To my Lady Anne Bainton, on the 28th of April, 1688

'Twas night, and, with a weight of grief opprest,
Though weary'd with much toil, I took no rest;
All wrapt in Melancholy thought I lay,
Wish't 'twou'd be ever dark, or soon be day:
But Heav'n, still mindful wretched man to ease,
Inspir'd me with a pleasing thought, when nothing else cou'd please;
A thought which all around did joy display,
And drove the anxious throng of cares away:
So, in a Dream, oft Fancy to us brings
A thousand frightful Images of things,
Confus'd, but at the op'ning of the Eye
Their shapes dissolve, the airy Fantoms fly.
Gods! streight I cry'd, why ly I longer here?
When Pleasure's nigh, why thus indulge my care?
Up, then, and to high Heav'n Devotion pay
For the return of this Auspicious Day,
The day that gave fair Adorissa Birth,
And with another Lucreece blest the Earth:
Chast Adorissa, high in Heav'n's esteem,
The Grace's Darling, and the Muses Theme!
Which every Pen to write, and every Ear
With an uncommon Joy inclines to hear!
While in her Conduct we see, fairly writ,
Her Mother's Heav'nly Modesty, her Father's pow'rful wit!
As thus I spoke, Aurora's cheerful ray
Brought the glad Tydings of returning day,
The Larks did mount, their morning Carols sung,
To Heav'ns wide Arch the tuneful Echo's rung:
And now the Sun let loose the Reins of light,
And ne're before, methought, appear'd so bright;
No gloomy Cloud did interpose between
His Beams and us, nor rising Fog was seen:
The Winds were hush't; only a balmy breeze,
With am'rous Wings, fann'd perfume through the Trees.
Lo! here, cry'd I again, when all around,
Above, below, a general Joy I found,
Nature her self, to shew we well admire,
Puts on her gorgeous Robes and Spring attire,
That we may say, her gentlest looks she cast
To grace this day and bless it as it past.
Never, O Grateful Goddess! was it known
Thy Glories were more proper to be shown.
For, O! what Charms can in that Sex abound
That's not in the more charming Adorissa found?
Her Vertues, which the nicest Test will bear,
Her easy, flowing, yet commanding Air,
A temper, which no trifling will abide,
Sweet without Art, and stately without Pride;
How all she does becomes her, such a Grace!
Such lovely Motions! such a lovely Face!
Though young her self, yet how in Judgment old,
Are things too full of wonder to be told.
These, Madam, were my Thoughts, but while you stay
To read 'em, you throw pretious time away,
And mar the better Pleasures of the Day;
The Guests, Impatient, long you shou'd appear,
And I shou'd err to keep you longer here.
Now strike up Musick, let the Virgins feet
With equal Harmony your Measures meet;
And you, fair Dam'sels, give delight the rein,
Though often tir'd, take breath and to't again:
But, O kind Youths, let not the Nymphs, though fair,
Make you fix Adoration only there;
O give not Cupid all, let Bacchus have his share.
So, to the top fill up the flowing Bowl,
Come, he that spills least has the greatest Soul:
Let no dull sniveling Coxcomb baulk his Glass,
But if he will not drink, dismiss the Ass;
Ill fare the man that will, at such a time,
Think Dancing, Love, Delight, or Drink a crime:
What if they call us Sots, so let 'em do,
Your Sober Sot's the dullest of the two.
O Solomon! thou never spok'st amiss,
If time for all things, now's the time for this.
Fill round again, to the large Brim fill up,
'Tis Adorissa's Health, unlade the Cup;
But prithee, though y'are merry, don't forget
The Poet;— Wine's his best pretence to wit.
But whither does the Muse intend her flight?
Or has the Jilt forgot to whom I write?
Or I am drunk indeed? turn'd giddy with delight.
Howe're it is, Madam, I'm confident
'Tis all obedience, 'tis all humbly meant.
Permit me, then, to hope you will forgive
These lines, and condescend to let 'em live;
The Poet's Friend, whene're y'are pleas'd to smile,
You wing our Fancy and improve our stile.
Wherefore this April's Sun shall cease to warm,
Your Spouse to Love, and your own Eyes to charm.
E're I decline (indulgent to your Fame)
To write your Praise and celebrate your Name.
Long may you in your Partners Arms be prest,
With the same Ardour that you first carest,
When the dear man came panting to your Breast.
May you see many of these days return,
And all the while have not one cause to mourn:
And O! (which will be more than double Joy)
May your next Birth-day prove the Birth-day of a Boy!