See! how the willing earth gave way, To take th'impression where she lay. See! how the mould, as both to leave So sweet a burden, still doth cleave Close to the nymph's stain'd garment. Here The coming spring would first appear, And all this place with roses strow, If busy feet would let them grow. Here Venus smiled to see blind chance Itself before her son advance, 10 And a fair image to present, Of what the boy so long had meant. 'Twas such a chance as this, made all The world into this order fall; Thus the first lovers, on the clay, Of which they were composéd, lay; So in their prime, with equal grace, Met the first patterns of our race. Then blush not, fair! or on him frown, Or wonder how you both came down; 20 But touch him, and he'll tremble straight, How could he then support your weight? How could the youth, alas! but bend, When his whole heaven upon him lean'd? If aught by him amiss were done, 'Twas that he let you rise so soon. OF SYLVIA. 1 Our sighs are heard; just Heaven declares The sense it has of lovers' cares; She that so far the rest outshined, Sylvia the fair, while she was kind, As if her frowns impair'd her brow, Seems only not unhandsome now. So, when the sky makes us endure A storm, itself becomes obscure. 2 Hence 'tis that I conceal my flame, Hiding from Flavia's self her name, Lest she, provoking Heaven, should prove How it rewards neglected love. Better a thousand such as I, Their grief untold, should pine and die; Than her bright morning, overcast With sullen clouds, should be defaced. THE BUD. 1 Lately on yonder swelling bush, Big with many a coming rose, This early bud began to blush, And did but half itself disclose; I pluck'd it, though no better grown, And now you see how full 'tis blown. 2 Still as I did the leaves inspire, With such a purple light they shone, As if they had been made of fire, And spreading so, would flame anon. All that was meant by air or sun, To the young flower, my breath has done. 3 If our loose breath so much can do, What may the same in forms of love, Of purest love, and music too, When Flavia it aspires to move? When that, which lifeless buds persuades To wax more soft, her youth invades? ON THE DISCOVERY OF A LADY'S PAINTING. 1 Pygmalion's fate reversed is mine;[1] His marble love took flesh and blood; All that I worshipp'd as divine, That beauty! now 'tis understood, Appears to have no more of life Than that whereof he framed his wife. 2 As women yet, who apprehend Some sudden cause of causeless fear, Although that seeming cause take end, And they behold no danger near, A shaking through their limbs they find, Like leaves saluted by the wind: