Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Go, Lovely Rose

Sung by Mrs. Knight to Her Majesty, on Her Birthday

Song

PROLOGUES AND EPILOGUE:--

Prologue for the Lady-Actors, Spoken before King Charles II

Prologue to the 'Maid's Tragedy'

Epilogue to the 'Maid's Tragedy,' Spoken by the the King

Another Epilogue to the 'Maid's Tragedy,' Designed upon the first Alteration of the Play, when the King only was left Alive

EPIGRAMS, EPITAPHS, AND FRAGMENTS:--

Under a Lady's Picture

Of a Lady who Writ in Praise of Mira

To One Married to an Old Man

An Epigram on a Painted Lady with ill Teeth

Epigram upon the Golden Medal

Written on a Card that Her Majesty tore at Ombre

To Mr. Granville (now Lord Lansdowne), on his Verses to King James II

Long and Short Life

Translated out of Spanish

Translated out of French

Some Verses of an Imperfect Copy, Designed for a Friend, on his Translation of Ovid's 'Fasti'

On the Statue of King Charles I., at Charing Cross, in the Year 1674

Pride

Epitaph on Sir George Speke

Epitaph on Colonel Charles Cavendish

Epitaph on the Lady Sedley

Epitaph to be Written under the Latin Inscription upon the Tomb of the only Son of the Lord Andover

Epitaph Unfinished

DIVINE POEMS:--

Of Divine Love

Of the Fear of God

Of Divine Poesy

On the Paraphrase of the Lord's Prayer, Written by Mrs. Wharton

Some Reflections of his upon the Several Petitions in the same Prayer

On the Foregoing Divine Poems

DENHAM'S POEMS.

LIFE OF SIR JOHN DENHAM

POEMS UPON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.

Cooper's Hill

The Destruction of Troy, an Essay on the 2d Book of Virgil's Eneis

On the Earl of Stafford's Trial and Death

On my Lord Croft's and my Journey into Poland

On Mr. Thomas Killigrew's Return from Venice, and Mr. William Murrey's from Scotland

To Sir John Mennis

Natura Naturata

Sarpedon's Speech to Glaucus, in the Twelfth Book of Homer

Friendship and Single Life, against Love and Marriage

On Mr. Abraham Cowley, his Death, and Burial amongst the Ancient Poets

A Speech against Peace at the Close Committee

To the Five Members of the Honourable House of Commons, the humble Petition of the Poets

A Western Wonder

A Second Western Wonder

A Song

On Mr. John Fletcher's Works

To Sir Richard Fanshaw, upon his Translation of 'Pastor Fido'

To the Hon. Edward Howard, on 'The British Princes'

An Occasional Imitation of a Modern Author upon the Game of Chess

The Passion of Dido for Aeneas

Of Prudence

Of Justice

The Progress of Learning

Elegy on the Death of Helfry Lord Hastings, 1650

Of Old Age

THE POETICAL WORKS

OF

EDMUND WALLER

WALLER'S POETICAL WORKS.

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

OF THE DANGER HIS MAJESTY [BEING PRINCE] ESCAPED IN THE ROAD AT ST ANDERO.[1]

Now bad his Highness bid farewell to Spain, And reach'd the sphere of his own power--the main; With British bounty in his ship he feasts Th' Hesperian princes, his amazed guests, To find that watery wilderness exceed The entertainment of their great Madrid. Healths to both kings, attended with the roar Of cannons, echo'd from th'affrighted shore, With loud resemblance of his thunder, prove Bacchus the seed of cloud-compelling Jove; 10 While to his harp divine Arion sings[2] The loves and conquests of our Albion kings.

