Part 4
Is there that Earth by Humane Foot ne're prest? That Aire which never yet by Humane Breast Respir'd, did Life supply? Oh, thither let me fly! Where from the World at such a distance set, All that's past, present, and to come I may forget: The Lovers Sighs, and the Afflicteds Tears, What e're may wound my Eyes or Ears. The grating Noise of Private Jars, The horrid sound of Publick Wars, Of babling Fame the Idle Stories, The short-liv'd Triumphs Noysy-Glories, The Curious Nets the subtile weave, The Word, the Look that may deceive. No Mundan Care shall more affect my Breast, My profound Peace shake or molest: But _Stupor_, like to Death, my Senses bind, That so I may anticipate that Rest, Which only in my Grave I hope to find.
A Pastoral Dialogue.
_Amintor._ Stay gentle Nymph, nor so solic'tous be? To fly his sight that still would gaze on thee. With other Swaines I see thee oft converse, Content to speak, and hear what they rehearse: But I unhappy, when I e're draw nigh, Thou streight do'st leave both Place, and Company. If this thy Flight, from fear of Harm doth flow, Ah, sure thou little of my Heart dost know.
_Alinda._ What wonder, Swain, if the Pursu'd by Flight, Seeks to avoid the close Pursuers Sight? And if no Cause I have to fly from thee, Then thou hast none, why thou dost follow me.
_Amin._ If to the Cause thou wilt propitious prove, Take it at once, fair Nymph, and know 'tis Love.
_Alin._ To my just Pray'r, ye favouring Gods attend, } These Vows to Heaven with equal Zeal I send, } My flocks from Wolves, my Heart from Love, defend. }
_Amin._ The Gods which did on thee such Charms bestow, Ne're meant thou shouldst to Love have prov'd a Foe, That so Divine a Power thou shouldst defy. Could there a Reason be, I'd ask thee, why?
_Alin._ Why does _Licoris_, once so bright and gay, Pale as a Lilly pine her self away? Why does _Elvira_, ever sad, frequent The lonely shades? Why does yon Monument Which we upon our Left Hand do behold, Hapless _Amintas_ youthful Limbs enfold? Say Shepherd, say: But if thou wilt not tell, _Damon_, _Philisides_, and _Strephon_ well Can speak the Cause, whose Falshood each upbraids, And justly me from Cruel Love disswades.
_Amin._ Hear me ye Gods. Me and my Flocks forsake, If e're like them my promis'd Faith I brake.
_Alin._ By others sad Experience wise I'le be. } } _Amin._ But such thy Wisdom highly injures me: } And nought but Death can give a Remedy. } Ye Learn'd in Physick, what does it avail, That you by Art (wherein ye never fail) Present Relief have for the Mad-dogs Bite? The Serpents sting? the poisonous _Achonite_? While helpless Love upbraids your baffl'd skill, And far more certain, than the rest, doth kill.
_Alin._ Fond Swain, go dote upon the new blown Rose, Whose Beauty with the Morning did disclose, And e're Days King forsakes th'enlighted Earth, Wither'd, returns from whence it took its Birth. As much Excuse will there thy Love attend, As what thou dost on Womens Beauty spend.
_Amin._ Ah Nymph, those Charms which I in thee admire, Can, nor before, nor with thy Life expire. From Heaven they are, and such as ne're can dye, But with thy Soul they will ascend the Sky! For though my ravisht Eye beholds in Thee, Such beauty as I can in none else see; That Nature there alone is without blame, Yet did not this my faithful Heart enflame: Nor when in Dance thou mov'st upon the Plaine, Or other Sports pursu'st among the Train Of choicest Nymphs, where thy attractive Grace Shews thee alone, though thousands be in place! Yet not for these do I _Alinda_ love, Hear then what 'tis, that does my Passion move. That Thou still Earliest at the Temple art, And still the last that does from thence depart; _Pans_ Altar is by thee the oftnest prest, Thine's still the fairest Offering and the Best; And all thy other Actions seem to be, The true Result of Unfeign'd Piety; Strict in thy self, to others Just and Mild; Careful, nor to Deceive, nor be Beguil'd; Wary, without the least Offence, to live, Yet none than thee more ready to forgive! Even on thy Beauty thou dost Fetters lay, Least, unawares, it any should betray. Far unlike, sure, to many of thy Sex, Whose Pride it is, the doting World to vex; Spreading their Universal Nets to take Who e're their artifice can captive make. But thou command'st thy Sweet, but Modest Eye, That no Inviting Glance from thence should fly. Beholding with a Gen'rous Disdain, The lighter Courtships of each amorous Swain; Knowing, true Fame, Vertue alone can give: Nor dost thou greedily even that receive. And what 'bove this thy Character can raise? Thirsty of Merit, yet neglecting Praise! While daily these Perfections I discry, Matchless _Alinda_ makes me daily dy. Thou absent, Flow'rs to me no Odours yield, Nor find I freshness in the dewy Field; Not _Thyrsis_ Voice, nor _Melibeus_ Lire, Can my Sad Heart with one Gay Thought inspire; My thriving Flock ('mong Shepherds Vows the Chief) I unconcern'd behold, as they my Grief. This I profess, if this thou not believe, A further proof I ready am to give, Command: there's nothing I'le not undertake, And, thy Injunctions, Love will easie make. Ah, if thou couldst incline a gentle Ear, Of plighted Faith, and hated _Hymen_ hear; Thou hourly then my spotless Love should'st see, That all my Study, how to please, should be; How to protect thee from disturbing Care, And in thy Griefs to bear the greatest share; Nor should a Joy, my Warie Heart surprize, That first I read not in thy charming Eyes.
