XVI. ΤΟ CYRLAC SKINNER. CYRIAC, whose grandsire, on the royal bench Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, And what the Swede intends, and what the French. XVII. TO THE SAME. CYRIACK, this three years day these eyes, though clear, To outward view, of blemish or of spot, Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? The conscience, Friend, to have lost them overplied In liberty's defence, my noble task, Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask Content though blind, had I no better guide. XVIII. ON HIS DECEASED WIFE. METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me, like Alcestis, from the grave, Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, Rescu'd from death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint Purification in the old law did save, And such, as yet once more I trust to have Her face was veil'd; yet to my fancied sight person shin'd So clear, as in no face with more delight But O, as to embrace me she inclin❜d, I wak'd; she fled; and day brought back my night. |