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ZONG since great witts have left the stage

Unto the drollers of the age,

And noble 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 pyes,” 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 opprest :
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 gratitude
And debts to thee, who at so low
An ebbe do'st make us thus to flow :
And when we did a famine fear,

1 Mrs. Philips, as before. G.


mag-pies. G.

Hast blest us with a fruitfull 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 drowsie 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 pass :
A Muse, such as Orinda was,
Phæbus himself won by these charms
Would give her up into thy arms;
And recondemn'd to kiss his tree,
Yield the young goddess unto thee.



EARNING and Law, your day is done,

And your work too ; you may be gone !

TREVER, that lov'd you, hence is filed :
And Right, which long lay sick, is dead.
TREVER! whose rare and envied part
Was both a wise and winning heart,
Whose sweet civilitys could move
Tartars and Goths to noblest love.

Bold Vice and Blindness now dare act,
And-like the gray groat-pass, though crack't;
While those sage lips lye dumbe and cold,
Whose words are well-weigh’d and tried gold.

This was probably Sir Thomas Trevor, youngest son of John Trevor, Esq., of Trevallyn, co. Denbigh, by Mary daughter of Sir George Bruges of London. He was born 6th July, 1586. He was made one of the Barons of the Exchequer 12th May, 16:25 : and was one of the six judges who refused to accept the new commission offered them by the ruling powers under the Commonwealth. He died 21st December, 1656 and is buried at Lemington-Hastang in Warwickshire. There was also Sir John Trevor, Knt. appointed Secretary of State by Charles II. 29th September 1668 : Born 1626: died 1672. Probably the former is the subject of the poem supra. G.

O how much to discreet desires
Differs pure light from foolish fires !
But nasty dregs out last the wine,
And after sun-set glow worms shine.'




HAT smiling star in that fair Night,
Which gave you birth gare me this

And with a kind aspect tho'keen
Made me the subject : you the queen ?
That sparkling planet is got now
Into your eyes, and shines below;
Where nearer force, and more acute
It doth dispence, without dispute;
For I who yesterday did know
Love's fire no more than doth cool snow,
With one bright look am since undone,
Yet must adore and seek my sun.

Before I walk'd free as the wind,
And if but stay'd-like it-unkind.
I could like daring eagles gaze

| Cf. 'Aj glow-worms here do glitter in the dark" in lines to “ the pious memorie of C. W.ante. G.

And not be blinded by a face;
For what I saw till I saw thee,
Was only not deformity.
Such shapes appear-compar'd with thine,-
In arras, or a tavern-sign,
And do but mind me to explore
A fairer piece, that is in store.
So some hang ivy to their wine,
To signifie there is a vine.

Those princely flow'rs—by no storms vex’d--
Which smile one day, and droop the next :
The gallant tulip and the rose,
Emblems which some use to disclose
Bodyed idea's: their weak grace
Is meer imposture to thy face.
For Nature in all things, but thee,
Did practise only sophistry ;
Or else she made them to express
How she could vary in her dress :
But thou wert form’d, that we might see
Perfection, not variety.

Have you observ'd how the day-star
Sparkles and smiles and shines from far :
Then to the gazer doth convey
A silent but a piercing ray ?
So wounds my love, but that her eys
Are in effects, the better skys.

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