dress;
The constant diamond, the wise chrysolite,
The devout sapphire, em'rald apt to write
Records of mem'ry, cheerful agate, grave
And serious onyx, topaz that doth save
The brain's calm temper, witty amethyst ;
This precious quarry, or what else the list
On Aaron's ephod planted had, she wore ;
One only pearl was wanting to her store :
Which in her Saviour's book she found exprest;
To purchase that, she sold Death all the rest.
Thomas Carew
The Lady Elizabeth Hastings ◇
METHINKS, I now see her walking in her garden
like our first parent, with unaffected charms, before beauty had spectators, and bearing celestial conscious virtue in her aspect. Her countenance is the lively picture of her mind, which is the seat of honour, truth, compassion, knowledge, and innocence.
There dwells the scorn of vice, and pity too. In the midst of the most ample fortune, and veneration of all that behold and know her, without the least affectation she consults retirement, the contemplation of her own being, and that Supreme Power which bestowed it. Without the learning of schools, or knowledge of a long course of arguments, she goes on in a steady course of uninterrupted piety and virtue, and adds to the severity and privacy of the last age all the freedom and ease of this. The language and mien of a court she is possessed of in the highest degree; but the simplicity and humble thoughts of a cottage are her more welcome entertainments. Aspasia is a female philosopher, who does not only live up to the resignation of the most retired lives of the ancient sages, but also to the schemes and plans which they thought beautiful, though inimitable. This
lady is the most exact economist, without appearing busy; the most strictly virtuous without tasting the praise of it; and shuns applause with as much industry as others do reproach. This character is so particular, that it will very easily be fixed on her only by all that know her; but I dare say, she will be the last that finds it out.
HOW am I like her?-for no trace
Of pain, of passion, or of aught
That stings or stains, is on her face:
Mild eyes, clear forehead,—ne'er was wrought
A fitter, fairer dwelling-place
For tranquil joy and holy thought.
How am I like her?-for the fawn
Not lighter bounds o'er rock and rill
Than she, beneath the intruding dawn
Threading, all mirth, our gay quadrille ;
Or tripping o'er our level lawn
To those she loves upon the hill.
How am I like her?-for the ear
Thrills with her voice. Its breezy tone
Goes forth, as eloquently clear
As are the lutes at Heaven's high throne;
And makes the hearts of those who hear
As pure and peaceful as her own.
How am I like her?-for her ways
Are full of bliss-she never knew
Stern avarice, nor the thirst of praise
Insatiable :-Love never threw
Upon her calm and sunny days
The venom of his deadly dew.
How am I like her?-for her arts
Are blessing-Sorrow owns her thrall;
She dries the tear-drop as it starts,
And checks the murmurs as they fall;
She is the day-star of our hearts,
Consoling, guiding, gladdening all.
How am I like her?-for she steals
All sympathies-glad childhood's play
Is left for her; and mild youth kneels
Obedient to her gentle sway;
And age beholds her smile, and feels
December brightening into May.
How am I like her?—The rude fir
Is little like the sweet rose-tree :-
Unless, perchance, fair flatterer,
In this your fabled likeness be,—
That all who are most dear to her
Are apt to be most dear to me.
("The Receipt to form a Beauty")
HEN Cupid did his grandsire Jove entreat
To form some Beauty by a new receipt,
Jove sent, and found, far in a country scene,
Truth, innocence, good nature, look serene :
From which ingredients first the dextrous boy
Pick'd the demure, the awkward, and the coy.
The Graces from the Court did next provide
Breeding, and wit, and air, and decent pride :
These Venus cleans from every spurious grain
Of nice coquet, affected, pert, and vain.
Jove mix'd up all, and the best clay employ'd;
Then call'd the happy composition FLOYD.
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