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On twenty books, yet ne'er look in one. 170
Then all your wits, that fleer and sham,
Sometimes I climb my mare, and kick her
Thus, without much delight, or grief,
TO THE COUNTESS OF DORSET,
WRITTEN IN HER MILTON, BY MR. BRADBURY.
EE here how bright the first-born virgin
shone, And how the first fond lover was un
done. Such charming words our beauteous mother spoke, As Milton wrote, and such as yours her look.
Yours, the best copy of th' original face,
TO THE LADY DURSLEY:
ON THE SAME SUBJECT.
ERE reading how fond Adam was be
tray'd, And how by sin Eve's blasted charms
decay'd; Our common loss unjustly you complain ; So small that part of it, which you sustain.
You still, fair mother, in your offspring trace The stock of beauty destin'd for the race: Kind nature, forming them, the pattern took From Heav'ns first work, and Eve's original look.
You, happy saint, the serpent's pow'r control : Scarce any actual guilt defiles your And hell does o'er that mind vain triumph boast, Which gains a Heav'n, for earthly Eden lost.
With virtue strong as yours had Eve been arm’d, In vain the fruit had blush'd, or serpent charm’d: Nor had onr bliss by penitence been bought; Nor had frail Adam fall’n, nor Milton wrote.
• Elizabeth, daughter of Baptist Noel, Viscount Campden. She died 30th July, 1719. Her husband, Charles Earl of Berkeley (when Lord Dursley), had been envoy extraordinary and plenipotentiary to the States of Holland, from whence be returned in 1695.
TO MY LORD BUCKHURST.
VERY YOUNG, PLAYING WITH A CAT.
HE am'rous youth, whose tender breast
Was by his darling cat possest,
Howe'er irregular his fire:
Take care, O beauteous child, take care,
The queen of love, who soon will see
* Lionel, afterwards Duke of Dorset, to whom Prior dedicated his poems.
HILE from our looks, fair nymph, you
To have this fatal secret found :
'Tis certain you may show the wound.
you as op’ning east are fair ? While cold as northern blasts you prove ;
How can I love, and not despair ?
Your potent mercy may release :
Fair prophetess, my grief would cease.
N vain you tell your parting lover,
You wish fair winds may waft him over
That bear me far from what I love ? Alas! what dangers on the main
Can equal those that I sustain,
Be gentle, and in pity choose
THE DESPAIRING SHEPHERD.
YLEXIS shunn'd his fellow swains,
He nourish'd endless woe.
The nymphs and shepherds round him came:
The fatal cause all kindly seek:
He sigh'd, but would not speak.
Clorinda came among the rest;
And ask'd the reason of his woe: