B
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA i 
 
 SANTA BARBARA 
 
 PRESENTED BY 
 
 ROBERT THOMAS
 
 K. g^ LaCa'^'Vwv-uh 
 
 
 V^- 
 
 ^.-VL^^_
 
 Zbc Canterbury poeta. 
 
 Edited by William Sharp. 
 
 CAVALIER AND COURTIER 
 LYRISTS.
 
 FOE FULL. MST OF THE VOLUMES IN THIS SERIES, 
 SEE CATALOGUE AT END OF BOOK.
 
 jc^avalier and courtier 
 
 ij^ LYRISTS r AN ANTHOLOGY 
 OF 17TH CENTURY MINOR VERSE: 
 
 EDITED WITH AN INTRODUC- 
 TION BY W. H. DIRCKS 
 
 AND NOTES BY 
 E, SHARWOOD SMITH, 
 
 THE WALTER SCOTT PUBLISHING CO., LTD., 
 
 LONDON AND NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE. 
 
 NEW YORK : 3 EAST I4TH STREET. 

 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction xiii 
 
 Anonymous (xiv.) 
 
 To B. R., for her Bracelets 79 
 
 The Constant Lovers 81 
 
 Old Time 82 
 
 Amintor's Well-a-Day 83 
 
 Once and no More . 85 
 
 Ayton, Sir Robert (iv.) 
 
 On Woman's Inconstancy . 14 
 
 The Farewell 16 
 
 Brome, Alexander (xxix.) 
 
 The Counsel . 167 
 
 To a Coy Lady 169 
 
 The Resolve 170 
 
 To his Friend that had Vowed Small-beer . . .171 
 
 Song 172 
 
 'Tis not her Birth 173 
 
 Browne, William (i.) 
 
 The Song of the Sirens 1 
 
 Her Visage 3 
 
 Song . . . , i
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Carew, Thomas (viii.) 
 The Primrose 
 Song . 
 Song 
 
 Lips and Eyes 
 Celia Singing 
 The Enquiry 
 Carpe Diem 
 Red Roses and \Vhite 
 The Counsel 
 The Protestation 
 Song . 
 Celia's Beauty 
 Song . 
 A Deposition 
 A Pastoral Dialogue 
 Sweetly-breathing Vernal 
 
 Air 
 
 PAGE 
 
 25 
 26 
 27 
 28 
 29 
 30 
 32 
 33 
 34 
 
 Cartwright, William (xx.) 
 
 ToChloe 119 
 
 Lullaby 121 
 
 Her Falsehood ...,,... 122 
 
 Bid me not go , . 123 
 
 Cleveland, John (xxiii.) 
 
 A Song of Sack 136 
 
 On PhUlis, "Walking before Sunrise .... 138 
 
 Cotton, Charles (xxx.) 
 
 Song „ , . . . 174 
 
 ToChloris 175 
 
 Come, let's mind our Drinking 176
 
 CONTENTS. vii 
 
 Cowley, Abraham (xxi.) page 
 
 A Supplication . 124 
 
 A Prayer 126 
 
 Without and Within 127 
 
 FHl the Bowl 128 
 
 To his Mistress 129 
 
 The Chronicle 130 
 
 The Wish 131 
 
 Crawshaw, Richard (xvi.) 
 
 A Song 87 
 
 Her Tears 90 
 
 Wishes to his Supposed Mistress 91 
 
 D'avenant, Sir William (xxii.) 
 
 Song 133 
 
 The Dying Lover 134 
 
 Denham, Sir John (xxviii.) 
 
 Love and Hate 164 
 
 Song 166 
 
 Dorset, Earl of (xxxiii.) 
 
 Song Written at Sea 189 
 
 On the Countess of Dorchester . . , . . 192 
 
 Song 193 
 
 Song , , . . 194 
 
 Song , . . 195 
 
 Drummond, William, of Hawthornden (ii.) 
 
 Madrigal 6 
 
 Sonnet 7 
 
 To Chloris . 8 
 
 Madrigal 9 
 
 PhilUs 10 
 
 Madrigal 11
 
 viii CONTENTS. 
 
 Etherege, Sir George (xxxi.) page 
 
 Counsel to Lovers 177 
 
 To Celia 178 
 
 Fanshawe, Sir Richard (xxv.) 
 
 Of Beauty .144 
 
 Field, Nathaniel (vi.) 
 
 Matin Song. . . 21 
 
 Habington, William (xviii.) 
 
 To Castara 97 
 
 The Description of Castara 98 
 
 To Cupid, upon a Dimple in Castara's Cheek . , 100 
 
 To Roses, in the Bosom of Castara 101 
 
 We saw, and woo'd each other's eyes .... 102 
 
 Upon Castara's Departure 103 
 
 Herbert, Lord, of Cherbury (xiii.) 
 
 Song .75 
 
 The Kiss 76 
 
 Madrigal 77 
 
 Elegy 78 
 
 King, Henry [Bishop of Chichester] (ix.) 
 
 Song 44 
 
 Song 45 
 
 Sic Vita 46 
 
 Lovelace, Richard (xi.) 
 
 Upon the Curtain of Lucasta's Picture .... 64 
 
 To Lu casta, on going beyond the Seas .... 65 
 To Lucasta, on going to the Wars . . .66 
 
 A Dialogue betwixt Cordauus and Amoret ... 67
 
 CONTENTS. ix 
 
 Lovelace, Richatid — continued— page 
 
 It is already Morn 69 
 
 To Amarantha, that she would dishevel her hair . . 70 
 To Althea from Prison 71 
 
 Montrose, Marquis of (xii.) 
 To his Love 
 
 Mulgrave, Earl of (xxxiv.) 
 
 Song 19G 
 
 Song 197 
 
 Quarles, Francis (xv.) 
 The Rosebud 
 
 Randolph, Thomas (xix.) 
 
 His Mistress 104 
 
 Ode 105 
 
 From the 'Cotswold Eclogue' 109 
 
 A Dialogue betwixt a Nymph and a Shepherd . Ill 
 
 Song 113 
 
 The Poet 114 
 
 Precept 115 
 
 A Charm Song ........ 116 
 
 To a Painted Mistress 117 
 
 Invocation 118 
 
 Rochester, Earl of (xxxv.) 
 
