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THERSIS. Fair Nymph! I have in your delights no share; Nor ought to be concerned in your care : Yet would I fing, if I your forrows knew ; And to my aid invoke no Mufe but you.
GA L A T E A. Hear then, and let your fong'augment our grief, Which is fo great, as not to wish relief..
She that had all which nature gives, or chance; Whom fortune join'd with virtue to advance To all the joys this island could afford, The greatest Mistress, and the kindeft Lord : Who with the royal, mixt her noble, blood; And in high grace with GLORIANA stood: Her bounty, sweetness, beauty, goodness, such, That none e'er thought her happiness too much: So well-inclind her favors to confer, And kind to all, as heav'n had been to her! The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife, So well the acted in the span of life, That tho’ few years (too few alas!) she told, She seem'd in all things, but in beauty, old. As unripe fruit, whose verdant stalks do cleave Close to the tree, which grieves no less to leave The smiling pendent which adorns her so, And, until autumn, on the bough should grow:: So seem'd her youthful foul not eas'ly forc'd, Or from so fair, so sweet, a feat divorc'd. Her fate at oncé did hafty feem, and flow; At once too cruel, and unwilling too.
THYRS I S.
G A L A T E A. 'Twas HAMILTON! - whom I had nam'd before, But naming her, grief lets me fay no more.
As these vast beams express the beast,
the world was new,
The teeming earth did never bring
To a LADY in retirement,
E ES not my Love, how Time refumes
The glory which he lent these flow'rs?
Yet must they live but some few hours :
Had Helen, or th' * EGYPTIAN Queen,
Been near so thrifty of their graces ;
The spoil of age, which finds out faces
Should some malignant planet bring
A barren drought, or ceaseless show'r,
And spare us neither fruit, nor flow'r;
Of coming years, then more respect
Were due to fo divine a fashion;
The Miser's Speech; in a Masque.
ALLS of this metal slack'd ATLANTA's pace, B And on the hit
amorous youth bestow'd the race:
Th’advent'rous lover how to gain the prize.
Upon B EN. JOHNSON. M
IRROR of Poets ! Mirror of our age!
Which, her whole face beholding on thy Stage, Pleas'd, and displeas'd, with her own faults, indures A remedy like those whom music cures. Thou haft alone those various inclinations, Which nature gives to ages, sexes, nations : So traced with thy all-refembling Pen, That, what-e'er custom has impos’d on men, Or ill-got habit, (which deforms them fo, That scarce a brother can his brother know) Is represented to the wond'ring Eyes Of all that fee, or read, thy comedies. · Who-ever in those glasses looks, may find The spots return'd, or graces, of his mind: And, by the help of fo divine an art, At leisure view, and dress, his nobler part. NARCIS SU S, cozen'd by that flatt'ring well, Which nothing could but of his beauty tell, Had here, discov'ring the deform'd estate Of his fond mind, preserv'd himself with hate. But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad In flesh and blood so well, that Plato had Beheld, what his high fancy once embrac'd, Virtue with colors, fpeech, and motion grac'd. The sundry postures of thy copious Muse Who would express, a thousand tongues must use : Whose fate's no lefs peculiar than thy art; For as thou could'It all characters impart, So none could render thine ; which still escapes, Like PROTEU s, in variety of shapes: