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THOUGH frost and snow lock'd from mine eyes
That beauty which without door lies,
The gardens, orchards, walks, that so
I might not all thy pleasures know;
Yet, Saxham, thou, within thy gate,
Art of thyself so delicate,
So full of native sweets, that bless
Thy roof with inward happiness;
As neither from, nor to thy store,
Winter takes aught, or spring adds more.
The cold and frozen air had starv'd
Much poor, if not by thee preserv'd;
Whose prayers have made thy table blest
With plenty, far above the rest.
The season hardly did afford
Coarse cates unto thy neighbour's board,
Yet thou hadst dainties, as the sky
Had only been thy volary ';

Or else the birds, fearing the snow
Might to another deluge grow,
The pheasant, partridge, and the lark,
Flew to thy house, as to the ark.
The willing ox of himself came
Home to the slaughter, with the lamb,
And every beast did thither bring
Himself to be an offering.

The scaly herd more pleasure took,
Bath'd in thy dish, than in the brook.
Water, earth, air, did all conspire
To pay their tributes to thy fire;

A great bird-cage, in which the birds have room to fly up and down.

Whose cherishing flames themselves divide Through every room, where they deride The night, and cold abroad; whilst they, Like suns within, keep endless day. Those cheerful beams send forth their light, To all that wander in the night, And seem to beckon from aloof The weary pilgrim to thy roof; Where, if refresh'd, he will away, He 's fairly welcome; or, if stay, Far more, which he shall hearty find, Both from the master and the hind. The stranger's welcome each man there Stamp'd on his cheerful brow doth wear; Nor doth this welcome, or his cheer, Grow less, 'cause he stays longer here. There's none observes, much less repines, How often this man sups or dines. Thou hast no porter at the door T' examine or keep back the poor; Nor locks nor bolts; thy gates have been Made only to let strangers in; Untaught to shut, they do not fear To stand wide open all the year; Careless who enters, for they know Thou never didst deserve a foe; And as for thieves, thy bounty 's such, They cannot steal, thou giv'st so much.

UPON A RIBBAND'.
THIS silken wreath, which circles in mine arm,
Is but an emblem of that mystic charm,
Wherewith the magic of your beauties binds
My captive soul, and round about it winds
Fetters of lasting love: this hath entwin'd
My flesh alone, that hath impal'd my mind:
Time may wear out these soft, weak bands; but those
Strong chains of brass fate shall not discompose.
This only relic may preserve my wrist,

But my whole frame doth by that pow'r subsist:
To that my prayers and sacrifice, to this
I only pay a superstitious kiss:
This but the idol, that 's the deity;
Religion there is due, here cer'mony.
That I receive by faith, this but in trust;
Here I may tender duty, there I must:
This order as a layman I may bear,
But I become Love's priest when that I wear.
This moves like air, that as the centre stands;
That knot your virtue ty'd, this but your hands:
That nature fram'd, but this was made by art;
This makes my arm your prisoner, that my heart.

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UPON THE SICKNESS OF E. S...A NEW YEAR'S SACRIFICE.

Instead of sacrifice, each breast

Is like a flaming altar drest

With zealous fires; which, from pure hearts, Love mix'd with loyalty imparts.

Incense nor gold have we, yet bring

As rich and sweet an offering;
And such as doth both these express,
Which is, our humble thankfulness:
By which is paid the all we owe
To gods above, or men below.

The slaughter'd beast, whose flesh should feed
The hungry flames, we, for pure need,
Dress for your supper; and the gore,
Which should be dash'd on every door,
We change into the lusty blood
Of youthful vines, of which a flood
Shall sprightly run through all your veins,
First to your health, then your fair trains.
We shall want nothing but good fare
To show your welcome, and our care;
Such rarities that come from far,
From poor men's houses banish'd are;
Yet we 'll express, in homely cheer,
How glad we are to see you here.
We'll have whate'er the season yields,
"Out of the neighbouring woods and fields;
For all the dainties of your board
Will only be what those afford;
And, having supp'd, we may perchance
Present you with a country dance.

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Thus much your servants, that bear sway
Here in your absence, bade me say;
And beg, besides, you 'd hither bring
Only the mercy of a king,

And not the greatness; since they have
A thousand faults must pardon crave;
But nothing that is fit to wait
Upon the glory of your state.
Yet your gracious favour will,
They hope, as heretofore, shine still
On their endeavours; for they swore,
Should Jove descend, they could no more.

UPON THE SICKNESS OF E. S.

