Poems upon Several Occasions

Front matter

TO THE

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I Am to inform the Reader, that the following Collection contains all the Poems which have been written by the Right Honourable George Granville, Lord Lansdown, very few of which have been ever before Printed; and as this Book is Published by his Lordship’s Permission, I que not but it will appear to be very Correct, which cannot be said of some of the Poems, which as I have been told, came formerly into the World without his Lordship’s Knowledge and Approbation. For this Reason, and in Consideration that the Subjects are various and entertaining, I make no doubt but this Edition will meet with a favourable Reception from the Publick.

On the Earl of Peterborough’s happy Negotiation of the Marriage between his Royal Highness and the Princess Mary d’Esté of Modena

UPON

Several Occasions.

On the Earl of Peterborough’s happy Negotiation of the Marriage between his Royal Highness and the Princess Mary d’Esté of Modena.

His Juno barren, in unfruitful Joys Our British Jove his Nupital Hours employs. So Fate ordains, that all our Hopes may be, And all our Safety, Gallant York, in thee.

By the same Wish aspiring Queens are led, Each languishing to mount his Royal Bed; His Youth, his Wisdom, and his early Fame, Create in ev’ry Breast a Rival Flame: Remotest Kings sit trembling on their Thrones, As if no Distance cou’d secure their Crowns; Fearing his Valour, wisely they contend To bribe with Beauty so renown’d a Friend: Beauty the Price, there need no other Arts, Love is the surest Bait for Heroes Hearts: Nor can the Fair conceal as high Concern To see the Prince, for whom, unseen, they burn.

Brave York, attending to gen’ral Voice, At length resolves to make the wish’d-for Choice; To noble Peterborough, Wise and Just, Of his great Heart he gives the sacred Trust: “Thy Eyes,” said he, “shall well direct that Heart Where thou, my best belov’d, hast such a Part; In Council oft, and oft in Battel try’d, Betwixt thy Master, and the World, decide.”

The chosen Mercury prepares t’ obey This high Command. Gently, ye Winds, convey, And with auspicious Gales his Safety wait, On whom depend Great Britain’s Hopes and Fate. So Jason with his Argonauts, from Greece To Colchos sail’d, to fetch the Golden Fleece.

As when the Goddesses came down of old On Ida’s Hill, so many Ages told, With Gifts their young Dardanian Judge they try’d, And each bad high to win him to her Side; So tempt they him, and æmulously vie To bribe a Voice that Empires wou’d not buy; With Balls and Banquets his pleas’d Sense they bait, And Queens and Kings upon his Pleasure wait.

Th’ imperial Judge surveys, with vast Delight, All that the Sun surrounds of Fair and Bright, Then, strictly just, he, with adoring Eyes, To radiant Esté gives the famous Prize. Of Antique Stock, her high Descent she brings, Born to renew the Race of Britain’s Kings, Who cou’d deserve, like Her, in whom we see United, all that Paris found in Three? O Equal Pair! when both were set above All other Merit, but each other’s Love.

Welcome, Bright Princess, to Great Britain’s Shore; As Berecynthia to high Heav’n, who bore That shining Race of Goddesses and Gods Who rul’d the World, and fill’d the blest Abodes; From thee, my Muse expects as noble Themes. Another Mars and Jove, another James, Our future Hopes all from thy Womb arise, Our present Joy and Safety from your Eyes;

Those charming Eyes that shine, to reconcile, To Harmony and Peace, our stubborn Isle: On brazen Memnon, Phœbus casts a Ray, And the tough Metal so salutes the Day.

The British Dame, fam’d for resistless Grace, Contends not now, but for the second Place; Our Love suspended, we neglect the Fair For whom we burn’d, to gaze adoring here: So sang the Syrens, with enchanting Sound, Enticing all to listen and be drown’d, ’Till Orpheus ravish’d in a nobler Strain, They ceas’d to sing, or singing charm’d in vain.

This blest Alliance, Peterborough, may Th’ indebted Nation bounteously repay; Thy Statues, for the Genius of our Land, With Palm adorn’d, on ev’ry Threshold stand.

Spoken by the Author, being then but Twelve Years of Age, to her Royal Highness the Dutchess of York, at Trinity-College in Cambridge

Spoken by the Author, being then but Twelve Years of Age, to her Royal Highness the Dutchess of York, at Trinity-College in Cambridge.

