Durst entertain, when thus compell’d they press’d
The yielding marble of her snowy breast.
While love insults, disguised in the cloud,
And welcome force, of that unruly crowd.
So th’am’rous tree, while yet the air is calm,
Just distance keeps from his desired palm;
But when the wind her ravish’d branches throws
Into his arms, and mingles all their boughs,
Though loth he seems her tender leaves to press, 19
More loth he is that friendly storm should cease,
From whose rude bounty he the double use
At once receives, of pleasure and excuse.
 ‘Insults’: exults.
 ‘Palm’: Ovalle informs us that the palm-trees in Chili have this
wonderful property, that they never will bear any fruit but when
they are planted near each other; and when they find one standing
barren by itself, if they plant another, be it never so small (which
they call the female), it will become prolific.—FENTON.
THE STORY OF PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE, APPLIED.
Thyrsis, a youth of the inspired train,
Fair Saccharissa loved, but loved in vain;
Like Phoebus sung the no less am’rous boy;
Like Daphne she, as lovely, and as coy!
With numbers he the flying nymph pursues,
With numbers such as Phoebus’ self might use!
Such is the chase when Love and Fancy leads,
O’er craggy mountains, and through flow’ry meads;
Invoked to testify the lover’s care,
Or form some image of his cruel fair. 10
Urged with his fury, like a wounded deer,
O’er these he fled; and now approaching near,
Had reach’d the nymph with his harmonious lay,
Whom all his charms could not incline to stay.
Yet what he sung in his immortal strain,
Though unsuccessful, was not sung in vain;
All, but the nymph that should redress his wrong,
Attend his passion, and approve his song.
Like Phoebus thus, acquiring unsought praise,
He catch’d at love, and fill’d his arms with bays. 20
 ‘Daphne’: Ovid’s Metamorphoses, b. i.
ON THE FRIENDSHIP BETWIXT SACCHARISSA AND AMORET.
1 Tell me, lovely, loving pair!
Why so kind, and so severe?
Why so careless of our care,
Only to yourselves so dear?
2 By this cunning change of hearts,
You the power of Love control;
While the boy’s deluded darts
Can arrive at neither soul.
3 For in vain to either breast
Still beguiled Love does come,
Where he finds a foreign guest,
Neither of your hearts at home.
4 Debtors thus with like design,
When they never mean to pay,
That they may the law decline,
To some friend make all away.
5 Not the silver doves that fly,
Yoked in Cytherea’s car;
Not the wings that lift so high,
And convey her son so far;