Carmina Vestalia.  
BEING THREE EPISTLES TO HARMONIA, CORINNA, AND SOPHRONIA, etc.  
By a Person of Quality.  
Ab Jove Principium Musae, Jovis omnia plena;  
Ille colet Terras, ille mea carmina curae.  P. Verg. Palaemon. 
To which are added several POEMS by another Hand.  

The CONTENTS.  
1. To Harmonia, Mrs. P—son.  
2. To Corinna, Mrs. B—ny.  
3. To Sophronia, Mrs. S—mes.  
4. On the young Duke of Holstein, which I saw at the Acadamy in Holland, in the Year, 1692.  
5. To a young Gentleman who recommended Sir Philip Sidney's Pembroke's Arcadia to my reading.  
6. Thirsis and Corydon.  
7. To a young Lady who desired me to send her Pastor Fido.  
8. Upon a young Lady playing on the Espinette.  
9 Upon a young Lady leaving England.  
10. Upon the Death of Mrs. Anne P— ch.  
11. The VISIT.  
12. Philomela.  
13. To make a Married Life happy.  
14. A Dream.  
15. The Miseries attending Mankind.  
16. To Himself.  
17. On a Lady Stabbing herself.   
LONDON: Printed and Sold by J. Nutt, near Stationers-Hall, 1700.   

To Cesaria and her Sister,  
THE Design of these ensuing Epistles was, at once to show the Misfortune of the Poet, and (by three Illustrious Virgins) the supreme Excellency of the Female Sex, in the glorious and elevated Rank of which, both Myrtilla and yourself claim the highest respect, Homage and Adoration, that possibly can be paid to the Transcendent, and ingageing Charms of Beauty, Innocence, or Goodness. Man in his first State in the delightful and exuberant Garden of Eden, where (as Milton expresses it) He was on every side surrounded with enormous Bliss; yet notwithstanding all those paridisaical Pleasures he enjoyed, there was something still wanting to add too, and complete his Happiness: Wherefore upon the mature and deliberate Thought of Heaven, what should this remaining part of his Felicity be, but the privation or absence of his afterwards? So admired Eve, and verily the best and greatest of Men in all Ages of the World, since the Times of the original Pair, have ever acknowledged as justly due the greatest difference to Your most beauteous Sex. For indeed, let the smaller Poets discant never so much on the Praise of Mavor, or let the Orators by the Eloquence of the Chair, magnify him to the highest Degree and pitch they are able, yet I will be bold to Affirm, Woman in Beauty does as far surmount and exceed Man, as the more pure and bright Regions above surpass these the more thick and gross here below. King's have laid their Crowns, Princes their Sceptres, and Generals their Wreaths at the Feet of the fair Cleopatra: Numa, (who instituted the Holy Fire) had his Mountain Nymph, and if I may be allowed to say as much, it being my aim only (I assure you by Apollo and his silver Bow) to manifest the extreme force and power of Beauty, Henry the Second of England had his admired Rosamond, and from whose very Room out of which she went to Woodstock Bower and was there Poisoned by Queen Elinor, I am now writing to you this Epistle, yet Cleopatra the delight of Emperors and joy of Kings was inferior to; and had not envious Time (the mortal Enemy to all Beauty's) by placing these two lively Images of the Deity at so great a distance the one from the other put it out of the reach and height of compare, Cleopatra surely might have borrowed Charms from the more beautiful Cesaria, and Rosamond have supplied with the clear shining Light and Fire of Myrtilla's Eyes, those of the yet infinitely more feeble and languid Flames of her own; nay, even the Grecian Helen, were it possible for her to behold in these sweet Arcadian Groves, the noble and exquisite Form of the incomparable Cesaria, with the no less wonderful Myrtilla, would easily confess, and readily grant, that the united Charms of the whole fair Sex together, was immensly visible (in these two Virgin Sisters) nay, almost wholly consisted in Cesaria's and Myrtilla's Eyes: Wherefore fair Nymphs, may it please you to accept of, and Patronise these few Poems, and by the condescending to which request, you will greatly oblige him who is, with all imaginable Zeal, Sincerity and Respect, O immaculate Nymphs and fairest of all Women,  
Your most Humble, most Obedient, and entirely Devoted Servant and Vassel,   

Carmina Vestalia. Being Three Epistles, etc.  

