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Poems

By the most deservedly Admired Mrs Katherine Philips: The matchless Orinda. To which is added Monsieur Corneille's Pompey & Horace Tragedies. With several other Translations out of French

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To Sir Edward Deering (the noble Silvander) on his Dream and Navy, personating Orinda's preferring Rosania before Solomon's Traffick to Ophir.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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To Sir Edward Deering (the noble Silvander) on his Dream and Navy, personating Orinda's preferring Rosania before Solomon's Traffick to Ophir.

Then am I happier than is the King;
My Merchandise does no such danger bring:
The Fleet I traffick with fears no such harms,
Sails in my sight, and anchors in my arms.
Each new and unperceived grace
Discovered in that mind and face,
Each motion, smile and look from thee
Brings pearls and Ophir-gold to me.
Thus far Sir Edw. Deering.
SIR, To be noble, when 'twas voted down,
To dare be good, though a whole Age should frown;
To live within, and from that even state
See all the under-world stoop to its fate;
To give the Law of Honour, and dispence
All that is handsome, great and worthy thence;
Are things at once your practice and your end,
And which I dare admire, but not commend.
But since t'oblige the world is your delight,
You must descend within our reach and sight:
For so Divinity must take disguise,
Lest Mortals perish with the bright surprise.
And thus your Muse (which can enough reward
All actions she vouchsafes but to regard,
And Honours gives, than Kings more permanent,
Above the reach of Acts of Parliament)
May suffer an acknowledgment from me,
For having thence receiv'd Eternity.
My thoughts with such advantage you express,

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I hardly know them in this charming dress.
And had I more unkindness from my friend
Than my demerits e're could apprehend,
Were the Fleet courted with this gale of wind,
I might be sure a rich return to find.
So when the Shepherd of his Nymph complain'd,
Apollo in his shape his Mistress gain'd:
She might have scorn'd the Swain, & found excuse;
But could not his great Oratour refuse.
But for Rosania's Interest I should fear
It would be hard t'obtain your pardon here.
But your first Goodness will, I know, allow
That what was Bounty then, is Mercy now.
Forgiveness is the noblest Charity,
And nothing can worthy your favour be.
For you (God-like) are so much your own fate,
That what you will accept you must create.