MUST she then languish, and we sorrow thus, And no kind god help her, nor pity us? Is justice fled from Heaven? can that permit A foul deformed ravisher to sit Upon her virgin cheek, and pull from thence The rose-buds in their maiden excellence? To spread cold paleness on her lips, and chase The frighted rubies from their native place? To lick up with his searching flames a flood Of dissolv'd coral, flowing in her blood; And with the damps of his infectious breath, Print on her brow moist characters of death? Must the clear light, 'gainst course of nature, cease In her fair eyes, and yet the flames increase? Must fevers shake this goodly tree, and all That ripen'd fruit from the fair branches fall, Which princes have desired to taste? Must she Who hath preserv'd her spotless chastity From all solicitation, now at last By agues and diseases be embrac'd? Forbid it, holy Dian! else who shall Pay vows, or let one grain of incense fall

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On thy neglected altars, if thou bless No better this thy zealous votaress? Haste then, O maiden goddess, to her aid; Let on thy quiver her pale cheek be laid, And rock her fainting body in thine arms; Then let the god of music with still charms Her restless eyes in peaceful slumbers close, And with soft strains sweeten her calm repose. Cupid, descend, and, whilst Apollo sings, Fanning the cool air with thy panting wings, Ever supply her with refreshing wind. Let thy fair mother with her tresses bind Her labouring temples, with whose balmy sweat She shall perfume her hairy coronet, Whose precious drops shall, upon every fold, Hang like rich pearls about a wreath of gold: Her looser locks, as they unbraided lie, Shall spread themselves into a canopy, Under whose shadow let her rest secure From chilling cold, or burning calenture; Unless she freeze with ice of chaste desires, Only holy Hymen kindle nuptial fires.

And when at last Death comes to pierce her heart, Convey into his hand thy golden dart.

NEW YEAR'S SACRIFICE.

TO LUCINDA.

THOSE that can give, open their hands this day;
'Those that cannot, yet hold them up to pray;
That health may crown the seasons of this year,
And mirth dance round the circle; that no tear
(Unless of joy) may with its briny dew
Discolour on your cheek the rosy hue;
That no access of years presume t' abate
Your beauty's ever flourishing estate:
Such cheap and vulgar wishes I could lay,
As trivial offerings at your feet this day;
But that it were apostacy in me
To send a prayer to any deity
But your divine self, who have power to give
Those blessings unto others, such as live
Like me, by the sole influence of your eyes,
Whose fair aspects govern our destinies.

Such incense, vows, and holy rites, as were
To the involved serpent' of the year
Paid by Egyptian priests, lay I before
Lucinda's sacred shrine; whilst I adore
Her beauteous eyes, and her pure altars dress
With gums and spice of humble thankfulness.

So may my goddess from her Heaven inspire
My frozen bosom with a Delphic fire;
And then the world shall, by that glorious flame,
Behold the blaze of thy immortal name!

1 The Egyptians, in their hieroglyphics, represented the year by a serpent rolled in a circular form, biting his tail, which they afterwards worshipped; to which the poet here alludes. This was the famous serpent which Claudian describes :

Perpetuumque; virens squamis, caudamque; reducto

Ore vorans, tacito religens exordia morsu.

SONG.

TO ONE WHO, WHEN I PRAISED MY MISTRESS'S BEAUTY, SAID I WAS BLIND.

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I BURN, and cruel you, in vain,
Hope to quench me with disdain;
If from your eyes those sparkles came
That have kindled all this flame,

What boots it me, though now you shrowd
Those fierce comets in a cloud,
Since all the flames that I have felt,
Could your snow yet never melt?

Nor can your snow (though you should take
Alps into your bosom) slake

The heat of my enamour'd heart;
But with wonder learn love's art.

No seas of ice can cool desire;

Equal flames must quench love's fire:
Then think not that my heat can die,
Till you burn as well as I.

UPON THE KING'S SICKNESS.
SICKNESS, the minister of Death, doth lay
So strong a siege against our brittle clay,
As, whilst it doth our weak forts singly win,
It hopes at length to take all mankind in.
First, it begins upon the womb to wait,
And doth the unborn child there uncreate;
Then rocks the cradle where the infant lies,
Where, ere it fully be alive, it dies.
It never leaves fond youth, until it have
Found or an early, or a later grave.

By thousand subtle slights from heedless man
It cuts the short allowance of a span;
And where both sober life and art combine
To keep it out, age makes them both resign.
Thus, by degrees, it only gain'd of late
The weak, the aged, or intemperate;
But now the tyrant hath found out a way
By which the sober, strong, and young, decay;
Ent'ring his royal limbs, that is our head,
Through us, his mystic limbs, the pain is spread.
That man that doth not feel his part, hath none
In any part of his dominion;

If he hold land, that earth is forfeited,
And he unfit on any ground to tread.

