But O thou no less Blind, Than Wild and Savage Mind, Who Discipline dar'st name, Thy Outrage and thy shame, And hop'st a Radiant Crown to get All Stars and Glory to thy Head made fit, Know that this Curse alone shall Serpent-like incircle it! May'st thou henceforth, be ever seen to stand, Grasping a Scourge of Vipers in thy Hand, Thy Hand, that Furie like——But see! By Apollos Sacred Tree, By his ever Tuneful Lyre, And his bright Image the Eternal Fire, Eudoras she has done this Deed And made the World thus in its Darling bleed! I know the Cruel Dame, Too well instructed by my Flame! But see her shape! But see her Face! In her Temple such is Diana's Grace! Behold her Lute upon the Pavement lies, When Beautie's wrong'd, no wonder Musick dies!
V.
What blood of Centaurs did thy Bosom warme, And boyle the Balsome there up to a Storme? Nay Balsome flow'd not with so soft a Floud, As thy Thoughts Evenly Virtuous, Mildly Good! How could thy Skilful and Harmonious Hand, That Rage of Seas, and People could command, And calme Diseases with the Charming strings, Such Discords make in the whole Name of Things? But now I see the Root of thy Rash Pride, Because thou didst Excel the World beside, And it in Beauty and in Fame out-shine, Thou would'st compare thy self to things Divine! And 'bove thy Standard what thou there didst see, Thou didst Condemn, because 'twas unlike thee, And punisht in the Lady as unfit, What Bloomings were of a Diviner Wit. Divine she is, or else Divine must be, A Borne or else a Growing Deitie!
VI.
While thus I did exclaime, And wildly rage and blame, Behold the Sylvan-Quire Did all at one conspire, With shrill and cheerful Throats, T'assume their chirping Notes; The Heav'ns refulgent Eye Dance't in the clear'd-up Skie, And so triumphant shon, As seven-days Beams he had on! The little Loves burn'd with Nobler Fire, Each chang'd his wanton Bow, and took a Lyre, Singing chast Aires unto the tuneful strings, And time'd soft Musick with their downy Wings. I turn'd the little Nymph to view, She singing and did smiling shew; Eudora led a heavenly strain, Her Angels Voice did eccho it again! I then decreed no Sacriledge was wrought, But neerer Heav'n this Piece of Heaven was brought. She also brighter seem'd, than she had been, Vertue darts forth a Lightning 'bove the Skin. Eudora also shew'd as heretofore, When her soft Graces I did first adore. I saw, what one did Nobly Will, The other sweetly did fulfil; Their Actions all harmoniously did sute, And she had only tun'd the Lady like her Lute.
On the Soft and Gentle Motions of Eudora.
Divine Thalia strike th'Harmonious Lute, But with a Stroke so Gentle as may sute The silent gliding of the Howers, Or yet the calmer growth of Flowers; Th'ascending or the falling Dew, Which none can see, though all find true. For thus alone, Can be shewn, How downie, how smooth, Eudora doth Move, How Silken her Actions appear, The Aire of her Face, Of a gentler Grace Then those that do stroke the Eare. Her Address so sweet, So Modestly Meet, That 'tis not the Lowd though Tuneable String, Can shewforth so soft, so Noyseless a Thing! O This to express from thy Hand must fall, Then Musicks self, something more Musical.