WHEN join'd in One, the Good, the Fair, the Great, Descend to view the Muses humble Seat, Tho' in mean Lines they their vast Joys declare,

Yet for Sincerity and Truth, they dare With your own Tassos mighty self compare.

Then, bright and merciful as Heav’n, receive From them such Praises, as to Heav’n they give, Their Praises for that gentle Influence, Which those auspicious Lights, your Eyes, dispense. Those radiant Eyes, whose irresistless Fame Strikes Envy dumb, and keeps Sedition tame: They can to gazing Multitudes give Law, Convert the Factious, and the Rebel awe: They conquer for the Duke; where-e'er you tread, Millions of Proselytes behind are led, Thro' Crowds of new-made Converts still you go, Pleas'd and triumphant at the glorious Show!

Happy that Prince, who has by you attain'd A greater Conquest than his Arms e'er gain'd: With all War’s Rage he may abroad o'ercome, But Love’s a gentler Victory at home. Securely here, he on that Face relies, Lays by his Arms, and conquers with your Eyes; And all the glorious Actions of his Life Thinks well rewarded, blest with such a Wife.

To the King, in the First Year of His Majesty's Reign

To the King, in the First Year of His Majesty’s Reign.

MAY all thy Years, like this, propitious be, And bring thee Crowns, and Peace, and Victory: Scarce hadst thou Time t' unsheath thy conqu'ring Blade, It did but glitter, and the Rebels fled: Thy Sword, the Safeguard of thy Brother’s Throne, Is now become the Bulwark of thy own.

Aw'd by the Fame, the trembling Nations send Thro’-out the World, to court so brave a Friend; The guilty Senates that refus'd thy Sway Repent their Crime, and hasten to obey; Tribute they raise, and Vows and Off'rings bring, Confess their Phrenzy, and confirm their King.

Who with their Venom over-spread thy Soil, Those Scorpions of the State, present their Oyl. So the World's Saviour, like a Mortal drest, Altho' by daily Miracles confest, Accus'd of Evil Doctrine by the Jews, Their righful Lord they impiously refuse; But when they saw such Terror in the Skies, The Temple rent, their King in Glory rise, Dread and Amazement seiz'd the trembling Crowd, Who, conscious of their Crime, adoring bow’d.

To the King

To the King.

THO' train'd in Arms, and learn'd in Martial Arts, Thou chusest not to conquer Men, but Hearts. Expecting Nations for thy Triumphs wait, But thou prefer'st the Name of Just to Great. So Jove suspends his subject World to doom, Which, wou'd he please to thunder, he’d consume.

O! cou'd the Ghosts of mighty Heroes dead Return to Earth, and quit th' Elysian Shade, Brutus to James wou'd trust the Peoples Cause; Thy Justice is a stronger Guard than Laws:

Marius and Sylla would resign to thee; Nor Cæsar, and great Pompey, Rivals be, Or Rivals only who shou’d best obey, And Cato give his Voice for Regal Sway.

To the King

To the King.

HEROES of old, by Rapine and by Spoil, In search of Fame, did all the World embroil. Thus sprang from Jove, and That from Titan came. With equal Valour, and the same Success, Dread King, might’st thou the Universe oppress. But Christian Laws constrain thy Martial Pride, Peace is thy Choice, and Piety thy Guide; By thy Example, Kings are taught to sway, Heroes to fight, and Saints may learn to pray.

The Grecian Leaders were but half Divine; Nestor in Council, Ulysses shine: But in the Day of Combat, all wou’d yield To the fierce Master of the sev’n-fold Shield. Their very Deities were grac’d no more, Mars had all the Courage, Jove the Thunder bore: But all Perfections meet in James alone, And Britains King is all the Gods in one.

Mr. Waller to the Author, on his foregoing Verses to the King

Mr. Waller to the Author, on his foregoing Verses to the King.

AN early Plant, which such a Blossom bears, And shows a Genius so beyond his Years, A Judgment that cou’d make so fair a Choice, So high a Subject to employ his Voice; Still as it grows, how sweetly will he sing The growing Greatness of our matchless King!

To Mr. Waller

To Mr. Waller.