To Harmonia, Mrs. P—son.  

O SACRED Image of divinest Love,  
Emblem of those all-glorious Saints above,  
Which i'th' bright, the purest Tracts of Heaven move.  
As thine less melting were 
* Title of Venus.  Cyllenias' Charms,  
When Cupid slept within her tender Arms:  
Playing about the Hive, a Queen-Bee stung,  
His Finger, who complaining of the wrong.  
She kissed the Wound, and pressed him to her Breast,  
Where the God gently leaned his Head to rest.  
Around her balmy Neck his Hands were laid,  
Pure as the Thought of an unspotted Maid.  
On whose soft Bosom lulled in sweet delight,  
He soothed his pain, and vanquished all his fright.  
Once 
* Another of Venus her Tiles.  Cytherea Queen of Beauty reigned,  
Tho' now Harmonia's Eyes the prize have gained.  
Adored through all the wide Arcadian Plain,  
Joy of the Nymphs, delight of every Swain.  
So exquisite her Form and Beauty is,  
That she in poppy Groves dispenses bliss.  
Rejoices all those Meads, where e'er she treads,  
Makes Junk●les smile, and Lupins bend their Heads.  
Toying with Nymphs, upon the flowery Green,  
When we Harmonia view, observe her Mein;  
Her words all Honey, and her Face serene.  
The more we look, the more we all admire,  
So dangerous it is t'approach the Fire.  
Of sweet Harmonia's Eyes, more soft and bright,  
Than all the glittering Stars that shine by Night.  
Directing Lovers in the pathless Grove,  
Where they fulfil the Mysteries of Love.   

To you blessed Nymph, formed with the utmost care,  
Of the same make, that brightest Angels are.  
Whose Sacred Breast, was never seen to move,  
And tho' all Harmony untouched to love.  
I who through Seas and Desert Lands must go,  
Where none the power of Love, or Beauty know.  
Unto rude Storms exposed, and Winds which be,  
No less unconstant, faithless as the Sea.  

* Thalia about whom there is a mighty pother and stir, is esteemed by Hefiod as one of the Graces, but by Homer as one of the Muses.  Thalia, a Nymph of the inspired Train,  
And Chief of them which on Parnassus' reign;  
Begs your Assistance o'er the wat'ry Main.  
That you the Queen of Heaven would move by Prayer,  
To take this Nymyh into her sacred Care.    

To Corinna, Mrs. B—ny.  

O Thou Celestial Nymph, within all bright,  
Without thy form all-beautious to the sight.  
Than your snowy Breasts, not April Flowers are,  
More lovely to the Eye, or half so fair;  
When they in all their glittering Pomp appear.  
Put on a May-days dress, serenely smile,  
As when 
* A Country Nymph.  Aletta did the Swain beguile.  
Make glad those Banks those Shades where Lovers meet,  
And words are melting as the Looks repeat.   

The Pink the 
* Honeysuckle.  Woodbine, and the blushing Rose,  
Which at the Spring, their beauteous Charms disclose  
Richly arrayed, both pleasant seem and Gay,  
While Morning Larks salute the rising Day.  
The Nymphs and Swains in flowery Groves delight,  
With Mirth the Day, in Dreams they lose the Night.  
The purple Vilets from innamelled Beds,  
Breath forth sweet Odours and adorn the Meads.   

Yet you bright Nymph! at Autumn or at Spring,  
As Heavenly look, and as Divinely sing.  
With equal Lustre to your Eyes appear,  
And with your breath perfume the ambient Air.  
No adverse Storms o'er cloud Corinnas' Mind,  
From all Impurities of Sense refined.  
 as the Nymphs of the Aemomian Grove,  
And tho' by Nature promoted unto Love,  
Yet all her Thoughts are governed from above.  
Never did sinful Passion yet molest,  
Or seize the calm and quiet of her Breast.  
The silver Girdle which surrounds her waste,  
Sweet as Hymettian Honey to the taste,  
Or Lovers kisses when they part in haste.   

