But if you fear that I, o'er-grown with Hair,
Without a fire defie the Winter Air,
Know I have mighty ftores of Wood, and know
Perpetual Fires on my bright Hearth do glow.
My Soul, my Life it felf fhould burn for thee,
And this one-Eye, as dear as Life to me.
Why was not I with Fins, like Fishes, made,
That I, like them, might in the Deep have play'd?
Then would I dive beneath the yielding Tide,
And kiss your hand, if you your lips deny'd.
To thee I'd Lillies and red Poppies bear,
And flowers that Crown each Seafon of the Year.
But I'm refolv'd I'll learn to swim and dive,
Of the next Stranger that does here arrive,
That th' undiscover'd Pleasures I may know
Which you enjoy in the deep Flood below.
Cóme forth, O Nymph, and coming forth forget,
Like me that on this Rock unmindful fit,
(Of all things else unmindful but of thee)
Home to return forget, and live with me.
With me-the fweet and pleasing Labour chufe,
To feed the Flock, and milk the burthen'd Ewes,
To prefs the Cheese, and the fharp Runnet to in-
fufe.
My Mother does unkindly use her Son,
By her neglect the Cyclops is undone;
For me the never labours to prevail,
Nor whispers in your Ear my Am'rous Tale.
No; tho' fhe knows I languish every day,
And fees my Body wafte, and ftrength decay.
But I more Ills than what I feel will feign,
And of my Head, and of my Feet complain;
That, in her Breaft if any pity lye,
She may be sad, and griev'd as well as I.
Cyclops, Cyclops, where's thy Reason filed!
If your young Lambs with new pluckt boughs you fed,
And watch'd your Flock, would you not feem more
Milk what is next, pursue not that which flies. [wife?
Perhaps you may, fince this proves fo unkind,
Another fairer Galatea find.
Me many Virgins, as I pass, invite
To wafte with them in Love's foft Sports the Night,
And if I but incline my liftning Ear,
New Joys, new Smiles in all their Looks appear.
Thus we, it feems, can be belov'd; and we,
It seems, are fomebody as well as the.
Thus did the Cyclops fan his raging fire,
And footh'd with gentle Verfe his fierce defire.
Thus pafs'd his hours with more delight and ease,
Than if the Riches of the World were his.
LY fwift, ye hours, ye sluggish minutes fly, Bring back my Love, or let her Lover dye. Make hafte, O Sun, and to my Eyes once more, My Calia brighter than thy felf restore.
In fpight of thee, 'tis Night when she's away,
Her Eyes alone can the glad Beams difplay,
That makes my Sky look clear, and guides my day.
O when will the lift up her facred Light!
And chafe away the flying shades of Night!
With her how faft the flowing hours run on?
But oh! how long they stay when she is gone?
So flowly Time when clogg'd with Grief does move;
So fwift when born upon the Wings of Love!
Hardly three days, they tell me, yet are paft,
Yet 'tis an Age fince I beheld her laft.
O my aufpicious Star make hafte to rife,
To charm our Hearts and blefs our longing Eyes!
O how I long on thy dear Eyes to gaze,
And chear my own with their reflected rays!
How my impatient, thirfty Soul does long,
To hear the charming Mufick of thy Tongue!
Where pointed Wit with folid Judgment grows,
And in one eafie ftream united flows.
When e'er you speak, with what delight we hear,
You call up every Soul to every Ear!
Nature's too prodigal to Woman-kind,"
Ev'n where she does neglect t' adorn the mind;
Beauty alone bears fuch refiftless sway,
As makes Mankind with joy and pride obey.
But oh! when Wit and Sense with Beauty's join'd
The Woman's sweetness with the manly mind,
When Nature with so just a hand does mix
The moft engaging Charms of either Sex;
And out of both that thus in one combine
Does fomething form not Humane but Divine,
What's her command, but that we all adore
The nobleft work of her almighty power!
Nor ought our Zeal thy anger to create,
Since Love's thy debt, nor is our Choice but Fate.
Where Nature bids, worship I'm forc'd to pay,
Nor have the Liberty to disobey.
And whenfoe'er she does a Poet make,
She gives him Verse but for thy Beauty's fake.
Had I a Pen that could at once impart
Soft Ovid's Nature and high Virgil's Art,
Then the immortal Sachariffa's Name
Should be but fecond in the lift of Fame;
Each Grove, each Shade should with thy praise be fill'd,
And the fam'd Penfburst to our Windfor yield.
Spoken to the QUEEN in Trinity-College New-Court in Cambridge.
HOU equal Partner of the Royal Bed,
That mak'ft a Crown fit foft on Charles's Head
In whom with Greatness, Virtue takes her Seat :
Meeknefs with Power, and Piety with State;
Whose Goodness might even Factious Crouds re-
Win the Seditious, and the Savage tame;
Tyrants themfelves to gentleft Mercy bring,
And only useless is on fuch a King;
See, mighty Princefs, fee how every Breaft
With Joy and Wonder is at once poffeft:
Such was the Joy, which the first Mortals knew,
When Gods defcended to the Peoples view,
Such devout wonder did it then afford,
To fee thofe Pow'rs they had unseen ador'd:
But they were Feign'd: nor if they had been true,
Could shed more Bleffings on the Earth than you:
Our Courts enlarg'd, their former Bounds disdain,
To make Reception for fo great a Train;
Here may your facred Breast rejoice to fee,
Your own Age ftrive with Ancient Piety.
Soon now, fince bleft by your auspicious Eyes,
To full perfection fhall our Fabrick rife.
Lefs powerful Charms than yours of old could call
The willing Stones into the Theban Wall,
And ours which now its rife to you shall owe,
More fam'd than that by your great Name shall grow,
FLORIANA,
A Paftoral upon the Death of her Grace the Dutchefs of SOUTHAMPTON.
ELL me my Thyrfis, tell thy Damon, why
What mean thefe ftreams ftill falling from thine eyes,
Faft as those fighs from thy fwoln Bofom rife?
Has the fierce Wolf broke thro' the fenced ground?
Have thy Lambs stray'd? or has Darinda frown'd?
Thyrfis. The Wolf! Ah! let him come, for now he
Have my Lambs ftray'd let 'em for ever stray: [may:
Dorinda frown'd? No, She is ever mild;
Nay, I remember but just now the smil'd:
Alas! fhe fmil'd; for to the lovely Maid
None had the fatal Tidings yet convey'd.
Tell me then Shepherd, tell me, canft thou find
As long as thou art true, and fhe is kind,
A Grief fo great, as may prevail above
Even Damon's friendship, or Dorinda's Love?
Damon. Sure there is none. Thyrf. But, Damon,
there may be :
What if the charming Floriana die?
Damon. Farbe the Omen! Thyrf. But suppose it true, Damon. Then fhould I grieve, my Thyrfis, more
She is---Thyrf. Alas! she was, but is no more;
Now, Damon, now, let thy fwoln Eyes run o'er:
Here to this Turf by thy fad Thyrfis grow,
And when my ftreams of Grief too fhallow flow,
Let in thy Tide to raise the Torrent high,
Till both a Deluge make, and in it die.
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