WHEN into Libya the young Grecian came, To talk with Hammon, and consult for Fame; When from the Sacred Tripod where he stood, The Priest inspir’d saluted him a God; Scarce such a Joy that haughty Victor knew, So own’d be Heav’n, as I thus prais’d by you. Whoe’er their Names can in thy Numbers show, Have more than Empire, and immortal grow; Ages to come shall scorn the Powers of old, When in thy Verse of greater Gods they’re told; Our beauteous Queen, and martial Monarch’s Name, For Jove and June shall be plac’d by Fame;

Thy Charles for Neptune shall the Seas command, And Sacharissa shall for Venus stand; Greece shall no longer boast, nor haughty Rome, But think from Britain all the Gods did come.

To the Immortal Memory of Mr. Waller, upon his Death

To the Immortal Memory of Mr. Waller, upon his Death.

ALIKE partaking of Celestial Fire, Poets and Heroes to Renown aspire, Till crown’d with Honour, and immortal Name,

By Wit, or Valour, led to equal Fame, They mingle with the Gods, that breath’d the noble Flame: Homer shall last, like Alexander, long, As much recorded, and as often sung.

A Tree of Life is Sacred Poetry; Sweet is the Fruit, and tempting to the Eye. Many there are who nibble without Leave; But none, who are not born to Taste, survive. Waller shall never dye, of Life secure, As long as Fame or aged Time endure: Waller, the Muse’s Darling, free to taste Of all their Stores, the Master of the Feast;

Not like old Adam stinted in his Choice, But Lord of all the spacious Paradise.

Those Foes to Virtue, Fortune, and Mankind, Favouring his Fame, once to do Justice join’d; No carping Critick interrupts his Praise, No Rival strives, but for a second Place: No Want constrain’d, the Writer’s usual Fate, A Poet, with a plentiful Estate; The first of Mortals, who before the Tomb Struck that pernicious Monster, Envy, dumb; Malice and Pride, those Savages, disarm’d; Not Orpheus with such pow’rful Magick charm’d. Scarce in the Grave can we allow him more Than, Living, we agreed to give before.

His noble Muse employ’d her gen’rous Rage

In crowning Virtue, scorning to engage The Vice and Follies of an impious Age: No Satyr lurks within this Hallow’d Ground,

But Nymphs and Heroin’s, Kings and Gods abound, Glory, and Arms, and Loves, is all the Sound: His Eden with no Serpent is defil’d, But all is gay, delicious all, and mild.

Mistaken Men his Muse of Flatt’ry blame, Adorning twice an impious Tyrant’s Name:

We raise our own, by giving Fame to Foes; The Valour that he prais'd he did oppose.

Nor were his Thoughts to Poetry confin'd, The State and Business shar'd his ample Mind; As all the Fair were Captives to his Wit, So Senates to his Counsels would submit: His Voice so soft, his Eloquence so strong, Like Catos was his Speech, like Ovids was his Song.

Our British Kings are rais'd above the Herse, Immortal made in his immortal Verse; No more are Mars and Jove Poetick Themes, But the Cælestial Charles and just James: Juno and Pallas, all the shining Race Of Heav'nly Beauties, to the Queen give Place; Clear like her Brow, and graceful was his Song, Great like her Mind, and like her Virtue strong.

Parent of Gods, who do'st to Gods remove, Where art thou plac'd, and which thy Seat above? Waller the God of Verse we will proclaim, Not Phœbus now, but Waller be his Name; Of joyful Bards the sweet Seraphick Quire Acknowledge thee, their Oracle and Sire; The Spheres do homage, and the Muses sing Waller the God of Verse, who was the King.

On the Queen’s Picture, given in Exchange for another

On the Queen’s Picture, given in Exchange for another.

OF the rude Indians, artless and untaught, So brightest Jewels are with Trifles bought: Deceiv’d Ixions Fate revers’d is show’d, Imperial Juno given for a Cloud.

On the Queen

On the Queen.

WHEN we reflect upon our charming Queen, Her Wit, her Beauty, her Imperial Mein; Majestick Juno in her Air we find, The Form of Venus, with Minervas Mind: Who was so grac’d, she, she was fit alone With Royal James to fill the British Throne.

Love

LOVE.

