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War he prevented, or soon made it cease, 29

       Instructing princes in the arts of peace;

       Such as made Sheba's curious queen resort

       To the large-hearted Hebrew's famous court.

       Had Homer sat amongst his wond'ring guests,

       He might have learn'd at those stupendous feasts,

       With greater bounty, and more sacred state,

       The banquets of the gods to celebrate.

       But oh! what elocution might he use,

       What potent charms, that could so soon infuse

       His absent master's love into the heart

       Of Henrietta! forcing her to part 40

       From her loved brother, country, and the sun,

       And, like Camilla, o'er the waves to run

       Into his arms! while the Parisian dames

       Mourn for the ravish'd glory; at her flames

       No less amazed than the amazèd stars,

       When the bold charmer of Thessalia wars

       With Heaven itself, and numbers does repeat,

       Which call descending Cynthia from her seat.

      [1] 'Mourning': Carlisle was a luxurious liver, and died in 1636, poor,

       but, like many spendthrifts, popular. He had represented Prince

       Charles at his marriage with Princess Henrietta at Paris.

       [2] 'Dame': Venus.

       Table of Contents

      1 What fury has provoked thy wit to dare,

       With Diomede, to wound the Queen of Love?

       Thy mistress' envy, or thine own despair?

       Not the just Pallas in thy breast did move

       So blind a rage, with such a diff'rent fate;

       He honour won, where thou hast purchased hate.

      2 She gave assistance to his Trojan foe;

       Thou, that without a rival thou may'st love,

       Dost to the beauty of this lady owe,

       While after her the gazing world does move.

       Canst thou not be content to love alone?

       Or is thy mistress not content with one?

      3 Hast thou not read of Fairy Arthur's shield,

       Which, but disclosed, amazed the weaker eyes

       Of proudest foes, and won the doubtful field?

       So shall thy rebel wit become her prize.

       Should thy iambics swell into a book,

       All were confuted with one radiant look.

      4 Heaven he obliged that placed her in the skies;

       Rewarding Phoebus, for inspiring so

       His noble brain, by likening to those eyes

       His joyful beams; but Phoebus is thy foe,

       And neither aids thy fancy nor thy sight,

       So ill thou rhym'st against so fair a light.

       Table of Contents

      They taste of death that do at heaven arrive;

       But we this paradise approach alive.

       Instead of death, the dart of love does strike,

       And renders all within these walls alike.

       The high in titles, and the shepherd, here

       Forgets his greatness, and forgets his fear.

       All stand amazed, and gazing on the fair,

       Lose thought of what themselves or others are;

       Ambition lose, and have no other scope, 9

       Save Carlisle's favour, to employ their hope.

       The Thracian[1] could (though all those tales were true

       The bold Greeks tell) no greater wonders do;

       Before his feet so sheep and lions lay,

       Fearless and wrathless while they heard him play.

       The gay, the wise, the gallant, and the grave,

       Subdued alike, all but one passion have;

       No worthy mind but finds in hers there is

       Something proportion'd to the rule of his;

       While she with cheerful, but impartial grace,

       (Born for no one, but to delight the race 20

       Of men) like Phoebus so divides her light,

       And warms us, that she stoops not from her height.

      [1] 'Thracian': Orpheus.—

       Table of Contents

      THYRSIS.

      As lately I on silver Thames did ride,

       Sad Galatea on the bank I spied;

       Such was her look as sorrow taught to shine,

       And thus she graced me with a voice divine.

      GALATEA.

      You that can tune your sounding strings so well,

       Of ladies' beauties, and of love to tell,

       Once change your note, and let your lute report

       The justest grief that ever touch'd the Court.

      THYRSIS.

      Fair nymph! I have in your delights no share, 9

       Nor ought to be concerned in your care;

       Yet would I sing if I your sorrows knew,

       And to my aid invoke no Muse but you.

      GALATEA.

      Hear then, and let your song augment our grief,

       Which is so great as not to wish relief.

       She that had all which Nature gives, or Chance,

       Whom Fortune join'd with Virtue to advance

       To all the joys this island could afford,

       The greatest mistress, and the kindest lord;

       Who with the royal mix'd her noble blood,

       And in high grace with Gloriana[2] stood; 20

       Her bounty, sweetness, beauty, goodness, such,

       That none e'er thought her happiness too much;

       So well-inclined her favours to confer,

       And kind to all, as Heaven had been to her!

       The virgin's part, the mother, and the wife,

       So well she acted in this span of life,

       That though few years (too flew, alas!) she told,

      

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