Of the Fourth Edward was his noble song, Fierce, goodly, valiant, beautiful, and young; He rent the crown from vanquish'd Henry's head, Raised the White Rose, and trampled on the Red; Till love, triumphing o'er the victor's pride, Brought Mars and Warwick to the conquer'd side: Neglected Warwick (whose bold hand, like Fate, Gives and resumes the sceptre of our state) 20 Woos for his master; and with double shame, Himself deluded, mocks the princely dame, The Lady Bona, whom just anger burns, And foreign war with civil rage returns. Ah! spare your swords, where beauty is to blame; Love gave th'affront, and must repair the same; When France shall boast of her, whose conqu'ring eyes Have made the best of English hearts their prize; Have power to alter the decrees of Fate, And change again the counsels of our state. 30 What the prophetic Muse intends, alone To him that feels the secret wound is known. With the sweet sound of this harmonious lay, About the keel delighted dolphins play, Too sure a sign of sea's ensuing rage, Which must anon this royal troop engage; To whom soft sleep seems more secure and sweet, Within the town commanded by our fleet. These mighty peers placed in the gilded barge, Proud with the burden of so brave a charge, 40 With painted oars the youths begin to sweep Neptune's smooth face, and cleave the yielding deep; Which soon becomes the seat of sudden war Between the wind and tide that fiercely jar. As when a sort[3] of lusty shepherds try Their force at football, care of victory Makes them salute so rudely breast to breast, 47 That their encounter seems too rough for jest; They ply their feet, and still the restless ball, Toss'd to and fro, is urged by them all: So fares the doubtful barge 'twixt tide and winds, And like effect of their contention finds. Yet the bold Britons still securely row'd; Charles and his virtue was their sacred load; Than which a greater pledge Heaven could not give, That the good boat this tempest should outlive. But storms increase, and now no hope of grace Among them shines, save in the Prince's face; The rest resign their courage, skill, and sight, To danger, horror, and unwelcome night. 60 The gentle vessel (wont with state and pride On the smooth back of silver Thames to ride) Wanders astonish'd in the angry main, As Titan's car did, while the golden rein Fill'd the young hand of his adventurous son,[4] When the whole world an equal hazard run To this of ours, the light of whose desire Waves threaten now, as that was scared by fire. Th' impatient sea grows impotent, and raves, That, night assisting, his impetuous waves 70 Should find resistance from so light a thing; These surges ruin, those our safety bring. Th' oppress'd vessel doth the charge abide, Only because assail'd on every side; So men with rage and passion set on fire, Trembling for haste, impeach their mad desire.

The pale Iberians had expired with fear, But that their wonder did divert their care, To see the Prince with danger moved no more Than with the pleasures of their court before; 80 Godlike his courage seem'd, whom nor delight Could soften, nor the face of death affright. Next to the power of making tempests cease, Was in that storm to have so calm a peace. Great Maro could no greater tempest feign, When the loud winds usurping on the main, For angry Juno labour'd to destroy The hated relics of confounded Troy; His bold Aeneas, on like billows toss'd In a tall ship, and all his country lost, 90 Dissolves with fear; and both his hands upheld, Proclaims them happy whom the Greeks had quell'd In honourable fight; our hero, set In a small shallop, Fortune in his debt, So near a hope of crowns and sceptres, more Than ever Priam, when he flourish'd, wore; His loins yet full of ungot princes, all His glory in the bud, lets nothing fall That argues fear; if any thought annoys The gallant youth, 'tis love's untasted joys, 100 And dear remembrance of that fatal glance, For which he lately pawn'd his heart[5] in France; Where he had seen a brighter nymph than she[6] That sprung out of his present foe, the sea. That noble ardour, more than mortal fire, The conquer'd ocean could not make expire; Nor angry Thetis raise her waves above Th' heroic Prince's courage or his love; 'Twas indignation, and not fear he felt, The shrine should perish where that image dwelt. Ah, Love forbid! the noblest of thy train 111 Should not survive to let her know his pain; Who nor his peril minding, nor his flame, Is entertain'd with some less serious game, Among the bright nymphs of the Gallic court, All highly born, obsequious to her sport; They roses seem, which in their early pride But half reveal, and half their beauties hide; She the glad morning, which her beams does throw Upon their smiling leaves, and gilds them so; 120 Like bright Aurora, whose refulgent ray Foretells the fervour of ensuing day, And warns the shepherd with his flocks retreat To leafy shadows from the threaten'd heat.

