The Gallery

Clora come view my Soul, and

Whether I have contriv'd it well.

Now all its several lodgings

Compos'd into one Gallery;

And the great Arras-hangings,

Of various Faces, by are laid;

That, for all furniture, you'l

Only your Picture in my Mind.

Here Thou art painted in the

Of an Inhumane Murtheress;

Examining upon our

Thy fertile Shop of cruel Arts:

Engines more keen than ever

Adorned Tyrants Cabinet;

Of which the most tormenting

Black Eyes, red Lips, and curled Hair.

But, on the other side, th' art

Like to Aurora in the Dawn;

When in the East she slumb'ring lyes,

And stretches out her milky Thighs;

While all the morning Quire does sing,

And Mamma falls, and Roses spring;

And, at thy Feet, the wooing

Sit perfecting their harmless Loves.

Like an Enchantress here thou show'st,

Vexing thy restless Lover's Ghost;

And, by a Light obscure, dost

Over his Entrails, in the Cave;

Divining thence, with horrid Care,

How long thou shalt continue fair;

And (when inform'd) them throw'st away,

To be the greedy Vultur's prey.

But, against that, thou sit'st a

Like Venus in her pearly Boat.

The Halcyons, calming all that's nigh,

Betwixt the Air and Water fly.

Or, if some rowling Wave appears,

A Mass of Ambergris it bears.

Nor blows more Wind than what may

Convoy the Perfume to the Smell.

These Pictures and a thousand more,

Of Thee, my Gallery dost store;

In all the Forms thou can'st

Either to please me, or torment:

For thou alone to people me,

Art grown a num'rous Colony;

And a Collection choicer

Then or White-hall's, or Mantua's were.

But, of these Pictures and the rest,

That at the Entrance likes me best:

Where the same Posture, and the

Remains, with which I first was took.

A tender Shepherdess, whose

Hangs loosely playing in the Air,

Transplanting Flow'rs from the green Hill,

To crown her Head, and Bosome fill.