Wherein there meet the divers laws
Of public and domestic care.
For one bright nymph our youth contends, And on your prudent choice depends.
4 Not the bright shield of Thetis' son1
(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.
5 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. Oh, fix this flame! and let despair Redeem the rest from endless care.
TO MRS BRAUGHTON, SERVANT TO SACCHARISSA.
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. The Graces put not more exactly on
Th' attire of Venus, when the ball she won, Than Saccharissa 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 disclose, (The shady night removing with her beams), Wing'd with bold love, I'd fly to fetch such 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,1 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 perished, and her fame, Had not the Muse redeemed them from the flame.
TO MY YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY.1
1 WHY came I so untimely forth
Into a world which, wanting thee, Could entertain us with no worth Or shadow of felicity?
That time should me so far remove From that which I was born to love!
2 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?
3 Hope waits upon the flow'ry 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.2
FAIR! that you may truly know What you unto Thyrsis owe,
I will tell you how I do Saccharissa love and you.
Joy salutes me, when I set My bless'd eyes on Amoret;
Lady Lucy Sidney' the younger sister of Lady Dorothea; afterwards married to Sir John Pelham.-2 Amoret': see Life.'
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 Saccharissa I Do not only grieve, but die. All that of myself is mine, Lovely Amoret! is thine; Saccharissa's captive fain Would untie his iron chain,
And, those scorching beams to shun, To thy gentle shadow run.
If the soul had free election To dispose of her affection,
I would not thus long have borne Haughty Saccharissa's scorn; But 'tis sure some power above, Which controls our wills in love! If not love, a strong desire To create and spread that fire In my breast, solicits me, Beauteous Amoret! for thee.
'Tis amazement more than love, Which her radiant eyes do move; If less splendour wait on thine, Yet they so benignly shine, I would turn my dazzled sight To behold their milder light; But as hard 'tis to destroy That high flame, as to enjoy; Which how eas❜ly I may do, Heaven (as eas'ly scaled) does know!
Amoret! as sweet and good As the most delicious food,
Which, but tasted, does impart Life and gladness to the heart.
Saccharissa's beauty's wine, Which to madness doth incline; Such a liquor as no brain That is mortal can sustain. Scarce can I to heaven excuse The devotion which I use Unto that adorèd dame; For 'tis not unlike the same Which I thither ought to send; So that if it could take end, "Twould to heaven itself be due To succeed her, and not you, Who already have of me All that's not idolatry;
Which, though not so fierce a flame, Is longer like to be the same.
Then smile on me, and I will prove Wonder is shorter-liv'd than love.
TO MY LORD OF FALKLAND.1
BRAVE Holland leads, and with him Falkland goes: Who hears this told, and does not straight suppose We send the Graces and the Muses forth
To civilise and to instruct the north?
Not that these ornaments make swords less sharp; Apollo bears as well his bow as harp; 2 And though he be the patron of that spring, Where, in calm peace, the sacred virgins sing,
1 'Lord of Falkland': referring to the unsuccessful expedition of Charles I. against Scotland in 1639, frustrated by the cowardice or treachery of Lord Holland.-Bow as harp': Horace, Ode iv., lib. 3.
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