When to your Native Heav'n you fhall repair, And with your Prefence crown the Bleffings there; Your Lute may wind its Strings but little higher, To tune their Notes to that immortal Quire. Your Art is perfect here, your Numbers do More than our Books, make the rude Atheist know, That there's a Heav'n, by what he hears below.

As in fome Piece, while Luke his Skill expreft,
A cunning Angel came, and drew the reft:
So, when you play, fome Godhead does impart
Harmonious Aid, Divinity helps Art;

Some Cherub finishes what you begun,
And to a Miracle improves a Tune.

To burning Rome when frantick Nero play'd, Viewing that Face, no more he had furvey'd The reigning Flames,but ftruck with ftrange Surprize, Confeft them less than those of Anna's Eyes. But, had he heard thy Lute, he foon had found His Rage eluded, and his Crime atton'd;

Thine, like Amphion's Hand had wak'd the Stone,

And from Destruction call'd the rifing Town;
Malice to Mufick had been forc'd to yield,

Nor could he Burn fo fast as thou coud'ft Build.

An O D E,
DE

I.

(Delight

HILE Blooming Youth, and gay
Sit on thy rofie Cheeks confeft,

Thou haft, my Dear, undoubted Right

To triumph o'er this deftin'd Breast. My Reason bends to what thy Eyes ordain For I was born to Love, and thou to Reign.

II.

But wou'd you meanly thus rely

On Power, you know I muft Obey :

Exert a Legal Tyranny,'

And do an Ill, because you may?

Still muft I Thee, as Atheists Heav'n adore,

Not fee thy Mercy, and but dread thy Power?

III.

Take heed, my Dear, Youth flies apace;
As well as Cupid, Time is blind:

Soon must those Glories of thy Face,
The Fate of Vulgar Beauty find:

The Thoufand Loves, that arm thy potent Eye, Muft drop their Quivers, flag their Wings, and die.

IV.

Then wilt thou figh, when in each Frown

A hateful Wrinkle more appears,

And putting peevish Humours on

Seems but the fad Effect of Years:

Kindness it felf too weak a Charm will prove,
To raise the feeble Fires of aged Love.

V.

Forc'd Compliments, and Formal Bows,
Will fhow Thee just above Neglect:
The Heat, with which thy Lover glows,
Will fettle into cold Respect:

A talking dull Platonick I fhall turn;

Learn to be civil, when I cease to burn.

VI. Then

VI.

Then fhun the Ill, and know, my Dear,

Kindness and Conftancy will

The only Pillars fit to bear

prove

So vaft a Weight, as that of Love.

If thou canst wish to make my Flames endure,

Thine must be very fierce, and very pure.

VII.

Hafte, Celia, hafte, while Youth invites,
Obey kind Cupid's prefent Voice;
Fill ev'ry Sense with soft Delights,

And give thy Soul a Loofe to Joys;

Let Millions of repeated Bliffes prove,

That thou all Kindness art, and I all Love.

VIII.

Be mine, and only mine; take care,

[guide

Thy Looks, thy Thoughts, thy Dreams to

To me alone; nor come so far,

As liking any Youth befide:

What Men e'er court thee, fly 'em, and believe,

They're Serpents all, and Thou the tempted Eve.

IX. So

IX.

So fhall I court thy dearest Truth,
When Beauty ceases to engage;
So thinking on thy charming Youth,
I'll love it o'er again in Age.

So Time it felf our Raptures fhall improve,
While still we wake to Joy, and live to Love.

ΑΝ

EPISTLE

TO

FLEETWOOD SHEPHARD, Esq;

SIR,

A

Burghley, May 14, 1689.

S once a Twelvemonth to the Priest,
Holy at Rome, here Antichrift,

The Spanish King presents a Jennet,

To show his Love; That's all that's in it:

For