The heedless 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 :
Nor scorn nor cruelty does find,
But gladly suffers a false wind
To blow the ashes of despair
From the reviving brand of care.
Fool! that forgets her stubborn look
This softness from thy finger took.
Strange! that thy hand should not inspire
The beauty only, but the fire:
Not the form alone, and grace,
But act and power of a face.
May'st thou yet thyself as well,
As all the world besides, excel !
So the' unfeigned truth rehearse,
(That I may make it live in verse)
Why thou couldst not at one assay,
That face to after-times convey,
Which this admires. Was it thy wit
To make her oft before thee sit?
Confess, and we'll forgive thee this:
For who would not repeat that bliss?
And frequent sight of such a dame
Buy with the hazard of his fame?
Yet who can tax thy blameless skill,
Though thy good hand had failed still,
When Nature's self so often errs ?
She, for this many thousand years,

you

Seems to have practised 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 ere it could see
Her that amazed thy art and thee.

But now 'tis done, O let me know
Where those immortal colours grow
That could this deathless piece compose!
In lilies? or the fading rose?

No; for this theft thou hast climb'd higher
Than did Prometheus for his fire.

TO MY LORD OF LEICESTER.
NOT that thy trees at Penhurst groan,
Oppressed with their timely load,
And seem to make their silent moan,
That their great lord is now abroad:
They to delight his taste or eye
Would spend themselves in fruit, and die.
Not that thy harmless deer repine,

And think themselves unjustly slain
By any other hand than thine,

Whose arrows they would gladly stain ;
No, nor thy friends, which hold too dear
That peace with France which keeps thee there.
All these are less than that great cause
Which now exacts your presence here,
Wherein there meet the divers laws
Of public and domestic care.

For one bright nymph our youth contends,
And on your prudent choice depends.

Not the bright shield of Thetis' son',
(For which such stern debate did rise,
That the great Ajax Telamon

Refused to live without the prize)
Those achive peers did more engage,
Than she the gallants of our age.

That beam of beauty which begun
To warm us so when thou wert here,
Now scorches like the raging sun,
When Sirius does first

appear.
O fix this flame! and let despair
Redeem the rest from endless care.

TO MRS. BRAUGHTON,

SERVANT TO SACHARISSA.

FAIR fellow-servant! may your gentle ear
Prove more propitious to my slighted care
Than the bright dame's we serve: for her relief
(Vex'd with the long expressions of my grief)
Receive these plaints; nor will her high disdain
Forbid my humble Muse to court her train.

So, in those nations which the sun adore,
Some modest Persian, or some weak-eyed Moor,
No higher dares advance his dazzled sight,
Than to some gilded cloud, which near the light
Of their ascending god adorns the East,
And, graced with his beams, outshines the rest.
Thy skilful hand contributes to our woe,
And whets those arrows which confound us so.
A thousand Cupids in those curls do sit
(Those curious nets!) thy slender fingers knit.

1 Achilles.

The Graces put not more exactly on
The' attire of Venus when the Ball she won,
Than Sacharissa by thy care is dress'd,
When all our youth prefers her to the rest.

You the soft season know, when best her mind May be to pity or to love inclined:

In some well-chosen hour supply his fear,
Whose hopeless love durst never tempt the ear
Of that stern goddess. You, her priest, declare
What offerings may propitiate the fair:
Rich orient pearl, bright stones that ne'er decay,
Or polish'd lines, which longer last than they :
For if I thought she took delight in those,
To where the cheerful Morn does first diclose,
(The shady Night removing with her beams)
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,
Her nobler part as far exceeding these,
None but immortal gifts her mind should please.
The shining jewels Greece and Troy bestow'd
On Sparta's Queen', her lovely neck did load,
And snowy wrists; but when the town was burn'd,
Those fading glories were to ashes turn'd :
Her beauty too had perish'd, and her fame,
Had not the Muse redeem'd.them from the flame.

TO MY

YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY.

WHY came I so untimely forth

Into a world which, wanting thee,

Could entertain us with no worth

Or shadow of felicity?

! Helen.

That time should me so far remove
From that which I was born to love!

Yet, fairest blossom! do not slight

That age which you may know so soon: The rosy Morn resigns her light

And milder glory to the Noon:
And then what wonders shall you do,
Whose dawning beauty warms us so!

Hope waits upon the flowery prime ;
And Summer, though it be less gay,
Yet is not look'd on as a time

Of declination or decay :

For with a full hand that does bring
All that was promised by the Spring.

TO AMORET.

FAIR! that you may truly know
What you unto Thyrsis owe,
I will tell you how I do
Sacharissa love and you.

Joy salutes me when I set

My blest eyes on Amoret;
But with wonder I am strook,
While I on the other look.

If sweet Amoret complains,
I have sense of all her pains;
But for Sacharissa I
Do not only grieve, but die.
All that of myself is mine,
Lovely Amoret! is thine:
Sacharissa's captive fain
Would untie his iron chain,