 Song 198 
 
 .Song 199 
 
 Upon Drinking in a liowl 200 
 
 A Dialogue 202 
 
 Insulting Beauty, you mis-spend 206 
 
 To Corinna 207
 
 X CONTENTS. 
 
 Rochester, Earl of- continued— page 
 
 The Mistress 20S 
 
 Song 209 
 
 Love and Life 210 
 
 To his Mistress . . 211 
 
 Constancy 212 
 
 Song 213 
 
 Sedley, Sir Charles (xxxii.) 
 
 Song 179 
 
 ToPhiUis 180 
 
 Song 181 
 
 Song 182 
 
 ToChloris • . . 183 
 
 A Song 184 
 
 Think not by disdain 185 
 
 Song 186 
 
 ToCelia 187 
 
 Song 188 
 
 Sherburne, Sir Edward (xxiv.) 
 
 Lycoris 139 
 
 There's no dallying with Love 140 
 
 The Magnet 141 
 
 By a gentle river laid 142 
 
 Violets in Thaumantia's Bosom 143 
 
 Stanley, Thomas (xxvi.) 
 
 Love's Heretic 145 
 
 Night 147 
 
 Celia Singing 148 
 
 Friendship 149 
 
 Farewell 150 
 
 The Tomb 151
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 XI 
 
 Stirling, Earl of (iii.) page 
 
 Sonnet 1- 
 
 Another 1^ 
 
 Strode, William (vii.) 
 
 On Chloris Walking in the Snow 22 
 
 Song 23 
 
 To his Mistress .24 
 
 Suckling, Sir John (x.) 
 
 The Stolen Heart 47 
 
 A Ballad upon a Wedding 49 
 
 Orsames' Songin " Aglaura" o3 
 
 Constancy 54 
 
 The Question 55 
 
 The Invocation 5G 
 
 Barley-Break 57 
 
 Grainevert's Song in "Brennoralt" . .58 
 
 Love and Debt 59 
 
 Song 60 
 
 Song 62 
 
 Vaughan, Henry (xvii.) 
 
 Chloris 94 
 
 A Song to Amoret 95 
 
 Waller, Edmund (xxvii.) 
 
 Her Face 
 
 Her Girdle 
 
 The Errand of the Rose . 
 To my young lady, Lucy Sidney 
 Behold the brand of beauty toss'd 
 
 The Bud 
 
 On a Brede of divers colours 
 
 153 
 lo4 
 155 
 156 
 157 
 158 
 159
 
 xii CONTENTS, 
 
 Waller, Edmund— confinwed. page 
 
 To Mr. Ilenry Lawes 160 
 
 To a Lady 161 
 
 On the Picture of a Fair Youth 162 
 
 His Last Verses 163 
 
 Wither, George (v.) 
 
 The Manly Heart 17 
 
 Madrigal 19 
 
 The Poet's Complaint 20 
 
 Biographical Index of Writers 215 
 
 Notes 227 
 
 Index of First Lines . , 231
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Nymph. Why sigh you, swain f This passion is Jiot 
 common. 
 Is'tfor kids or lambkins? 
 Shepherd. For a woman. 
 
 —Randolph. 
 
 The present selection of verse from the minor 
 poets who wrote between the accession of Charles 
 I. and the death of Charles II. (1625-1685) makes 
 no profession of being exhaustive, or other than 
 sufficiently arbitrary and capricious. Within the 
 limits of this small volume it would hardly have 
 been possible to make an adequately repre- 
 sentative selection, and such has not been the 
 object ; the verse which has been chosen is 
 all more or less of a particular ^enre^ and 
 the work of the different verse-v.riters of the 
 pf^riod here gathered together has been drawn
 
 xiv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 upon in so far as it falls fairly well within 
 the general scheme of this volume, as ultimately 
 determined. To have mingled the strains of 
 hymns and serenades would have tended to 
 discord ; to avoid complications of arrangement 
 sacred lyrics have not been included. Lyrists 
 like Crashaw and Vaughan are represented, 
 therefore, only very slightly and in secular con- 
 tributions ; and a few others who wrote copiously 
 and on a variety of themes, are also but slightly 
 represented. The collection of verse in this 
 volume, though not comprehensively representa- 
 tive, will nevertheless, perhaps, serve as an 
 index, and convey a tolerably adequate im- 
 pression of some characteristic poetic ten- 
 dencies and qualities of the period with which 
 it deals. 
 
 Until within comparatively recent years the 
 minor verse of this period has not been very 
 specially disengaged for purposes of criticism; nor 
 has it been the object of special eulogy on the 
 part of critics. Hazlitt, for instance, decries Carew 
 as *an elegant court trifler' ; Herrick as *an 
 amorist with perhaps more fancy than feeling ' ; 
 and Crashaw as ' a hectic enthusiast in religion
 
 INTRODUCTION. xv 
 
 and poetry, and erroneous in both.' Arriving 
 at efflorescence after a period of great literary 
 development, the poetic work which separates 
 itself from this as from that of the later and more 
 formal period, having come to be regarded as 
 naturally belonging to a period of decadence, has 
 received treatment accordingly. In regard par- 
 ticularly to the notice bestowed on the 'Caroline' 
 age, it has, as Mr. Saintsbury recalls, suffered from 
 the misfortune that, besides Hazlitt, the two great 
 critics of the Romantic revival, Lamb and Coleridge, 
 both of whom have affected the direction and tone 
 of later criticism, were more especially attracted 
 by writers of the previous period, above all by the 
 splendours of Elizabethan drama. M. Taine, whose 
 treatment may be looked at as in a way typical, does 
 not devote much detailed attention to the work of 
 this period ; in regard to the earlier men, such as 
 Herrick and Carew, while suggesting in them Ana- 
 creontic traces or traces of the Greek Anthology, 
 he is to a certain extent appreciative ; in regard to 
 the later men of the Restoration, such as Sedley, 
 Rochester, and Dorset,he is more concerned to show 
 how they typified the inroad of polite convention 
 'nd the exhaustion of poetic vitality. Of course for
 
