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"But If you fear that I, o'er-grown with Hair,
Without a fire desk the Winter Air,
Know I have mighty stores of Wood, and know
Perpetual Fires on my bright Hearth do glow.
My Soul, my Life it self Ihould burn for thee,
And this one-Eye, as dear as Life to me.
Why was not I with Fins, like Fislies, 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 Season of the Year.
But I'm resolv'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.
Come 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 sweet and pleasing Labour chuse, •>
To feed the Flock, and milk theburthen'dEwes, f
To press the Cheese, and the sharp %u»net to in- C
My Mother does unkindly use her Son,
By her neglect the Cyclop is undone j
For me she never labours to prevail,
Nor whispers in your Ear my Am'rous Tale.
No; tho' (lie knows I languish every day,
And sees my Body waste, and strength decay.'
But I more Ills than what I feel will feign,
And of my Head, and of my Feet complain;
That, in her Breast if any pity lye, .
She may be fad, and griev'd as well as I.
O Cyclops, Cyclops, where's thy Reason fled?
If your young Lambs with new pluckt boughs you f .id,
And watch'd your Flock, would you not seem more
M\iuhM it ntxt, pursue not that which flics, [wise i
Terhaps you may, since this proves so unkind,
Another fairer Galatea sind.
Me many Virgins, as I pass, invire
To waste with them in Love's soft Sports the Night,
And if I but incline my listning Eat,
New Joys, new Smiles in all their Looks appear.
Thus we, it seems, can be belov'd ; and we,
It seems, are somebody as well as (he.
Thus did the Cyclops fan his raging sire, And sooth'd with genrle Verse his sierce desire. Thus pass'd his hours with more delight and ease, Than if the Riches of the World were his.
To C • Æ L I jf.
By Mr. Duke.
Ft 1" swift, ye hours, ye fluggish minures fly,
Bring back my Love, or let her Lover dye.
Make haste, O Suu, and to my Eyes once more,
My Clit brighrer than thy self restore.
In spight of thee, 'ris Night when she's away, 7
Her Eyes alone can the glad Beams display, \
That makes my Sky look cleat, and guides my day. *
O when will lhe lift up her sacred Light!
And chase away the flying shades of Night!
With her how fast the flowing hours run on 1
But oh! how long they stay when she is gone?
SosiowlyTime when clogg'd with Grief does move;
So swift when born upon the Wings of Love!
Hardly three days, they rell me, yet are past,
Yet 'ris an Age since I beheld her last.
O my auspicious Star make haste to rise,
To charm our Hearts and bless our longing Eyes!
O how I long on thy dear Eyes to gaze,
And chear my own with their reflected-rays!
How my impatient, thirsty Soul does long,
To hear the charming Musick of thy Tongue!
Where pointed Wit with solid Judgment grows,
And in one easie stream 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 (he does neglect t' adorn the mind;
Beauty alone bears such resistless 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 most engaging Charms of either Sexj
And out of both that thus in one combine
Does something form not Humane but Divine,
What's her command, but that we all adore
The noblest work of her almighty power'. J
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 whensoe'er she does a Poet make,
She gives him Verse but for thy Beauty's fake.
Had I a fen that could at once impart
Soft Ovid's Nature and high Virgil's Art,
Then the immortal Sachariffa's Name
Should be but second in the list of Fame;
Each Grove, each Shade should with thy praise be fill'd,
And the fam'd Pen/bursi to om Windsor yield.
Spoken to the Q.UEEN ifl Trinity-College New-Court in Cambridge.
Writren by Mr. Duke.
THOU equal Partuer of the Royal Bed,
That mak'st a Crown sit soft on Charles's Head;
In whom with Grearness, Virtue takes her Seat:
Meekness with Powet, and Piety with Stare;
Whose Goodness might even Factions Crouds re-
Win the Sedirious, and the Savage tame; [claim,
Tyrants themselves to genrlest Mercy bring,
And only useless is on such a King;
See, mighty Princess, fee how every Breast
With Joy and Wonder is at once possest:
Such was the Joy, which the sirst Mortals knew,
When Gods descended to the Peoples view,
Such devout wonder did it then afford,
To fee those Pow'rs they had unseen ador'd:
But they were Feign'd: nor-if they had been true,
Could shed more Blessings on the Earth than you:
Our Courts enlarg'd, their former Bounds disdain,
To make Receprion for so great a Train;
Here may your sacred Breast rejoice to see,
Your own Age strive with Ancient Piety.
Soon now, since blest by your auspicious Eyes,
To full perfection stall our Fabrick rife.
Less powerful Charms than yours of old could call
The willing Stones into the Thcbm Wall,
And ours which now its rife to you shall owe,
More fam'd than that by your great Name shall grow.
F L O R I A N A,
A Pastoral upon the Death of her Grace the Dutchessof Southampton.
By Mr. Duke.
D •A M O Ni
TtE L L me my Thyrsis, rell thy Daman, why
Do's my lov'd Swain in this fad posture lye!
What mean these streams still falling from thine eyes,
Fast as those sighs from thy swoln Bosom rife i
Has the sierce Wolf broke thro' the fenced ground i
Have thy Lambs stray'd? or has Dtrinda frown'd?
Thyrsir. The Wolf? Ah! let him come, for now he
Have my Lambs stray'd! let 'em for ever stray: [may:
Darinda frown'd! No, She is ever mild;
Nay, I remember but just now she imil'd.•
Alas! sue smil'd 3 for to the lovely Maid
None had the fatal Tidings yet convey'd.
Tell me then Shepherd, rell me, canst thou sind
As long as thou art true, and she is kind,
A Grief so great, as may prevail above
Even Damn's friendship, or Dorinda's Love?
Daman. Sure there is none. Thyrsi, But, Damon,
there may be:
What if the charming Flariana die?
Daman. Far be the Omen! Thyrs. But suppose it true.
Daman. Then should I grieve, my Thyrsis, more
She is—Thyrs. Alas ! she was, but is no more;
Now, Daman, now, let thy swoln Eyes run o'er:
Here to this Turf by thy fad Thyrsis grow,
And when my streams of Grief too shallow flow,
Let in thy Tide to raise the Torrent high,
Till .both a Deluge make, and in it die,