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The curious nets the subtile weave,
The word, the look that

may

deceive. No mundane 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.

ON MY AUNT MRS. A. K.

Drown'd under London-Bridge in the Queen's Bardge,

Anno 1641.

The darling of a father good and wise,
The vertue, which a vertuous age did prize ;
The beauty excellent even to these were faire,
Subscribed 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 on 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.

EDMUND WALLER.

1605~1687.

Waller has perhaps received more than due praise for the

refinement of his native language ; it is well that it was not lavished on his wit. He is often elegant, sometimes tender, and not seldom dull; his conceits are often bril. liant, and oftener far-fetched; his political life was a system of contradictions, and the effects of it are seen in his poetry. In the editions of his works, the Piece next in order to the Verses on the Death of Cromwell, is a congratulation on the return of Charles II.

Upon His Majesty's repairing of St. Paul's.

That shipwreck'd vessel which th' apostle bore,
Scarce suffer'd more upon Melita's shore,
Than did his temple in the sea of time;
Our nation's glory, and our nation's crime.
When the * first Monarch of this happy isle,
Mov'd with the ruin of so brave a pile,

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This work of cost and piety begun,
To be accomplish'd by his glorious son:
Who all that came within the ample thought
Of bis wise Sire, has to perfection brought.
He, like Amphion, makes those quarries leap
Into fair figures, from a confus'd heap :
For in his art of regiment is found
A power, like that of harmony in sound.
Those antique minstrels sure were CHARLES-

like kings,
Cities their lutes, and subjects hearts their strings;
On which, with so divine a hand they shook,
Consent of motion from their breath they took :
So, all our minds with his conspire to grace
The Gentile's great apostle ; and deface
Those state-obscuring sheds, that like a chain
Seem'd to confine, and fetter him again :
Which the glad saint shakes off at his command,
As once the viper from his sacred hand.
So joys the aged oak, when we divide
The creeping ivy from his injur'd side.

Ambition rather would affect the fame Of some new structure, to have borne her name : Two distant virtues in one act we find, The modesty, and greatness of his mind Which, not content to be above the rage, And injury of all-pairing image,

In its own worth secure, doth higher climb,
And things half swallow'd from the jaws of time
Reduce: an earnest of his grand design,
To frame no new church, but the old refine :
Which, spouse-like, may with comely grace com-

mand,
More than by force of argument, or hand.
For, doubtful reason few can apprehend ;
And war brings ruin, where it should amend :
But beauty, with a bloodless conquest, finds
A welcome soy'reignty in rudest minds.
Not ought which Sheba's wond'ring queen

beheld
Amongst the works of SOLOMON, excell'd
His ships, and building; emblems of a heart
Large both in magnanimity, and art.

While the propitious heav'ns this work attend,
Long-wanted showers they forget to send :
As if they meant to make it understood
Of more importance than our vital food.
The sun, which riseth to salute the Quire
Already finish'd, setting shall admire
How private bounty cou'd so far extend:
The King built all; but CHARI.ES, the western end.
So proud a fabrick to devotion giv'n,
At once it threatens, and obliges, heav'n!

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