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And often, as they stood on either side,
To catch by turns the flitting voice, they cry'd,
“Why, envious Wall, ah! why dost thou destroy
The lovers' hopes, and why forbid the joy.”
How should we bless thee, would'st thou yield to
charms,
And, opening, let us rush into each other's arms!
At least, if that's too much, afford a space
To meeting lips, nor shall we slight the grace;
We owe to thee this freedom to complain,
And breathe our vows, but vows, alas! in vain.”
Thus having said, when evening call'd to rest,
The faithful pair on either side imprest
An intercepted kiss, then bade good-night;
But when th' ensuing dawn had put to flight
The stars; and Phoebus, rising from his bed,
Drank up the dews, and dry'd the flowery mead,
Again they meet, in sighs again disclose
Their grief, and last this bold design propose;
That, in the dead of might, both would deceive
Their keepers, and the house and city leave;
And lest, escap'd, without the walls they stray
In pathless fields, and wander from the way,
At Ninus' tomb their meeting they agree,
Beneath the shady covert of the tree;
The tree, well-known, near a cool fountain grew,
And bore fair mulberries of snowy hue.
The prospect pleas'd; the Sun's unwelcome light
(That slowly seem'd to move, and slack his flight)
Sunk in the seas; from the same seas arose the sable
night;
When, stealing through the dark, the crafty fair
Unlock'd the door, and gain'd the open air;
Love gave her courage; umperceiv'd she went,
Wrapp'd in a veil, and reach'd the monument.
Then sat beneath th' appointed tree alone;
But, by the glimmering of the shining moon,
She sat not long, before from far she spy'd
A lioness approach the fountain-side;
Fierce was her glare, her foamy paws in blood
Of slaughter'd bulls besmear'd, and foul with food;
For, reeking from the prey, the savage came,
To drown her thirst within the neighbouring stream.
Affrighted Thisbe, trembling at the sight,
Fled to a darksome den, but in her flight
1Her veil dropp'd off behind. Deep of the flood
The monster drank, and, satiate, to the wood
Returning, found the garment as it lay,
And, torn with bloody feet, dispers'd it in her way.
Belated Pyramus arriv'd, and found
The mark of savage feet along the sandy ground:
All pale he turn'd ; but soon as he behold
The crimson'd vesture scatter'd o'er the field,
“One night,” he cry'd, “two lovers shall destroy!
She worthy to have liv'd long years of joy,
But mine's the forfeit life; unhappy maid!
'Twas 1 that slew thee, I th’ appointment made;
To places full of death thy innocence betray'd,
And came not first myself—0 hither haste,
Ye lions all, that roam this rocky waste
Tear my devoted entrails, gnaw, divide,
And gorge your famine in my open'd side!
But cowards call for death!”—Thus having spoke,
The fatal garment from the ground he took,
And bore it to the tree; ardent he kiss'd,
And bath'd in flowing tears the well-known vest:
“Now take a second stain,” the lover said,
While from his side he snatch'd his sharpen'd blad,
And drove it in his groin; then from the wound
Withdrew the steel, and, staggering, fell to ground:

As when, a conduit broke, the streams shoot high,
Starting in sudden fountains through the sky,
So spouts the living stream, and sprinkled o'er
The tree's fair berries with a crimson gore,
While, sapp'd in purple floods, the conscious root
Transmits the stain of murder to the fruit.
The fair, who fear'd to disappoint her love,
Yet trembling with the fright, forsook the grove,
And sought the youth, impatient to relate
Her new adventure, and th’ avoided fate.
She saw the vary'd tree had lost its white,
And doubting stood if that could be the right,
Nor doubted long; for now her eyes beheld
A dying person spurn the sanguine field.
Aghast she started back, and shook with pain,"
As rising breezes curl the trembling main.
She gaz'd awhile entranc'd; but when she found
It was her lover weltering on the ground,
She beat her lovely breast, and tore her hair,
Clasp'd the dear corpse, and, frantic in despair,
Kiss'd his cold face, supply'd a briny flood
To the wide wound, and mingled tears with blood.
“Say, Pyramus, oh say, what chance severe
Has snatch'd thee from my arms 2
'Tis thy own Thisbe calls, look up and hear!”
At Thisbe's name he lifts his dying eyes,
And, having seen her, clos'd them up, and dies.
But when she knew the bloody veil, and spy'd
The ivory scabbard empty by his side,
“Ah, wretched vouth,” said she, “by love betray'd?
Thy hapless hand guided the fatal blade.
Weak as I am, I boast as strong a love;
For such a deed, this hand as bold shall prove.
I'll follow thee to death; the world shall call
Thisbe the cause, and partner of thy fall;
And ev’n in death, which could alone disjoin
Our persons, yet in death thou shalt be mine.
But hear, in both our names, this dying prayer,
Ye wretched parents of a wretched pair!
Let in one urn our ashes be confin'd,
Whom mutual love and the same fate have join'd.
And thou, fair Tree, beneath whose friendly shads
One lifeless lover is already laid,
And soon shall cover two; for ever wear
Death's sable hue, and purple berries bear!”
She said, and plunges in her breast the sword,
Yet warm, and reeking from its slaughter'd lord.
Relenting Heaven allows her last request,
And pity touch'd their mournful parents breast.
The fruit, when ripe, a purple dye retains;
And in one urn are plac'd their dear remains.

