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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 pow'r to move
The great NORTH U M B E ÅLAND to grieve, and love.

To my LORD ADMIR AL, of his late

Sickness and Recovery.

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Ith joy like ours, the THRACIAN youth invades

ORPHEUS, returning from th'ELYSIAN shades; Embrace the Hero, and his stay implore; Make it their public suit, he would no more Desert them so; and for his spouse's fake, His vanish'd love, tempt the Leth Ean lake : The Ladies too, the brightest of that time, (Ambitious all his lofty bed to climb) Their doubtful hopes with expectation feed, Who shall the fair EURYDIC e succeed: EURY DICE! for whom his num'rous moan Makes lift'ning trees, and savage mountains groan: Thro' all the air his sounding ftrings dilate Sorrow, like that which touch'd our hearts of late. Your pining fickness, and your restless pain, At once the land affecting, and the Main: When the glad news that you were Admiral Scarce thro’ the nation spread, 'twas fear'd by all That our Great CHARLES, whose wisdom shines in you, Would be perplexed how to chuse a new.

So

So more than private was the joy, and grief,
That at the worst it gave our souls relief,
That in our age such sense of virtue liv’d;
They joy'd fo juftly, and so justly griev'd.
Nature (her faireft lights eclipsed,) seems
Her self to suffer in those sharp extremes :
While not from thine alone thy blood retires,
But from those cheeks which all the world admires.
The stem thus threaten'd, and the fap in thee,
Droop all the branches of that noble tree!
Their beauty they, and we our loves suspend,
Nought can our wishes, fave thy health, intend.
As lillies over-charg'd with rain, they bend
Their beauteous heads, and with high heav'n contend:
Fold thee within their snowy arms, and cry
He is too faultless, and too young, to dye.
So like Immortals round about thee they
Sit, that they fright approaching Death away.
Who would not languish, by so fair a train
To be lamented, and restor'd again?
Or thus with-held, what hafty foul would go,
Though to the Bleft? O'er young ADONIS fo
Fair Venus mourn'd, and with the precious show's
Of her warm tears cherish'd the springing flow'r.

The next support, fair hope of your great name,
And second pillar of that noble frame,
By loss of thee would no advantage have,
But step by ftep persue thee to the grave.

And now, relentless Fate about to end
The line, which backward does so far extend
That antique stock, which still the world fupplies
With bravest spirits, and with brightest eyes;
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Kind

Kind PHOEBU S interposing, bid me fay
Such storms no more shall shake that house; but they
Like NEPTUNE, and his I sea-born Neice, shall be
The shining glories of the land and fea:
With courage guard, and beauty warm, our age;
And lovers fill with like poetic rage.

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STAY, PHOE Đ U s, ftay!

TAY,

stay! The world to which you fly so fast,

Conveying day
From us to them, can pay your haste
With no such object, nor salute your

rise
With no such wonder, as De MORNAY's eyes.

Well do's this prove
The error of thofe antique books,

Which made you move
About the world: her charming looks
Would fix your beams, and make it ever day,
Did not the rowling earth snatch her away.

On my Lady DOROTHY SIDNEY's Pikture. SUCH

UCH was PHILOCLEA, and such * Dorus' fame!

The † matchless Sidney that immortal frame
Of perfect beauty, on two pillars plac'd:
Not his high fancy could one pattern, grac'd
With such extremes of excellence, compose;
Wonders so distant in one face disclose !

Such # Venus. Pamela.. + Sir Philip Sidney.

Such chearful modesty, such humble state,
Moves certain love; but with as doubtful fate,
As when, beyond our greedy reach, we fee
Inviting fruit on too fublime a tree.
All the rich flow'rs through his Arcadia found,
Amaz'd we see in this one garland bound.
Had but this copy, (which the artist took
From the fair picture of that noble book)
Stood at KALAND E R's, * the brave friends had jarr’d;
And, rivals made, th' ensuing story marr'd.
Just nature first instructed by his thought,
In his own house thus practis'd what he taught:
This glorious piece transcends what he could think;
So much his blood is nobler than his ink!

TO VAN DYCK.

R

ARE Artisan, whose pencil moves

Not our delights alone, but loves !
From thy shop of beauty we
Slaves return, that enter'd free,
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;

* Pyrocles and Mufidorús.

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 foftness 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 thy self as well,
As all the world besides, excel !
So you th' unfeigned truth rehearse,
(That I may make it live in verse)
Why thou could's not, at one affay,
That face to after-times convey,
Which this admires. Was it thy wit
To make her oft before thee fit?
Confess, and we'll forgive thee this:
For who would not repeat that bliss ?
And frequent fight of such a dame
Buy, with the hazard of his fame?
Yet who can tax thy blameless skill,
Though thy good hand had failed ftill;
When nature's self so often errs?
She for this many thousand years
Seems to have practis'd 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, e're it could see
Her that amaz'd thy Art, and thee.

But

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