 xvi INTRODUCTION, 
 
 this there is justification, only in regarding the 
 subject from the philosophic point of view there 
 is a risk of ignoring many delightful things, and 
 even a period of decadence or transition may un- 
 doubtedly produce many delightful things ; and the 
 period in itself may perhaps fairly be regarded as 
 one, if of minor, of specific poetic development. 
 But it was not to be expected of the catholicity 
 of appreciation of latter-day criticism, especially 
 during the last decade or two, when the leading 
 tendencies and methods of our verse have for 
 the most part been literary in their derivation, 
 that English critics should leave unexploited this 
 particular field of poetry, dominated as it was so 
 largely by literary influences; and we have had 
 the researches of Mr. Gosse in his Seventeenth 
 Century Studies; his discriminative preliminary 
 notices, as well as those of the many other ad- 
 mirable critics v/ho contributed to Mr. Ward's 
 anthology j and Mr. Saintsbury's enthusiastic 
 'apology for Caroline poetry.' In addition, 
 there are such works as Mr. Henry Morle/s 
 King and Co?nmons, conceived, however, largely 
 with a view to political illustration ; and Mr. 
 W. J. Linton's pleasant supplemental anthology,
 
 INTRODUCTION. xvii 
 
 Rare Poems of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth 
 Centuries^ including- selections from Dunbar to 
 Bulteel. Mr. Arber has contributed some reprints ; 
 above all, there are Dr. Grosart's monumental 
 volumes. 
 
 Among the most notable of the Elizabethans 
 whose years extended beyond 1625 were Ben 
 Jonson, Chapman, Ford, Webster, Massinger, and 
 Dekker, but a new poetic tendency, of which in 
 England the work of Donne, and later that of 
 Cowley, is most typical, had already set in. The 
 more literary methods of the later school, with its 
 lessened inspiration, its new ideas and new culture, 
 were not adequate to prevail entirely against the 
 older tradition; the true lyrical fire still burned; 
 the free lyrical impulse had by no means spent 
 itself, though it manifested itself as it were more 
 unexpectedly. The formula of the new culture, 
 of curious erudition and perverse scholarship, 
 could not displace the play of imagination 
 and genuine poetic feeling and vision. The 
 predominant tendencies of the new school, associ- 
 ated abroad particularly with the name of Pvlarmo, 
 were, if one may conveniently refer to so old an 
 authority as Hallam for his summing up in regard
 
 xviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 to them, but the manifestation in verse of a general 
 literary movement dating from the latter half 
 of the sixteenth century ; the classical affecta- 
 tions of Ronsard and his Pleiade, the euphu- 
 ism of Lyly, the stilo culio of Gongora, 
 the concetti of the Italians, and the pedantic 
 quotations of Burton and other writers, all 
 being but modifications of the same general 
 movement. Of the concetti of the new school, 
 of ' heterogeneous imagery,' of parallelisms con- 
 trived by a dextrous perversity of intelligence, the 
 selections of verse in this volume do not afford 
 many examples in their most flagrant form. In 
 the earlier portion conceits will be found in suffi- 
 cient abundancy, but for the most part those that 
 appear here are rather more in the nature of a 
 play of fancy, or have some characteristic old- 
 world quaintness to recommend them. Among 
 the decided followers of the metaphysical school 
 was Lord Herbert of Cherbury ; from his small 
 stock of verse has been chosen an Elegy ^ of 
 which the last lines may be taken as an instance 
 of the merging of conceit into poetic fancy — 
 
 ' Have you vouchsafed to flowers since your death, 
 That sweetest breath?'—
 
 INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 while the well-known song of D'Avenant begin- 
 ning— 
 
 • The lark now leaves his watery nest, 
 
 And climbing, shakes his dewy wings ; '— 
 
 may serve to show an interblending of conceit, 
 fancy, and poetic truth of expression; such an 
 interfusion of elements being very characteristic 
 of the period. The themes on which the poets 
 here represented hang their verses have per- 
 haps no great depth of psychological insight 
 to recommend them, nor is it much their vogue 
 to display any devastating intensity of passion ; 
 they delight rather in a plentiful exaggeration 
 of fantastic joys and griefs of love, in dilating 
 on * frowns that melt, smiles that burn'; in 
 the exposition of tirades against the meretri- 
 ciousness of painted beauty, the adventitious 
 auxiliaries of pomatum and vermilion, a too lavish 
 reliance on the rhetoric of embroidery or lace; 
 and delight in borrowing from flowers a livery of 
 somewhat artificial metaphor by which to heighten 
 their mistresses' beauty, showing for the most 
 part a curious limitation and convention of poetic 
 simile, and after exhausting the repertory of flowers, 
 a readiness to fall back upon facile similitudes of
 
 XX INTRODUCTION, 
 
 ' . . . ivory, coral, gold 
 Of breasfc, of lip, of hair.' 
 
 Dr. Johnson commends Waller for not being 
 ^always at the last gasp' ; for being less fantastic, 
 less hyperbolical and high-flown than his fellows. 
 It is noticeable that the poetic lovers of the 
 period possessed an exquisite fragility and sensi- 
 tiveness of constitution, and exhibited a readiness 
 to die upon the smallest provocation : — 
 
 ' Dear love, let me this evening die, 
 O smile not to prevent it ! ' 
 
 These poetic lovers, these elegant martyrs to 
 love's cruelties, these Watteau-like fine gentle- 
 men shepherds, — Amyntas, Damon, and Strephon, 
 and the rest, — have a way of sighing that has 
 infinite grace to recommend it, and they know 
 how to despair with consummate charm of 
 manner. One inclines to wonder at these ladies 
 whom they loved, these fine shepherdesses 
 whose melodious names are Chloe, Amaryllis, 
 Daphne, Doris, and the rest, celebrated in so 
 many amorous verses, — that they should be so 
 rashly given to the exercise of frowning, knowing 
 so well the fatal consequences thence likely to
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxi 
 
 befall ; they doubtless reflected, however, that in 
 a smile they held always an antidote of singu- 
 lar efificacy. Suckling was among the earliest to 
 overwhelm with badinage the poetic etiquette of 
 the lover of the period, to regard with levity 
 the tragic catastrophies regarded as imperative 
 to his condition, to jest with cynical effrontery 
 at the fallacy of constancy: 
 
 ' Since you doted three whole days, 
 Were you not melancholy ?' 
 
