How has your patience, with the barb'rous rage
Of your own soil, contended half an age?
Till (your try'd virtue, and your sacred word
At last preventing your unwilling sword)
Armies, and fleets which kept you out so long,
Own'd their great Sov'reign, and redress'd his
wrong.

When straight the people, by no force compell'd,
Nor longer from their inclinations held,

Break force at once, like powder set on fire;
And with a noble rage, their KING require.

So th' injur'd sea, which, from her wonted

course,

To gain some acres, avarice did force,

If the new banks, neglected once, decay,
No longer will from her old channel stay ;
Raging, the late-got land she overflows,
And all that's built upon't to ruin goes.

Offenders now, the chiefest, do begin
To strive for grace, and expiate their sin :
All winds blow fair, that did the world embroil;
Your vipers treacle yield, and scorpions oil.

If then such praise the MACEDONIAN got, For having rudely cut the GORDIAN knot; What glory's due to him, that could divide Such ravel'd int'rests, has the knot unty'd,

Whose travel o'er that silver field does show,
Light track of leverets in morning-snow.
LOVE's image thus in purest minds is wrought,
Without a spot, or blemish, to the thought.
Strange that your fingers should the pencil foil,
Without the help of colours, or of oil!

For, tho' a painter boughs and leaves can make,
"Tis you alone can make them bend or shake :
Whose breath salutes your new-created grove,
Like southern winds, and makes it gently move.
ORPHEUS could make the forest dance; but you
Can make the motion, and the forest too.

GEORGE VILLIERS,

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

1628-1687.

The Author of the Rehearsal, whose character has been de scribed by Dryden, and whose death by Pope, in lines never to be forgotten.

To his Mistress.

WHAT a dull fool was I,
To think so gross a lye,

As that I ever was in love before!

I have, perhaps, known one or two,

With whom I was content to be

At that which they call keeping company; But after all that they could do,

I still could be with more :

Their absence never made me shed a tear;
And I can truly swear,

That till my eyes first gazed on you,

I ne'er beheld that thing I could adore.

Whose travel o'er that silver field does show, Light track of leverets in morning-snow. LOVE's image thus in purest minds is wrought, Without a spot, or blemish, to the thought. Strange that your fingers should the pencil foil, Without the help of colours, or of oil!

For, tho' a painter boughs and leaves can make, "Tis you alone can make them bend or shake: Whose breath salutes your new-created grove, Like southern winds, and makes it gently move. ORPHEUS could make the forest dance; but Can make the motion, and the forest too.

you

GEORGE VILLIERS,

DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

1628-1687.

The Author of the Rehearsal, whose character has been de scribed by Dryden, and whose death by Pope, in lines never to be forgotten.

To his Mistress.

WHAT a dull fool was I,
To think so gross a lye,

As that I ever was in love before!

I have, perhaps, known one or two,

With whom I was content to be

At that which they call keeping company; But after all that they could do,

I still could be with more :

Their absence never made me shed a tear;

And I can truly swear,

That till my eyes first gazed on you,

I ne'er beheld that thing I could adore.