That trac't the stars, 'spite of report,

And durst be good, though chidden for't:
Of such a soule that infant Heav'n
Repented what it thus had giv'n :
For finding equall happy man,

Th' impatient pow'rs snatch it agen.
Thus, chaste as th' ayre whither shee's fled,
She, making her celestiall bed
In her warme alablaster, lay
As cold as in this house of clay:
Nor were the rooms unfit to feast
Or circumscribe this angel-guest;
The radiant gemme was brightly set
In as divine a carkanet;

Of1 which the clearer was not knowne,
Her minde or her complexion.

Such an everlasting grace,

Such a beatifick face,

Incloysters here this narrow floore,

That possest all hearts before.

Blest and bewayl'd in death and birth! The smiles and teares of heav'n and earth! Virgins at each step are afeard,

Filmer is shot by which they steer'd,
Their star extinct, their beauty dead,
That the yong world to honour led;
But see! the rapid spheres stand still,
And tune themselves unto her will.

1 Original reads for.

Thus, although this marble must,
As all things, crumble into dust,

And though you finde this faire-built tombe
Ashes, as what lyes in its wombe:

Yet her saint-like name shall shine

A living glory to this shrine,
And her eternall fame be read,

When all but very vertue's dead.1

TO MY WORTHY FRIEND MR. PETER

LILLY: 2

ON THAT EXCELLENT PICTURE OF HIS MAJESTY AND

THE DUKE OF YORKE, DRAWNE BY HIM

AT HAMPTON-COURT.

EE! what a clouded majesty, and eyes Whose glory through their mist doth brighter rise!

See! what an humble bravery doth shine, And griefe triumphant breaking through each line,

"Which ensuing times shall warble,

When 'tis lost, that's writ in marble."

WITHER'S Fair Virtue, the Mistress of Philarete, 1622. Headley (Select Beauties, ed. 1810, ii. p. 42) has remarked the similarity between these lines and some in Collins' Dirge in Cymbeline:

"Belov'd till life can charm no more;

And mourn'd till pity's self be dead."

2 Mr., afterwards Sir Peter, Lely. He was frequently called Lilly, or Lilley, by his contemporaries, and Lilley is Pepys'

How it commands the face! so sweet a scorne
Never did happy misery adorne!

So sacred a contempt, that others show

To this, (oth' height of all the wheele) below,
That mightiest monarchs by this shaded booke
May coppy out their proudest, richest looke.

Whilst the true eaglet this quick luster spies, And by his sun's enlightens his owne eyes; He cures1 his cares, his burthen feeles, then streight Joyes that so lightly he can beare such weight; Whilst either eithers passion doth borrow,

And both doe grieve the same victorious sorrow.

These, my best Lilly, with so bold a spirit And soft a grace, as if thou didst inherit For that time all their greatnesse, and didst draw With those brave eyes your royal sitters saw.

Not as of old, when a rough hand did speake A strong aspect, and a faire face, a weake;

spelling. "At Lord Northumberland's, at Sion, is a remarkable picture of King Charles I, holding a letter directed 'au roi monseigneur,' and the Duke of York, æt. 14, presenting a penknife to him to cut the strings. It was drawn at HamptonCourt, when the King was last there, by Mr. Lely, who was earnestly recommended to him. I should have taken it for the hand of Fuller or Dobson. It is certainly very unlike Sir Peter's latter manner, and is stronger than his former. The King has none of the melancholy grace which Vandyck alone, of all his painters, always gave him. It has a sterner countenance, and expressive of the tempests he had experienced."WALPOLE'S Anecdotes of Painting in England, ed. 1862, p. 443-4. 'Original reads cares.

When only a black beard cried villaine, and
By hieroglyphicks we could understand;
When chrystall typified in a white spot,
And the bright ruby was but one red blot;
Thou dost the things Orientally the same
Not only paintst its colour, but its flame:
Thou sorrow canst designe without a teare,
And with the man his very hope or feare;
So that th' amazed world shall henceforth finde
None but my Lilly ever drew a minde.

THE LADY A. L.1

MY ASYLUM IN A GREAT EXTREMITY.

ITH that delight the Royal captiv's brought Before the throne, to breath his farewell thought,

To tel his last tale, and so end with it, Which gladly he esteemes a benefit ;

When the brave victor, at his great soule dumbe, Findes something there fate cannot overcome, Cals the chain'd prince, and by his glory led, First reaches him his crowne, and then his head; Who ne're 'til now thinks himself slave and

poor;

For though nought else, he had himselfe before.

i. e. Anne, Lady Lovelace, the poet's kinswoman, who seems to have assisted him in some emergency, unknown to us except through the present lines.

2 Caractacus (?).

He
weepes
at this faire chance, nor wil allow,
But that the diadem doth brand his brow,
And under-rates himselfe below mankinde,
Who first had lost his body, now his minde,

With such a joy came I to heare my dombe,
And haste the preparation of my tombe,
When, like good angels who have heav'nly charge
To steere and guide mans sudden giddy barge,
She snatcht me from the rock I was upon,
And landed me at life's pavillion:

Where I, thus wound out of th' immense abysse,
Was straight set on a pinacle of blisse.

Let me leape in againe! and by that fall
Bring me to my first woe, so cancel all:
Ah! 's this a quitting of the debt you owe,

To crush her and her goodnesse at one blowe?
Defend me from so foule impiety,

Would make friends grieve, and furies weep to see.

Now, ye sage spirits, which infuse in men
That are oblidg'd twice to oblige agen,
Informe my tongue in labour what to say,
And in what coyne or language to repay.
But you are silent as the ev'nings ayre,
When windes unto their hollow grots repaire.1

The mythology of Greece assigned to each wind a separate cave, in which it was supposed to await the commands of its sovereign Æolus, or Eolos. It is to this myth that Lovelace alludes.