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Ne village is without, on either side,

All up the silver Thames, or all adown;

Ne Richmond's self, from whose tall front are ey'd
Vales, spires, meandring streams, and Windsor's tow'ry pride.

III.
WALLER1.

OF A LADY SINGING TO HER LUTE.

FA

AIR Charmer, cease, nor make your voice's prize,
A heart resign'd, the conquest of your eyes:
Well might, alas! that threat'ned' vessel fail,
Which winds and light'ning both at once assail.
We were too blest with these enchanting lays,
Which must be heav'nly when an Angel plays:
But killing charms your lover's death contrive,
Lest heav'nly music should be heard alive.
Orpheus could charm the trees, but thus a tree,
Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he:
A poet made the silent wood pursue,

This vocal wood had drawn the Poet too.

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ON A FAN OF THE AUTHOR'S DESIGN, IN WHICH WAS PAINTED THE STORY OF CEPHALUS AND PROCRIS,

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WITH THE MOTTO, AURA VENI.

OME gentle Air! th' Æolian shepherd said,
While Procris panted in the secret shade:
Come, gentle Air, the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her swain expiring lies.
Lo the glad gales o'er all her beauties stray,
Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play!
In Delia's hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound:
Both gifts destructive to the givers prove;
Alike both lovers fall by those they love.
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,

At random wounds, nor knows the wound she gives:
She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris, while her lover dies.

1 [Edmund Waller, born in 1605, died in 1687. He has written innumerable pieces, in which the complimentary element overpowers the erotic, and which may have suggested these imitative

attempts.]

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2 [I prefer placing the apostrophe as above, since Waller was in the habit of sounding the e in the pret. and part. ending.]

FA

IV.

COWLEY1.

THE GARDEN.

AIN would my Muse the flow'ry Treasures sing,
And humble glories of the youthful Spring;
Where opening Roses breathing sweets diffuse,
And soft Carnations show'r their balmy dews;
Where Lilies smile in virgin robes of white,
The thin Undress of superficial Light,
And vary'd Tulips show so dazzling gay,
Blushing in bright diversities of day.
Each painted flow'ret in the lake below
Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow;
And pale Narcissus on the bank, in vain
Transformed, gazes on himself again.
Here aged trees Cathedral Walks compose,
And mount the Hill in venerable rows:

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There the green Infants in their beds are laid,

The Garden's Hope, and its expected shade.

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Here Orange-trees with blooms and pendants shine,
And vernal honours to their autumn join;
Exceed their promise in the ripen'd store,
Yet in the rising blossom promise more.

There in bright drops the crystal Fountains play,
By Laurels shielded from the piercing day;
Where Daphne, now a tree as once a maid,
Still from Apollo vindicates her shade,
Still turns her Beauties from th' invading beam,
Nor seeks in vain for succour to the Stream.
The stream at once preserves her virgin leaves,
At once a shelter from her boughs receives,
Where Summer's beauty midst of Winter stays,
And Winter's Coolness spite of Summer's rays.

WHI

WEEPING.

ILE Celia's Tears make sorrow bright,
Proud Grief sits 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 gaze upon.

1[Abraham Cowley was born in 1618 and lived till 1667. His Pindaric Odes constitute his chief title to poetic fame; but his love of Botany to which The Garden alludes, is specially

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exemplified in his Latin poem, in six books, of Plants. The conceits in the second of these parodies fall short of Cowley's ordinary manner in variety and vigour, as well as in extravagance.]

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.

The Baby in that sunny Sphere

So like a Phaethon appears,

That Heav'n, the threaten'd World to spare,
Thought fit to drown him in her tears:
Else might th' ambitious Nymph aspire,
To set, like him, Heav'n too on fire.

S

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 sway, ere heav'n was form'd, or earth,
Ere 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.

1 John Wilmot Earl of Rochester, born at Ditchley near Woodstock in Oxfordshire, in 1647, came to court in his eighteenth year, and was soon admitted into the closest familiarity with the Merry Monarch. He behaved gallantly during a naval campaign in which he took part in 1665, and after his return to court became a kind of coarse Alcibiades of his age. His poems have little wit and much effrontery-perhaps the best specimen of either quality will be found in

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his impudent Trial of the Poets for the Bays, imitated from Boileau. The verses on Nothing, parodied by Pope, are said to have been due in part to George Villiers Duke of Buckingham. See Horace Walpole's account of Rochester's writings, prefixed to the narrative in which bishop Burnet unctuously recounts his conversion of so unpromising a subject on the eve of death (1680).]

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;
Thy 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!

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At Senate, and at Bar, how welcome would'st thou be! 30

XI.

Yet speech ev'n there, submissively 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.

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VI.

E. OF DORSET1.

ARTEMISIA.

HO' Artemisia talks, by fits,

THO

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.

So have I seen, in black and white
A prating thing, a Magpye hight,
Majestically stalk;

A stately, worthless animal,

That plies the tongue, and wags the tail,
All flutter, pride, and talk.

PHRYNE.

Popen she was, and unconfin'd,
PHR

HRYNE had talents for mankind,

Like some free port of trade:
Merchants unloaded here their freight,
And Agents from each foreign state,
Here first their entry made.

Her learning and good breeding such,
Whether th Italian or the Dutch,

Spaniards or French came to her:
To all obliging she'd appear:
'Twas Si Signior, 'twas Yaw Mynheer,

'Twas S'il vous plaist, Monsieur.

[Charles Sackville Earl of Dorset was born in 1637, a lineal descendant of the illustrious author of the Miror for Magistrates and Gorboduc. He took part in the Dutch war under the Duke of York, and before the engagement which ended

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in the blowing up of the Dutch admiral Opdam's vessel, composed his famous ballad To all you Ladies now at land. He afterwards became a favourite courtier of King William III. and died in 1706. See Epitaph, No. 1. infra.]

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