Then he defpairing of her Heart,
Would fain have had his own.
Love anfwer'd, fuch a Nymph could part
With nothing she had won.

LIII.

The Prophet's Song.

They fung how God spoke out the World's vaft Ball,
From Nathing, and from no where call'd forth all.
No Nature yet, or Place for't to poffefs,

But an unbottom'd Gulf of Emptiness.
Full of Himfelf, th' Almighty fat, his own
Palace, and without folitude alone.

But he was Goodnefs whole, and all Things will'd;
Which e'er they were, his active word fulfill'd;
And their aftonifh'd Heads o'th' fudden rear'd,
An unfhap'd kind of Something firft appear'd,
Confeffing its new Being, and undreft
As if it ftept in hafte before the reft.
Yet buried in this Matters darkfome Womb,
Lay the rich Seeds of ev'ry thing to come.
From hence the chearful Flame leapt up fo high;
Clofe at its Heels the nimble Air did fly;

Dull Earth, with his own weight did 'downwards

To the fixt Navel of the Universe,

(pierce,

And was quite loft in Waters: Till God faid
To the proud Sea, fhrink in your infolent Head,
See how the gaping Earth has made you place;
That durft not murmur, but fhrunk in a-pace.
Since when his bounds are fet, at which in vain
He Foam, and Rages, and turns back again.

With richer ftuff he bad Heav'ns Fabrick fhine, And from him a quick Spring of Light Divine Swell'd up the Sun, from whence his Cher'fhing

(Flame, Fills the whole World, like Him from whom it came. He finooth'd the rough-caft Moon's imperfect Mold, And comb'd her Beamy Locks with Sacred Gold: Be thou, faid he, Queen of the mournful Night, And as he spoke, fh'arofe clad o'er in Light, With thoufand Stars attending on her Train; With her they rife, with her they fet again. Then Herbs peep'd forth, new Trees admiring ftood, And finelling Flow'rs painted the infant Wood. Then Flocks of Birds through the glad Air did flee, Joyful, and fafe before Man's Luxury? Teaching their Maker in their untaught lays: Nay the mute Fish witnefs no lefs his praife; For those he made, and cloath'd with filver Scales, From Minoes, to thofe Living Islands, Whales. Beafts too were his command: what could he more? Yes, Man he could, the bond of all before; In him he all Things with ftrange order hurl'd; In him, that full Abridgement of the World.

Cowley, David. 1. I.

LIV.

ODE.

On ORINDA'S Poems.

I:

WE allow'd you Beauty, and we did fubmit

To all the Tyrannies of it;

Ah! Cruel Sex, will you depofe us too in Wit?
Orinda does in that too reign,
Does Man behind her in proud Triumph draw,
And cancel great Apollo's Salick Law.
We our old Title plead in vain,

Man may be Head, but Woman's now the Brain.
Verfe was Love's Fire-Arms heretofore,
In Beauties Camp it was not known.
Too many Arms befides that Conqu'ror bore:
'Twas the great Cannon we brought down
To affault a ftubborn Town;
Orinda firft did a bold Sally make,
Our strongest Quarter take,

And fo fuccefsful prov'd, that fhe
Turn'd upon Love himself his own Artillery.

2.

Woman, as if the Body were their whole
Did that, and not the Soul

Tranfmit to their Posterity,

If in it fome time they conceiv'd,
The abortive iffue never liv'd.

It were fhame and pity, Orinda, if you
A Spirit fo rich, fo noble, and fo high
Should unmanur'd, or barren lye..

* Mrs. Catharine Philips..

But

But thou induftriously haft fow'd and till'd
The fair, and fruitful Field?

And 'tis a strange increafe, that it does yield.
As when the happy Gods above
Meet altogether at a Feaft,

A fecret Joy unfpeakable does move

In their great Mother Cybele's contented Breast: With no lefs Pleafure thou methinks fhould fee This thy no lefs immortal Progeny.

And in their Birth thou no one touch do'ft find Of the ancient Curfe to Woman kind,

Thou bring'ft not forth with pain,

It neither Travail is, nor labour of the Brain,
So eafily they from thee come,

And there is so much room

In the unexhaufted and unfathom'd Womb, That like the Holland Countess thou may'ft bear A Child for every Day of all the fertile Year.

3.

Thou do'ft my Wonder, would'st my Envy raise,
If to be prais'd, I lov'd more then to praise
Where e're I fee an excellence,

I must admire to fee thy well-knit Senfe,
Thy Numbers gentle, and thy Fancies high,
Thofe as thy Forehead fmooth, these sparkling as

For, as in Angels, we

Do in thy Verfes fee

Both improv'd Sexes eminently meet:

(thine Eye.

They are than Man more ftrong, and more than

4.

(Woman fweet.

They talk of Nine, I know not who,
Female Chimera's, that o're Poets reign,

I ne'r could find that fancy true,

Bu

But have invok'd them oft I'm fure in vain:
They talk of Sappho, but alas, the fhame!
Ill Manners foil the luftre of her Fame:
Orinda's inward Virtue is fo bright,

That like a Lanthorn's fair inclofed Light,
It through the Paper fhines, where fhe does write,
Honour and Friendship, and the generous Scorn
Of things for which we were not born,
(Things that can only by a fond Disease,
Like that of Girls, our vicious Stomacks please)
Are the inftructive Subjects of her Pen,
And as the Roman Victory

Taught our rude Land, Arts, and Civility,
At once the overcomes, enflaves, and betters Men,

5.

But Rome with all her Arts could ne'r inspire
A Female Breaft with fuch a Fire,
The warlike Amazonian Train,
Who in Elyfium now do peaceful Reign,
And Wits mild Empire before Arms prefer,
Hope 'twill be fettled in their Sex by her.
Merlin, the Seer (and fure he would not ly
In fuch a facred Company)

Does Prophecies of learn'd Orinda fhow
Which he had darkly fpoke fo long ago,
Ev'n Boadicia's angry Ghoft

Forgets her own Misfortune, and Difgrace,

And to her injured Daughters now does boalt,

That Rome's o'recome at laft, by a Woman of her

(Rac

Cowley.