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You, that behold how yond sad Lady blends
Those ashes with her tears, lest, as she spends
Her tributary sighs, the frequent gust
Might scatter up and down the noble dust;
Know, when that heap of atomes was with blood
Kneaded to solid flesh, and firmly stood

On stately pillars, the rare form might move
The froward Ino's, or chaste Cynthia's love.
In motion, active grace; in rest, a calm;

Attractive sweetness brought both wound and balm
To every heart; he was compos'd of all
The wishes of ripe virgins, when they call
For Hymen's rites, and in their fancies wed
A shape of studied beauties to their bed.

Within this curious palace dwelt a Soul
Gave lustre to each part, and to the whole:
This drest his face in courteous smiles; and so
From comely gestures sweeter manners flow.
This courage joyn'd to strength; so the hand, bent,
Was Valor's; open'd, Bounty's instrument;
Which did the scale and sword of Justice hold,
Knew how to brandish steel and scatter gold.
This taught him not t' engage his modest tongue
In suits of private gain, though publick wrong;
Nor misemploy (as is the great man's use)
His credit with his Master, to traduce,
Deprave, maligne, and ruine Innocence,
In proud revenge of some mis-judg'd offence:
But all his actions had the noble end

T'advance desert, or grace some worthy friend.
He chose not in the active stream to swim,
Nor hunted Honour, which yet hunted him;
But like a quiet eddy that hath found

Some hollow creek, there turns his waters round,
And in continual circles dances, free

From the impetuous torrent; so did he

Give others leave to turn the wheel of state,
(Whose steerless motion spins the subjects fate)
Whilst he, retir'd from the tumultuous noise
Of court, and sutors press, apart enjoys

Freedom, and mirth, himself, his time and friends,
And with sweet relish tastes each hour he spends.
I could remember how his noble heart

First kindled at your beauties; with what art
He chas'd his game through all opposing fears,
When I his sighs to you, and back your tears
Convey'd to him; how loyal then, and how
Constant he prov'd since to his marriage vow,
So as his wand'ring eyes never drew in
One lustful thought to tempt his soul to sin;
But that I fear such mention rather may
Kindle new grief, than blow the old away.

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Seek him no more in dust, but call again
Your scatter'd beauties home; and so the pen,
Which now I take from this sad Elegy,
Shall sing the trophies of your conq'ring eye.

DISDAIN RETURNED.

HE that loves a rosie cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,

Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;

As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd,
Kindle never-dying fires.
Where these are not, I despise,
Lovely cheeks, or lips or eyes.

No tears, Celia, now shall win
My resolv'd heart to return;
I have search'd thy soul within,

And find nought but pride and scorn;
I have learn'd thy arts, and now
Can disdain as much as thou.

Some Pow'r, in my revenge, convey
That love to her I cast away.

INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED.

KNOW, Celia, since thou art so proud, 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown: Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd

Of common beauties, liv'd unknown, Had not my verse exhal'd thy name, And with it impt the wings of Fame.

That killing power is none of thine,
I gave it to thy voice and eyes:
Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;

Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies; Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere Lightning on him that fixt thee there.

A A

Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate:
Let fools thy mystic forms adore,
I'll know thee in thy mortal state.
Wise poets, that wrap truth in tales,
Knew her themselves through all her veils.

SONG.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauties orient deep
These flow'rs, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more, whither doe stray
The golden atomes of the day;
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare
Those powders to inrich your hair.

Ask me no more, whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more, where those stars light,
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more, if east or west,
The phoenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

THE PRIMROSE.

Ask me why I send you here
This firstling of the infant year;

Ask me why I send to you

This primrose all be-pearl'd with dew;

I straight will whisper in your ears,
The sweets of love are wash'd with tears:
Ask me why this flow'r doth show
So yellow, green, and sickly too;
Ask me why the stalk is weak,
And bending, yet it doth not break;
I must tell you, these discover
What doubts and fears are in a lover.

PLEASURE.

FROM COELUM BRITANNICUM.

BEWITCHING Syren! gilded rottenness!
Thou hast with cunning artifice display'd
Th' enamel'd out-side, and the honied verge
Of the fair cup where deadly poyson lurks.
Within, a thousand Sorrows dance the round;
And, like a shell, Pain circles thee without.
Grief is the shadow waiting on thy steps,
Which, as thy joys 'gin towards their West decline,
Doth to a gyant's spreading form extend
Thy dwarfish stature. Thou thyself art Pain,
Greedy intense Desire; and the keen edge.
Of thy fierce appetite oft strangles thee,
And cuts thy slender thread; but still the terror
And apprehension of thy hasty end

Mingles with gall thy most refined sweets;
Yet thy Circean charms transform the world.
Captains that have resisted war and death,
Nations that over Fortune have triumph'd,
Are by thy magick made effeminate:
Empires, that knew no limits but the poles,
Have in thy wanton lap melted away:
Thou wert the author of the first excess
That drew this reformation on the Gods.

Canst thou then dream, those Powers, that from Heaven
Banish'd th' effect, will there enthrone the cause?
To thy voluptuous denne fly, Witch, from hence;
There dwell, for ever drown'd in brutish sense.

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