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e; That death should license have to rage among The fair, the wise, the virtuous, and the young! 20 The Paphian queen from that fierce battle borne, With gored hand, and veil so rudely torn, Like terror did among th'immortals breed, Taught by her wound that goddesses may bleed. All stand amazed! but beyond the rest th'heroic dame whose happy womb she bless'd,[2] Moved with just grief, expostulates with Heaven, Urging the promise to th'obsequious given, Of longer life; for ne'er was pious soul More apt t'obey, more worthy to control. 30 A skilful eye at once might read the race Of Caledonian monarchs in her face, And sweet humility; her look and mind At once were lofty, and at once were kind. There dwelt the scorn of vice, and pity too, For those that did what she disdain'd to do; So gentle and severe, that what was bad, At once her hatred and her pardon had. Gracious to all; but where her love was due, 39 So fast, so faithful, loyal, and so true, That a bold hand as soon might hope to force The rolling lights of heaven, as change her course. Some happy angel, that beholds her there, Instruct us to record what she was here! And when this cloud of sorrow's overblown, Through the wide world we'll make her graces known. So fresh the wound is, and the grief so vast, That all our art and power of speech is waste. Here passion sways, but there the Muse shall raise Eternal monuments of louder praise. 50 There our delight, complying with her fame, Shall have occasion to recite thy name, Fair Saccharissa!--and now only fair! To sacred friendship we'll an altar rear (Such as the Romans did erect of old), Where, on a marble pillar, shall be told The lovely passion each to other bare, With the resemblance of that matchless pair. Narcissus to the thing for which he pined Was not more like than yours to her fair mind, 60 Save that she graced the several parts of life, A spotless virgin, and a faultless wife. Such was the sweet converse 'twixt her and you, As that she holds with her associates now. How false is hope, and how regardless fate, That such a love should have so short a date! Lately I saw her, sighing, part from thee; (Alas that that the last farewell should be!) So looked Astraea, her remove design'd, On those distressed friends she left behind.
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