The Poetical Works of John Dryden Volume Ii Part 12

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 38: In Tonson's folio edition.]

XII

ON THE MONUMENT OF A FAIR MAIDEN LADY[39], WHO DIED AT BATH, AND IS THERE INTERRED.

Below this marble monument is laid All that heaven wants of this celestial maid.

Preserve, O sacred tomb! thy trust consign'd; The mould was made on purpose for the mind: And she would lose, if, at the latter day, One atom could be mix'd of other clay.

Such were the features of her heavenly face, Her limbs were form'd with such harmonious grace: So faultless was the frame, as if the whole Had been an emanation of the soul: 10 Which her own inward symmetry reveal'd And like a picture shone, in gla.s.s anneal'd.

Or like the sun eclipsed, with shaded light: Too piercing, else, to be sustain'd by sight.

Each thought was visible that roll'd within: As through a crystal case the figured hours are seen.

And Heaven did this transparent veil provide, Because she had no guilty thought to hide.

All white, a virgin-saint, she sought the skies: For marriage, though it sullies not, it dyes. 20 High though her wit, yet humble was her mind: As if she could not, or she would not find How much her worth transcended all her kind.

Yet she had learn'd so much of heaven below, That, when arrived, she scarce had more to know: But only to refresh the former hint, And read her Maker in a fairer print.

So pious, as she had no time to spare For human thoughts, but was confined to prayer.

Yet in such charities she pa.s.s'd the day, 30 'Twas wondrous how she found an hour to pray.

A soul so calm, it knew not ebbs or flows, Which pa.s.sion could but curl, not discompose.

A female softness, with a manly mind: A daughter duteous, and a sister kind: In sickness patient, and in death resign'd.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 39: This Lady is interred in the Abbey-church. Her name was Mary Frampton. She died in 1698.]

XIII.

EPITAPH ON MRS MARGARET PASTON, OF BURNINGHAM IN NORFOLK.

So fair, so young, so innocent, so sweet, So ripe a judgment, and so rare a wit, Require at least an age in one to meet.

In her they met; but long they could not stay, 'Twas gold too fine to mix without allay.

Heaven's image was in her so well express'd, Her very sight upbraided all the rest; Too justly ravish'd from an age like this, Now she is gone, the world is of a piece.

XIV.

ON THE MONUMENT OF THE MARQUIS OF WINCHESTER.[40]

He who in impious times undaunted stood, And 'midst rebellion durst be just and good; Whose arms a.s.serted, and whose sufferings more Confirm'd the cause for which he sought before, Rests here, rewarded by an heavenly prince, For what his earthly could not recompense.

Pray, reader, that such times no more appear: Or, if they happen, learn true honour here.

Ask of this age's faith and loyalty, Which, to preserve them, Heaven confined in thee.

Few subjects could a king like thine deserve; And fewer such a king so well could serve.

Blest king, blest subject, whose exalted state By sufferings rose, and gave the law to fate!

Such souls are rare, but mighty patterns given To earth, and meant for ornaments to heaven.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 40: Winchester, a staunch royalist, besieged two years in his castle of Basing, died in 1674.]

SONGS, ODES, AND A MASQUE

I.

THE FAIR STRANGER.[41]

A SONG.

1 Happy and free, securely blest, No beauty could disturb my rest; My amorous heart was in despair, To find a new victorious fair.

2 Till you descending on our plains, With foreign force renew my chains: Where now you rule without control The mighty sovereign of my soul.

3 Your smiles have more of conquering charms, Than all your native country arms; Their troops we can expel with ease, Who vanquish only when we please.

4 But in your eyes, oh! there's the spell, Who can see them, and not rebel?

You make us captives by your stay, Yet kill us if you go away.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 41: This song is a compliment to the d.u.c.h.ess of Portsmouth, Charles's mistress, on her first coming to England.]