TO Love, is to be doom’d, in Life, to feel What after Death the Tortur’d meet in Hell. The Vulture dipping in Prometheus Side His bloody Beak, with his torn Liver dy’d, Is Love: The Stone that labours up the Hill, Mocking the Lab’rer’s Toil, returning still, Is Love: Those Streams where Tantalus is curst To sit, and never drink, with endless Thirst, Those loaden Boughs that with their Burthen bend To court his Taste, and yet escape his Hand, All this is Love, that to dissembled Joys Invites vain Men, with real Griefs destroys.

The Progress of Beauty

The Progress of Beauty.

The God of Day, descending from above, Mixt with the Sea, and got the Queen of Love: Beauty, that fires the World, ’twas fit should rise From him alone, who lights the Stars and Skies.

In Cyprus long, by Men and Gods obey’d, The Lover’s Toil she gratefully repaid;

Promiscuous Blessings to her Slaves assign’d, And show’d the World that Beauty shou’d be kind. Learn by this Pattern, all ye Fair, to charm; Bright be your Beams, but without scorching warm.

Hellen was next, from Greece to Phrygia brought, With much Expence of Blood and Empire sought; Beauty and Love the noblest Cause afford That can try Valour, or employ the Sword: Not Men alone, incited by her Charms, But Heav’n’s concern’d, and all the Gods take Arms. The happy Trojan, gloriously possest, Enjoys, and lets despairing Fools contest: “Secure,” said he, “of that for which they fight, Their be the Toil, and mine be the Delight; Your dull Reflections, Moralists, forbear, His Title’s best, who best can please the Fair." Ten Years, a noble Space! he kept his Hold;

Nor lost, ’till Beauty was decay’d and old, And Love by long Possession ’pall’d and cold.

And now the Gods, in pity to the Cares, The fierce Desires, Divisions, and Despairs Of tortur’d Men, while Beauty was confin’d, Resolv’d to multiply the charming Kind. Greece was the Land where this bright Race begun, And saw a thousand Rivals to the Sun;

Hence follow’d Arts, each studying with Care, some new Production to delight the Fair. To bright Egeria, Socrates retir’d; His Wisdom grew; but as love inspir’d: Those Rocks and Oaks that such Emotions felt, Were cruel Maids, whom Orpheus taught to melt: Musick and Songs, and ev’ry way to move The ravisht Heart, were Seeds and Plants of Love.

The Gods entic’d by so divine a Birth, Descend from Heav’n, to this New-Heav’n on Earth. Thy Wit, o Mercury, ’s no Defence from Love; Nor, Mars, thy Target; nor thy Thunder, Jove. The mad Immortals, in a thousand Shapes

Range the wide Globe; some yield, some suffer Rapes; Invaded, or deceiv’d, not one escapes: The Wife, tho’a bright Goddess, thus gives place To mortal Concubines of fresh Embrace: By such Examples, were we taught to see The Life and Soul of Love is sweet Variety.

In those first Times, ere charming Womankind Reform’d their Pleasures, polishing the Mind, Rude were their Revels, and obscene their Joys, The Broils of Drunkards, and the Lust of Boys: Phœbus laments for Hyacinthus dead; And Juno jealous, storms at Ganymed.

Return, my Muse, and close that odious Scene, Nor stain thy Verse with Images unclean: Of Beauty sing, her shining Progress view,

From Clime to Clime the dazling Light pursue, Tell how the Goddess spread, and how in Empire grew. Let others govern or defend the State, Plead at the Bar, or manage a Debate; In lofty Arts and Sciences excell, Or in proud Domes employ their boasted Skill, To Marble and to Brass such Features give, The Metal and the Stone may seem to live; Describe the Stars, and Planetary Way, And trace the Footsteps of Eternal Day: Be this, my Muse, thy Pleasure and thy Care, A Slave to Beauty, to record the Fair; Still wand’ring in Love’s sweet delicious Maze, To sing the Triumphs of a heav’nly Face, Of lovely Dames, who with a Smile or Frown Subdue the Proud, the suppliant Lover crown; From Venus down to Mira bring thy Song, To thee alone such tender Tasks belong.

