But killing charms your lover's death contrive, ON A FAN OF THE AUTHOR'S DESIGN, In which was painted the Story of Cephalus and Procris, with the Motto, 'Aura veni.' 'COME, gentle air!' th' Æolian shepherd said, While Procris panted in the secret shade; 'Come, gentle air,' the fairer Delia cries, While at her feet her swain expiring lies. Lo, the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray, Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play! Iu Delia's hand this toy is fatal found, Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound; Both gifts destructive to the givers prove; Alike both lovers fall by those they love. Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives, At random wounds, nor knows the wound she gives; She views the story with attentive eyes, And pities Procris, while her lover dies. COWLEY. THE GARDEN. FAIN would my muse the flowery treasure sing, And humble glories of the youthful spring: Where opening roses breathing sweets diffuse, And soft carnations shower their balmy dews; Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white, Here orange trees with blooms and pendants shine, Still turns her beauties from th' invading beam, WE WEEPING. HILE Celia's tears make sorrow bright, These silver drops, like morning dew, So from one cloud soft showers we view, That heav'n, the threaten'd world to spare, E. OF ROCHESTER. ON SILENCE. ILENCE! coeval with eternity, SILEN Thou wert, ere nature's self began to be; 'Twas one vast nothing, all, and all slept fast in thee. Thine was the sway, ere heaven was form'd or earth, Ere fruitful thought conceiv'd creation's birth, Or midwife word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth. Then various elements against thee join'd, In one more various animal combin'd, And fram'd the clamorous race of busy humankind, The tongue mov'd gently first, and speech was low, Till wrangling science taught it noise and show, And wicked wit arose, thy most abusive foe, But rebel wit deserts thee oft in vain ; Lost in the maze of words he turns again, And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign. Afflicted sense thou kindly dost set free, And routed reason finds a safe retreat in thee. With thee in private modest dulness lies, And in thy bosom lurks in thought's disguise; Thou varnisher of fools, and cheat of all the wise! Yet thy indulgence is by both confess'd; Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast, And 'tis in thee at last that wisdom seeks for rest. Silence, the knave's repute, the whore's good name, The only honour of the wishing dame, The very want of tongue makes thee a kind of fame. But couldst thou seize some tongues that now are free, How church and state should be oblig'd to thee; At senate, and at bar, how welcome wouldst thou be! Yet speech ev'n there submissively withdraws, From rights of subjects, and the poor man's cause: Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy laws. Past services of friends, good deeds of foes, What favourites gain, and what the nation owes, Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose. The country wit, religion of the town, The courtier's learning, policy o' th' gown, Are best by thee express'd; and shine in thee alone. The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry, Lord's quibble, critic's jest, all end in thee, All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally. E. OF DORSET. ARTEMISIA. THOUGH Artemisia talks, by fits, Of councils, classics, fathers, wits; Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride, On her large squab you find her spread, That lies and stinks in state. She wears no colours (sign of grace) All white and black beside: Dauntless her look, her gesture proud, Her voice theatrically loud, And masculine her stride. So have I seen in black and white, A stately, worthless animal, That plies the tongue, and wags the tail, All flutter, pride, and talk. PHRYNE. PHRYNE has talents for mankind, Open she was, and unconfin'd, Like some free port of trade Merchants unloaded here their freight, And agents from each foreign state Here first their entry made. |