COWLEY. THE GARDEN. FAIN would my Muse the flowery treasures sing. 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. WEEPING. WHILE Celia's tears make sorrow bright, Thus from the ocean first did rise: These silver drops, like morning dew, The stars that fall from Celia's eye The baby in that sunny sphere So like a Phaeton appears, That Heaven, the threaten'd world to spare, Else might th' ambitious nymph aspire EARL OF ROCHESTER. ON SILENCE. SILENCE! coeval with eternity, Thou wert ere Nature's self began to be, Thine was the sway ere heaven was form'd, or earth, Then various elements against thee join'd, And fram'd the clamorous race of busy humankind. The tongue mov'd gently first, and speech was low, Till wrangling science taught its noise and show, And wicked wit arose, thy most abusive foe. But rebel wit deserts thee oft in vain ; And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign. Afflicted sense thou kindly dost set free, Oppress'd with argumental tyranny, And routed reason finds a safe retreat in thee. 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! 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. 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. But couldst thou seize some tongues that now are free, How church and state should be oblig'd to thee! At senate and at bar how welcome wouldst thou be! Yet speech, e'en there, submissively withdraws From rights of subjects, and the poor man's cause. Then pompous silence reigns, and stills the noisy laws. Past services of friends, good deeds of foes, The country wit, religion of the town, The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry, EARL OF DORSET. ARTEMISIA. THOUGH Artemisia1 talks by fits Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke, 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) All white and black beside: And masculine her stride. So have I seen, in black and white, 1 Intended, it is said, for Queen Caroline. |