From Greece to Africk Beauty takes her Flight, And ripens with her near Approach to Light: Frown not, ye Fair, to hear of swarthy Dames With radiant Eyes, that take unerring Aims;

Beauty by no Complexion is defin'd, Is of all Colours, and to none confin'd. Jewels that shine, in Gold or Silver set, As sparkling and as precious are in Jet. Here Cleopatra, with a liberal Heart, Bounteous of Love, improv'd the Joy with Art; The first, who gave recruited Slaves to know That the rich Pearl was of more Use than Show; Who with high Meats, or a luxurious Draught, Kept Love for ever flowing and full fraught. Julius and Anthony, those lords of All, Low at her Feet present the conquer'd Ball. Those dreadful Eagles that had fac'd the Sun From Pole to Pole, at length fall dazled down. Her dying Truth some generous Tears would cost, But that her Fate inspir'd the World well lost, With secret Pride the Ravish'd Muses view The Image of that Death, which Dryden drew.

Pleas'd in such happy Climates, warm and bright, Love for some Ages revell'd with Delight: The Martial Moors, in Gallantry refin'd, Invent new Arts to make their Charmers kind; See! in the Lifts, by golden Barriers bound, In warlike Ranks they wait the Trumpet's Sound,

Some Love-Device is wrought on ev'ry Sword, And ev'ry Ribban bears some Mystick Word; As when we see the winged Winds engage, Mounted on Coursers foaming Flame and Rage, Rustling from ev'ry Quarter of the Sky, North, East, and West, in airy Swiftness vy, One Cloud repuls'd, new Combatants prepare To meet as fierce, and form a thund'ring War: So when the Trumpet sounding gives the Sign, The justling Chiefs in rude Rencounter join; So meet, and so renew the dextrous Fight, Each fair Beholder trembling for her Knight; Their clattering Arms with the fierce shock resound, Helmets and broken Lances spread the Ground. Still as one falls, another rushes in, And all must be o'ercome, or none can win; The Victor, from the glittering Dame, whose Eyes Aided hi conqu'ring Arm, receives a precious Prize.

Thus flourish'd Love, and Beauty reign'd in State, 'Till the proud Spaniard gave these Glories Date; Past is the Gallantry, the Fame remains, Transmitted safe in Drydens lofty Scenes; Granada lost, beheld her Pomps restor'd, And Almahide again by Kings ador'd.

Love driven thence, to colder Britain flies, And with bright Eyes the distant Sun supplies; Romances, that relate the dreadful Fights, The Loves and Prowess of adventrous Knights, To animate their Rage, a Kiss, record From Britains fairest Nymph, was the Reward. Thus antient to Love's Empire was the Claim Of British Beauty, and so wide the Fame, Which like our Flag upon the Seas gives Law, By Right avow'd, and keeps the World in awe.

Our gallant King, of whom long Annals prove The mighty Deeds, stand as renown'd for Love; A Monarch's Right o'er Beauty they may claim, Lords of that Ocean from whence Beauty came. Thy Rosamond, Great Henry, on the Stage By a late Muse presented in our Age, With aking Hearts and flowing Eyes we view, While that dissembled Death presents the true: In Bracegirdle the Persons so agree, That all seems real the Spectators see.

Of Scots, and Gauls defeated, and their Kings Thy Captives, Edward, Fame for ever sings; Like thy high Deeds thy noble Loves are prais'd, Who hast to Love the noblest Trophy rais'd: Thy Statues, Venus, tho' by Phidias Hand Design'd immortal, yet no longer stand;

The Magick of thy shining Zone is past, But Salisburys Garter shall for ever last, Which thro’ the World by living Monarchs worn, Adds Grace to Scepters, and does Crowns adorn.

If such their Fame, who gave these Rites divine To sacred Love, O what Dishonour’s thine, Forgetful Queen, who sever’d that bright Head Which charm’d two mighty Monarchs to her Bed! Hadst thou been born a Man, thou hadst not err’d, Thy Fame had liv’d, and Beauty been preferr’d. But ah! what mighty Magick can asswage A Woman’s Envy, and a Bigot’s Rage!

Love tir’d at length, Love that delights to smile, Flying from Scenes of Horror, quits our Isle; with Charles the Cupids and the Graces gone, In Exile live; for Love and he were One. With Charles he wanders, and for Charles he mourns; But oh how fierce the Joy when Charles returns! As eager Flames, with Opposition pent, Break out impetuous when they find a Vent; As a fierce Torrent hinder’d in his Race, Forcing his Way, rowls with redoubled Pace; From the loud Palace to the silent Grove, All by the King’s Example live, and love; The Muses with Diviner Voices sing, And all rejoice to please the Godlike King.