 Brome, later, is full of insidious sincerity, and 
 frank and rather brutal outspokenness : 
 
 ' ^Vhen for deities you go, 
 For angels or for queens, pray know, 
 'Tis our fancy makes you so.' 
 
 And once in a way the serious Habington, so 
 devoted to his virtuous Castara, may be able to 
 cast aside the mask of exaggerated gallantry, and 
 strike a note which, coming from him, somewhat 
 jars. To Rochester, the most pernicious of 
 scamps, and perhaps the most exquisite lyrist 
 of his day, it is left to set forth with fine con- 
 viction and exquisite sweetness of measure the 
 ideal of the constant lover :
 
 xxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ' I cannot change, as others do, 
 
 Though you unjustly scorn, 
 Since that poor swain who sighs for you. 
 
 For you alone was born. 
 No, Phillis, no, your heart to move 
 
 A surer way I'll try, 
 And to revenge my slighted love 
 
 Will still love on, will still love on, and die.' 
 
 Rochester may almost be regarded as the Ver- 
 laine of his period, — a singer of such truth and 
 melody; who, while he did not neglect to prosti- 
 tute his muse shamelessly enough, can contrive 
 at times to give poetic effect even to a 
 philosophy of easy depravity ; and whose legacy 
 is a few careless perfect songs. 
 
 In his English Literafurey after quoting some 
 passionate lines from * Milicertes' Eclogue' by 
 Greene, M. Taine adds : — ' 1 can well believe 
 that things had then no more beauty than now ; 
 but I am sure men found them more beautiful' 
 One is almost inclined to apply the same words 
 to the later period, which this anthology in some 
 degree represents. These writers, nearly all of 
 them gentlemen of the world, inspired to add a 
 negligent accomplishment of verse-making to so 
 many other more worldly accomplishments,
 
 INTRODUCTION. xxiii 
 
 despite their trifling, their conventionalities, their 
 conceits and exaggerations, exhibited so much 
 grace of feeling, so fine and pure a sentiment of 
 the beauty of women, such delicacy of poetic 
 vision and expression. A period which has given 
 us the songs of Carew, of Lovelace, of Suckling, 
 of Waller, and of Rochester ; which amid the 
 many fanciful airs and graces of its work has 
 strewn with such prodigality so many lines and 
 stanzas of pure and exquisite poetry, so many 
 perfect lyrics, is one which perhaps yet has hardly 
 obtained the position which it deserves. 
 
 W. H. D. 
 
 yd December 189 1.
 
 NOTE. 
 
 A certain licence has been assumed in order to include 
 a few of the poets in this collection. This is notably the 
 case with some of the earlier names, and is obviously the 
 case with Wither, who cannot be classified under the 
 heading of either Cavalier or Courtier, but his ' Shall I 
 wasting in despair' seemed to have the justification of 
 appearing indispensable, and he fell naturally into a place. 
 Donne might perhaps have well been included, but the 
 selections from him were made too late to appear. Herrick 
 has been omitted, primarily because a separate volume in 
 this series is devoted to him.
 
 CAVALIER AND COURTIER 
 LYRISTS. 
 
 I. 
 WILLIAM BROWNE. 
 
 \» 1589— 1643. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SIRENS. 
 
 Steer, hither steer, your winged pines, 
 
 All beaten Mariners, 
 Here lie love's undiscovered mines 
 
 A prey to passengers ; 
 Perfumes far sweeter than the best 
 Which make the Phoenix' urn and nest. 
 
 Fear not your ships, 
 Nor any to oppose you save our lips ; 
 
 But come on shore, 
 Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more. 
 
 I
 
 WILLIAM BRO WNE, 
 
 For swelling waves, our panting breasts, 
 
 Where never storms arise, 
 Exchange, and be awhile our guests ; 
 
 For stars, gaze on our eyes. 
 The compass, love shall hourly sing, 
 And as he goes about the ring, 
 
 We will not miss 
 To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. 
 
 Then come on shore 
 Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more.
 
 WILLIAM BROWNE. 
 
 HER VISAGE. 
 
 Love, that looks still on your eyes, 
 Though the winter have begun 
 
 To benumb our arteries, 
 
 Shall not want the summer's sun. 
 
 Love, that still may see your cheeks. 
 Where all rareness still reposes. 
 
 Is a fool, if e'er he seeks 
 Other lilies, other roses. 
 
 Love, to whom your soft lip yields. 
 And perceives your breath in kissing. 
 
 All the odours of the fields. 
 Never, never, shall be missing.
 
 WILLIAM BROWNE, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Shall I tell you whom I love? 
 
 Hearken then a while to me ; 
 And if such a woman move 
 
 As I now shall versifie ; 
 Be assured 'tis she, or none 
 That I love, or love alone. 
 
 Nature did her so much right 
 As she scorns the help of art. 
 
 In as many virtues dight 
 
 As e'er yet embraced a heart. 
 
 So much good so truly tried 
 
 Some for less were deified. 
 
 Wit she hath without desire 
 
 To make known how much she hath ; 
 And her anger flames no higher 
 
 Than may fitly sweeten wrath. 
 Full of pity as may be, 
 Though perhaps not so to me. 
 
 Reason masters every sense, 
 
 And her virtues grace her birth ; 
 
 Lovely as all excellence, 
 
 Modest in her most of mirth: 
 
 Likelihood enough to prove 
 
 Only worth could kindle love.
 
 WILLIAM BROWNE. 
 
 Such she is, and if you know 
 Such a one as I have sung, 
 
 Be she brown, or fair, or so, 
 That she be but somewhile young ; 
 
 Be assur'd, 'tis she or none 
 
 That I love, and love alone.
 
 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 II. 
 
 WILLIAM DRUMMOND 
 
 OF HAWTHORNDEN. 
 I585-1649. 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 Like the Idalian queen 
 
 Her hair about her eyne 
 
 And neck, on breasts ripe apples to be seen, 
 
 At first glance of the morn 
 
 In Cyprus' gardens gathering those fair flowers 
 
 Which of her blood were born, 
 
 I saw, but fainting saw my paramours. 
 
