AS CUPID's fhaft; or HERMES' rod;
And pow'rful too, as either God.

A

A LA MALAD E.

H lovely AM O RET, the care

Of all that know what's good, or fair!

Is heav'n become our rival too?
Had the rich gifts, confer'd on you
So amply thence, the common end
Of giving lovers, to pretend?
Hence, to this pining fickness (meant
To weary thee to a consent
Of leaving us) no pow'r is giv'n
Thy beauties to impair: for heav'n
Sollicits thee with fuch a care,

As rofes from their stalks we tear;
When we would ftill preserve them new,
And fresh, as on the bush they grew.
With fuch a grace you entertain,
And look with fuch contempt on pain,
That languishing you conquer more,
And wound us deeper than before.
So lightnings which in ftorms appear,
Scorch more than when the skies are clear.
And as pale fickness does invade
Your frailer part, the breaches made
In that fair lodging, ftill more clear
Make the bright gueft, your foul, appear.
So nymphs o'er pathless mountains born,
Their light robes by the brambles torn

From

From their fair limbs, expofing new

And unknown beauties to the view
Of following Gods, increase their flame,
And hafte, to catch the flying game.

Upon the Death of my Lady RICH.

AY thofe already curft ES SEXIAN plains, Where hafty death, and pining fickness, reigns, Prove all a defart! and none there make stay, But favage beasts, or men as wild as they! There the fair light, which all our island grac❜d, Like HERO's taper in the window plac'd, Such fate from the malignant air did find, As that exposed to the boift'rous wind.

Ah cruel heav'n! to snatch fo foon away Her, for whofe life had we had time to pray, With thousand vows, and tears, we should have fought That fad decree's suspension to have wrought.

But we, alas, no whisper of her pain

Heard, 'till 'twas fin to wish her here again.

That horrid word at once, like lightning spread,
Strook all our ears,
the Lady RICH is dead!
Heart-rending news! and dreadful to those few
Who her resemble, and her fteps perfue:

That Death should license have to rage among
The fair, the wife, the virtuous, and the young!

The * PAPHIAN Queen from that fierce battel born, With goared hand, and veil so rudely torn,

Like terror did among th' Immortals breed;
Taught by her wound that Goddeffes may bleed.

All

All stand amazed! but beyond the reft

'Th' * heroic dame whose happy womb she blest,
Mov'd with just grief, expoftulates with heav'n;
Urging the promise to th' obfequious giv'n,
Of longer life: for ne'er was pious foul
More apt t' obey, more worthy to controul.
A skilful eye at once might read the race
Of CALEDONIAN Monarchs in her face,
And sweet humility: her look and mind
At once were lofty, and at once were kind.
There dwelt the scorn of vice, and pity too,
For those that did what fhe difdain'd to do:
So gentle and fevere, that what was bad
At once her hatred, and her pardon had.
Gracious to all; but where her love was due,
So faft, fo faithful, loyal, and fo true,

That a bold hand as foon might hope to force
The rowling lights of heav'n, as change her course.
Some happy Angel, that beholds her there,

Inftruct us to record what she was here!

And when this cloud of forrow's over-blown,
Through the wide world we'll make her graces known.
So fresh the wound is, and the grief so vaft,

That all our art, and pow'r of speech, is wafte.
Here paffion fways, but there the Muse shall raise
Eternal monuments of louder praise.

There our delight, complying with her fame,
Shall have occafion to recite thy name,
Fair SACHARISSA! and now only fair!
To facred friendship we'll an altar rear;
(Such as the ROMAN S did erect of old.)
Where, on a marble pillar, shall be told
Chriftian Countess of Devonshire.

*

The

The lovely paffion each to other bare,
With the resemblance of that matchless Pair.
NARCISSUS to the thing for which he pin'd
Was not more like, than yours to her fair mind:
Save that she grac'd the fev'ral parts of life,
A spotless virgin, and a faultlefs wife :

Such was the sweet converse 'twixt her and you,
As that she holds with her affociates now.

How false is hope, and how regardless fate,
That fuch a love fhould have fo fhort a date!
Lately I saw her fighing part from thee;
(Alas that That the last farewell should be!)
So look'd ASTRÆA, her remove defign'd,
On thofe diftreffed friends fhe left behind.
Confent in virtue knit your hearts so fast,
That still the knot, in fpight of death, does laft:
For, as your tears, and forrow-wounded foul,
Prove well that on your part this bond is whole:
So, all we know of what they do above,
Is, that they happy are, and that they love.
Let dark oblivion, and the hollow grave,
Content themselves our frailer thoughts to have:
Well chofen love is never taught to die,
But with our nobler part invades the sky.
Then grieve no more, that one fo heav'nly fhap'd
The crooked hand of trembling age escap'd.
Rather, fince we beheld her not decay,
But that fhe vanish'd fo entire away,

Her wond'rous beauty, and her goodness, merit
We should fuppofe, that fome propitious fpirit
In that cœleftial form frequented here;
And is not dead, but ceafes to appear.
D 2

The

The Battel of the SUMMER-ISLANDS.

A

CANTO I.

What fruits they have, and how heav'n fmiles
Upon thofe late-discover'd ifles.

ID me, BELLO NA! while the dreadful fight
Betwixt a nation, and two whales, I write :
Seas ftain'd with goar I fing, advent'rous toil!
And how these monfters did disarm an ifle.

BERMUDA wall'd with rocks who does not know?
That happy island! where huge lemons grow;
And orange trees, which golden fruit do bear:
Th' HESPERIAN garden boafts of none so fair:
Where fhining pearl, coral, and many a pound,
On the rich shore, of amber-greece is found.
The lofty cedar, which to heav'n aspires,
The Prince of trees! is fewel for their fires:
The smoke, by which their loaded fpits do turn,
For incenfe might on facred altars burn:
Their private roofs on od'rous timber born,
Such as might palaces for Kings adorn.
The sweet palmitoes a new BAC CHU S yield,
With leaves as ample as the broadeft shield:
Under the fhadow of whose friendly boughs
They fit, carowfing where there liquor grows.
Figs there unplanted thro' the fields do grow,
Such as fierce CATO did the ROMANS show;
With the rare fruit inviting them to spoil
CARTHAGE, the mistress of fo rich a foil.

The