Strange Force of Harmony, that thus controuls You far above Both these your GOD did place, When to your Native Heav'n You shall repair, As in fome Piece, while LUKE his Skill expreft, To burning ROME when frantick NERO play'd, } But But, had he heard thy Lute, He foon had found Thine, like AMPHION'S Hand, had wak'd the Stone, PICTURE of SENECA dying in a Bath. By JORDA I N. At the Right Honourable the EARL of EXETER's at Burleigh-Houfe. WHILE cruel NERO only drains The moral SPANIARD'S ebbing Veins, By Study worn, and flack with Age, The Stoic's Image in this Piece. For while unhurt, divine JORDAIN, XPD oă Thy Work and SENECA's remain, He still has Body, ftill has Soul, And lives and speaks, restor'd and whole. An An O D E. I. WHILE blooming Youth, and gay Delight Sit on thy rofey Cheeks confeft, Thou haft, my Dear, undoubted Right To triumph o'er this deftin'd Breaft. My Reafon bends to what thy Eyes ordain; II. But would You meanly thus rely ⠀⠀ And do an Ill, becaufe You may Still must I Thee, as Atheifts Heav'n adore; Not fee thy Mercy, and yet dread thy Power? Take Heed, my Dear, Youth flies apace; The Fate of vulgar Beauty find:) The Thousand Loves, that arm thy potent Eye, IV... Then wilt Thou figh, when in each Frown A hateful Wrinkle more appears; A And putting peevish Humours on, 25 noM - 177 Seems but the fad Effect of Years:72 oigald Kindness it self too weak a Charm will prove, To raise the feeble Fires of aged Love. V. Forc'd Compliments, and formal Bows The Heat, with which thy Lover glows, A talking dull Platonic I fhall turn; Learn to be civil, when I ceafe to burn. VI.: Then fhun the Ill, and know, my Dear, The only Pillars fit to bear So vaft a Weight, as that of Love. If thou canst wish to make My Flames endure, VII. Haste, CELIA, hafte, while Youth invites, Let Millions of repeated Bliffes prove, Be Mine, and only Mine; take care Thy Looks, thy Thoughts, thy Dreams to guide To Me alone; nor come fo far, As liking any Youth befide: What Men e'er court Thee, fly 'em, and believe, IX. So fhall I court thy dearest Truth, So TIME it felf our Raptures fhall improve, A N EPISTLE TO FLEETWOOD SHEPHARD, Efq; SIR, AS Burleigh, May 14, 1689. S once a Twelvemonth to the Priest, Holy at ROME, here Antichrift, To fhow his Love; That's all that's in it: His reverend Bum 'gainft Horse's Rump,' He might b' equipt from his own Stable With one more White, and eke more Able. Or as with Gondola's and Men, His Good Excellence the Duke of VENICE |