Part 22 (2/2)

Her skin, like heav'n when calm and bright, Shows a rich azure under white, With touch more soft than heart supposes, And breath as sweet as new-blown roses.

Betwixt this headland and the main, Which is a rich and flow'ry plain, Lies her fair neck, so fine and slender, That gently how you please 'twill bend her.

This leads you to her heart, which ta'en, Pants under sheets of whitest lawn, And at the first seems much distress'd, But, n.o.bly treated, lies at rest.

Here, like two b.a.l.l.s of new fall'n snow, Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, Love's native pillows, grow; And out of each a rose-bud peeps, Which infant Beauty sucking sleeps.

Say now, my Stoic, that mak'st sour faces At all the beauties and the graces, That criest, unclean! though known thyself To ev'ry coa.r.s.e and dirty shelf: Couldst thou but see a piece like this, A piece so full of sweets and bliss, In shape so rare, in soul so rich, Wouldst thou not swear she is a witch?

FIDA FORSAKEN.

Fool that I was! to believe blood, While swoll'n with greatness, then most good; And the false thing, forgetful man, To trust more than our true G.o.d, Pan.

Such swellings to a dropsy tend, And meanest things such great ones bend.

Then live deceived! and, Fida, by That life destroy fidelity.

For living wrongs will make some wise, While Death chokes loudest injuries: And screens the faulty, making blinds To hide the most unworthy minds.

And yet do what thou can'st to hide, A bad tree's fruit will be describ'd.

For that foul guilt which first took place In his dark heart, now d.a.m.ns his face; And makes those eyes, where life should dwell, Look like the pits of Death and h.e.l.l.

Blood, whose rich purple shows and seals Their faith in Moors, in him reveals A blackness at the heart, and is Turn'd ink to write his faithlessness.

Only his lips with blood look red, As if asham'd of what they fed.

Then, since he wears in a dark skin The shadows of his h.e.l.l within, Expose him no more to the light, But thine own epitaph thus write ”Here burst, and dead and unregarded Lies Fida's heart! O well rewarded!”

TO THE EDITOR OF THE MATCHLESS ORINDA.

Long since great wits have left the stage Unto the drollers of the age, And n.o.ble numbers with good sense Are, like good works, grown an offence.

While much of verse--worse than old story-- Speaks but Jack-Pudding or John-Dory.

Such trash-admirers made us poor, And pies turn'd poets out of door; For the nice spirit of rich verse Which scorns absurd and low commerce, Although a flame from heav'n, if shed On rooks or daws warms no such head.

Or else the poet, like bad priest, Is seldom good, but when oppress'd; And wit as well as piety Doth thrive best in adversity For since the thunder left our air Their laurels look not half so fair.

However 'tis, 'twere worse than rude, Not to profess our grat.i.tude And debts to thee, who at so low An ebb dost make us thus to flow; And when we did a famine fear, Hast bless'd us with a fruitful year.

So while the world his absence mourns, The glorious sun at last returns, And with his kind and vital looks Warms the cold earth and frozen brooks, Puts drowsy Nature into play, And rids impediments away, Till flow'rs and fruits and spices through Her pregnant lap get up and grow.

But if among those sweet things, we A miracle like that could see Which Nature brought but once to pa.s.s, A Muse, such as Orinda was, Ph[oe]bus himself won by these charms Would give her up into thy arms; And recondemn'd to kiss his tree, Yield the young G.o.ddess unto thee.

UPON SUDDEN NEWS OF THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF JUDGE TREVERS.

Learning and Law, your day is done, And your work too; you may be gone Trever, that lov'd you, hence is fled: And Right, which long lay sick, is dead.

Trever! whose rare and envied part Was both a wise and winning heart, Whose sweet civilities could move Tartars and Goths to n.o.blest love.

Bold vice and blindness now dare act, And--like the grey groat--pa.s.s, though crack'd; While those sage lips lie dumb and cold, Whose words are well-weigh'd and tried gold.

O, how much to discreet desires Differs pure light from foolish fires!

But nasty dregs outlast the wine, And after sunset glow-worms s.h.i.+ne.

TO ETESIA (FOR TIMANDER); THE FIRST SIGHT.

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