_Alin._ If ever I to any do impart, My, till this present hour, well-guarded Heart, That Passion I have fear'd, I'le surely prove, For one that does, like to _Amintor_ love.
_Amintor._ Ye Gods----
_Alin._ Shepherd, no more: enough it is that I, Thus long to Love, have listn'd patiently. Farewel: _Pan_ keep thee, Swain.
_Amintor._ And Blessings Thee, Rare as thy Vertues, still accompany.
A Pastoral Dialogue.
Melibæus, Alcippe, Asteria, Licida, Alcimedon, _and_ Amira.
_Melibæus._ Welcome fair Nymphs, most welcome to this shade, Distemp'ring Heats do now the Plains invade: But you may sit, from Sun securely here, If you an old mans company not fear.
_Alcippe._ Most Reverend Swaine, far from us ever be The imputation of such Vanity. From Hill to Holt w'ave thee unweary'd sought, And bless the Chance that us hath hither brought.
_Asteria._ Fam'd _Melibæus_ for thy Virtuous Lays, If thou dost not disdain our Female Praise, We come to sue thou would'st to us recite One of thy Songs, which gives such high delight To ev'ry Eare, wherein thou dost dispense Sage Precepts cloath'd in flowing Eloquence.
_Licida._ Fresh Garlands we will make for thee each morne, Thy reverend Head to shade, and to adorne; To cooling Springs thy fainting Flock we'll guide, All thou command'st, to do shall be our Pride.
_Meli._ Cease, gentle Nymphs, the Willing to entreat, To have your Wish, each needs but take a Seat. With joy I shall my ancient Art revive, With which, when Young, I did for Glory strive. Nor for my Verse will I accept a Hire, Your bare Attentions all I shall require.
_Alci._ Lo, from the Plain I see draw near a Pair That I could wish in our Converse might share. _Amira_ 'tis and young _Alcimedon_.
_Lici._ Serious Discourse industriously they shun.
_Alci._ It being yet their luck to come this way, The Fond Ones to our Lecture we'll betray: And though they only sought a private shade, Perhaps they may depart more Vertuous made. I will accost them. Gentle Nymph and Swaine, Good _Melibæus_ us doth entertain With Lays Divine: if you'll his Hearers be, Take streight your Seats without Apology.
_Alci._ Paying short thanks, at fair _Amiras_ feet, I'le lay me down: let her choose where 'tis meet
_Al._ Shepherd, behold, we all attentive sit.
