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Rest to the limbs, and quiet I confer
On troubled minds ; but nought can add to her
Whom Heav'n, and her transcendent thoughts have
Above those ills which wretched mortals taste.
Bright as the deathless gods, and happy, she
From all that may infringe delight is free :
Love at her royal feet his quiver lays,
And not his mother with more haste obeys.
Such real pleasure, such true joys dispense,
What dream can I present to recompense?
Should I with lightning fill her awful hand,
And make the clouds seem all at her command ;
Or place her in Olympus' top, a guest
Among the' immortals, who with nectar feast,
That pow'r would seem, that entertainment, short
Of the true splendour of her present court,
Where all the joys, and all the glories, are
Of three great kingdoms, sever'd from the care.
I, that of fumes, and humid vapours made,
Ascending, do the seat of sense invade,
No cloud in so serene a mansion tind,
To overcast her ever-shining mind,
Which holds resemblance with those spotless skies
Where flowing Nilus want of rain supplies ;
That crystal heav'n, where Phoebus never shrouds
His golden beams, nor wraps his face in clonds.
But what so hard which numbers cannot force ?
So stoops the moon, and rivers change their course.
The bold Mæonian 'made me dare to steep
Jove's dreadful temples in the dew of sleep;
And since the Muses do invoke my pow'r,
I shall no more decline that sacred bow'r
Where Gloriana their great mistress lies,
But gently taming those victorious eyes,
Charm all her senses, till the joyful sun
Without a rival half his course has run ;
Who, while my hand that fairer light confines,
May boast himself the brightest thing that shines.
PUERPERIUM. You gods that have the pow'r To trouble and compose All that's beneath your bow'r, Calm silence on the seas, on earth impose. Fair Venus! in thy soft arms The God of Rage confine; For thy whispers are the charms Which only can divert his fierce design. What though he frown, and to tumult do incline? Thou the flame Kindled in his breast canst tame With that spow which unmelted lies on thine. Great goddess ! give this thy sacred island rest ; Make Heav'n smile, That no storm disturb us while Thy chief care, our halcyon, builds her nest. Great Gloriana! fair Gloriana ! Bright as high Heaven is, and fertile as earth, Whose beauty relieves us, Whose royal bed gives us Both glory and peace, Oar present joy, and all our hopes increase.
WHEN from black clouds no part of sky is clear,
But just so much as lets the sun appear,
Heav'n then would seem thy image, and reflect
Those sable vestments and that bright aspect.
A spark of virtue by the deepest shade
Of sad adversity is fairer made;
Nor less advantage doth thy beauty get,
A Venus rising from a sea of jet!
Such was the appearance of new-formed Light,
While yet it struggled with eternal Night.
'Then mourn no more, lest thou admit increase
Of glory by thy noble Lord's decease.
We find not that the laughter-loving dame'
Mourn'd for Anchises ; 'twas enough she came
To grace the mortal with her deathless bed,
And that his living eyes such beauty fed:
Had she been there, untimely joy through all
Men's hearts diffus'd, had marr’d the funeral.
Those eyes were made to banish grief: as well
Bright Phæbus might affect in shades to dwell,
As 'they to put on sorrow : nothing stands,
But pow'r to grieve, exempt from thy commands.
If thou lament, thou must do so alone;
Grief in thy presence can lay hold on none.
Yet still persist the memory to love
Of that great Mercury of our mighty Jove,
Who, by the pow'r of his inchanting tongue,
Swords from the hands of threatening monarchs
War he prevented, or soon made it cease,
Instructing princes in the arts of peace;
Such as made Sheba's curious queen resort
To the large-hearted Hebrew's 3 famous court.
Had Homer sat amongst his wondering guests,
He might have learn’d, at those stupendous feasts,
With greater bounty and more sacred state,
The banquets of the gods to celebrate.
But, oh! what elocution might he use,
What potent charms, that could so soon infuse
His absent master's love into the heart
Of Henrietta! forcing her to part
From her lov'd brother, country, and the sun,
And, like Camilla, o'er the waves to run
Into his arms ? while the Parisian dames
Mourn for the ravish'd glory; at her flames
No less amaz’d than the amazed stars,
When the bold charmer of Thessalia wars
With Heav'n itself, and numbers does repeat,
Which call descending Cynthia from her seat.
WRIT A LIBEL AGAINST THE COUNTESS
What fury has provok'd thy wit to dare,
With Diomede, to wound the Queen of Love Thy mistress' envy, or thine own despair?
Not the just Pallas in thy breast did move So blind a rage, with such a diff'rent fate; He honour won where thou hast purchas'd hate.
She gave assistance to his Trojan foe;
Thou, that without a rival thou may'st love, Dost to the beauty of this Lady owe,
While after her the gazing world does move. Canst thou not be content to love alone? Or is thy mistress not content with one?
Hast thou not read of Fairy Arthur's shield,
Which but disclos'd amaz’d the weaker eyes
Of proudest foes, and won the doubtful field?
So shall thy rebel wit become her prize.
Should thy Iambics swell into a book,
All were confuted with one radiant look.
Heav'n he oblig'd that plac'd her in the skies;
Rewarding Phæbus for inspiring so
His noble brain, by likening to those eyes
His joyful beams; but Phæbus is thy foe,
And neither aids thy fancy nor thy sight,
So ill thou rhym'st against so fair a light.