A greater favour this disorder brought
Unto her servants than their awful thought
Durst entertain, when thus compellid they prest
The yielding marble of her snowy breast.
While love insults, disguised in the cloud
And welcome force of that unruly crowd.
So the’amorous tree, while yet the air is calm,
Just distance keeps from his desired 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 press,
More loth he is that friendly storin should cease,
From whose rude bounty he the double use
At once receives, of pleasure and excuse.




Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train,
Fair Sacharissa lov'd, but lov'd in vain :
Like Phæbus sung the no less amorous boy ;
Like Daphne she, as lovely, and as coy!
With numbers be the flying nymph pursues,
With numbers such as Phæbus' self might use !
Such is the chase when Love and Fancy leads, *
O’er craggy mountains, and through flowery meads;
Invok'd to testify the lover's care,
Or form some image of bis cruel fair.
Urgʻd 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 Phæbus thus, acquiring unsought praise,
He catch'd at love, and fill'd his arms with bays.

FABULA PHEBI ET DAPHNES. ARCADIÆ juvenis Thyrsis, Phobique sacerdos, Ingenti frustra Sacharissæ ardebat amore. Haud Deus ipse olim Daphni majora canebat; Nec fuit asperior Daphne, nec pulchrior illâ : Carminibus Phæbo dignis premit ille fugacem Per rupes, per saxa, volans per florida vates Pascua : formosam nunc his componere nympham, Nunc illis crudelem insanâ mente solebat. Audiit illa procul miserum, cytharamque sonantem; Andiit, at nullis respexit mota querelis ! Ne tamen omnino canerct desertus, ad alta Sidera perculsi referunt nova carmina montes. Sic, non quæsitis cumulatus laudibus, olim Elapsâ reperit Daphne sua laurea Phæbus.

While in this park I sing, the listening 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 bow'rs
With loud complaints, they answer me in show'rs.
To thee a wild and cruel soul is giv'n,
More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heav'n!
Love's foe profess’d! why dost thou falsely feign
Thyself a Sidney? from which noble strain
He sprung ', 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 amorous 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 suppos’d to bring
One so destructive. To no human stock
We owe this fierce unkindness, but the rock,
That cloven rock produc'd thee, by whose side
Nature, to recompense the fatal pride
Of such stern beauty, plac'd those healing springs ?,
Which not more help than that destruction brings.
Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone,
I might, like Orpheus, with my numerous moan
Melt to compassion : now my traitorous song
With thee conspires to do the singer wrong;
While thus I suffer not myself to lose
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 the’ 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 advis’d me: On yon aged tree
Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the sea,
1 Sir Philip Sidney.

% Tunbridge Wells.

That there with wonders thy diverted mind
Some truce, at least, may with this passion find.”
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
Blest in her choice; and vows this endless love
Springs from no bope of what she can confer,
But from those gifts which Heav'n has heap'd on her.


Tell me, lovely, loving pair!

Why so kind, and so severe?
Why so careless of our care,

Only to yourselves so dear?

By this cunning change of hearts,

You the pow'r of Love control,
While the Boy's deluded darts

Can arrive at neither soul.

For in vain to either breast

Still beguiled Love does come,
Where he finds a foreign guest,

Neither of your hearts at home.

Debtors thus with like design,

When they never mean to pay,
That they may the law decline,

To some friend make all away.

Not the silver doves that fly,

Yok'd in Cytherea's car,
Not the wings that lift so high,

And convey her son so far,

Are so lovely, sweet, and fair,

Or do more ennoble love;
Are so choicely match'd a pair,

Or with more consent do move.


Ah, lovely Amoret! the care
Of all that know what's good or fair!
Is Heav'n become our rival too?
Had the rich gifts conferr’d on you
So amply thence, the common end
Of giving lovers—to pretend?

Hence to this pining sickness (meant
To weary thee to a consent
Of leaving us) no pow'r is giv'n
Thy beauties to impair; for Heav'n
Solicits thee with such a care,
As roses from their stalks we tear,
When we would still preserve them new
And fresh as on the bush they grew.

With such a grace you entertain
And look with such contempt on pain,
That langnishing you conquer more,
And wound us deeper than before.
So lightnings which in storms appear
Scorch more than when the skies are clear.

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