From Cupid's string, of many shafts that fled Wing'd with those plumes which noble Fame had shed, As through the wond'ring world she flew, and told Of his adventures, haughty, brave, and bold, Some had already touch'd the royal maid, But Love's first summons seldom are obey'd; 130 Light was the wound, the Prince's care unknown, She might not, would not, yet reveal her own. His glorious name had so possess'd her ears, That with delight those antique tales she hears Of Jason, Theseus, and such worthies old, As with his story best resemblance hold. And now she views, as on the wall it hung, What old Musæus so divinely sung; Which art with life and love did so inspire, That she discerns and favours that desire, 140 Which there provokes th'advent'rous youth to swim, And in Leander's danger pities him; Whose not new love alone, but fortune, seeks To frame his story like that amorous Greek's.

For from the stern of some good ship appears A friendly light, which moderates their fears; New courage from reviving hope they take, And climbing o'er the waves that taper make, On which the hope of all their lives depends, As his on that fair Hero's hand extends. 150 The ship at anchor, like a fixed rock, Breaks the proud billows which her large sides knock; Whose rage restrainèd, foaming higher swells, And from her port the weary barge repels, Threat'ning to make her, forcèd out again, Repeat the dangers of the troubled main. Twice was the cable hurl'd in vain; the Fates Would not be movèd for our sister states; For England is the third successful throw, And then the genius of that land they know, 160 Whose prince must be (as their own books devise) Lord of the scene where now his danger lies.

Well sung the Roman bard, 'All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.' Oh, see the then sole hope, and, in design Of Heaven, our joy, supported by a line! Which for that instant was Heaven's care above The chain that's fixèd to the throne of Jove, On which the fabric of our world depends; One link dissolved, the whole creation ends. 170

[1] 'St. Andero': St. Andrews. He had newly abandoned his suit for the Infanta.-- [2] 'Arion sings': Alluding to the deliverance of Charles I., on his return from Spain, from a violent storm in the Bay of Biscay, October 1623. [3] 'Sort': a company. [4] 'Adventurous son': Phaeton. [5] Henrietta, afterwards Queen. [6] Venus.

OF HIS MAJESTY'S RECEIVING THE NEWS OF THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM'S

So earnest with thy God! can no new care, No sense of danger, interrupt thy prayer? The sacred wrestler, till a blessing given, Quits not his hold, but halting conquers Heaven; Nor was the stream of thy devotion stopp'd, When from the body such a limb was lopp'd, As to thy present state was no less maim, Though thy wise choice has since repair'd the same. Bold Homer durst not so great virtue feign In his best pattern:[2] of Patroclus slain, 10 With such amazement as weak mothers use, And frantic gesture, he receives the news. Yet fell his darling by th'impartial chance Of war, imposed by royal Hector's lance; Thine, in full peace, and by a vulgar hand Torn from thy bosom, left his high command.

The famous painter[3] could allow no place For private sorrow in a prince's face: Yet, that his piece might not exceed belief, He cast a veil upon supposed grief. 20 'Twas want of such a precedent as this Made the old heathen frame their gods amiss. Their Phoebus should not act a fonder part For the fair boy,[4] than he did for his heart; Nor blame for Hyacinthus' fate his own, That kept from him wish'd death, hadst thou been known.

He that with thine shall weigh good David's deeds, Shall find his passion, nor his love, exceeds: 28 He cursed the mountains where his brave friend died, But let false Ziba with his heir divide; Where thy immortal love to thy bless'd friends, Like that of Heaven, upon their seed descends. Such huge extremes inhabit thy great mind, Godlike, unmoved, and yet, like woman, kind! Which of the ancient poets had not brought Our Charles's pedigree from Heaven, and taught How some bright dame, compress'd by mighty Jove, Produced this mix'd Divinity and Love?

[1] 'Buckingham's death': Buckingham was murdered by Felton at
Portsmouth, on the 23d of August 1628, while equipping a fleet for
the relief of Rochelle. Lord Lindsey succeeded him. The king was at
prayers when the news arrived, and had the resolution to disguise
his emotion till they were over.
[2] 'Pattern': Achilles.
[3] 'Painter': Timanthes in his picture of Iphigenia.
[4] 'Fair boy': Cyparissus.