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For struggling slaves a sharper doom sustain,
Than such as stoop obedient to the chain.
I own thy power, almighty Love! I'm thine;
With pinion'd hands behold me here resign'
Let this submission then my life obtain:
Small praise 'twill be, if thus unarm'd I’m slain.
Go, join thy mother's doves; with myrtle braid thy
hair;
The god of war himself a chariot shall prepare;
Then thou triumphant through the shouting throng
Shalt ride, and move with art the willing birds along;
While captive youths and maids, in solemn state,
Adorn the scene, and on thy triumph wait.
There I, a later conquest of thy bow,
In chains will follow too; and as I go,
To pitying eyes the new-made wound will show.
Next, all that dare Love's sovereign power defy,
In fetters bound, inglorious shall pass by:
All shall submit to thee—Th’ applauding crowd
Shall lift their hands, and sing thy praise aloud.
Soft looks shall in thy equipage appear,
With amorous Play, Mistake, and jealous Fear.
Be this thy guard, great Love! be this thy train;
Since these extend o'er men and gods thy reign;
But robb'd of these, thy power is weak and vain.
From Heaven thy mother shall thy pomp survey,
And, smiling, scatterfragrant showers of roses in thy
Whilst thou, array'd in thy unrivall'd pride, [way,
On golden wheels, all gold thyself, shalt ride:
Thy spreading wings shall richest diamonds wear,
And gems shall sparkle in thy lovely hair.
Thus passing by, thy arm shall hurl around
Tenthousand fires, ten thousand hearts shall wound.
This is thy practice, Love, and this thy gain;
From this thou canst not, if thou would'st, refrain:
Since ev'n thy presence, with prolific heat,
Does reach the heart, and active flames create.
From conquer'd India, so the jovial god ,
Drawn o'er the plains by harness'd tigers, rode.
Then since, great Love, I take a willing place
Amidst thy spoils, the sacred show to grace;
Ocease to wound, and let thy fatal store
Of piercing shafts be spent on me no more.
No more, too powerful in my charmer's eyes,
Toronent a slave, that for her beauty dies;
Or look in smiles from thence, and I shall be
A slave no longer, but a god, like thee.

THE PICTURE.

Cove, my Muse, a Venus draw;
Not the same the Grecians saw,
By the fam'd Apelles wrought,
Beauteous offspring of his thought,
No fantastic goddess mine,
Fiction far she does outshine.
Queen of fancy' hither bring
On thy gaudy-feather'd wing
All the beauties of the Spring.
iike the bee's industrious pains
To collect his golden gains,
So from every flower and plant
Gather first th’ immortal paint.
Foteh me lilies, fetch me roses,
Paisies, violets, cowslip-posies,
*maranthus, parrot-pride, -
Woodbines, pinks, and what beside

* Bacchus.

Does th’ embroider'd meads adorn;
Where the fawns and satyrs play
In the merry month of May.
Steal the blush of opening morn; ,
Borrow Cynthia's silver white,
When she shines at noon of night,
Free from clouds to veil her light.
Juno's bird his tail shall spread,
Iris' bow its colour shed,
All to deck this charming piece,
Far surpassing ancient Greece.
First her graceful stature show,
Not too tall, nor yet too low.
Fat she must not be, nor lean;
Let her shape be straight and clean;
Small her waist, and thence increas'd,
Gently swells her rising breast.
Next in comely order trace
All the glories of her face.
Paint her neck of ivory,
Smiling cheeks and forehead high,
Ruby lips, and sparkling eyes,
Whence resistless lightning flies.
Foolish Muse! what hast thou done?
Scarce th’ outlines are yet begun,
Ere thy pencil's thrown aside
“”Tis no matter,” Love reply'd;
(Love's unlucky god stood by) a
“At one stroke behold how I
Will th' unfinish'd draught supply.”
Suniling then he took his dart,
And drew her picture in my heart.

