As gather'd flowers, while their wounds are new, Look gay and fresh, as on the stalk they grew; Torn from the root that nourish'd them, awhile (Not taking notice of their fate) they smile, And, in the hand which rudely pluck'd them, show Fairer than those that to their autumn grow; So love and beauty still that visage grace; Death cannot fright them from their wonted place. Alive, the hand of crooked Age had marr'd, Those lovely features which cold Death has spared. No wonder then he sped in love so well, When his high passion he had breath to tell; When that accomplish'd soul, in this fair frame, No business had but to persuade that dame, Whose mutual love advanced the youth so high, That, but to heaven, he could no higher fly. ON A BREDE OF DIVERS COLOURS, WOVEN BY FOUR LADIES. Twice twenty slender virgin-fingers twine This curious web, where all their fancies shine. As Nature them, so they this shade have wrought, Soft as their hands, and various as their thought; Not Juno's bird when, his fair train dispread, He woos the female to his painted bed, No, not the bow, which so adorns the skies, So glorious is, or boasts so many dyes. OF A WAR WITH SPAIN, AND FIGHT AT SEA.[1] Now, for some ages, had the pride of Spain Made the sun shine on half the world in vain; While she bid war to all that durst supply The place of those her cruelty made die. Of Nature's bounty men forebore to taste, And the best portion of the earth lay waste. From the new world, her silver and her gold Came, like a tempest, to confound the old; Feeding with these the bribed electors' hopes, Alone she gives us emperors and popes; 10 With these accomplishing her vast designs, Europe was shaken with her Indian mines. When Britain, looking with a just disdain Upon this gilded majesty of Spain, And knowing well that empire must decline, Whose chief support and sinews are of coin, Our nation's solid virtue did oppose To the rich troublers of the world's repose. And now some months, encamping on the main, Our naval army had besiegèd Spain; 20 They that the whole world's monarchy design'd, Are to their ports by our bold fleet confined; From whence our Red Cross they triumphant see, Riding without a rival on the sea. Others may use the ocean as their road, Only the English make it their abode, Whose ready sails with every wind can fly, And make a cov'nant with th'inconstant sky; Our oaks secure, as if they there took root, 29 We tread on billows with a steady foot.