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The poetical and dramatic works of Sir Charles Sedley

Collected and Edited from the Old Editions: With a preface on the text, explanatory and textual notes, an appendix containing works of doubtful authenticity, and a bibliography: By V. de Sola Pinto

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From Stephens's Miscellany Poems, 1685
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From Stephens's Miscellany Poems, 1685

XCVI
UPON THE SLIGHTING OF HIS FRIENDS LOVE

[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

Love guides my hand, and shews me what to write,
That (thou) mayst know 'tis she that doth Indite.
When Love's concern'd to make her language known,
She doth by Numbers soft, and sweet, bemoan
(Thy silence) enough to make her sigh and groan.
She fears that thy sweet Natur's wing'd away,

143

Because not touch'd, by its enlivening Ray:
She doubts some Veil has overspread its Light,
Which threatens more than an Aegyptian Night;
Wherein nought but sad mournful Clouds appear,
Enough to strike thee into endless fear.
When she on every side doth cast an Eye,
To see (perhaps) if once she might descry
Her pleasing, look'd for Object passing by.
There's nought appears, her Vigilance is vain;
Her careful Eye is recompenc'd with pain.
Then down she sinks, bereav'd of her sweet breath
The only sign, that now she's seiz'd with Death.
Weep now ye Heavens; and let each pearly tear
Accompany mounting grief, and trembling fear.
For since Love's dead, the Beauty of our Isle,
Its more than madness to attempt a smile;
This rather would become some pompous, nuptial train,
Than him, whose Heart feels griefs insulting pain.
When once a Jewel's lost, how careful is each Eye,
In prying out this Author of our misery?
No less is he depriv'd of courting rest
When Love has left a drooping, panting Breast.
Curs'd be that Person, who has chas'd thee hence,
Heaven, with this black crime, can ne're dispence!
Curs'd be that time, that e're she fix'd on thee,
The Mother of such unheard of Cruelty.
Curs'd be that place, in which she did impart
Her amorous smiles, her most alluring Art.
In fine a Curse all Curses else above
On her, that dar'd to stab our darling Love!
May never once Loves Charms attend thee more,
Till thou attones for what is done before.
What have I said! this, this, can never be
Done by the hands of basest Treachery.
No, no: we must the Gods above implore,
Who only can the dead, to life restore.
Be propitious then, ye ruling Pow'rs above,
And send us back our hence departed Love.
That we may see her raise a tow'ring frame
Adorn'd with lustre from her radiant flame
Too great to be exprest by empty name.
Bless us but in this, and then shall we
In reverence bow, a lowly thankful Knee,
Before the throne of your own sacred Deity.
Our words, like well tun'd Instruments shall be,
Breathing forth nought but grateful Harmony
Our Actions, they shall pay you Tribute, too,
For all is yours, when once we are blest by you.