ON THE TAKING OF SALLÈ.[1]

Of Jason, Theseus, and such worthies old, Light seem the tales antiquity has told; Such beasts and monsters as their force oppress'd, Some places only, and some times, infest. Sallè, that scorn'd all power and laws of men, Goods with their owners hurrying to their den, And future ages threat'ning with a rude And savage race, successively renew'd; Their king despising with rebellious pride, And foes profess'd to all the world beside; 10 This pest of mankind gives our hero fame, And through the obliged world dilates his name. The prophet once to cruel Agag said, 'As thy fierce sword has mothers childless made, So shall the sword make thine;' and with that word He hew'd the man in pieces with his sword.

Just Charles like measure has return'd to these 17 Whose Pagan hands had stain'd the troubled seas; With ships they made the spoiled merchant mourn; With ships their city and themselves are torn. One squadron of our winged castles sent, O'erthrew their fort, and all their navy rent; For, not content the dangers to increase, And act the part of tempests in the seas, Like hungry wolves, those pirates from our shore Whole flocks of sheep, and ravish'd cattle bore. Safely they might on other nations prey-- Fools to provoke the sovereign of the sea! Mad Cacus so, whom like ill fate persuades, The herd of fair Alcmena's seed invades, 30 Who for revenge, and mortals' glad relief, Sack'd the dark cave and crush'd that horrid thief.

Morocco's monarch, wond'ring at this fact, Save that his presence his affairs exact, Had come in person to have seen and known The injured world's revenger and his own. Hither he sends the chief among his peers, Who in his bark proportion'd presents bears, To the renown'd for piety and force, Poor captives manumised, and matchless horse.[2] 40

[1] 'Sallè': Sallè, a town of Fez, given to piracy, was taken and
destroyed in 1632 by the army of the Emperor of Morocco, assisted by
some English vessels.
[2] 'Horse': the Emperor of Morocco, in gratitude to Charles, sent him a
present of Barbary horses, and three hundred manumitted Christian
slaves.--

UPON HIS MAJESTY'S REPAIRING OF ST PAUL'S.[1]

That shipwreck'd vessel which th'Apostle bore, Scarce suffer'd more upon Melita's shore, Than did his temple in the sea of time, Our nation's glory, and our nation's crime. When the first monarch[2] of this happy isle, Moved with the ruin of so brave a pile, This work of cost and piety begun, To be accomplish'd by his glorious son, Who all that came within the ample thought Of his wise sire has to perfection brought; 10 He, like Amphion, makes those quarries leap Into fair figures from a confused heap; For in his art of regiment is found A power like that of harmony in sound.

Those antique minstrels, sure, were Charles-like kings, Cities their lutes, and subjects' hearts their strings, On which with so divine a hand they strook, Consent of motion from their breath they took: So all our minds with his conspire to grace The Gentiles' great Apostle, and deface 20 Those state-obscuring sheds, that like a chain Seem'd to confine and fetter him again; Which the glad saint shakes off at his command, As once the viper from his sacred hand: So joys the aged oak, when we divide The creeping ivy from his injured side.

Ambition rather would affect the fame Of some new structure, to have borne her name. Two distant virtues in one act we find, The modesty and greatness of his mind; 30 Which, not content to be above the rage, And injury of all-impairing age, In its own worth secure, doth higher climb, And things half swallow'd from the jaws of Time

Reduce; an earnest of his grand design, To frame no new church, but the old refine; Which, spouse-like, may with comely grace command, More than by force of argument or hand. For doubtful reason few can apprehend, And war brings ruin where it should amend; 40 But beauty, with a bloodless conquest finds A welcome sovereignty in rudest minds.

Not aught which Sheba's wond'ring queen beheld Amongst the works of Solomon, excell'd His ships and building; emblems of a heart Large both in magnanimity and art.

