Such chearful modefty, fuch 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 flowers through his Arcadia found,
Amaz'd we fee 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 practis'd what he taught:
This glorious piece tranfcends what he could think;
So much his blood is nobler than his ink!

R

TO VAN DYCK.

ARE Artifan, whofe pencil moves
Not our delights alone, but loves!

From thy fhop of beauty we

Slaves return, that enter'd free.

The heedlefs lover does not know

Whose eyes they are that wound him fo
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 Mufidorus.

Nor

So

Nor fcorn nor cruelty does find:
But gladly fuffers a falfe wind
To blow the ashes of despair
From the reviving brand of care.
Fool! that forgets her stubborn look
This foftnefs 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'ft thou yet thyfelf as well,
As all the world befides, excel !
you th' unfeigned truth rehearse,
(That I may make it live in verse)
Why thou couldst not, at one affsay,
That face to after-times convey,
Which this admires. Was it thy wit
To make her oft before thee fit?
Confefs, and we 'll forgive thee this:
For who would not repeat that blifs?
And frequent fight of fuch a dame
Buy, with the hazard of his fame ?
Yet who can tax thy blameless skill,
Though thy good hand had failed still;
When nature's felf fo often errs?

years

She for this many thousand
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, ere it could fee
Her that amaz'd thy Art, and thee.

But now 'tis done, O let me know
Where thofe immortal colors grow,
That could this deathlefs piece compose?
In lilies? or the fading rofe?

No; for this theft thou hast climb'd higher,
Than did Prometheus for his fire.

H

AD Dorothea liv'd when mortals made Choice of their Deities, this facred fhade Had held an altar to her power, that gave. and glory which thefe alleys have: Embroider'd fo with flowers where the stood, That it became a garden of a wood.

The peace

Her prefence has fuch more than human grace,
That it can civilize the rudeft place:

And beauty too, and order can impart,
Where nature ne'er intended it, nor art.
The plants acknowledge this, and her admire,.:
No less than those of old did Orpheus' lyre:
If fhe fit down, with tops all tow'rds her bow'd,
They round about her into arbors crowd:
Or if the walk, in even ranks they stand,
Like fome well-marshal'd and obfequious band.
Amphion fo made ftones and timber leap
Into fair figures, from a confus'd heap:
And in the fymmetry of her parts is found
A power, like that of harmony in sound.

Ye lofty beeches, tell this matchlefs dame,
That if together ye fed all one flame,
It could not equalize the hundredth part,
Of what her eyes have kindled in my heart!
Go, boy, and carve this paffion on the bark
Of yonder tree, which stands the facred mark
Of noble Sidney's birth; when fuch benign,
Such more than mortal-making stars did shine;
That there they cannot but for ever prove
The monument and pledge of humble love:
His humble love, whofe hope fhall ne'er rise higher,
Than for a pardon that he dares admire.

TO MY LORD OF LEICESTER.

NOT that thy trees at Pens-Hurst groan,

Oppreffed with their timely load;

And feem to make their filent moan,
That their great Lord is now abroad:
They to delight his taste, or eye,
Would spend themselves in fruit, and dye.
Not that thy harmless deer repine,

And think themselves unjustly flain
By any other hand than thine,

Whofe arrows they would gladly stains
No, nor thy friends, which hold too dear
That peace with France, which keeps thee there.
All these are less than that great cause,
Which now exacts your presence here;
Wherein there meet the divers laws

Of public and domestic care,

For

For one bright Nymph our youth contends,
And on your prudent choice depends.

Not the bright fhield of * Thetis' fon, (For which fuch stern debate did rise, That the great Ajax Telamon

Refus'd to live without the prize) Thofe Achive Peers did more engage, Than fhe the gallants of our age.

That beam of beauty, which begun
To warm us fo, when thou wert here,
Now fcorches like the raging sun,
When Sirius does first appear.
O fix this flame; and let defpair
Redeem the reft from endless care!

Of the LADY who can fleep when the pleases.

IN

O wonder Sleep from careful lovers flies,
To bathe himself in Sachariffa's eyes.
As fair Aftræa once from earth to heaven,
By ftrife and loud impiety was driven :
So with our plaints offended, and our tears,
Wife Somnus to that paradife repairs;

Waits on her will, and wretches does forfake,

To court the Nymph, for whom those wretches wake. More proud than Phoebus of his throne of gold

Is the foft God, thofe fofter limbs to hold;