But when you please to fhow the lab'ring Mufe, greater Theam your Mufick can produce; My babling Praises I repeat no more, But hear, rejoice, ftand filent, and adore. The PERSIANS thus, first gazing on the Sun, Strange Force of Harmony, that thus controuls That your high Pow'r might worldly Thoughts destroy; When to your Native Heav'n You fhall repair, M As * As in fome Piece, while LUKE his Skill exprest, Some Cherub finishes what You begun, To burning ROME when frantick NERO play'd, Thine, like AMPHION's Hand, had wak'd the Stone, Malice to Mufick had been forc'd to yield; Nor could he Burn fo faft, as Thou cou'dft Build. PICTURE of SENECA dying in a BA т н. By JORDA I N. At the Right Honourable the EARL of EXETER's at Burleigh-Houfe. WHILE cruel NERO only drains The moral SPANIARD's ebbing Veins, By Study worn, and flack with Age, And And long have reign'd fupream in Vice: And lives and speaks, restor'd and whole. WHILE blooming Youth, and gay Delight Sit on thy rofey Cheeks confeft, Thou haft, my Dear, undoubted Right My Reason bends to what thy Eyes ordain; But would you meanly thus rely On Power, You know I must Obey? And do an Ill, becaufe You may ? - Still muft I Thee, as Atheists Heav'n adore;. -Not fee thy Mercy, and yet dread thy Power? III. Take Heed, my Dear, Youth flies apace; As well as CUPID, TIME is blind: Soon Soon must thofe Glories of thy Face s The Thousand Loves, that arm thy potent Eye, Then wilt Thou figh, when in each Frown A hateful Wrinkle more appears; And putting peevish Humours on, V. Forc'd Compliments, and formal Bows A talking dull Platonic I fhall turn; Learn to be civil, when I cease to burn. VI. Then fhnn the Ill, and know, my Dear, The only Pillars fit to bear So vast a Weight, as that of Love. VII. Hafte, CELIA, hafte, while Youth invites, Let Millions of repeated Bliffes prove, VIII. Bē VIII. Be Mine, and only Mine; take care Thy Looks, thy Thoughts, thy Dreams to guide To Me alone; nor come fo far, As liking any Youth beside: What Men e'er court Thee, fly 'em, and believe, -They're Serpents all, and Thou the tempted EvE. IX. So fhall I court thy dearest Truth, So TIME it felf our Raptures fhall improve, An EPISTLE to Fleetwood Shephard, Esq; SIR, As Burleigh, May 14, 1689. S once a Twelvemonth to the Prieft, -That's all that's in it: For if his Holiness wou'd thump His reverend Bum 'gainst Horfe's Rump, He might b'equipt from his own Stable With one more White, and eke more Able. |