Beauties Monarchy. 1679

VErse, without truth, is a dark Day;
Where peeping glimpses play,
Without the favour of one shining ray.

When Poets leave fictitious Dreams;
Apollo gilds their Themes,
Smiling upon 'em with auspicious beams.

Accoutred thus, He courts your sight;
And you reflect his light:
Like polisht Chrystals making it more bright.

The treasures of his blazing Mine
All objects else refine;
Your Eyes alone gild o're his Silver shine.

'Tis you out-influence the Sun;
His Charter is out-done;
You make me Poet, who before were none.

The Statue thus that Memnon made,
Was silent in the shade:
Struck with the Sun-beams vocal Musick play'd.

No greater Treason can their be,
Than your own modesty;
Refusing Vniversal Monarchy.

Apollo with his Troops tho stands,
Like the Praetorian Bands,
Forcing the Empire on unwilling hands.

Inthron'd you sit on glorious blaze;
Disdaining Lawrels, Bayes,
Glories incirc'ling you of your own Rayes.

Dazled to death by your fierce Beams,
We but refine our Fames:
Like Martyrs glorying in the purging Flames.

But if your pitty cool your Eye,
And will not let us dye;
Like Confessors, our Faith wee'l not deny.

With Roses then I shall be crown'd,
Tho Bayes cannot be found;
Living, or Dying, your Rewards abound.

I must be just, tho I am vain:
My Conscience bears no stain
Though zeal, for you, makes me a Puritan.

With all Devotion I confess
Beauty, than Goodness Less;
Yet yours so great, it would an Angel bless.

Your goodness tho must greater be;
Too large for Quantity;
Since, oh, it did vouchsafe to think of me!

Gifts then are duly entertain'd,
And in a right light stand;
When we regard the Persons whence th' are gaind.

In our Inferiours, Bribes they are;
To gain a better share:
As some for Riches, barter breath in Pray'r.

When from our Equals they are sent;
They are but favours lent
By Tenants to be stopt in the next Rent.

Superiours, in the meanest thing,
Not gifts, but honours bring:
As when a Knighthood is vouchsaf'd by th' King.

Yours, Madam, goes a higher rate,
And brings a richer fate;
Since you confer'd both honour and Estate

Greater acknowledgments are due;
I owe my self to you;
For you both grac'd, inrich'd, and blest me too.
Blest I must be; for whilst I rate
The virtues of your state,
The World may fall in love, and imitate.
Inspir'd thus with a sacred rage,
To be your Poet I ingage:
Then whilst I sing your praises right,
The World will be converted by't,
And I the Apostle of this Heath'nish Age.