Then let the beams of that disperse The heaven designed, draw next a spring, Last, draw the circles of this globe, But, painter, see thou do not sell IV. HER MIND. Painter, you're come, but may be gone; Not that your art I do refuse, But here I may no colors use. 130 Bordering upon. You could make shift to paint an eye, No, to express this mind to sense, Sweet Mind, then speak yourself, and say, I call you, Muse, now make it true: A mind so pure, so perfect fine, There, high exalted in the sphere, It moveth all; and makes a flight Whose notions when it will express Of grace, and music to the ear, As what it spoke, it planted there. The voice so sweet, the words so fair, But that a mind so rapt, so high, So swift, so pure, should yet apply Earth's grossness; there's the how and why. Is it because it sees us dull, And sunk in clay here, it would pull Or hath she here, upon the ground, Thrice happy house, that hast receipt. Not swelling, like the ocean proud, Smooth, soft, and sweet, in all-a flood, In action, winged as the wind; In thee, fair mansion, let it rest, But such a mind, mak'st God thy guest. [A whole quaternion in the midst of this poem is lost, containing entirely the three next pieces of it, and all of the fourth (which in the order of the whole is the eighth) excepting the very end: which at the top of the next quaternion goeth on thus:] VIII. A FRAGMENT. But for you, growing gentlemen, the happy branches of two so illustrious houses as these, wherefrom your honored mother is in both lines descended; let me leave you this last legacy of counsel; which, so soon as you arrive at years of mature understanding, open you, sir, that are the eldest, and read it to your brethren, for it will concern you all alike. Vowed by a faithful servant and client of your family, with his latest breath expiring it. TO KENELM, JOHN, GEORGE, 181 Boast not these titles of your ancestors, B. I. Brave youths, they're their possessions, none of yours. 131 The three sons of Lady Digby. When your own virtues equalled have their names, "Twill be but fair to lean upon their fames; For they are strong supporters; but, till then, By which you're planted, shows your fruit shall bide. Hang all your rooms with one large pedigree; 'Tis virtue alone is true nobility: Which virtue from your father, ripe, will fall; Study illustrious him, and you have all. IX. ELEGY ON MY MUSE. The truly honored lady, THE LADY VENETIA DIGBY; who living gave me leave to call her so, being her ‘ANOOENZIE, or, Relation to the Saints.' Sera quidem tanto struitur medicina doloris. "Twere time that I died too, now she is dead, |