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Let Phoebus his late happiness rehearse,
And grace Barn-Elms with never-dying verse!
Smooth was the Thames, his waters sleeping lay,
Unwak'd by winds that o'er the surface play;
When th' early god, arising from the east,
Disclos'd the golden dawn, with blushes drest.
First in the stream his own bright form he sces,
But brighter forms shine through the neighbouring
trees.
He speeds the rising day, and shells his light
Redoubled on the grove, to gain a nearer sight.
Not with more speed his Daphne he pursu’d,
Nor fair Leucothoe with such pleasure view’d;
Five dazzling nymphs in graceful pomp appear;
He thinks his Daphne and Leucothoe here,
Join'd with that heavenly three, who on mount Ide
Descending once the prize of beauty try’d.
Ye verdant Elms, that towering grace this grove,
Be sacred still to Beauty and to Love!
No thunder break, nor lightning glare between
Your twisted boughs, but such as then was seen,
The grateful Sun will every morning rise
Propitious here, saluting from the skies
Your lofty tops, indulg'd with sweetest air,
And every spring your losses he'll repair;
Nor his own laurels more shall be his care

on the FRIrxidship of PHOEBE AND ASTERIA; AND the sick Ness of The for MER,

As altar raise to Friendship's holy flame, Inscrib'd with Phoebe's and Asteria’s name!

Around it, mingled in a solemn band, Let Phoebe's lovers, and Asteria's stand, With fervent vows t’ attend the sacrifice; While rich perfumes from melted gums arise, To bribe for Phoebe's health the partial skies. Forbid it, Love, that sickly blasts consume The flower of beauty in its tender bloom! Shall she so soon to her own Heaven retire, Who gave so oft, yet never felt thy fire? Who late at splendid feasts so graceful shone, By pleasing smiles and numerous conquests known; Where, 'midst the brightest nymphs, she bore the From all—from all but her Asteria's eyes. [prize Behold the maid, who then secure repell'd The shafts of Love, by fainting sickness quell'd' (As Beauty's goddess once a wound sustain'd, Not from her son, but from a mortal's" hand) Asteria too forgets her sprightly charms, And drooping lies within her Phoebe's arms. Thus in romantic histories we read Of tournaments by some great prince decreed, Where two companion-knights their lances wield With matchless force, and win, from all, the field; Till one, o'erheated in the course, retires, And feels within his veins a fever's fires; His grieving friend his laurels throws away, And mourns the dear-bought triumphs of the day. So strict's the union of this tender pair, What Heaven decrees for one,they both must share. Like meeting rivers, in one stream they flow, And no divided joys or sorrows know. Not the bright twins", preferr'd in Heaven to shine, Fair Leda's sons, in such a league could join. One soul, as fables tell, by turns supply'd That heavenly pair, by turns they liv'd and dy'd : But these have sworn a matchless sympathy, They'll live together, or together die. When Heaven did at Asteria's birth bestow Those lavish charms, with which she wounds us so, To form her glorious mind, it did inspire A double portion of th' ethereal fire, That half might afterward be thence convey'd, To animate that other lovely maid. Thus native instinct does their hearts combine, In knots too close for Fortune to untwine. So India boasts a tree, that spreads around Itsamorousboughs, which,hending, reach theground, Where taking root again, the branches raise A second tree to meet its fond embrace; Then side by side the friendly neighbours thrive, Fed by one sap, and in each other live. Of Phoebe's health we need not send to know How Nature strives with her invading foe, What symptoms good or ill each day arise; We read those changes in Asteria's eyes. Thus in some crystal fountain you may spy The face of Heaven, and the reflected sky, See what black clouds arise, when tempests lower, And gathering mists portend a falling shower, And when the Sun breaks out, with conquering ray To chase the darkness, and restore the day. Such be thy fate, bright maid' from this decline Arise renew'd thy charms, and doubly shiue' And as that dawning planet was addrest With offer'd incense by th' adoring Fast, So we'll with songs thy glad recovery greet, The Muse shall lay her presents at thy feet;

* Diomedes, * Castor and Pollux,

With open arms, Asteria shall receive
The dearest pledge propitious Heaven can give.
Fann'd by these winds, your friendship's generous
fire
Shall burn more bright, and to such heights aspire,
The wondering world shall think you from above
Come down to teach how happy angels love.

