All that is lovely, noble, good, we see,
All, beauteous Myra, all bound up in thee.
III.
Th' Arcadian Pastures, and the Cyprian Grove,
When Myra walks, so charming is her Meen,
In ev'ry Motion ev'ry Grace is seen:
When Myra speaks, so just's the Sense and strong,
So sweet the Voice, 'tis like the Muses Song.
Place me on Mountains of eternal Snow,
Where all is Ice, all Winter Winds that blow,
Or cast me underneath the burning Line,
Where everlasting Sun does shine,
Where all is scorch'd—Whatever you decree,
Ye Gods! where ever I shall be,
Myra shall still be lov'd, and still ador'd by me.
My Lady Hyde, Sitting for her Picture.
WHILE Kneller with inimitable Art
Attempts that Face, whose Print's on ev'ry Heart,
The Poet with a Pencil less confin'd
Shall draw her Virtues, and describe her Mind,
Unlock the Shrine, and to the Sight unfold
The secret Gems, and all the inward Gold.