While the propitious heavens this work attend, Long-wanted showers they forget to send; As if they meant to make it understood Of more importance than our vital food. 50

The sun, which riseth to salute the quire Already finished, setting shall admire How private bounty could so far extend: The King built all, but Charles the western end.[3] So proud a fabric to devotion given, At once it threatens and obliges Heaven!

Laomedon, that had the gods in pay, Neptune, with him that rules the sacred day,[4] Could no such structure raise: Troy wall'd so high, Th' Atrides might as well have forced the sky. 60

Glad, though amazed, are our neighbour kings, To see such power employ'd in peaceful things; They list not urge it to the dreadful field; The task is easier to destroy than build.

... Sic gratia regum
Pieriis tentam modis...--HORACE.

[1] 'St. Paul's': these repairs commenced in the spring of 1633. [2] 'Monarch': King James I. [3] 'Western end': the western end, built at Charles' own expense, consisted of a splendid portico, built by Inigo Jones. [4] 'Sacred day': Apollo.

THE COUNTESS OF CARLISLE IN MOURNING.[1]

When from black clouds no part of sky is clear, But just so much as lets the sun appear, Heaven then would seem thy image, and reflect Those sable vestments, and that bright aspect. A spark of virtue by the deepest shade Of sad adversity is fairer made; Nor less advantage doth thy beauty get, A Venus rising from a sea of jet! Such was th'appearance of new-formed light, While yet it struggled with eternal night. 10 Then mourn no more, lest thou admit increase Of glory by thy noble lord's decease. We find not that the laughter-loving dame[2] Mourn'd for Anchises; 'twas enough she came To grace the mortal with her deathless bed, And that his living eyes such beauty fed; Had she been there, untimely joy, through all Men's hearts diffused, had marr'd the funeral. Those eyes were made to banish grief: as well Bright Phoebus might affect in shades to dwell, 20 As they to put on sorrow: nothing stands, But power to grieve, exempt from thy commands. If thou lament, thou must do so alone; Grief in thy presence can lay hold on none. Yet still persist the memory to love Of that great Mercury of our mighty Jove, Who, by the power of his enchanting tongue, Swords from the hands of threat'ning monarchs wrung. War he prevented, or soon made it cease, 29 Instructing princes in the arts of peace; Such as made Sheba's curious queen resort To the large-hearted Hebrew's famous court. Had Homer sat amongst his wond'ring guests, He might have learn'd at those stupendous feasts, With greater bounty, and more sacred state, The banquets of the gods to celebrate. But oh! what elocution might he use, What potent charms, that could so soon infuse His absent master's love into the heart Of Henrietta! forcing her to part 40 From her loved brother, country, and the sun, And, like Camilla, o'er the waves to run Into his arms! while the Parisian dames Mourn for the ravish'd glory; at her flames No less amazed than the amazèd stars, When the bold charmer of Thessalia wars With Heaven itself, and numbers does repeat, Which call descending Cynthia from her seat.

[1] 'Mourning': Carlisle was a luxurious liver, and died in 1636, poor,
but, like many spendthrifts, popular. He had represented Prince
Charles at his marriage with Princess Henrietta at Paris.
[2] 'Dame': Venus.

IN ANSWER TO ONE WHO WRIT A LIBEL AGAINST THE COUNTESS OF CARLISLE.

1 What fury has provoked thy wit to dare,
With Diomede, to wound the Queen of Love?
Thy mistress' envy, or thine own despair?
Not the just Pallas in thy breast did move
So blind a rage, with such a diff'rent fate;
He honour won, where thou hast purchased hate.

2 She gave assistance to his Trojan foe;
Thou, that without a rival thou may'st love,
Dost to the beauty of this lady owe,
While after her the gazing world does move.
Canst thou not be content to love alone?
Or is thy mistress not content with one?

3 Hast thou not read of Fairy Arthur's shield,
Which, but disclosed, amazed the weaker eyes
Of proudest foes, and won the doubtful field?
So shall thy rebel wit become her prize.
Should thy iambics swell into a book,
All were confuted with one radiant look.

4 Heaven he obliged that placed her in the skies;
Rewarding Phoebus, for inspiring so
His noble brain, by likening to those eyes
His joyful beams; but Phoebus is thy foe,
And neither aids thy fancy nor thy sight,
So ill thou rhym'st against so fair a light.

