To come at length unto the wished fcope
Of my defire, or might myfelfe affure
That happie port for ever to recure!
Then would I thinke these paines no paines at all, And all my woes to be but penace fmall.
Then would I fing of thine immortal praise
And heavenly Hymne, fuch as the angels fing,
And thy triumphant name then would I raise
Bove all the gods, thee only honoring;
My guide, my god, my victor, and my king:
Till then, drad Lord! vouchfafe to take of me
This fimple fong, thus fram'd in praise of thee.
AH! whither, Love! wilt thou now carry
What wontleffe fury doft thou now inspire
Into my feeble breast, too full of thee?
Whyleft feeking to aslake thy raging fyre,
Thou in me kindleft much more great defyre, 5
And up aloft above my strength doth rayse
The wondrous matter of my fire to praise.
That as I earst, in praise of thine owne name,
So now in honour of thy mother deare,
An honourable Hymne I eke should frame,
And, with the brightneffe of her beautie cleare,
The ravisht hearts of gazefull men might reare
To admiration of that heavenly light,
From whence proceeds fuch foule-enchanting might.
Therto do thou, great Goddeffe! Queene of Beauty,
Mother of Love, and of all worlds delight, Without whofe foverayne grace and kindly dewty
Nothing on earth feems fayre to fleshly fight, Doe thou vouchsafe with thy love-kindling light T'illuminate dim and dulled eyne,
And beautifie this facred Hymne of thyne:
That both to thee, to whom I meane it most, And eke to her, whose faire immortall beame Hath darted fyre into my feeble ghost,
That now it wafted is with woes extreame,
It may so please, that she at length will streame
Some deaw of
grace into my withered hart,
After long forrow and confuming smart.
WHAT TIME THIS WORLDS GREAT WORK
To make al things fuch as we now behold,
It seems that he before his eyes had plast
A goodly paterne, to whofe perfect mould
He fashiond them as comely as he could,
That now fo faire and feemely they appearc,
As nought may be amended any wheare.
That wondrous paterne, wherefoere it bee,
Whether in earth layd up in fecret ftore,
Or elfe in heaven, that no man may it fee
With finfull eyes, for feare it to deflore,
"Thou into them doft ftreame." TODD.
Is perfect Beautie, which all men adore;
Whofe face and feature doth fo much excell
All mortal fence, that none the fame
Thereof as every earthly thing partakes
Or more or leffe, by influence divine,
So it more faire accordingly it makes,
And the groffe matter of this earthly myne
Which closeth it thereafter doth refyne,
Doing away the droffe which dims the light
Of that faire beame which therein is empight.
For, through infufion of celeftiall powre,
The duller earth it quickneth with delight,
And life-full spirits privily doth powre
Through all the parts, that to the looker's fight
They feeme to please; that is thy foveraine
O Cyprian queene! which flowing from the
Of thy bright ftarre, thou into them doeft ftreame.
That is the thing which giveth pleasant grace
To all things faire, that kindleth lively fyre,
Light of thy lampe; which, fhyning in the face,
Thence to the foule darts amorous defyre,
And robs the harts of those which it admyre;
Therewith thou pointeft thy fons poyfned arrow, That wounds the life, and waftes the inmoft
How vainely then do ydle wits invent,
That Beautie is nought elfe but mixture made
Of colours faire, and goodly temp'rament
Of
pure complexions, that fhall quickly fade
And paffe away, like to a fommers shade;
Or that it is but comely compofition
Of parts well measurd, with meet disposition!
Hath white and red in it fuch wondrous powre, That it can pierce through th' eyes unto the hart,
And therein stirre fuch rage and reftleffe ftowre,
As nought but death can ftint his dolours fmart?
Or can proportion of the outward part
Move fuch affection in the inward mynd,
That it can rob both sense, and reason blynd?
Why doe not then the bloffomes of the field,
Which are arayd with much more orient hew,
And to the sense most daintie odours yield, 80
Worke like impreffion in the lookers vew?
Oor why doe not faire pictures like powre shew,
Ver. 72. That it can pierce through th' cycs &c.] See my note on F. Q. iii. ix. 29. T. WARTON.
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