Since Heaven to you has thus Indulgent been,  
Than whom a brighter Nymph no Eye hath seen;  
Humble with all the Graces of a Queen.  
Clio a Nymph of the Paeotian Spring,  
Where sacred 
The eight Muses her Sisters.  Virgins unto Phoebus sing.  
Constrained to leave these sweet embroidered Groves,  
No more in Bowers to rest or play with Doves.  
The modest Nymph to you, herself applieth  
For Beauty, Goodness, triumphs in your Eyes.  
Secure from raging Storms, and Winds at Sea,  
If you to Heaven her Advocate will be.    

To Sophronia, Mrs. S—mes.  

O Lovely Nymph! Of fair Jesmenia born,  
That with your sparkling looks these Vales adorn  
(Which lately did the blessed Diana Mourn,)  
Where Shepherds string their Lutes, and tune their Lays,  
To sing your Beauty and resound your Praise.   

Not Eve when she in Paradise did walk,  
Her Lord diverting with her pretty talk;  
(Of vernant Greene's, and sundry pleasing Flowers,  
Of manling Times and sweet ambrosial Bowers.)  
That Bliss ineffable enjoyed are Sin,  
Her Features spoiled and sullied o'er her skin.  
As chaste Sophronia brighter Charms displayed.  
A tender Virgin, and a Vastal Maid.  
The pride of all the beauteous Female Race,  
Woman in Form, but seraph in her Face,  
As if by Jove Sophronia were designed,  
To be the gen'ral wonder of Mankind;  
In Body bright, tho' brighter far in Mind.  
Scarce Heaven did e'er a sweeter Nymph create,  
In Look, and Mien, so perfectly complete,  
So vastly good, and so immensly great,  
Free in Discourse, and easy of Access,  
Courteous to all, and pleasing in Address.  
As Lilies white, pure as the 
* The sacred Springs of the Pierideses or Muses.  Springs her Breast,  
Still as approaching Day, or Haycyons Nest;  
But when she turns her lovely Head aside,  
Extatick bliss! Is by the Swain descried;  
The which before her golden Tresses hid.   

Pardon me then (oh Nymph) that I your silent Hours,  
Disturb, molest in still Arcadia's Bowers,  
As mild your Looks, as tender as those Flowers.  
(On whose delicious Banks in soft repose,  
You of't to Pinks your Virgin Charms disclose.)  
That I from Contemplation, rapture do,  
Your Mind divert to listen to my woe,  
The fate Erato now, must undergo.   

Ovid to Pontus was by Caesar sent,  
That distance might, the Poets love prevent,  
Yet Lycidas for certain words that are,  
Seldom o'th' wise Thought worthy of their care.  
And at a time when from a rural Feast,  
The Swain came whittled with a Glass o'th' best.  
Because the Curds did ill upon his stomach set,  
That else conceived no harm, and made him fret.  
A prey is sent, the only Cause assigned,  
Why he this rigid Penance is enjoined.   

Wherefore to you Erato humbly sues,  
Darling of Phoebus, and a spotless Muse.  
The Nymph afraid to venture on the Main,  
Where blust'ring Neptune with the Sea-Gods Reign.  
Sophronia begs in her behalf to move,  
The bright Queen of heaven, and the Queen of Love.    
These Three Epistles were occasionally written by the Author when he thought to have made a Voyage to the Indies, but was prevented by Providence.   

On the young Duke of Holstein, which I saw at the Acadamy in Holland, in the Year 1692.  O' formose puer nimium ne crede Colori. 

THink not O charming Youth. Because you are,  
As Phoebe bright, and as Minerva fair,  
That Age the glory of your looks will spare.  
Like springing blossoms which in Meadows grow,  
When no rude Winds, but gentle Zephyrs blow.  
A thousand Charms your Princely Eyes display,  
Where Cupid wantoness, and the Grace's play.  
All radiant are those sweet, those Heavenly Cheeks,  
Which every tender Virgin's heart bespeaks.  
When you for Love's Embraces shall be fit,  
A Torch to Venus, or to Hymen light.  
Not the bright 
* Ganymede.  Darling of the Gods above,  
Rival of Juno, and delight of Jove.  
Nor Hylas, whom the Nymphs would hug and kiss,  
No harm conceiving in such tender Bliss.  
Nay nor Adonis the delight o'th' Groves,  
His Ivory Neck more white than Venus' Doves.  
As you such melting blushes e'er revealed,  
Pure as the Rose, or Lily of the Field.  
Yet oh! Think not your Beauty always will,  
The breasts of Nymphs with soft desire fill.  
Vilets that flourish in the Month of May,  
Ere June is past, upon their Banks decay.   

