But Lady Sophia, though of a softer disposition, and not carrying in her mild eyes the scornful and destructive light which sparkled in those of Sacharissa, was not to be "berhymed" into love any more than her fair friend. She applauded, but she repelled; she smiled, but she was cold. Waller consoled himself by marrying a city widow, worth thirty thousand pounds. The truth is, that with all his wit and his elegance of fancy, of which there are some inimitable examples,--as the application of the story of Daphne, and of the fable of the wounded eagle; the lines on Sacharissa's girdle; the graceful little song, "Go, lovely Rose," to which I need only allude, and many others,--Waller has failed in convincing us of his sincerity. As Rosalind says, "Cupid might have clapped him on the shoulder, but we could warrant him heart-whole." All along our sympathy is rather with the proud beauty, than with the irritable self-complacent poet. Sacharissa might have been proud, but she was not arrogant; her manners were gentle and retiring; and her disposition rather led her to shun than to seek publicity and admiration. Such cheerful modesty, such humble state, Moves certain love, but with as doubtful fate; As when beyond our greedy reach, we see Inviting fruit on too sublime a tree.[5] The address to Sacharissa's _femme-de-chambre_, beginning, "Fair fellow-servant," is not to be compared with Tasso's ode to the Countess of Scandiano's maid, but contains some most elegant lines. You the soft season know, when best her mind May be to pity, or to love inclined: In some well-chosen hour supply his fear, Whose hopeless love durst never tempt the ear Of that stern goddess; you, her priest, declare What offerings may propitiate the fair: Rich orient pearl, bright stones that ne'er decay, Or polished lines, that longer last than they. ....*....*....*....* But since her eyes, her teeth, her lip excels All that is found in mines or fishes' shells, Her nobler part as far exceeding these, None but immortal gifts her mind should please. These lines impress us with the image of a very imperious and disdainful beauty; yet such was not the character of Sacharissa's person or mind.[6] Nor is it necessary to imagine her such, to account for her rejection of Waller, and her indifference to his flattery. There was a meanness about the man: he wanted not birth alone, but all the high and generous qualities which must have been required to recommend him to a woman, who, with the blood and the pride of the Sydneys, inherited their large heart and noble spirit. We are not surprised when she turned from the poet to give her hand to Henry Spencer, Earl of Sunderland, one of the most interesting and heroic characters of that time. He was then only nineteen, and she was about the same age. This marriage was celebrated with great splendour at Penshurst, July 30, 1639.