OF HER CHAMBER.

They taste of death that do at heaven arrive; But we this paradise approach alive. Instead of death, the dart of love does strike, And renders all within these walls alike. The high in titles, and the shepherd, here Forgets his greatness, and forgets his fear. All stand amazed, and gazing on the fair, Lose thought of what themselves or others are; Ambition lose, and have no other scope, 9 Save Carlisle's favour, to employ their hope. The Thracian[1] could (though all those tales were true The bold Greeks tell) no greater wonders do; Before his feet so sheep and lions lay, Fearless and wrathless while they heard him play. The gay, the wise, the gallant, and the grave, Subdued alike, all but one passion have; No worthy mind but finds in hers there is Something proportion'd to the rule of his; While she with cheerful, but impartial grace, (Born for no one, but to delight the race 20 Of men) like Phoebus so divides her light, And warms us, that she stoops not from her height.

[1] 'Thracian': Orpheus.--

THYRSIS, GALATEA.[1]

THYRSIS.

As lately I on silver Thames did ride, Sad Galatea on the bank I spied; Such was her look as sorrow taught to shine, And thus she graced me with a voice divine.

GALATEA.

You that can tune your sounding strings so well, Of ladies' beauties, and of love to tell, Once change your note, and let your lute report The justest grief that ever touch'd the Court.

THYRSIS.

Fair nymph! I have in your delights no share, 9 Nor ought to be concerned in your care; Yet would I sing if I your sorrows knew, And to my aid invoke no Muse but you.

GALATEA.

Hear then, and let your song augment our grief, Which is so 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 kindest lord; Who with the royal mix'd her noble blood, And in high grace with Gloriana[2] stood; 20 Her bounty, sweetness, beauty, goodness, such, That none e'er thought her happiness too much; So well-inclined her favours to confer, And kind to all, as Heaven had been to her! The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife, So well she acted in this span of life, That though few years (too flew, 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 30 The smiling pendant which adorns her so, And until autumn on the bough should grow; So seem'd her youthful soul not eas'ly forced, Or from so fair, so sweet a seat divorced. Her fate at once did hasty seem and slow; At once too cruel, and unwilling too.

THYRSIS.

Under how hard a law are mortals born! 37 Whom now we envy, we anon must mourn; What Heaven sets highest, and seems most to prize, Is soon removed from our wond'ring eyes! But since the Sisters[3] did so soon untwine So fair a thread, I'll strive to piece the line. Vouchsafe, sad nymph! to let me know the dame, And to the Muses I'll commend her name; Make the wide country echo to your moan, The list'ning trees and savage mountains groan. What rock's not movèd when the death is sung Of one so good, so lovely, and so young?

GALATEA.

'Twas Hamilton!--whom I had named before,
But naming her, grief lets me say no more. 50

[1] 'Galatea': the lady here mourned was the Duchess of Hamilton, a niece of Buckingham; she died in 1638. [2] 'Gloriana': Queen Henrietta. [3] 'Sisters': Parcæ--

ON MY LADY DOROTHY SIDNEY'S PICTURE.[1]

Such was Philoclea, and such Dorus' flame! The matchless Sidney, that immortal frame Of perfect beauty on two pillars placed, Not his high fancy could one pattern, graced With such extremes of excellence, compose; Wonders so distant in one face disclose! Such cheerful modesty, such humble state, Moves certain love, but with as doubtful fate As when, beyond our greedy reach, we see 9 Inviting fruit on too sublime a tree. All the rich flowers through his Arcadia found, Amazed 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 Kalander'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 practised what he taught; This glorious piece transcends what he could think, So much his blood is nobler than his ink![2] 20

[1] 'Dorothy Sidney': see Life for an account of 'Saccharissa.'
[2] 'Philoclea and Dorus': the reader may turn for these names and their
histories, to the glorious, flowery wilderness of the 'Arcadia.'
Sidney was granduncle to Dorothy.

AT PENSHURST.

Had Dorothea lived when mortals made Choice of their deities, this sacred shade Had held an altar to her power, that gave The peace and glory which these alleys have; Embroider'd so with flowers where she stood, That it became a garden of a wood. Her presence has such more than human grace, That it can civilise the rudest place; And beauty too, and order, can impart, Where nature ne'er intended it, nor art. 10 The plants acknowledge this, and her admire, No less than those of old did Orpheus' lyre; If she sit down, with tops all tow'rds her bow'd, They round about her into arbours crowd; Or if she walk, in even ranks they stand, Like some well-marshall'd and obsequious band. Amphion so made stones and timber leap Into fair figures from a confused heap; And in the symmetry of her parts is found A power like that of harmony in sound. 20 Ye lofty beeches, tell this matchless dame, That if together ye fed all one flame, It could not equalise the hundredth part Of what her eyes have kindled in my heart! Go, boy, and carve this passion on the bark Of yonder tree, which stands the sacred mark Of noble Sidney's birth; when such benign, Such more than mortal-making stars did shine, That there they cannot but for ever prove The monument and pledge of humble love; 30 His humble love whose hope shall ne'er rise higher, Than for a pardon that he dares admire.

OF THE LADY WHO CAN SLEEP WHEN SHE PLEASES.[1]

No wonder sleep from careful lovers flies, To bathe himself in Saccharissa's eyes. As fair Astraæ once from earth to heaven, By strife and loud impiety was driven; So with our plaints offended, and our tears, Wise Somnus to that paradise repairs; Waits on her will, and wretches does forsake, To court the nymph for whom those wretches wake. More proud than Phoebus of his throne of gold 9 Is the soft god those softer limbs to hold; Nor would exchange with Jove, to hide the skies In dark'ning clouds, the power to close her eyes; Eyes which so far all other lights control, They warm our mortal parts, but these our soul! Let her free spirit, whose unconquer'd breast Holds such deep quiet and untroubled rest, Know that though Venus and her son should spare Her rebel heart, and never teach her care, Yet Hymen may in force his vigils keep, And for another's joy suspend her sleep. 20

[1] She is said to have been like Dudu--

'Large, and languishing, and lazy,
Yet of a beauty that might drive you crazy.'

OF THE MISREPORT OF HER BEING PAINTED.

As when a sort of wolves infest the night With their wild howlings at fair Cynthia's light, The noise may chase sweet slumber from our eyes, But never reach the mistress of the skies; So with the news of Saccharissa's wrongs, Her vexed servants blame those envious tongues; Call Love to witness that no painted fire Can scorch men so, or kindle such desire; While, unconcern'd, she seems moved no more With this new malice than our loves before; 10 But from the height of her great mind looks down On both our passions without smile or frown. So little care of what is done below Hath the bright dame whom Heaven affecteth so! Paints her, 'tis true, with the same hand which spreads Like glorious colours through the flow'ry meads, When lavish Nature, with her best attire, 17 Clothes the gay spring, the season of desire; Paints her, 'tis true, and does her cheek adorn With the same art wherewith she paints the morn; With the same art wherewith she gildeth so Those painted clouds which form Thaumantias' bow.

OF HER PASSING THROUGH A CROWD OF PEOPLE.

As in old chaos (heaven with earth confused, And stars with rocks together crush'd and bruised) The sun his light no further could extend Than the next hill, which on his shoulders lean'd; So in this throng bright Saccharissa fared, Oppress'd by those who strove to be her guard; As ships, though never so obsequious, fall Foul in a tempest on their admiral. A greater favour this disorder brought Unto her servants than their awful thought 10 Durst entertain, when thus compell'd they press'd The yielding marble of her snowy breast. While love insults,[1] disguised in the cloud, And welcome force, of that unruly crowd. So th'am'rous tree, while yet the air is calm, Just distance keeps from his desired palm;[2] But when the wind her ravish'd branches throws Into his arms, and mingles all their boughs, Though loth he seems her tender leaves to press, 19 More loth he is that friendly storm should cease, From whose rude bounty he the double use At once receives, of pleasure and excuse.

