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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.


While Çelia's tears make sorrow bright,

Proud grief sits swelling in her eyes; The sun, next those the fairest light,

Thus from the ocean first did rise : And thus through mists we see the sun, Which else we durst not gaze upon.

These silver drops, like morning dew,

Foretell the fervour of the day:
So from one cloud soft showers we view,

And blasting lightnings burst away.
The stars that fall from Celia's eye
Declare our doom in drawing nigh.
The baby in that sunny sphere

So like a Phaëton appears,
That heaven, the threaten'd world to spare,

Thought fit to drown him in her tears ;
Else might th' ambitious nymph aspire
To set, like him, heaven too on fire.





SILENCE ! coeval with eternity; Thou wert ere Nature's self began to be, 'Twas one vast nothing all, and all slept fast in thee.

Thine was the sway ere heaven was form’d, or earth, Ere fruitful thought conceiv'd creation's birth, Or midwife word gave aid, and spoke the infant


Then various elements against thee join'd,
In one more various animal combin'd,
And fram’d the clamorous race of busy lumankind.

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;
Lost in the maze of words he turns again,
And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle


Amicted 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


Past services of friends, good deeds of foes,
What favourites gain, and what the nation owes,
Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.
The country wit, religion of the town,
The courtier's learning, policy o'th' gown,
Are best by thee express'd, and shine in thee alone.

The parson's cant, the lawyer's sophistry,
Lord's quibble, critic's jest; all end in thee;
All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.



Though Artemisia 1 talks by fits
Of councils, classics, fathers, wits;

Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke: Yet in some things methinks she fails : 'Twere well if she would


her nails, And wear a cleaner smock.

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)
On any part except her face;

All white and black beside :
Dauntless her look, her gesture proud,
Her voice theatrically loud,

And masculine her stride.

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

Intended, it is said, for Queen Caroline.

Majestically stalk; A stately worthless animal, That plies the tongue, and wags the tail,

All Autter, pride, and talk.


PHRYNE had talents for mankind;
Open she was and unconfin'd,

Like some free port of trade : Merchants unloaded here their freight, And agents from each foreign state

Here first their entry made.

Her learning and good breeding such,
Whether th’ Italian or the Dutch,

Spaniards or French, came to her ; To all obliging she'd appear; 'Twas Si Signior, 'twas Yaw Mynheer,

'Twas S'il vous plaist, Monsieur.

Obscure by birth, renown'd by crimes, Still changing names, religions, climes,

At length she turns a bride: In diamonds, pearls, and rich brocades, She shines the first of batter'd jades,

And flutters in her pride.

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