Then Waller in immortal Verse proclaims The shining Court, and all the glitt'ring Dames. Thy Beauty, Sidney, like Achilles Sword, Resistless stands, upon as sure Record; The foremost Hero, and the brightest Dame, Both sung alike, shall have their Fate the same.

And now, my Muse, a nobler Song prepare, And sing it loud, that Heav'n and Earth may hear. Behold from Italy a wand'ring Ray Of moving Light illuminates the Day, Northward she bends, majestically bright, And here she fixed her Imperial Light. Be bold, be bold, my Muse, nor fear to raise Thy Voice to her, who was thy earliest Praise: What, tho' the sullen Fates refuse to shine, Or frown severe, on thy audacious Line; Keep thy bright Theme within thy steady Sight,

The Clouds shall fly before the dazling Light, And everlasting Day direct thy lofty Flight: Thou who hast never yet put on Disguise To flatter Folly, or descend to Vice, Let no vain Fear thy gen'rous Ardour tame, But stand erect, and sound as loud as Fame.

As when our Eye some Prospect would pursue, Descending from a Hill, looks round to view, Passes o’er Lawns and Meadows, till it gains Some beauteous Spot, and fixing there remains: With equal Rapture my transported Muse Flies other Objects, this bright Theme to chuse. Queen of our Hearts, and Charmer of our Sight, A Monarch’s Pride, his Glory, and Delight, Princess ador’d and lov’d, if Verse can give A deathless Name, thine shall for ever live, Invok’d where-e’er the British Lion roars, Extended as the Seas that gird the British Shoars. The wise Immortals in their Seats above, To crown their Labours, still apointed Love; Phœbus enjoy’d the Goddess of the Sea, Alcides had Omphalè, James has Thee. O happy James! Content thy mighty Mind, Grudge not the World, for still thy Queen is kind; To lye but at whose Feet more Glory brings, Than ’tis to tread on Scepters and on Kings: Secure of Empire in that beauteous Breast, Who wou’d not give their Crowns to be so blest? Was Hellen half so fair, so form’d for Joy, Well chose the Trojan, and well burnt was Troy. But ah! what strange Vicissitudes of Fate, What Chance attends on ev’ry worldly State! As when the Skies were sackt, the conquer’d Gods, Compell’d from Heav’n, forsook their blest Abodes,

Wand'ring in Woods they fled from Den to Den, Or leading Flocks, turn'd Hirelings to Men: Or, as the stately Pine erecting high Her beauteous Branches, shooting to the Sky; If strucken by the Thunderbolt of Jove, Down falls at once the Pride of all the Grove, Level with lowest Earth lyes the tall Head, That rear'd aloft, as to the Clouds were spread; So —— But cease, my Muse, thy Colours are too faint, Hide with a Veil those Griefs that none can paint: This Sun is set——But see in bright Array What Hosts of Heav'nly Light recruit the Day! Love in a shining Galaxy appears Triumphant still, and Grafton leads the Stars: Ten thousand Loves ten thousand sev'ral Ways Invade the Lookers-on, who die to gaze, Knowing our Dooms, as to the Syrens Voice, So sweet's th' Enchantment, that our Fate's our Choice. Who most resembles her, let next be nam'd, Villers, for Wisdom as for Beauty fam'd: Of a high Race that conqu'ring Beauty brings To charm the World, and Subjects make of Kings. With what Delight my Muse to Sandwich flies, Whose Wit is piercing as her sparkling Eyes; Ah! how she mounts, and spreads her airy Wings, And tunes her Voice, when she of Ormond sings,

Of radiant Ormond, only fit to be The Successor of beauteous Ossory. Richmonds a Title that but nam'd implies Majestick Graces and victorious Eyes; Holmes and St. Albans rich in Charms appear; Hyde Venus is, the Graces are Kildare: By Essex, and fair Rutenberg, we find That Beauty to no Climate is confin'd. Rupert, of Royal Blood, with modest Grace Blushes to hear the Triumphs of her Face. Careless, but yet secure of Conquest still, Lu'son unaiming, never fails to kill, Guiltless of Pride, to captivate, or shine, Bright without Art, she wounds without Design. But Wyndham like a Tyrant throws the Dart, And takes a cruel Pleasure in the Smart; Proud of the Ravage that her Beauties make, Delights in Wounds, and kills for killing-sake; Asserting the Dominion of her Eyes, As Heroes fight, for Glory, not for Prize. The skilful Muse's earliest Care has been The Praise of never-fading Mazarin; The Poet, and his Theme, in spight of Time, For ever young, enjoy an endless Prime.