_Meli._ What shall I sing? what shall my _Muse_ reherse? Love is a Theme well sutes a Past'ral Verse, That gen'ral Error, Universal Ill, That Darling of our Weakness and our Will; By which though many fall, few hold it shame; Smile at the Fault, which they would seem to blame. What wonder then, if those with Mischief play, It to destruction them doth oft betray? But by experience it is daily found, That Love the softer Sex does sorest wound; In Mind, as well as Body, far more weak Than Men: therefore to them my Song shall speak, Advising well, however it succeed: But unto All I say, _Of Love take heed_. So hazardous, because so hard to know On whom they are we do our Hearts bestow; How they will use them, or with what regard Our Faith and high Esteem they will reward: For few are found, that truly acted be By Principles of Generosity. That when they know a Virgins Heart they've gain'd, (And though by many Vows and Arts obtain'd) Will think themselves oblig'd their Faith to hold Tempted by Friends, by Interest, or by Gold. Expect it not: most, Love their Pastime make, Lightly they Like, and lightly they forsake; Their Roving Humour wants but a pretence With Oaths and what's most Sacred to dispence. When unto such a Maid has given her Heart, And said, _Alone my Happiness thou art, In thee and in thy Truth I place my Rest_. Her sad Surprize how can it be exprest, When all on which she built her Joy she finds, Vanish, like Clouds, disperst before the Winds; Her self, who th'adored Idol wont to be, A poor despis'd Idolater to see? Regardless Tears she may profusely spend, Unpitty'd sighs her tender Breast may rend: But the false Image she will ne're erace, Though far unworthy still to hold its place: So hard it is, even Wiser grown, to take Th'Impression out, which Fancy once did make. Believe me Nymphs, believe my hoary hairs, Truth and Experience waits on many years. Before the Eldest of you Light beheld, A Nymph we had, in Beauty all excell'd, _Rodanthe_ call'd, in whom each Grace did shine, Could make a Mortal Maid appear Divine. And none could say, where most her Charms did lye, In her inchanting Tongue, or conquering Eye. Her Vertue yet her Beauties so out-shon, As Beauty did the Garments she put on! Among the Swains, which here their Flocks then fed, _Alcander_ with the highest held his head; The most Accomplish't was esteem'd to be, Of comely Forme, well-grac't Activity; The _Muses_ too, like him, did none inspire, None so did stop the Pipe, or touch the Lyre; Sweet was his Voice, and Eloquent his Tongue; Alike admired when he Spoke, or Sung! But these so much Excelling parts the Swain, With Imperfections no less Great, did stain: For proud he was, of an Ungovern'd Will, With Love Familiar, but a Stranger still To Faith and Constancy; and did his Heart, Retaining none, expose to ev'ry Dart. Hapless _Rodanthe_, the Fond Rover, caught, To whom, for Love, with usual Arts he sought; Which she, ah too unwary, did bestow: 'Cause True her self, believ'd that he was so. But he, alas, more wav'ring than the Wind, Streight broke the Chain, she thought so fast did bind; For he no sooner saw her Heart was gain'd, But he as soon the Victory disdain'd; Mad Love else-where, as if 'twere like Renown, Hearts to subdue, as to take in a Town: But in the One as Manhood does prevail, Both Truth and Manhood in the other fail. And now the Nymph (of late so gay and bright, The Glory of the Plains and the Delight, Who still in Wit and Mirth all Pastimes led) Hung like a wither'd Flow'r her drooping Head. I need not tell the Grief _Rodanthe_ found, How all that should asswage, enrag'd her Wound; Her Form, her Fame, her Vertue, Riches, Wit, Like Deaths sad Weights upon her Soul did sit: Or else like Furies stood before her Face, Still urging and Upbraiding her Disgrace, In that the World could yield her no Content, But what alone the False _Alcander_ sent. 'Twas said, through just Disdain, at last she broke The Disingenious and Unworthy Yoke: But this I know, her Passion held long time, Constancy, though Unhappy, is no Crime. Remember when you Love, from that same hour Your Peace you put into your Lovers Power: From that same hour from him you Laws receive, And as he shall ordain, you Joy, or Grieve, Hope, Fear, Laugh, Weep; Reason aloof does stand, Disabl'd both to Act, and to Command. Oh Cruel Fetters! rather wish to feel, On your soft Limbs, the Gauling Weight of Steel; Rather to bloudy Wounds oppose your Breast No Ill, by which the Body can be prest; You will so sensible a Torment find, As Shackles on your captivated Mind. The Mind from Heaven its high Descent did draw, And brooks uneasily any other Law, Than what from Reason dictated shall be, Reason, a kind of In-mate Deity. Which only can adapt to ev'ry Soul A Yoke so fit and light, that the Controle All Liberty excels; so sweet a Sway, The same 'tis to be Happy, and Obey; Commands so Wise and with Rewards so drest That the according Soul replys, _I'm Blest_. This teaches rightly how to Love and Hate, To fear and hope by Measure and just Weight; What Tears in Grief ought from our Eyes to flow, What Transport in Felicity to show; In ev'ry Passion how to steer the Will, Tho rude the Shock, to keep it steady still. Oh happy Mind! what words can speak thy Bliss, When in a Harmony thou mov'st like this? Your Hearts fair Virgins keep smooth as your Brow, Not the least Am'rous Passion there allow; Hold not a Parly with what may betray Your inward Freedom to a Forraign Sway; And while thus ore your selves you Queens remain, Unenvy'd, ore the World, let others reign: The highest Joy which from Dominion flows, Is short of what a Mind well-govern'd knows. Whither my _Muse_, would'st uncontrouled run? Contend in Motion with the restless Sun? Immortal thou, but I a mortal Sire Exhaust my strength, and Hearers also tire.
_Al._ O Heaven-taught Bard! to Ages couldst prolong Thy Soul-instructing, Health-infusing Song, I with unweary'd Appetite could hear, And wish my Senses were turn'd all to Ear.
_Alcim._ Old Man, thy frosty Precepts well betray Thy Blood is cold, and that thy Head is grey: Who past the Pleasure Love and Youth can give, To spoyl't in others, now dost only live. Wouldst thou, indeed, if so thou couldst perswade, The Fair, whose Charms have many Lovers made, Should feel Compassion for no one they wound, But be to all Inexorable found?
_Me._ Young man, if my advice thou well hadst weigh'd, Thou would'st have found, for either Sex 'twas made; And would from Womens Beauty thee no less Preserve, than them secure from thy Address. But let thy Youth thy rash Reproach excuse.
_Alci._ Fairest _Amira_ let him not abuse Thy gentle Heart, by his imprinting there His doting Maxims----But I will not fear: For when 'gainst Love he fiercest did inveigh, Methoughts I saw thee turn with Scorn away.
_Ami._ _Alcimedon_ according to his Will Does all my Words and Looks interpret still: But I shall learn at length how to Disdain, Or at the least more cunningly to feign.
_Alci._ No wonder thou _Alcimedon_ art rude, When with no Gen'rous Quality endu'd: But hop'st by railing Words Vice to defend, Which Foulers made, by having such a Friend. _Amira_, thou art warn'd, wisely beware, Leap not with Open-Eyes into the Snare: The Faith that's given to thee, was given before To _Nais_, _Amoret_, and many more: The Perjur'd did the Gods to Witness call, That unto each he was the only Thrall.
_Aste._ Y'ave made his Cheeks with Conscious blushes glow.
_Alci._ 'Tis the best Colour a False Heart can show; And well it is with Guilt some shame remains.
_Meli._ Hast, Shepherd, hast to cleanse away thy stains, Let not thy Youth, of Time the goodly spring, Neglected pass, that nothing forth it bring But noxious Weeds: which cultivated might Produce such Crop, as now would thee delight, And give thee after Fame: For Vertues Fruit Believe it, not alone with Age does sute, Nought adorns Youth like to a Noble Mind, In thee this Union let _Amira_ find.
_Lici._ O fear her not! she'l serve him in his kind.
_Meli._ See how Discourse upon the Time does prey, Those hours pass swiftest, that we talk away. Declining _Sol_ forsaken hath the Fields, And Mountains highest Summits only gildes: Which warns us home-wards with our Flocks to make.
_Alci._ Along with thee our Thanks and Praises take.
_Aste._ In which our Hearts do all in One unite.
_Lici._ Our Wishes too, That on thy Head may light, What e're the Gods as their Best Gifts bestow.
_Meli._ Kind Nymphs on you may Equal Blessings flow.
On my Aunt Mrs A. K.
_Drown'd under_ London-bridge, _in the_ QUEENS _Bardge_, Anno 1641.
The Darling of a Father Good and Wise, The Vertue, which a Vertuous Age did prize; The Beauty Excellent, even to those were Faire, Subscrib'd unto, by such as might compare; The Star that 'bove her Orb did always move, And yet the Noblest did not Hate, but Love; And those who most upon their Title stood, Vail'd also to, because she did more Good. To whom the Wrong'd, and Worthy did resort, } And held their Sutes obtain'd, if only brought; } The highest Saint in all the Heav'n of Court. } So Noble was her Aire, so Great her Meen, She seem'd a Friend, not Servant to the Queen. To Sin, if known, she never did give way, Vice could not Storm her, could it not betray. When angry Heav'n extinguisht her fair Light, It seem'd to say, _Nought's Precious in my sight; As I in Waves this Paragon have drown'd, The Nation next, and King I will confound_.
On a young Lady _Whose_ LORD _was Travelling_.
