In her chief reſidence beſieg’d at laſt,5
Laments to ſee her faireſt fields laid waſte.
On things immortal all attempts are vain;
Tyrant Diſeaſe! ’t is loſs of time and pain;
Glut thy wild rage, and load thee with rich prize,
Torn from her cheeks, her fragrant lips and eyes:10
Let her but live; as much vermilion take
As might a Helen or a Venus make;
Like Thetis ſhe ſhall fruſtrate thy vain rape,
And in variety of charms eſcape.
The twinkling ſtars drop numberleſs each night,15
Yet ſhines the radiant firmament as bright:
So from the ocean ſhould we rivers drain,
Still would enough to drown the world remain.18
LADY HYDE
SITTING AT
SIR GODFREY KNELLER’S
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 paint her virtues, and deſcribe her mind,