 The Graces naked danc'd about the place, 
 
 The winds and trees amaz'd 
 
 With silence on her gaz'd, 
 
 The flowers did smile like those upon her face; 
 
 And as their aspin stalks those singers bind, 
 
 That she might read my case, 
 
 I wish'd to be a hyacinth in her hand.
 
 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Alexis, here she stay'd ; among these pines, 
 
 Sweet hermitress, she did alone repair; 
 
 Here did she spread the treasure of her hair. 
 
 More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines. 
 
 She sate her by these musked eglantines, 
 
 The happy place the print seems yet to bear; 
 
 Her voice did sweeten here thy sugar'd lines, 
 
 To which winds, trees, beasts, birds, did lend their 
 
 ear. 
 Me here she first perceiv'd, and here a morn 
 Of bright carnations did o'erspread her face, 
 Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were born, 
 And I first got a pledge of promis'd grace : 
 But, ah ! what serv'd it to be happy so, 
 Sith passed pleasures double but new woe?
 
 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 TO CHLORIS. 
 
 See, Chloris, how the clouds 
 
 Tilt in the azure lists, 
 
 And how with Stygian mists 
 
 Each horned hill his giant forehead shrouds ; 
 
 Jove thund'reth in the air, 
 
 The air, grown great with vain, 
 
 Now seems to bring Deucalion's days again. 
 
 I see thee quake ; come, let us home repair, 
 
 Come hide thee in mine arms, 
 
 If not for love, yet to sli,un greater harms.
 
 WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 The ivory, coral, gold, 
 
 Of breast, of lip, of hair, 
 
 So lively sleep doth show to inward sight, 
 
 That 'wake I think I hold 
 
 No shadow, but my fair: 
 
 Myself I so deceive 
 
 With long-shut eyes, I shun the irksome light. 
 
 Such pleasure here I have 
 
 Delighting in false gleams, 
 
 If Death Sleep's brother be, 
 
 And souls bereft of sense have so sweet dreams. 
 
 How could I wish thus still to dream and die !
 
 lo WILLIAM DRUMMOND, 
 
 PHILLIS. 
 
 In petticoat of green, 
 
 Her hair about her eyne, 
 
 Phillis, beneath an oak, 
 
 Sat milking her fair flock. 
 'Mongst that sweet-strained moisture, rare delight! 
 Her hand seem'd milk, in milk it was so white.
 
 WILLI A M DR UMMOND. 1 1 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 This world a hunting is, 
 
 The prey poor man, the Nimrod fierce is 
 
 Death ; 
 His seedy greyhounds are 
 Lust, sickness, envy, care, 
 Strife that ne'er falls amiss, 
 With all those ills which haunt us while we 
 
 breathe. 
 Now, if by chance we fly 
 Of these the larger chase, 
 Old age with stealing pace 
 Casts up his nets, and there we panting die.
 
 12 EARL OF STIRLING. 
 
 III. 
 EARL OF STIRLING. 
 
 1580— 1640. 
 SONNET. 
 
 I SWEAR, Aurora, by thy starry eyes, 
 
 And by those golden locks, whose lock none slips, 
 
 And by the coral of thy rosy lips, 
 
 And by the naked snows which beauty dyes; 
 
 I swear by all the jewels of thy mind. 
 
 Whose like yet never worldly treasure bought, 
 
 Thy solid judgment, and thy generous thought, 
 
 Which in this darken'd age have clearly shin'd ; 
 
 I swear by those and by my spotless love, 
 
 And by my secret, yet most fervent fires, 
 
 That I have never nurst but chaste desires, 
 
 And such as modesty might well approve. 
 
 Then since I love those virtuous parts in thee, 
 
 Should'st thou not love this virtuous mind in me?
 
 EARL OF STIRLING. 13 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 O IF thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm, 
 
 And dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil ray rest; 
 
 Then thou wouldst melt the ice out of thy breast, 
 
 And thy relenting heart would kindly warm. 
 
 O if thy pride did not our joys control, 
 
 What world of living wonders shouldst thou see ! 
 
 For if I saw thee once transform'd in me, 
 
 Then in thy bosom T would pour my soul ; 
 
 Then all my thoughts should in thy visage shine, 
 
 And if that aught mischanc'd thou shouldst not moan, 
 
 Nor bear the burthen of thy griefs alone ; 
 
 No, I would have my share in what were thine ; 
 
 And whilst we thus should make our sorrows one, 
 
 The happy harmony would make them none.
 
 14 SIR ROBERT A YTON. 
 
 IV. 
 
 SIR ROBERT AYTON. 
 
 1 570- 1638. 
 
 ON WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY. 
 
 I lov'd thee once, I'll love no more, 
 Thine be the grief as is the blame : 
 Thou art not what thou wert before, 
 What reason I should be the same. 
 He that can love unlov'd again. 
 Hath better store of love than brain 
 God send me love my debts to pay, 
 While unthrifts fool their love away. 
 
 Nothing could have my love o'er thrown, 
 
 If thou hadst still continued mine; 
 Yea, if thou hadst remain'd thy own, 
 I might perchance have yet been thine. 
 But thou thy freedom did recall, 
 That if thou might elsewhere inthral : 
 And then how could I but disdain 
 A captive's captive to remain?
 
 SIR ROBERT A YTON. 15 
 
 When new desires had conquer'd thee, 
 And chang'd the object of thy will, 
 It had been lethargy in me, 
 Not constancy to love thee still. 
 Yea it had been a sin to go 
 And prostitute affection so, 
 Since we are taught no prayers to say 
 To such as must to others pray. 
 
 Yet do thou glory in thy choice, 
 
 Thy choice of his good fortune's boast ) 
 I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice 
 To see him gain what I have lost ; 
 The height of my disdain shall be, 
 To laugh at him, to blush for thee; 
 To love thee still, but go no more 
 A-begging to a beggar's door.
 
 i6 SIR ROBERT A YTON. 
 
