W E E PIN G.

WHI

5

HILE Celia's Tears make sorrow bright,
Proud Grief fits swelling in her

eyes ; The Sun, next those the fairest light,

Thus from the Ocean first did rise :
And thus thro' Mists we see the Sun,
Which else we durst not gazę upon.
These silver drops, like morning dew,

Foretell the fervour of the day :
So from one Cloud soft show'rs we view,

And blasting lightnings burst away.
The Stars that fall from Celia's

eye, Declare our Doom in drawing nigh.

IO

The Baby in that sunny Sphere
So like a Phaëton

appears, That Heav'n, the threaten'd World to spare, 15

Thought fit to drown him in her tears :
Else might th'ambitious Nymph aspire,
To set, like him, Heav'n too on fire,

V.

E. of ROCHESTER.

On SILENCE.

I.
ILENCE! coeval with Eternity;

Thou wert, ere Nature's self began to be, 'Twas one vast Nothing, all, and all slept fast in

thee.

II.
Thine was the fway, ere heav'n was form’d,

or earth, Įre fruitful Thought conceiv'd creation's birth, Or midwife Word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth,

III.
Then various elements, against thee join'd,

In one more various animal combin’d,
And fram'd the clam'rous race of busy Human-

kind,

IV. 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,

V.

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.

VI.

Afflicted Sense thou kindly dost set free,

Oppress’d with argumental tyranny, And routed Reason finds a safe retreat in thee.

VII.

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!

VIII.

Yet thy indulgence is by both confest;

Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast, And 'tis in thee at last that Wisdom seeks for rest,

IX.

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.

X.
But could'st 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 would'st

thou be?

XI.
Yet speech ev’n there, fubmiffively withdraws,

From rights of subjects, and the poor man's cause:
Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the

noisy Laws.

XII.
Past services of friends, good deeds of foes,

What Fav’rites gain, and what the Nation owes,
Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.

XIII.
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.

XIV.
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.

VI.

E. of DORSET.

ARTEMISI A.

TH

, , wits;

5

HO' Artemisia talks, by fits,

Of councils, classics, fathers, wits;
Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke:
Yet in some things methinks she fails,
'Twere well if she would

pare

her nails,
And wear a cleaner smock.
Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride,
Such nastiness, and so much pride,

Are oddly join'd by fate :
On her large squab you

find her spread, Like a fat corpse upon a bed,

That lies and stinks in state.

She wears no colours (sign of grace)
On any part except her face;

All white and black beside :
Dauntless her look, her gesture proud,
Her voice theatrically loud,

And masculine her stride,