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IV.

COWLEY.

THE GARDEN.

FIN

IN would my Mose the flow'ry Treasures fing,

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, 5 The thin undress of fuperficial Light, And vary'd Tulips low so dazzling gay, Blushing in bright diversities of day. Each painted flowret in the lake below Sarveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow; And pale Narcisus on the bank, in vain Transformed, gazes on himself again. Here aged trees Cathedral Walks compose, And mount the hill in venerable rows; There the green Infants in their beds are laid,

15 The Garden's Hope, and its expected shade. Here Orange-trees with blooms and pendants thine, And vernal honours to their autumn join ; Exceed their promise in their ripen'd store, Yet in the rising blossom promise more.

20 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 fade, Still turns her beauties from th' invading beam, 25 Nor seeks in vain for succour to the stream. The stream at once preserves her virgin leaves, At once a fhelter from her boughs receives, Where Summer's beauty midst of Winter stays And Winter's coolness spite of Summer's rays. 39

W E. E P I N G.

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WH
Hile Celia's Tears make sorrow bright,

Proud grief fits swelling in her eyes;
The Sun, next those the faireft light,

Thus from the Ocean first did rise:
And thus thro' Mists we see the Sun,
Which else we durft not gaze upon.

5

These filver drops, like morning dew,

Foretell the fervour of the day:
So from one cloud soft show'rs we view.,

And blafting lightnings burst away.
The Stars that fall from Celia's eye,
Declare our Doom in drawing nigh.

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The Baby in that sunny Sphere

So like a Phaëton appears,
That Heav'n, the threaten'd World to spare,

Thought fit to drown him in her Tears :
Elfe might th' ambitious Nymph aspire,
To set, like him, Heav'n too on fire.

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V.

E. of ROCHESTER.

ON SIL E N C E.

I. Silence! 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;

Loft in the maze of Words he turns again,
And seeks a surer ftate, and courts thy gentle reign.

VI.
Amicted Sense thou kindly doft set free,

Oppress'd with argumental tyranny,
And routed Reason finds a safe retreat in thee.

VII.
With thee in private model Dulness lies,

And in thy bofom lurks in Thought's disguise ; Thou varnisher of Fouls, and cheat of all the Wise!

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VIII.
Yet thy indulgence is by both confeft;

Folly by thee lies Bleeping in the breast,
And 'tis in thee at laft that Wisdom seeks for rest.

IX.
Silence, the knave's repute, the whore's good name,

The only honour of the wishing dame; The very want of tongue makes thee a kind of Fame.

X. But could'At thou seize fome tongues that now are free,

How Church and State should be oblig'd to thee? At Senate, and at Bar, how welcome would'ft thou bei

XI.
Yet speech ev'n there, fubmiflively withdraws,

From rights of fubjects, and the poor man's cause: Then pompous Silence reigas, and fills the noify Laws.

XII.
Paft services of friends, good deeds of foes,

What Pav'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 beft by thee express'd; and thine in thee alone.

XIV.
The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophiftry,

Lord's quibble, critic's jeft; all end in thee,
All rest in peace at laft, and sleep eternally.

VI.

E. of DORSET.

A R T E M I S I A.

TH0'
Ho' Artemifia talks, by fits,

Of councils, claffics, fathers, wits;
Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke :
Yet in some things merhinks the fails,
'Twere well if she would pare her nails,

And wear a cleaner smock.

5

Haughty and huge as High-Dutch bride,
Such naftiness, and fo much pride,

Are oddly join'd by fate :
On her large squab you find her fpread,
Like a fat corpfe upon a bed,

That lies and flinks in itate.

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She wears no colours Flign of grace)
On any part except her face;

All white and black befide :
Dauntless her look, her gesture proudy
Her voice theatrically loud,

And masculine her stride.

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So have I seen, in black and white
A prating thing, a Magiye hight,

Majestically stalk;
A ftately, worthlefs animal,
That plies the tongue, and wags the tail,
All Butter, pride, and talk,

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