 THE FAREWELL, 
 
 I DO confess thou'rt smooth and fair, 
 
 And I might have gone near to love thee ; 
 
 Had I not found the slightest prayer 
 That lips could speak had power to move thee ; 
 
 But I can let thee now alone, 
 
 As worthy to be lov'd by none ! 
 
 I do confess thou'rt sweet, yet find 
 Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 
 
 Thy favours are but like the wind, 
 That kisses everything it meets. 
 
 And since thou can with more than one, 
 
 Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none. 
 
 The morning rose, that untouch'd stands, 
 Arm'd with her briers, how sweetly smells • 
 
 But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, 
 Her sweets no longer with her dwells : 
 
 But scent and beauty both are gone, 
 
 And leaves fall from her, one by one. 
 
 Such fate, ere long, will thee betide, 
 When thou hast handled been awhile, 
 
 Like sere flowers to be thrown aside ; 
 And I will sigh, while some will smile. 
 
 To see thy love for more than one 
 
 Hath brought thee to be lov'd by none.
 
 GEORGE WITHER. 17 
 
 V. 
 
 GEORGE WITHER. 
 
 158S— 1667. 
 
 THE MANLY HEART. 
 
 Shall I, wasting in despaire, 
 Dye, because a woman's fair ? 
 Or make pale my cheeks with care 
 Cause another's Rosie are ? 
 Be she fairer than the Day, 
 Or the flowry Meads in May 
 If she thinke not well of me, 
 What care I how faire she be ? 
 
 Shall my seely heart be pin'd, 
 Cause I see a woman kind? 
 Or a well-disposed Nature 
 Joyned with a lovely feature? 
 Be she Meeker, Kinder than 
 Turtle-dove or Pellican : 
 If she be not so to me. 
 What care I how kind she be ?
 
 GEORGE WITHER. 
 
 Shall a woman's Vertues move 
 Me to perish for her Love ? 
 Or, her wel deservings knowne, 
 Make me quite forget mine own? 
 Be she with that Goodness blest, 
 Which may merit name of best ; 
 If she be not such to me, 
 What care I how Good she be ? 
 
 Cause her Fortune seems too high, 
 Shall I play the fool and die? 
 She that beares a Noble mind, 
 If not outward helpes she find, 
 
 Thinks what with them he wold do. 
 That without them dares her woe ; 
 And unless that Minde I see 
 What care I how great she be? 
 
 Great or Good, or Kind or Faire, 
 I will ne're the more despaire ; 
 If she love me (this beleeve) 
 I will Die ere she shall grieve. 
 If she slight me when I woe, 
 I can scorne and let her goe, 
 If she be not fit for me, 
 What care I for whom she be ?
 
 GEORGE WITHER. 19 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 Amaryllis 1 did woo, 
 And I courted Phyllis too; 
 Daphne for her love I chose 
 Chloris, for that damask rose 
 In her cheek I held so dear, 
 Yea, a thousand lik'd well near; 
 And in love with all together, 
 Feared the enjoying either: 
 'Cause to be of one possest, 
 Barr'd the hope of all the rest.
 
 20 GEORGE WITHER, 
 
 THE POET'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 Oft have the Nymphs of greatest worth 
 
 Made suit my songs to hear ; 
 As oft, when I have sighed forth 
 
 Such notes as saddest were, 
 ' Alas ! ' said they, ' poor gentle heart, 
 
 Whoe'er that shepherd be ; ' 
 But none of them suspects my smart, 
 
 Nor thinks it raeaneth me ! 
 
 When I have reached so high a strain 
 
 Of passion in my song, 
 That they have seen the tears to rain 
 
 And trill my cheek along ; 
 Instead of sigh, or weeping eye 
 
 To sympathise with me, 
 ' Oh, were he once in love, ' they cry, 
 ' How moving he would be ! ' 
 
 Oh, pity me, you powers above, 
 
 And take my skill away ; 
 Or let my hearers think I love, 
 
 And fain not what I say. 
 For if I could disclose the smart 
 
 Which I unknown do bear, 
 Each line would make them sighs impart 
 
 And every word, a tear.
 
 NATHANIEL FIELD, 
 
 VI. 
 
 NATHANIEL FIELD. 
 
 15S7-1638. 
 MATIN SONG. 
 
 Rise, Lady Mistress, rise ! 
 
 The night hath tedious been ; 
 No sleep hath fallen into mine eyes 
 
 Nor slumbers made me sin. 
 Is not she a saint then, say, 
 Thought of whom keeps sin away ? 
 
 Rise, Madani \ rise and give me light, 
 Whom darkness still will cover 
 
 And ignorance, darker than night, 
 Till thou smile on thy lover. 
 
 All want day till thy beauty rise ; 
 
 For the grey morn breaks from thine eyes.
 
 22 WILLIAM STRODE. 
 
 VII. 
 
 WILLIAM STRODE. 
 
 1599— 1644. 
 
 ON CHLORIS WALKING IN THE SNOW. 
 
 I SAW fair Chloris walk alone, 
 When feather'd rain came softly down, 
 Then Jove descended from his tower, 
 To court her in a silver shower ; 
 The wanton snow flew to her breast, 
 Like little birds into their nest ; 
 But overcome with whiteness tliere 
 For grief it thaw'd into a tear ; 
 Then falling down her garment hem 
 To deck her, froze into a gem.
 
 WILLIAM STRODE. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Keep on your mask, and hide your eye, 
 For with beholding you I die ; 
 Your fatal beauty, Gorgon-like, 
 Dead with astonishment will strike ; 
 Your piercing eyes, if them 1 see, 
 Are worse than Basilisks to lue. 
 
 Shut from mine eye those hills of snow, 
 Their melting valley do not show : 
 Those azure paths lead to despair, 
 O vex me not ; forbear ! forbear ! 
 For while I thus in torments dwell 
 The light of heaven is worse than hell. 
 
 Your dainty voice and warbling breath 
 Sound like a sentence past for death : 
 Your dangling tresses are become 
 Like instruments of final doom ; 
 O ! if an angel torture so. 
 When life is gone where shall I go ?
 
 24 WILLIAM STRODE. 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 I'll tell you whence the rose did first grow red 
 And whence the lily whiteness borrowed ; 
 You blushed and then the rose with red was dight, 
 The lily kissed your hands and so came white; 
 Before that time the rose was but a stain, 
 The lily nought but paleness did contain. 
 You have the native colour ; these they die, 
 And only flourish in your livery.
 