[1] 'Insults': exults.
[2] 'Palm': Ovalle informs us that the palm-trees in Chili have this
wonderful property, that they never will bear any fruit but when
they are planted near each other; and when they find one standing
barren by itself, if they plant another, be it never so small (which
they call the female), it will become prolific.--FENTON.

THE STORY OF PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE,[1] APPLIED.

Thyrsis, a youth of the inspirèd train, Fair Saccharissa loved, but loved in vain; Like Phoebus sung the no less am'rous boy; Like Daphne she, as lovely, and as coy! With numbers he the flying nymph pursues, With numbers such as Phoebus' self might use! Such is the chase when Love and Fancy leads, O'er craggy mountains, and through flow'ry meads; Invoked to testify the lover's care, Or form some image of his cruel fair. 10 Urged with his fury, like a wounded deer, O'er these he fled; and now approaching near, Had reach'd the nymph with his harmonious lay, Whom all his charms could not incline to stay. Yet what he sung in his immortal strain, Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain; All, but the nymph that should redress his wrong, Attend his passion, and approve his song. Like Phoebus thus, acquiring unsought praise, He catch'd at love, and fill'd his arms with bays.[1] 20

[1] 'Daphne': Ovid's _Metamorphoses_, b. i.

ON THE FRIENDSHIP BETWIXT SACCHARISSA AND AMORET.

1 Tell me, lovely, loving pair!
Why so kind, and so severe?
Why so careless of our care,
Only to yourselves so dear?

2 By this cunning change of hearts,
You the power of Love control;
While the boy's deluded darts
Can arrive at neither soul.

3 For in vain to either breast
Still beguilèd Love does come,
Where he finds a foreign guest,
Neither of your hearts at home.

4 Debtors thus with like design,
When they never mean to pay,
That they may the law decline,
To some friend make all away.

5 Not the silver doves that fly,
Yoked in Cytherea's car;
Not the wings that lift so high,
And convey her son so far;

6 Are so lovely, sweet, and fair,
Or do more ennoble love;
Are so choicely match'd a pair,
Or with more consent do move.

AT PENSHURST.[1]

While in this park I sing, the list'ning deer Attend my passion, and forget to fear; When to the beeches I report my flame, They bow their heads, as if they felt the same. To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers With loud complaints, they answer me in showers. To thee a wild and cruel soul is given, More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven! Love's foe profess'd! why dost thou falsely feign Thyself a Sidney? from which noble strain 10 He sprung,[2] that could so far exalt the name Of love, and warm our nation with his flame; That all we can of love, or high desire, Seems but the smoke of am'rous Sidney's fire. Nor call her mother, who so well does prove One breast may hold both chastity and love. Never can she, that so exceeds the spring In joy and bounty, be supposed to bring One so destructive. To no human stock We owe this fierce unkindness, but the rock, 20 That cloven rock produced thee, by whose side Nature, to recompense the fatal pride Of such stern beauty, placed those healing springs,[3] Which not more help, than that destruction, brings. Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone, I might, like Orpheus, with my num'rous moan Melt to compassion; now, my trait'rous song With thee conspires to do the singer wrong; While thus I suffer not myself to lose 29 The memory of what augments my woes; But with my own breath still foment the fire, Which flames as high as fancy can aspire!

This last complaint th'indulgent ears did pierce Of just Apollo, president of verse; Highly concerned that the Muse should bring Damage to one whom he had taught to sing, Thus he advised me: 'On yon aged tree Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the sea, That there with wonders thy diverted mind Some truce, at least, may with this passion find.' 40 Ah, cruel nymph! from whom her humble swain Flies for relief unto the raging main, And from the winds and tempests does expect A milder fate than from her cold neglect! Yet there he'll pray that the unkind may prove Bless'd in her choice; and vows this endless love Springs from no hope of what she can confer, But from those gifts which Heaven has heap'd on her.

[1] 'Penshurst': his farewell verses to Dorothy. [2] 'Sprung': Sir Philip Sidney. [3] 'Springs': Tunbridge Wells.

THE BATTLE OF THE SUMMER ISLANDS.[1]