3 So though the beauty do appear No beauty, which amazed me so; Yet from my breast I cannot tear The passion which from thence did grow; Nor yet out of my fancy raze The print of that supposèd face. 4 A real beauty, though too near, The fond Narcissus did admire: I dote on that which is nowhere; The sign of beauty feeds my fire. No mortal flame was e'er so cruel As this, which thus survives the fuel! [1] 'Mine': Ovid, _Met_. x. OF LOVING AT FIRST SIGHT. 1 Not caring to observe the wind, Or the new sea explore, Snatch'd from myself, how far behind Already I behold the shore! 2 May not a thousand dangers sleep In the smooth bosom of this deep? No; 'tis so reckless and so clear, That the rich bottom does appear Paved all with precious things; not torn From shipwreck'd vessels, but there born. 3 Sweetness, truth, and every grace Which time and use are wont to teach, The eye may in a moment reach, And read distinctly in her face. 4 Some other nymphs, with colours faint, And pencil slow, may Cupid paint, And a weak heart in time destroy; She has a stamp, and prints the boy: Can, with a single look, inflame The coldest breast, the rudest tame. THE SELF-BANISHED. 1 It is not that I love you less, Than when before your feet I lay; But to prevent the sad increase Of hopeless love, I keep away. 2 In vain, alas! for everything Which I have known belong to you, Your form does to my fancy bring, And makes my old wounds bleed anew. 3 Who in the spring, from the new sun, Already has a fever got, Too late begins those shafts to shun, Which Phoebus through his veins has shot; 4 Too late he would the pain assuage, And to thick shadows does retire; About with him he bears the rage, And in his tainted blood the fire. 5 But vow'd I have, and never must Your banish'd servant trouble you; For if I break, you may mistrust The vow I made--to love you too. A PANEGYRIC TO MY LORD PROTECTOR, OF THE PRESENT GREATNESS, AND JOINT INTEREST, OF HIS HIGHNESS, AND THIS NATION.[1] 1 While with a strong and yet a gentle hand, You bridle faction, and our hearts command, Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe, Make us unite, and make us conquer too; 2 Let partial spirits still aloud complain, Think themselves injured that they cannot reign, And own no liberty but where they may Without control upon their fellows prey. 3 Above the waves as Neptune show'd his face, To chide the winds, and save the Trojan race, So has your Highness, raised above the rest, Storms of ambition, tossing us, repress'd. 4 Your drooping country, torn with civil hate, Restored by you, is made a glorious state; The seat of empire, where the Irish come, And the unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom.