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 compofe?
In lilies? or the fading rofe?

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

HA

AT

PENS-HURST.

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

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 the 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 so made stones 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 found.
E

Ye

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 ftands 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 rife higher,
Than for a pardon that he dares admire.

N

TO MY LORD OF LEICESTER.

OT that thy trees at Pens-Hurft groan,
Oppreffed with their timely load;

And feem to make their filent moan,
That their great Lord is now abroad:
They to delight his tafte, 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 ftain:
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 prefence 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' son,
(For which such 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 fun,
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.

N

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;

Nor would exchange with Jove, to hide the skies
In darkning clouds, the power to close her eyes:
Eyes, which so far all other lights control,
They warm our mortal parts, but these our foul!
Let her free spirit, whofe unconquered breast
Holds fuch deep quiet, and untroubled rest,
Know, that though Venus and her fon should spare
Her rebel heart, and never teach her care;
Yet Hymen may in force his vigils keep;
And, for another's joy, fufpend her sleep.

AS

Of the Mif-report of her being painted.

S when a fort of wolves infeft the night,

With their wild howlings at fair Cynthia's light; The noise may chase sweet slumber from her eyes, But never reach the mistress of the fkies: So, with the news of Sacharissa's wrongs, Her vexed fervants blame those envious tongues: Call Love to witnefs, that no painted fire Can fcorch men fo, or kindle fuch defire: While, unconcerned, fhe feems mov'd no more With this new malice, than our loves before; But, from the height of her great mind, looks down On both our paffions, without fmile or frown. So little care of what is done below

Hath the bright dame, whom Heaven affecteth fo! Paints her, 'tis true: with the fame hand which spreads Like glorious colors through the flowery meads; When lavish nature with her best attire

Clothes the gay spring, the season of defire.

Paints her, 'tis true, and does her cheek adorn,
With the fame art wherewith the paints the morn:
With the fame art, wherewith she gildeth fo
Those painted clouds which form Thaumantias' bow.

A

Of her paffing through a Crowd of People.

S in old Chaos (heaven with earth confus'd,

And stars with rocks together crush'd and bruis'd) The Sun his light no further could extend

Than the next hill, which on his fhoulders lean'd:
So in this throng bright Sachariffa far'd,
Opprefs'd by those who ftrove to be her guard:
As fhips, though never fo obfequious, fall
Foul in a tempeft on their Admiral.
A greater favor this disorder brought
Unto her fervants, than their awful thought
Durft entertain, when thus compell'd they preft
The yielding marble of her fnowy breast.
While Love infults, disguised in the cloud,
And welcome force, of that unruly crowd.
So th' amorous tree, while yet the air is calm,
Just distance keeps from his defired Palm :
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 prefs,
More loth he is that friendly ftorm should cease;
From whofe rude bounty he the double use

At once receives, of pleasure and excuse.