This grief is felt at court, where it doth move
Through every joint, like the true soul of love.
All those fair stars that do attend on him,
Whence they derive their light, wax pale and dim:
That ruddy morning-beam of majesty,
Which should the Sun's eclipsed light supply,
Is overcast with mists, and in the lieu
Of cheerful rays, sends us down drops of dew.
That curious form made of an earth refin'd,
At whose blest birth the gentle planets shin'd
With fair aspects, and sent a glorious flame
To animate so beautiful a frame;

That darling of the gods and men doth wear
A cloud on 's brow, and in his eye a tear:
And all the rest (save when his dread command
Doth bid them move) like lifeless statues stand.
So full of grief, so generally worn,

Shows a good king is sick, and good men mourn.

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THE WILLING PRISONER TO HIS MISTRESS.

LET fools great Cupid's yoke disdain,

Loving their own wild freedom better; Whilst proud of my triumphant chain, I sit and court my beauteous fetter.

Her murdering glances, snaring hairs,
And her bewitching smiles so please me,
As he brings ruin, that repairs

The sweet afflictions that disease me.

Hide not those panting balls of snow
With envious veils from my beholding;
Unlock those lips, their pearly row

In a sweet smile of love unfolding.

And let those eyes, whose motion wheels
The restless fate of every lover,
Survey the pains my sick heart feels,
And wounds themselves have made, discover.

A FLY

THAT FLEW INTO MY MISTRESS'S EYE.

WHEN this fly liv'd, she us'd to play
In the sunshine all the day;
Till coming near my Celia's sight,
She found a new and unknown light,
So full of glory, as it made

The noon-day Sun a gloomy shade;
Then this amorous fly became
My rival, and did court my flame.
She did from hand to bosom skip,

And from her breath, her cheek, and lip,
Suck'd all the incense and the spice,
And grew a bird of paradise:

At last into her eye she flew,

There scorch'd in flames and drown'd in dew,
Like Phaeton from the Sun's sphere,
She fell, and with her dropp'd a tear;

Of which a pearl was straight compos'd,
Wherein her ashes lie enclos'd.

Thus she receiv'd from Celia's eye,
Funeral flame, tomb obsequy.

SONG.

CELIA SINGING.

HARK how my Celia, with the choice
Music of her hand and voice

Stills the loud wind; and makes the wild
Incensed boar and panther mild!

1 Cupid.

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SEEK not to know my love, for she
Hath vow'd her constant faith to me;
Her mild aspects are mine, and thou
Shalt only find a stormy brow:
For, if her beauty stir desire

In me, her kisses quench the fire;

Or, I can to Love's fountain go,

Or dwell upon her ills of snow:

But when thou burn'st, she shall not spare

One gentle breath to cool the air;

Thou shalt not climb those alps, nor spy
Where the sweet springs of Venus lie.
Search hidden nature, and there find
A treasure to enrich thy mind;
Discover arts not yet reveal'd,
But let my mistress live conceal'd;
Though men by knowledge wiser grow,
Yet here 'tis wisdom not to know.

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HENCE, vain intruder! hast away,
Wash not with unhallowed brine
The footsteps of my Celia's shrine;
Nor on her purer altars lay
Thy empty words, accents that may
Some looser dame to love incline :
She must have offerings more divine;
Such pearly drops, as youthful May
Scatters before the rising day;

Such smooth soft language, as each line
Might stroake' an angry god, or stay
Jove's thunder, make the hearers pine
With envy do this, thou shalt be
Servant to her, rival with me.

1 An ancient phrase for pacify.

BOLDNESS IN LOVE.

MARK how the bashful morn in vain
Courts the amorous marigold
With sighing blasts and weeping rain;
Yet she refuses to unfold:
But when the planet of the day
Approacheth with his powerful ray,
Then she spreads, then she receives
His warmer beams into her virgin leaves.
So shalt thou thrive in love, fond boy;
If thy tears and sighs discover
Thy grief, thou never shalt enjoy

The just reward of a bold lover:
But when with moving accents thou
Shalt constant faith and service vow,
Thy Celia shall receive those charms
With open ears, and with unfolded arms.

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A modern poet seems to have availed himself of this beautiful passage, and made a very happy use of it. See the Fables of Flora, Fab. I. We may observe here, that many, very many of the most beautiful passages which are found in the poems of this age, have been borrowed from the neglected bards of the 16th and 17th centuries.

2 That the reader may not be surprised at our author's having entitled this piece a Pastoral Dialogue, in which we do not find even the most distant allusion drawn from pastoral life; it may be necessary to inform him, that it was a prevailing custom in our author's time, to style almost every poetical dialogue of which love was the subject, pastoral. Most of the wits of Charles's court left propriety to be studied by the following age.

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