To thee a wild and cruel foul is giv'n,
More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heav'n! Love's foe profefs'd! why doft thou falfely 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 defire Seems but the fmoke of am'rous Sidney's fire. Nor call her mother who fo well does prove One breast may hold both chastity and love. Never can she, that so exceeds the spring In joy and bounty, be fuppos'd to bring One fo deftructive. To no human stock
We owe this fierce unkindness, but the rock,
That cloven rock produc'd thee, by whose fide Nature, to recompenfe the fatal pride
Of fuch ftern beauty, plac'd those healing springst 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 compaffion: now my trait'rous fong With thee confpires to do the finger wrong; While thus I fuffer not nyfelf 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 laft complaint th' indulgent ears did pierce Of juft Apollo, prefident of verfe;
Highly concerned that the Muse should bring 35 Damage to one whom he had taught to fing:
Thus he advis'd me: "On yon' aged tree "Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the fea,
"That there with wonders thy diverted mind "Some truce, at least, may with this paffion find.” 40 Ah, cruel Nymph! from whom her humble fwain Flies for relief unto the raging main,
And from the winds and tempefts does expect
A milder fate than from her cold neglect!
Yet there he'll pray that the unkind may prove 45 Bleft in her choice; and vows this endless love Springs from no hope of what she can confer, But from thofe gifts which Heav'n has heap'don her.48
ON THE FRIENDSHIP BETWIXT
TELL me, lovely, loving Pair!
Why fo kind, and so severe?
Why fo careless of our care,
Only to yourselves fo dear?
Aa, 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 fickness (meant To weary thee to a confent Of leaving us) no pow'r is giv'n Thy beauties to impair; for Heav'n Solicits thee with fuch a care, As roses from their ftalks we tear, When we would ftill preferve them new And fresh as on the bush they grew.
With fuch a grace you entertain, And look with fuch 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 fickness 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 pathlefs 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.
OF MY LADY RICH.
MAY thofe already curs'd Effexian plains, Where hafty death and pining ficknefs reigns, Prove all a defert! 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 expofed to the boift'rous wind.
Ah, cruel Heav'n! to fnatch fo foon 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 't was fin to wifh her here again.
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