 THOMAS CAREW. 25 
 
 VIII 
 
 THOMAS CAREW. 
 
 1598 ?— 1639 ? 
 
 THE PRIMROSE. 
 
 Ask me why I send you here 
 
 This firstling of the infant year ; 
 
 Ask me why I send to you 
 
 This primrose all bepearled with dew ; 
 
 I straight will whisper in your ears, 
 
 The sweets of love are washed with tears. 
 
 Ask me why this flower doth show 
 So yellow, green, and sickly too ; 
 Ask me why the stalk is weak 
 And bending, yet it doth not break ; 
 I must tell you, these discover 
 What doubts and fears are in a lover.
 
 26 THOMAS CAREW. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Would you know what's soft ? I dare 
 Not bring you to the down, or air, 
 Nor to stars to show what's bright, 
 Nor to snow to teach you white. 
 
 Nor, if you would music hear, 
 Call the orbs to take your ear ; 
 Nor, to please your sense, bring forth 
 Bruised nard, or what's more worth ; 
 
 Or on food were your thoughts placed, 
 Bring you nectar for a taste ; 
 Would you have all these in one, 
 Name my mistress, and 'tis done I
 
 THOMAS CAREW. 27 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Ask me no more where Jove bestows 
 When June is past, the fading rose ; 
 For in your beauties, orient deep, 
 These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. 
 
 Ask me no more, whither do stray 
 The golden atoms of the day ; 
 For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare 
 Those powders to enrich your hair. 
 
 Ask me no more, whither doth haste 
 The nightingale, when May is past ; 
 For in your sweet dividing throat 
 She winters, and keeps warm her note. 
 
 Ask me no more, where those stars light 
 That downwards fall in dead of night ; 
 For in your eyes they sit, and there 
 Fixed become, as in their sphere. 
 
 Ask me no more, if east or west 
 The Phoenix builds her spicy nest ; 
 For unto you at last she flies 
 And in your fragrant bosom dies.
 
 28 THOMAS CAREW. 
 
 LIPS AND EYES. 
 
 In Celia's face a question did arise, 
 
 Which were more beautiful, her Lips or Eyes ? 
 
 " We," said the Eyes, " send forth those pointed darts 
 
 Which pierce the hardest adamantine hearts." 
 
 "From us," replied the Lips, "proceed those bhsses 
 
 Which lovers reap by kind words and sweet kisses." 
 
 Then wept the Eyes, and from their springs did pour 
 
 Of liquid oriental pearls a shower. 
 
 Whereat the Lips, moved with delight and pleasure, 
 
 Through a sweet smile unlocked their pearly treasure, 
 
 And bade Love judge, whether did add more grace. 
 
 Weeping or smiling pearls in Celia's face.
 
 THOMAS CAREW. 29 
 
 CELIA SINGING. 
 
 You that think Love can convey 
 
 No other way, 
 But through the eyes, into the heart 
 
 His fatal dart, 
 Close up those casements and but hear 
 
 This siren sing, 
 
 And on the wing 
 Of her sweet voice it shall appear 
 That love can enter at the ear. 
 
 Open, unveil your eyes, behold 
 
 The curious mould 
 Where that voice dwells, and as v;e knov/, 
 
 When the cocks crow 
 
 We freely may 
 
 Gaze on the day, 
 So may you, when the music's done, 
 Awake and see the risins: sun.
 
 THOMAS CARE IV, 
 
 THE ENQUIRY. 
 
 Amongst the myrtles as I walked, 
 Love and my sighs thus intertalked : 
 ' Tell me,' said I, in deep distress, 
 * Where may I find my shepherdess ?' 
 
 ' Thou fool,' said Love, ' know'st thou not this, 
 In everything that's good she is ? 
 In yonder tulip go and seek. 
 There thou mayst find her lip, her cheek. 
 
 ' In yon enamelled pansy by, 
 There thou shalt have her curious eye. 
 In bloom of peach, in rosy bud, 
 There wave the streamers of her blood. 
 
 ' In brightest lilies that there stand 
 The emblems of her whiter hand. 
 In yonder rising hill there smell 
 Such sweets as in her bosom dwell.' 
 
 ' 'Tis true,' said I, and thereupon 
 I went to pluck them one by one 
 To make of parts an union ; 
 But on a sudden all was gone.
 
 THOMAS CAREW. 31 
 
 With that I stopped ; said Love, ' These be, 
 
 Fond man, resemblances of thee; 
 
 And as these flowers, thy joys shall die, 
 
 E'en in the twinkling of an eye, 
 
 And all thy hopes of her shall wither, 
 
 Like these short sweets thus knit together.'
 
 32 THOMAS CAREW. 
 
 CARPE DIEM. 
 
 If the quick spirits in your eye 
 Now languish, and anon must die ; 
 If ev'ry sweet, and ev'ry grace 
 Must fly from that forsaken face : 
 
 Then, Celia, let us reap our joys, 
 Ere time such goodly firuit destroys. 
 
 Or, if that golden fleece must grow 
 For ever, free from aged snow ; 
 If those bright suns must know no shade. 
 Nor your fresh beauties ever fade ; 
 Then fear not, Celia, to bestow 
 What still being gather'd still must grow. 
 Thus either Time his sickle brings 
 In vain, or else in vain his wings.
 
 THOMAS CAREW, zi 
 
 RED ROSES AND WHITE. 
 
 Read in these roses the sad story 
 
 Of my hard fate and your own glory. 
 
 In the white you may discover 
 
 The paleness of a fainting lover ; 
 
 In the red, the flames still feeding 
 
 On my heart with fresh wounds bleeding. 
 
 The white will tell you how I languish, 
 
 And the red express my anguish ; 
 
 The white my innocence displaying, 
 
 The red my martyrdom betraying. 
 
 The frowns that on your brow resided, 
 
 Have those roses thus divided ; 
 
 Oh ! let your smiles but clear the weather. 
 
 And then they both shall grow together.
 
 34 THOMAS CAREW. 
 
 THE COUNSEL. 
 
