FPISTLES.

TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD.

ON NEW-YEAR'S DAY.

THIS twilight of two years, not past, nor next,
Some emblem is of me, or I of this,
Who meteor-like, of stuff and form perplext,
Whose what and where in disputation is,)
If I should call me anything, should miss.

I sum the years and me, and find me not

Debtor to the old, nor creditor to the new: That cannot say, my thanks I have forgot; Nor trust I this with hopes; and yet scarce true *

This bravery is; since these times showed me you.

In recompense I would show future times
What you were, and teach them to urge towards

such.

Verse embalms virtue; and tombs or thrones of rhymes

Preserve frail transitory fame, as much
As spice doth bodies from corrupt air's touch.

* Var.

-scarce true,

This bravery is since these times showed me, you.

Mine are short-lived; the tincture of your name Creates in them, but dissipates as fast,

New spirit; for strong agents with the same

Force, that doth warm and cherish us, do waste;
Kept hot with strong extracts no bodies last.

So my verse, built of your just praise, might want
Reason and likelihood, the firmest base,

And, made of miracle, now faith is scant,
Will vanish soon, and so possess no place;
And you and it too much grace might disgrace.

When all (as truth commands assent) confess
All truth of you, yet they will doubt how I
(One corn of one low ant-hill's dust, and less)
Should name, know, or express a thing so high,
And (not an inch) measure infinity.

I cannot tell them, nor myself, nor you,

But leave, lest truth be endangered by my praise,

And turn to God, who knows I think this true,

And useth oft, when such a heart missays,
To make it good; for such a praiser prays.

He will best teach you, how you should lay out
His stock of beauty, learning, favour, blood;
He will perplex security with doubt,

And clear those doubts; hide from you, and show you good,

And so increase your appetite and food.

O THE COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON.

[ADAM,

N to God's image, Eve to man's was made, Nor find we that God breathed a soul in her; nons will not church-functions you invade, Nor laws to civil office you prefer.

ho vagrant transitory comets sees,

Wonders because they 're rare; but a new star Whose motion with the firmament agrees, Is miracle; for there no new things are.

In woman so perchance mild innocence
A seldom comet is; but active good
A miracle, which reason scapes and sense;
For Art and Nature this in them withstood.

As such a star the Magi led to view

The manger-cradled infant, God below, By virtue's beams (by fame derived from you) May apt souls, and the worst may virtue know,

If the world's age and death be argued well By the sun's fall, which now towards earth doth bend,

Then we might fear that virtue, since she fell

So low as woman, should be near her end.

But she 's not stooped, but raised; exiled by men,
She fled to heaven, that's heavenly things, that's
She was in all men thinly scattered then [you;
But now a mass contracted in a few.

She gilded us, but you are gold; and she
Informed us, but transubstantiates you:
Soft dispositions, which ductile be,

Elixir-like, she makes not clean, but new.

Though you a wife's and mother's name retain, 'Tis not as woman, for all are not so;

But virtue, having made you virtue, is fain

To adhere in these names, her and you to show.

Else, being alike pure, we should neither see,
As water being into air rarefied,
Neither appear, till in one cloud they be,

So for our sakes you do low names abide.

Taught by great constellations, (which, being framed

Of the most stars, take low names Crab and Bull, When single planets by the gods are named) You covet not great names, of great things full.

So you, as woman, one doth comprehend,
And in the veil of kindred others see;
to some you are revealed, as in a friend,
And as a virtuous prince far off, to me.

* Far. vale.