1 They that never had the use Of the grape's surprising juice, To the first delicious cup All their reason render up; Neither do, nor care to know, Whether it be best or no. 2 So they that are to love inclined, Sway'd by chance, not choice or art, To the first that's fair, or kind, Make a present of their heart; 'Tis not she that first we love, But whom dying we approve. 3 To man, that was in th'ev'ning made, Stars gave the first delight, Admiring, in the gloomy shade, Those little drops of light; Then at Aurora, whose fair hand Removed them from the skies, He gazing t'ward the east did stand, She entertain'd his eyes. 4 But when the bright sun did appear, All those he 'gan despise; His wonder was determined there, And could no higher rise; He neither might, nor wished to know A more refulgent light; For that (as mine your beauties now) Employ'd his utmost sight. THE NIGHT-PIECE; OR, A PICTURE DRAWN IN THE DARK. Darkness, which fairest nymphs disarms, Defends us ill from Mira's charms; Mira can lay her beauty by, Take no advantage of the eye, Quit all that Lely's art can take, And yet a thousand captives make. Her speech is graced with sweeter sound Than in another's song is found! And all her well-placed words are darts, Which need no light to reach our hearts. 10 As the bright stars and Milky Way, Show'd by the night, are hid by day; So we, in that accomplish'd mind, Help'd by the night, new graces find, Which, by the splendour of her view, Dazzled before, we never knew. While we converse with her, we mark No want of day, nor think it dark; Her shining image is a light Fix'd in our hearts, and conquers night. 20 Like jewels to advantage set, Her beauty by the shade does get; There blushes, frowns, and cold disdain, All that our passion might restrain, Is hid, and our indulgent mind Presents the fair idea kind. Yet, friended by the night, we dare Only in whispers tell our care; He that on her his bold hand lays, With Cupid's pointed arrows plays; 30 They with a touch (they are so keen!) Wound us unshot, and she unseen. All near approaches threaten death; We may be shipwreck'd by her breath; Love, favour'd once with that sweet gale, Doubles his haste, and fills his sail, Till he arrive where she must prove The haven, or the rock, of love. So we th'Arabian coast do know At distance, when the spices blow; 40 By the rich odour taught to steer, Though neither day nor stars appear. ON THE PICTURE OF A FAIR YOUTH, TAKEN AFTER HE WAS DEAD.