Beware then Royal Youth just heavens pure Eye,  
Will all the Secrets of your heart espy.  
In every Act, O Prince, observe the end;  
And eat what ere may modesty offend.  
A Jewel you of mighty worth possess,  
Improve its Lustre but ne'er make it less.  
Urged by some God if you attend on Fame.  
May Nassau's glorious Deeds your Soul inflame.  
Or if some Goddess from heavens Battlements,  
Love's secret Fire within your Breast foments.  
O! May some glorious Nymph, of stamp Divine,  
Around your Neck; her snowy Finger's twine.  
And from your Loins bright Goddesses be born,  
To bless Germania, and her Groves adorn.  
Whilst you at length on wide extended Wing,  
To Heaven May mount, and with Eliza sing.    

To a Gentleman who recommended Sir Philip Sidney's Pembroke's Arcadia to my reading.  

THE Noble Sidney Great Apollo's Son,  
(Who oft had bathed it'h Streams of Heltion.)  
The Author of that Book you so commend,  
Justly deserves the Praises which you send.   

The sacred Bard and Genius of his time,  
Ancient some Words, his Thought and Style sublime.  
But as with Fashions so with Words it is,  
If new they please, if old we them despise.   

Much of your Choice (kind Sir) I here apprvoe,  
For none like him Discourses, Treats of Love.  
The Reader in that Wit at once may find,  
Joy to the Soul, and Rapture to the Mind.    

Thirsis and Corydon.  Th. 
COuld Thirsis tell the pain which I endure,  
Those many sighs that I have heaved for her,  
Can Thirsis tell the anguish of my Pain,  
Surely the Nymph would not my love disdain.  Co. 
Bright Innocence does in her Looks appear,  
And all the Graces seem to triumph there.  Th. 
Then how alas is't possible that she,  
Whose Soul of so Divine a Mould must be.  
Can let a Lover spend his Days in Grief,  
And still refuse to grant him some relief.  Co. 
But prithee what Ear can she unto you give,  
If that in silent Shades and Groves you live.  
Is it not for the Nymphs to say they love,  
Or yet to Court that Swain which they would have.  
Abandon Grief, and to the Nymph disclose  
Your Pain, your Thoughts perhaps she may compose.  Th. 
Thanks to Corydon, to these Shades all Hail,  
Oft as you pipe, may you o'er Nymphs prevail.  
I to the glorious Thisbe will repair,  
Than lily's and the blooming Rose more fair.  
But some bright Nymphs knowing their strength is great,  
Are yet more rigid than the Laws of Fate,  
For where they most are loved, they most will hate.   

To a young Lady who desired me to send her Pastor-Fido.  

HERE what each Nymph so tenderly has said,  
Worthy the view of every spotless Maid.  
I in conformity to your commands,  
Have by 
* A Page.  Antonio sent unto your Hands.   

Flowery Meads, shady Groves, and purling Streams,  
The which invite the Sun's luxuriant Beams.  
And make him privy to those Acts of Love,  
Which by his bounteous warmth he doth improve.   

Is what the Poet here discants upon,  
Sincere his Love, and innocent his Song.  
Yet lovely charming Fair, take this from me,  
Of all these Nymphs there's not a Nymph like thee.    

Upon a young Lady playing on the Espinette.  

A Fairer Creature Heaven did ne'er create,  
Lo! Shining Angels all around her wait.  
When e'er the Goddess shakes the tuneful string,  
As pleased each Seraph claps his splendid Wing.   

Arrayed in light they hover all around,  
So sweet her looks, so moving is the sound.  
If we such Glory in Belinda see,  
O how pure! How bright must heavens shrill Choir be.   

Divine in Mein, and negligent in Dress,  
Her lovely Finger on the Key does press.  
The willing Notes she strikes both true and clear,  
At once she Charms and glads the Ear.    

Upon a young Lady leaving of England.  

HOW fading are the empty Joys on Earth,  
Even sweetest Pleasures vanish in their Birth.  
The sparkling Sun, the Moon and Stars go round,  
Nothing through the wide Globe is constant found.   

This lovely Nymph, a Venus in her Charms,  
Soft as her Eyes, and tender as her Arms.  
No longer now in Britain's Isle will stay,  
But to remotest Regions flies away.   

So once when Angels visited below,  
They unto Man their radiant Lustre show.  
Yet least with Saints, he should familiar grow.  
They straight to Heaven their glorious Forms withdraw.    

Upon the Death of Mrs. Anne P—ch.  

HOW large Mysterious is the Power of Fate,  
Destroying still, oft as the Gods create.  
This Heavenly Nymph pure as the Morning Star,  
Or bright Aurora in her glittering Char.  
High Empress o'th' Day, whose smiles command,  
More than the Sceptre in a Monarch's Hand.  
Each odorous Flower, the Ʋilet, Pink and Rose,  
To her the treasure of their Sweets disclose.  
Whilst gentle Swains lie slumbering in the Mead,  
And e'er the peaceful Flocks arise to feed.  
Yet O! the Nymph that once appeared so bright,  
Set on her Charms in everlasting Night.  
No more will the Arcadian Groves rejoice,  
Or bless the Meads with her harmonious Voice.  
On the cold Earth that tender Bosoms laid,  
Which to the Youth a Heaven of bliss displayed,  
When they at Leu, Basset, or Omber played.  
All frozen are those Limbs, and Arms which must,  
With her soft Fingers crumble into Dust.  
Let therefore now this short Inscription be,  
Graved on her Tomb for every Nymph to see.   
Dum juga montis aper, fluvios dum piscis amabit,  
Dumque Thymo passentur apes, dumb roar cicadae,  
Semper honos nomenque tuum laudesque in anebimt.  Virg. Ecl. v.  

The VISIT.  

ON a blessed Eve when the mild Daphnis went,  
And with Aurelia some gentle Hours spent.  
That to the youthful Swain was ever kind,  
Till fate Usurped the Empire of her Mind.  
Noble Floralia with bright sparkling Eyes,  
Rich in her , and of a beauteous size,  
Came smiling in, the Gamesters to surprise.  
The Cards put up, each Chair was caused to move,  
On which were wrought a thousand Tales of Love.  
By chaste Arcadian Nymphs which all excel,  
That on this solid Globe as Pilgrims dwell,  
Their and our Doom are since old Adam fell.  
Her Tippet from her Neck Floralia drew,  
And to the Swain her naked bosom show.  
A Scene of bliss revealed more white than Snow,  
Exceeding all our grovelling Thoughts below.  
A deal of pleasant Chat amongst them past,  
How fair was Caelia and how small her waste?  
What handsome Swain a Virgin's Heart possessed,  
Who finely Danced, and who most nicely dressed?  
Yet oh! On Earth the greatest Bliss we find,  
Is but two Minutes or few Days confined.  
The Night advanced, nor could Floralia stay,  
She rose she took her Fan and went away,  
When I and chaste Aurelia, fell to play.    

PHILOMELA.  

WHen glorious Sol had quit the crimson East,  
And gently drove his Chariot to the West.  
Fair Philomela within a shady Bower,  
Sat making Nosegays of the Jes'min Flower.  
Pleased with her soft retreat, the lovely Maid,  
Upon the Bank her Gloves and Tippet laid.  
Where sparking Jacinths with the Lilies twine,  
Bright as those Gems which o'er Mount Aetna shine.  
Oft as the Queen of Night ascends her Throne,  
Visits the Groves and casts her Influence down.  
The Nymph fearing no harm divinely Sung,  
Hymns chaste Atonena to her Th'orbo strung,  
Whilst all her Hair and Garments loosely hung.  
Each wanton Zephyr with the muslin played,  
Which on her smooth and snowy Bosom laid.  
Yet oh! when cheerful Birds begun to sing,  
hoping from Bough to Bough, and Spring to Spring.  
When the wide Plain, each parley Mead was still,  
And Turtles with their Mates would Coo and Bill.  
A Youth well dressed, but of a haughty Mein,  
That oft at Seiges, and at Fights had been.  
Fearing no Colours, where the Prize was Love,  
Boldly he stepped into the Cyprian Grove.  
The Nymphs to gather Primroses were gone,  
That Day, and left fair Philomela alone.  
The charming Nymph surprised— to see a Man,  
Ne'er stayed to take her Tippet, Gloves, or Fan,  
But hastily from out the Arbour ran.  
(Nosegays and Flowers there in abundance fell,  
From of her fragrant Lap) that could not tell;  
Which way to go, incompased all around,  
With Dangers thick, as Vilets on the Ground.  
A thousand ways the Nymph essayed! at last,  
She took her heels, but ran so mighty fast.  
That quickly she was out of breath, and fain  
To lose her Stays, or she had died with pain.  
Bright Juno then, of her Compassion took,  
Grieving to see how Philomela shook  
With fear, sent down a blessed Celestial Maid,  
That from the Grecian Youth the Nymph conveyed.    

