Waller's Sacharissa was the Lady Dorothea Sydney, the eldest daughter of the Earl of Leicester, and born in 1620. At the time he thought fit to make her the object of his homage, she was about eighteen, beautiful, accomplished, and admired. Waller was handsome, rich, a wit, and five-and-twenty. He had ever an excellent opinion of himself, and a prudent care of his worldly interests. He was a great poet, in days when Spenser was forgotten, Milton neglected, and Pope unborn. He began by addressing to her the lines on her picture, Such was Philoclea and such Dorus' flame.[3] Then we have the poems written at Penshurst,--in this strain,-- Ye lofty beeches! tell this matchless dame, That if together ye fed all one flame, It could not equalise the hundredth part Of what her eyes have kindled in my heart, &c. The lady was content to be the theme of a fashionable poet: but when he presumed farther, she crushed all hopes with the most undisguised aversion and disdain: thereupon he rails,--thus-- To thee a wild and cruel soul is given, More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heaven; Love's foe profest! why dost thou falsely feign Thyself a Sydney? From which noble strain He sprung that could so far exalt the name Of love, and warm a nation with his flame.[4] His mortified vanity turned for consolation to Amoret, (Lady Sophia Murray,) the intimate companion of Sacharissa. He describes the friendship between these two beautiful girls very gracefully. Tell me, lovely, loving pair! Why so kind, and so severe? Why so careless of our care Only to yourselves so dear? ....*....*....*....* Not the silver doves that fly Yoked to Cytherea's car; Not the wings that lift so high, And convey her son so far, Are so lovely, sweet and fair, Or do more ennoble love, Are so choicely matched a pair, Or with more consent do move. And they are very beautifully contrasted in the lines to Amoret-- If sweet Amoret complains, I have sense of all her pains; But for Sacharissa, I Do not only grieve, but die! ....*....*....*....* 'Tis amazement more than love, Which her radiant eyes do move; If less splendour wait on thine, Yet they so benignly shine, I would turn my dazzled sight To behold their milder light. ....*....*....*....* Amoret! as sweet and good As the most delicious food, Which but tasted does impart Life and gladness to the heart. Sacharissa's beauty's wine, Which to madness doth incline, Such a liquor as no brain That is mortal, can sustain.