Give way, give way! now, now my Charles shines here A public light, in this immensive sphere; Some stars were fix'd before, but these are dim Compar'd, in this my ample orb, to him. Draw in your feeble fires, while that he Appears but in his meaner majesty. Where, if such glory flashes from his name, Which is his shade, who can abide his flame! _Princes, and such like public lights as these, Must not be look'd on but at distances: For, if we gaze on these brave lamps too near, Our eyes they'll blind, or if not blind, they'll blear._ _Immensive_, immeasurable. 686. THE FUNERAL RITES OF THE ROSE. The rose was sick, and smiling died; And, being to be sanctified, About the bed there sighing stood The sweet and flowery sisterhood. Some hung the head, while some did bring, To wash her, water from the spring. Some laid her forth, while others wept, But all a solemn fast there kept. The holy sisters, some among, The sacred dirge and trentall sung. But ah! what sweets smelt everywhere, As heaven had spent all perfumes there. At last, when prayers for the dead And rites were all accomplished, They, weeping, spread a lawny loom And clos'd her up, as in a tomb. _Trentall_, a service for the dead. 687. THE RAINBOW, OR CURIOUS COVENANT. Mine eyes, like clouds, were drizzling rain; And as they thus did entertain The gentle beams from Julia's sight To mine eyes levell'd opposite, O thing admir'd! there did appear A curious rainbow smiling there; Which was the covenant that she No more would drown mine eyes or me. 688. THE LAST STROKE STRIKES SURE. Though by well warding many blows we've pass'd, _That stroke most fear'd is which is struck the last_. 689. FORTUNE. Fortune's a blind profuser of her own, Too much she gives to some, enough to none. 690. STOOL-BALL. At stool-ball, Lucia, let us play For sugar-cakes and wine: Or for a tansy let us pay, The loss, or thine, or mine. If thou, my dear, a winner be At trundling of the ball, The wager thou shall have, and me, And my misfortunes all. But if, my sweetest, I shall get, Then I desire but this: That likewise I may pay the bet And have for all a kiss. _Stool-ball_, a game of ball played by girls. _Tansy_, a cake made of eggs, cream, and herbs. 691. TO SAPPHO. Let us now take time and play, Love, and live here while we may; Drink rich wine, and make good cheer, While we have our being here; For once dead and laid i' th' grave, No return from thence we have. 692. ON POET PRAT. EPIG. Prat he writes satires, but herein's the fault, In no one satire there's a mite of salt. 693. UPON TUCK. EPIG. At post and pair, or slam, Tom Tuck would play This Christmas, but his want wherewith says nay.