O TURN away those cruel eyes, The stars of my undoing! Or death, in such a bright disguise, May tempt a second wooing. Punish their blind and impious pride, Who dare contemn thy glory; It was my fall that deified Thy name, and seal'd thy story. Yet no new sufferings can prepare A higher praise to crown thee; Though my first death proclaim thee fair, My second will unthrone thee. Lovers will doubt thou canst entice No other for thy fuel, And if thou burn one victim twice, Both think thee poor and cruel. Thomas D'Urfey. 1653-1723 395. Chloe Divine CHLOE 's a Nymph in flowery groves, A Nereid in the streams; Saint-like she in the temple moves, A woman in my dreams. Love steals artillery from her eyes, The Graces point her charms; Orpheus is rivall'd in her voice, And Venus in her arms. Never so happily in one Did heaven and earth combine: And yet 'tis flesh and blood alone That makes her so divine. Charles Cotton. 1630-1687 396. To Coelia WHEN, Coelia, must my old day set, And my young morning rise In beams of joy so bright as yet Ne'er bless'd a lover's eyes? My state is more advanced than when I first attempted thee: I sued to be a servant then, But now to be made free. I've served my time faithful and true, Expecting to be placed In happy freedom, as my due, To all the joys thou hast: Ill husbandry in love is such A scandal to love's power, We ought not to misspend so much As one poor short-lived hour. Yet think not, sweet! I'm weary grown, That I pretend such haste; Since none to surfeit e'er was known Before he had a taste: My infant love could humbly wait When, young, it scarce knew how To plead; but grown to man's estate, He is impatient now. Katherine Philips ('Orinda'). 1631-1664 397. To One persuading a Lady to Marriage FORBEAR, bold youth; all 's heaven here, And what you do aver To others courtship may appear, 'Tis sacrilege to her. She is a public deity; And were 't not very odd She should dispose herself to be A petty household god? First make the sun in private shine And bid the world adieu, That so he may his beams confine In compliment to you: But if of that you do despair, Think how you did amiss To strive to fix her beams which are More bright and large than his. John Dryden. 1631-1700 398. Ode To the Pious Memory of the accomplished young lady, Mrs. Anne Killigrew, excellent in the two sister arts of Poesy and Painting