Amoret! as fweet and good
As the most delicious food,
Which, but tafted, does impart
Life and gladness to the heart.
Sacharifla's beauty 's wine,
Which to madness doth incline:
Such a liquor, as no brain
That is mortal can fuftain.
Scarce can I to heaven excufe
The devotion, which I use
Unto that adored dame:
For 'tis not unlike the fame,
Which I thither ought to fend.
So that if it could take end,
'Twould to heaven itself be due,
To fucceed her, and not
Who already have of me
All that's not idolatry:
Which, though not fo fierce a flame,
Is longer like to be the fame.
Then smile on me, and I will prove,
Wonder is shorter-liv'd than love.
By this cunning change of hearts,
You the power of Love controul ;
While the boy's deluded darts
Can arrive at neither foul.
MORET, the Milky Way,
Fram'd of many nameless stars!
The smooth stream, where none can say,
He this drop to that prefers!
Amoret, my lovely foe!
Tell me where thy ftrength does lie?
Where the power that charms us so ?
In thy foul, or in thy eye?
By that fnowy neck alone :
Or thy grace in motion feen ; No fuch wonders could be done ;
Yet thy waist is straight, and clean, As Cupid's fhaft; or Hermes' rod : And powerful too, as either God.
H lovely Amoret, the care
A of all that know what's good, or fair!
Is Heaven become our rival too?
Had the rich gifts, confer'd on you
So amply thence, the common end
Of giving lovers,—to pretend?
Hence, to this pining fickness (meant
To weary thee to a confent":
Of leaving us) no power is given,
Thy beauties to impair: for Heaven'
Sollicits thee with fuch a care,
As roses from the stalks we tear :
When we would still preserve them new,
And fresh, as on the bush they grew.
With fuch a grace you entertain,
And look with such contempt on pain,
That languishing you conquer more,
And wound us deeper than before.
So lightnings which in ftorms appear
Scorch more than when the skies are clear.
And as pale sickness does invade
Your frailer part, the breaches made
In that fair lodging, ftill more clear
Make the bright gueft, your foul, appear.
So nymphs o'er pathless mountains borne,
Their light robes by the brambles torn
From their fair limbs, expofing new
And unknown beauties to the view
Of following Gods, increase their flame,
And hafte, to catch the flying game.
Upon the Death of my Lady RICH.
Where hafty death and pining fickness reigns, Prove all a defart! and none there make stay, But favage, beafts, or men as wild as they! There the fair light, which all our island grac'd, Like Hero's taper in the window plac'd, Such fate from the malignant air did find, As that exposed to the boisterous wind.
Ah, cruel heaven! to fnatch so soon away Her, for whofe life had we had time to pray, With thousand vows, and tears, we should have fought That fad decree's fufpenfion to have wrought.
But we, alas, no whisper of her pain
Heard, till 'twas fin to wish her here again.
That horrid word, at once, like lightning fpread,
Strook all our ears-the Lady Rich is dead!
Heart-rending news! and dreadful to those few
Who her resemble, and her steps pursue :
That Death fhould licence have to rage among
The fair, the wife, the virtuous, and the young!
The Paphian Queen from that fierce battle borne, With goared hand, and veil so rudely torn,
Like terror did among th' Immortals breed;
Taught by her wound that Goddeffes may bleed.
All stand amazed! but beyond the rest
Th† heroic dame whofe happy womb she bleft,
Mov'd with juft grief, expostulates with Heaven;
Urging the promise to th' obfequious given,
Of longer life for ne'er was pious foul
More apt t' obey, more worthy to control.
A fkilful eye at once might read the race
Of Caledonian Monarchs in her face.
And sweet humility: her look and mind
At once were lofty, and at once were kind.
There dwelt the scorn of vice, and pity too,
For those that did what fhe difdain'd to do:
So gentle and fevere, that what was bad,
At once her hatred, and her pardon had.
Gracious to all; but where her love was due,
So faft, fo faithful, loyal, and so true,
That a bold hand as foon might hope to force
The rolling lights of heaven, as change her course.
Some happy Angel, that beholds her there,
Inftruct us to record what she was here!
+ Chriftian Countess of Devonshire.
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