SONG.

Fawr of Dorinda's conquest brought
The god of Love her charms to view;

To wound th' unwary maid he thought,
But soon became her conquest too.

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Behold the god advance in comely pride, Arm'd with his bow, his quiver by his side: Inferior Cupids on their master wait; He smiles well pleas'd, and waves his wings in state. His little hands imperial trophies bear, And laurel-wreaths to grace th' elected fair. Hyde-Park the scene for the Review he nam'd, Hyde-Park for pleasure and for beauty fam’d, Where, oft from western skies the god of light Sees new-arising suns, than his more bright; Then sets in blushes, and conveys his fire To distant lands, that more his beams require. And now the charming candidates appear: Behold Britannia's victor graces there, Who vindicate their country's ancient claim To Love's pre-eminence, and Beauty's fame. Some, who, at Anna's court, in honour rais'd, Adorn birth-nights, by crowding nations prais'd; Preserv'd in Kneller's pictures ever young, In strains immortal by the Muses sung. Around the ring th' illustrious rivals move, And teach to Love himself the power of love, Scarce, though a god, he can with safety gaze On glory so profuse, such mingled rays; For Love ...' eyes on this important day, [away. And Venus from his forehead took the blinding cloth Here Mira pass'd, and fix’d his wondering view, Her perfect shape distinguished praises drew; Tall, beauteous, and majestic to the sight, She led the train, and sparkled in the light. There Stella claims the wreath, and pleads her By which each day some new adorer dies, [eyes, Serena, by good-humour doubly fair, With native sweetness charms, and smiling air. While Flora's youthful years and looks display The bloom of ripening fruits, the innocence of May, The opening sweets that months of pleasure bring, The dawn of Love, and life's indulgent spring. *Twere endless to describe the various darts, With which the fair are arm'd to conquer hearts, Whatever can the ravish’d soul inspire With tender thoughts, and animate desire, All arts and virtues mingled in the train; And long the lovely rivals strove in vain, [plain. While Cupid, unresolv'd, still search'd around the “O! could I find,” said Love, “the phoenix she, In whom at once the several charms agree; That phoenix she the laurel crown should have, And Love himself with pride become her slave.” He scarce had spoke, whensee—Harmonia calme! Chance brought her there, and not desire of fame; Unknowing of the choice, till she beheld The god approach to crown her in the field. Th' unwilling maid, with wondrous modesty, Disclaim'd her right, and put the laurel by: Warm blushes on her tender cheeks arise, And double softness beautify'd her eyes. At this, more charm’d, “The rather I bestow,” Said Love, “these honours you in vain forego; Take then the wreath, which you, victorious fair, Have most deserv’d, yet least affect to wear.”

TO A BEAUTIFUL LADY, playing on the organ. When fam'd Cecilia on the organ play'd, And fill'd with moving sounds the tuneful frame, Drawn by the charm, to hear the sacred maid, From Heaven, 'tis said, a listening angel came.

Thus ancient legends would our faith abuse:
In vain—for were the bold tradition true,

While your harmonious touch that charm renews,
Again the seraph would appear to you.

O happy fair! in whom, with purest light,
Virtue's united beams with beauty shine!

Should heavenly guests descend to bless our sight,
What form more lovely could they wear than

thine?

SONNET:

Jr mourrai de trop de plaisir, Si je la trouve favourable;

Je mourrai de trop de desir, Se je la trouve inexorable.

Ainsi je ne soaurois guerir
De la douleur qui me possede;

Jesuis assure de perir
Par le mal, ou par le remede.

in english.

I dip with too transporting joy,
If she I love rewards my fire;

If she’s inexorably coy,
With too much passion I expire.

No way the Fates afford to shun The cruel torment I endure;

Since I am doom'd to be undone By the disease, or by the cure,

TO A PAINTER.