With Charms so numerous Myra can surprise, The Lover knows not by which Dart he dies; So thick the Volly, and the Wound so sure, No Flight can save, no Remedy can cure. Yet dawning in her Infancy of Light, O see another Brudenel heav'nly bright, Born to fulfill the Glories of her Line, And fix Love's Empire in that Race divine. Fain wou'd my Muse to Stowel bend her Sight,

But turns astonish'd from the dazling Light, Nor dares attempt to climb the steepy Flight.

O Kneller! like thy Pictures were my Song, Clear like thy Paint, and like thy Pencil strong, These matchless Beauties should recorded be Immortal in my Verse, as in thy Gallery.

On my Lady Hyde, having the Small-Pox

On my Lady Hyde, having the Small-Pox.

SCARCE cou'd the general Joy for Mohun appear, But new attempts show other Dangers near: Beauty's attack'd in her imperial Fort, Where all her Loves and Graces kept their Court, In her chief Residence besieg'd at last, Laments to see her fairest Fields laid waste.

On things immortal all Attempts are vain, Tyrant Disease, 'tis loss of Time and Pain; Glut thy wild Rage, and load thee with rich Prize, Torn from her Cheeks, her fragrant Lips and Eyes, As much Vermillion, as much Lustre take, As might a Hellen or a Venus make; Like Thetis, she shall frustrate thy vain Rape, And in variety of Charms escape. The twinkling Stars drop numberless each Night, Yet shines the radiant Firmament as bright; So from the Ocean should we Rivers drain, Still wou'd enough to drown the World remain.

To Myra

To.

WArn'd and made wise by others Flame, I fled from whence such Mischiefs came, Shunning the Sex that kills at Sight, I sought my Safety in my Flight.

But ah! in vain from Fate we fly! For, first or last, as all must die; So 'tis as much decreed above, That, first or last, we all must love.

My Heart, that stood so long the Shock Of Winds and Waves, like some firm Rock, By one bright Spark from Myra thrown, Is into Flame, like Powder, blown.

To Myra. Song

To ..

FOolish Love, begone, said I, Vain are thy Attempts on me, Thy soft Allurements I defie; Women, those fair Dissemblers, fly; My Heart is not made for thee.

Love heard, and strait prepar'd a Dart: Myra, revenge my Cause, said he. Too sure 'twas shot; I feel the Smart, It rends my Brain, and tears my Heart: O Love! my Conqueror, pity me.

To Myra. The Surrender

To Myra. The Surrender.

NOW fly, Discretion, to my Aid, See haughty Myra, fair and bright, In all the Pomp of Love array'd, Ah now I tremble at her Sight! She comes! She comes! Before her all Mankind does prostrate fall. Love, a Destroyers fierce and young, Adventrous, terrible, and strong, Cruel and rash, delighting still to vex, Sparing nor Age nor Sex, Commands in chief: Well fortify'd he lies, And from her Lips, her Cheeks, her Eyes, All Opposition he defies. Reason, Love's old inveterate Foe, Scarce ever reconcil'd 'til now, Reason assists her too. A wise Commander he, for Council fit, But nice and coy, nor has been seen to sit

In modern Synods, nor appear'd of late In Courts, or Camps, or in Affairs of State; Reason proclaims 'em all his Foes, Who such resistless Charms oppose. My very Bosom Er ends make War Within my Breast, and in her Int'rests are; Esteem and judgment with strong Fancy join, To call the fair Invader in; My darling Favourite, Inclination too, All, all conspiring with the Foe! Ah! whither shall I fly to hide My Weakness from the Conqueror's Pride? Now, now, Discretion be my Guide! But see, this mighty Archimedes too Surrenders now; Presuming longer to resist, His very Name Discretion must disclaim, Folly and Madness only wou'd persist.

To Myra. Song

To . .

I'LL tell her the next time, said I: In vain! in vain! for when I try, Upon my timorous Tongue the trembling Accents die. Alas! a thousand thousand Fears Still over-awe when she appears, My Breath is spent in Sighs, my Eyes are drown'd in Tears.