No sooner I pronounced _Celindas_ name, But Troops of wing'd Pow'rs did chant the same: Not those the Poets Bows and Arrows lend, But such as on the Altar do attend. _Celinda_ nam'd, Flow'rs spring up from the Ground, Excited meerly with the Charming Sound. _Celinda_, the Courts Glory, and its fear, The gaz'd at Wonder, where she does appear. _Celinda_ great in Birth, greater in Meen, Yet none so humble as this Fair-One's seen. Her Youth and Beauty justly might disdain, But the least Pride her Glories ne're did stain. _Celinda_ of each State th'ambitious Strife, At once a Noble Virgin, and a Wife Who, while her Gallant Lord in Forraign parts Adorns his Youth with all accomplisht Arts, Grows ripe at home in Vertue, more than Years, And in each Grace a Miracle appears! When other of her Age a madding go, To th' Park and Plays, and ev'ry publick Show, Proud from their Parents Bondage they have broke, Though justly freed, she still does wear the Yoke; Preferring more her Mothers Friend to be, Than Idol of the Towns Loose-Gallantry. On her she to the Temple does attend, Where they their Blessed Hours both save and spend. They Smile, they Joy, together they do Pray, You'd think two Bodies did One Soul obey: Like Angels thus they do reflect their Bliss, And their bright Vertues each the other kiss. Return young Lord, while thou abroad dost rome The World to see, thou loosest Heaven at Home.
ON THE Dutchess of Grafton _Under the Name of_ ALINDA.
A SONG.
I.
Th'ambitious Eye that seeks alone, Where Beauties Wonders most are shown; Of all that bounteous Heaven displays, Let him on bright _Alinda_ gaze; And in her high Example see, All can admir'd, or wisht-for, be!
II.
An unmatch't Form, Mind like endow'd, Estate, and Title great and proud; A Charge Heaven dares to few commit, So few, like her, can manage it; Without all Blame or Envy bear, The being Witty, Great and Fair!
III.
So well these Murd'ring Weapons weild, As first Herself with them to shield, Then slaughter none in proud Disport, Destroy those she invites to Court: Great are her Charmes, but Vertue more, She wounds no Hearts, though All adore.
IV.
'Tis Am'rous Beauty Love invites, A Passion, like it self, excites: The Paragon, though all admire, Kindles in none a fond desire: No more than those the Kings Renown And State applaud, affect his Crown.
_These following Fragments among many more were found among her Papers._
Penelope to Ulysses.
Return my dearest Lord, at length return, Let me no longer your sad absence mourn, _Ilium_ in Dust, does no more Work afford, No more Employment for your Wit or Sword.
Why did not the fore-seeing Gods destroy, _Helin_ the Fire-brand both of _Greece_ and _Troy_, E're yet the Fatal Youth her Face had seen, E're lov'd and born away the wanton Queen? Then had been stopt the mighty Floud of Woe, Which now both _Greece_ and _Phrygia_ over-flow: Then I, these many Teares, should not have shed, Nor thou, the source of them, to War been led: I should not then have trembled at the Fame Of _Hectors_ warlike and victorious Name.
Why did I wish the Noble _Hector_ Slain? Why _Ilium_ ruin'd? Rise, O rise again! Again great City flourish from thine Urne: For though thou'rt burn'd, my Lord does not return. Sometimes I think, (but O most Cruel Thought,) That, for thy Absence, th'art thy self in fault: That thou art captiv'd by some captive Dame, Who, when thou fired'st _Troy_, did thee inflame And now with her thou lead'st thy am'rous Life, Forgetful, and despising of thy Wife.
An Epitaph on her Self.
When I am Dead, few Friends attend my Hearse, And for a Monument, I leave my VERSE.
An ODE.
Arise my Dove, from mid'st of Pots arise, Thy sully'd Habitation leave, To Dust no longer cleave, Unworthy they of Heaven that will not view the Skies. Thy native Beauty re-assume, Prune each neglected Plume, Till more than Silver white, Then burnisht Gold more bright, Thus ever ready stand to take thy Eternal Flight.
II.
The Bird to whom the spacious Aire was given, As in a smooth and trackless Path to go, A Walk which does no Limits know Pervious alone to Her and Heaven: Should she her Airy Race forget, On Earth affect to walk and sit; Should she so high a Priviledge neglect, As still on Earth, to walk and sit, affect, What could she of Wrong complain, Who thus her Birdly Kind doth stain, If all her Feathers moulted were, And naked she were left and bare, The Jest and Scorn of Earth and Aire?
III.
The Bird of Paradice the Soul,
_Extemporary Counsel given to a_ Young Gallant _in a_ Frolick.