Parston, if thou camst safely gaze On all the wonders of that face; If thou hast charms to guard a heart Secure by secrets of thy art; O ! teach the mighty charm, that we May gaze securely too, like thee. Canst thou Love's brightest lightning draw, Which none e'er yet unwounded saw To what then wilt thou next aspire, Unless to imitate Jove's fire? Which is a less adventurous pride, Though 'twas for that Salmoneus dy'd. That beauteous, that victorious fair, Whose chains so many lovers wear; Who with a look can arts infuse, Create a Painter, or a Muse; Whom crowds with awful rapture view; She sits serene, and smiles on you! Your genius thus inspir'd will soar To wondrous heights unknown before, And to her beauty you will own Your future skill and fix’d renown. So when of old great Ammon's son, Adorn'd with spoils in battle won, In graceful picture chose to stand, The work of fam'd Apelles' hand; “Exert thy fire,” the monarch said, “Now be thy boldest strokes display'd, To let admiring nations see Their dreaded victor drawn by thee; To others thou may’st life impart, But I’ll immortalize thy art.”

To the AUTHOR OF FATAL FRIENDSHIP,

a Traced Y.

As when Camilla once, a warlike dame,
In bloody battles won immortal fame,
Forsook her female arts, and chose to bear
The ponderous shield, and heave the massy spear,
Superior to her sex, so swift she flew
Around the field, and such vast numbers slew,
That friends and foes, alike surpris'd, behold
The brave Virago desperately bold,
And thought her Pallas in a human mould.
Such is our wonder, matchless maid! to see
The tragic laurel thus deserv'd by thee.
Still greater praise is yours; Camilla shines
For ever bright in Virgil's sacred lines,
You in your own.—
Nor need you to another's bounty owe, -
For what yourself can on yourself bestow;
So monarchs in full health are wont to rear,
At their own charge, their future sepulchre.
Who thy perfections fully would commend,
Must think how others their vain hours misspend,
In tristing visits, pride, impertinence,
Dress, dancing, and discourse devoid of sense;
To twirl a fan, to please some foolish beau, -
And sing an empty song, the most they know;
In body weak, more impotent of mind.
Thus some have represented woman-kind.
But you, your sex's champion, are come forth
To fight their quarrel, and assert their worth;
Our Salic law of wit you have destroy'd,
Establish’d female claim, and triumph'd o'er our
While we look on, and with repining eyes [pride.
P. hold wou bearing of so rich a prize,
Spite of ill-nature, we are forc'd to approve
Such dazzling charms, and, spite of envy, love.
Nor is this all th' applause that is your due,
You stand the first of stage-reformers too;
Novicious strains pollute your moral scene, sclean;
Chaste are your thoughts, and your expression
Strains such as yours the strictest test will bear:
Sing boldly then, nor busy Censure fear,
Your virgin voice offends no virgin ear.
Proceed in tragic numbers to disclose
Strange turns of fate, and unexpected woes.
Reward, and punish' awfully dispense
Heaven's judgments, and declare a Providence;
Nor let the comic Muse your labours share,
'Tis meanness, after this, the sock to wear:
Though that too merit praise, ’tis nobler toil
To extort a tear, than to provoke a smile.
What hand, that can design a history,
Would copy low-land boors at Snic-a-Smee?
Accept this tribute, madam, and excuse
The hasty raptures of a stranger Muse.
1598.

ON I, IVINE POETRY.

Is Nature's golden age, when new-born day
Array'd the skies, and Earth was green and gay;
When God, with pleasure, all his works survey'd,
Avil virgin innocence before him play'd ;
In that illustrious morn, that lovely spring,
‘I he Muse, by Heaven inspir'd, began to sing.

Descending angels, in harmonious lays,
Taught the first happy pair their Maker's praise.
Such was the sacred art—We now deplore
The Muse's loss, since Eden is no more.
When Vice from hell rear'd up its hydra-head,
Th' affrighted maid, with chaste Astrea, fled,
And sought protection in her native sky;
In vain the heathen Nine her absence would supply.
Yet to some few, whose dazzling virtues shone,
In ages past, her heavenly charms were known.
Hence lean'd the bard, in lofty strains to tell
How patient Virtue triumph'd over Hell;
And hence the chief, who led the chosen race
Through parting seas, deriv'd his songs of praise:
She gave the rapturous ode, whose ardent lay
Sings female force, and vanquish’d Sisera;
She tun'd to pious notes the psalmist's lyre, [fire!
And sill'd Isaiah's breast with more than Pindar's

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