To make a Married Life happy.  

A Brisk young Wife, who did a Fortune bring,  
Proves to her Husband a vexatious Thing;  
Yet those advantages to him she gives,  
By her, in his Posterity, he lives.  
She takes of him, when sick, a prudent Care  
In his misfortunes bears an equal share;  
To her, for ease, he does his Griefs impart,  
Her pleasant Converse often cheers his heart;  
And when (if she survive) he ends his Life,  
She does the Office of a pious Wife;  
Set these against her Ills, and you will find,  
Reasons to quiet your uneasy Mind.  
But if you'll strive her temper to reclaim,  
'Slight these good Things, the bad expose to shame,  
And no Compliance to her humour lend,  
To your vexations ne'er shall be an end.    

A DREAM.  

ONE Night, with sleep my Senses being oppressed,  
Fixed on that Thought, which still over ruled my Breast.  
In Mourning dress, with silence did appear,  
She of her Sex was to my Soul most dear.  
Cynthia, methought, I said, and gazed a while,  
Where's thy accustomed Look, and cheerful Smile;  
What sad occasion thus disturbs thee now,  
And hangs that gloomy sadness on thy Brow.  
She only sighed, and offering to departed,  
I snatched her Hand, and laid it to my Heart;  
And whilst I in this trembling Rapture stand,  
She took, and held me by my other Hand.  
I thought my Heart 'twixt Joy and Grief would break,  
Adding with Tears, my Dear, I prithee speak,  
And grasped her fast, she struggling to be gone,  
Till waked; but then I found myself alone.    

The Miseries attending Mankind.  

OH Misery of Mankind! For at the Bar  
Are Strifes and Quarrels; at our Houses Care,  
In Fields hard Labour, Dangers on the Sea;  
Who Travels rich, can ne'er from Fears be free.  
Grievous is want; Marriage eternal Strife:  
A single, is a solitary Life.  
Children bring Care and Trouble, to have none,  
The Happiness of Wedlock is not known.  
Our Youth, is Folly e'er we can grow wise,  
We're Old, and loaded with Infirmities.  
So we may wish, who have the Experience tried;  
That we had ne'er been born; Or, soon as born had died.    

To HIMSELF.  

WHEN fumes of Wine ascend into my Brain;  
Care sleeps, and I the bustling World disdain,  
Nor all the Wealth of Croesus I esteem,  
I sing of Mirth, for Jollity's my Theme.  
With Garlands, I my ruby Temples Crown,  
Keeping rebellious Thoughts of business down,  
In Broils, and Wars, while others take delight,  
I with choice Friends indulge my Appetite.  
Then fetch more Bottles, boy, and Charge us round,  
We'll fall to Bacchus, Victims on the ground;  
Nor value what dull Moralists have said,  
I'm sure 'tis better to be Drunk, than Dead.    

On a Lady Stabbing herself.  

A Lady Inflamed with Anger, Grief and Shame;  
Despising Life, yet careful of her Fame,  
Wounds her fair Breast, tho' armed with Innocence,  
Can suffer Death, but could not the Offence.  
Her Steel was sharp, her End with Glory Crowned,  
She sought Revenge, and valued not the Wound,  
This so appeased her Rage, that being Dead,  
She looked like one revenged not Injured.  
'Twas Beauty sinned, (said she,) then let it die,  
That forced me to this last Extremity;  
Were't not for Beauty I had guiltless been,  
For it was That made lustful Tarquin Sin.  
So I to Violence a Prey was made,  
No Tears availed when Virtue was betrayed.  
Haughty he was, my Beauty proud as he,  
They made me Slave, but thus myself I free.   
FINIS.   

Note, There will shortly be Published by the same Author a Panegyric in Verse, together with some other Poems.