 Mark how the bashful morn in vain 
 
 Courts the amorous marigold 
 With sighing blasts and weeping rain, 
 
 Yet she refuses to unfold ; 
 But when the planet of the day 
 Approacheth with his powerful ray 
 Then she spreads, then she receives 
 His warmer beams into her virgin leaves. 
 
 So shalt thou thrive in love, fond boy; 
 
 If thy tears and sighs discover 
 Thy grief, thou never shalt enjoy 
 
 The just reward of a bold lover. 
 But when with moving accents thou 
 Shalt constant faith and service vow, 
 Thy Celia shall receive those charms 
 "With open ears, and with unfolded arms.
 
 THOMAS CAREW. 35 
 
 THE PROTESTATION. 
 
 No more shall meads be deck'd with flowers, 
 Nor sweetness dwell in rosy bowers ; 
 Nor greenish buds on branches spring, 
 Nor warbling birds delight to sing ; 
 Nor April violets paint the grove ; 
 If I forsake my Celia's love. 
 
 The fish shall in the ocean burn, 
 And fountains sweet shall bitter turn ; 
 The humble oak no flood shall know 
 Wlien flood shall highest hills o'erflow ; 
 Black Lethe shall oblivion leave ; 
 If e'er my Celia I deceive. 
 
 Love shall his bow and shaft lay by, 
 And Venus' doves want wings to fly; 
 The Sun refuse to show his light. 
 And day shall then be turn'd to night. 
 And in that night no star appear ; 
 If once I leave my Celia dear. 
 
 Love shall no more inhabit Earth, 
 Nor lovers more shall love for worth ; 
 Nor joy above in Heaven dwell, 
 Nor pain torment poor souls in Hell ; 
 Grim death no more shall horrid prove ; 
 If e'er I leave bright Celia's love.
 
 36 THOMAS CAREW, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Give me more love, or more disdain, 
 The torrid or the frozen zone 
 
 Bring equal joy unto my pain. 
 The temperate affords me none, 
 
 Either extreme of love or hate 
 
 Is sweeter than a calm estate. 
 
 Give me a storm : it it be love, 
 
 Like Danae in that golden shower, 
 I swim in pleasure ; if it prove 
 
 Disdain, that torrent will devour 
 My vulture hopes ; and he's possess'd 
 Of Heaven that's but from Hell released. 
 Then crown my joys, or cure my pain, 
 Give me more love, or more disdain.
 
 THOMAS CAREW, 37 
 
 CELTA'S BEAUTY. 
 
 Know, Celia, since thou art so proud, 
 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown ; 
 
 Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd 
 Of common beauties, lived unknown 
 
 Had not my verse exhaled thy name, 
 
 And with it impt the wings of Fame. 
 
 That killing power is none of thine ! 
 
 I gave it to thy voice and eyes ; 
 Thy sweets, thy graces, — all are mine. 
 
 Thou art my star, — shin'st in my skies 
 Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere 
 Lightning on him that fix'd thee there. 
 
 Tempt me with such affrights no more, 
 Lest what T made I uncreate ; 
 
 Let fools thy mystic forms adore, 
 I'll know thee in thy mortal state. 
 
 Wise poets that wrap Truth in tales, 
 
 Know her themselves thro' all her veils.
 
 38 THOMAS CAREW. 
 
 SONG. _ 
 
 He that loves a rosy cheek, 
 Or a coral lip admires, 
 
 Or from star-like eyes doth seek 
 Fuel to maintain his fires ; 
 
 As old Time makes these decay 
 
 So his flames must waste away. 
 
 But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
 Gentle thoughts and calm desires, 
 
 Hearts with equal love combined, 
 Kindle never-dying fires. 
 
 Where these are not, I despise 
 
 Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.
 
 THOMAS CAREW. 39 
 
 A DEPOSITION. 
 
 I WAS foretold, your rebel sex 
 
 Nor love nor pity knew, 
 And with what scorn you use to vex 
 
 Poor hearts that humbly sue ; 
 Yet I believ'd to crown our pain, 
 
 Could we the fortress win, 
 The happy lover sure would gain 
 
 A paradise within. 
 I thought love's plagues like dragons sate, 
 Only to fright us at the gate. 
 
 But I did enter, and enjoy 
 
 What happy lovers prove. 
 For I could kiss, and spori, and toy, 
 
 And taste those sweets of love, 
 Which, had they but a lasting state, 
 
 Or if in Celia's breast 
 The force of love might not abate, 
 
 Jove were too mean a guest. 
 But now her breach of faith far more 
 Afflicts, than did her scorn before.
 
 40 THOMAS CAREW. 
 
 Hard fate ! to have been once possest, 
 
 As victor, of a heart 
 Achiev'd with labour and unrest, 
 
 And then forc'd to depart ! 
 If the stout foe will not resign 
 
 When I besiege a town, 
 I lose but what was never mine. 
 
 But he that is cast down 
 From enjoy'd beauty, feels a woe 
 Only deposed kings can know.
 
 THOMAS CAREW, 41 
 
 A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. 
 Shepherd^ Nyfuphy Chorus. 
 
 Shepherd. 
 
 This mossy bank they press'd. Nym. That aged oak 
 
 Did canopy the happy pair 
 
 All night from the damp air. 
 Cho. Here let us sit, and sing the words they spoke, 
 Till the day breaking their embraces broke. 
 
 Shepherd. 
 
 See, love, the blushes of the morn appear, 
 
 And now she hangs her pearly store, 
 
 Robb'd from the eastern shore, 
 r th' cowslip's bell and the rose's ear; 
 Sweet, I must stay no longer here. 
 
 Nymph. 
 
 Those streaks of doubtful light usher not day, 
 
 But show my sun must set ; no morn 
 
 Shall shine till thou return ; 
 The yellow planets and the grey 
 Dawn, shall attend thee on thy way.
 
 42 THOMAS CAREW. 
 
 Shepherd. 
 
 If thine eyes gild my paths, they may forbear 
 Their useless shine. Nym. My tears will quite 
 Extinguish their faint light. 
 
 Shep. Those drops will make their beams more clear, 
 
 Love's flames will shine in every tear. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 They kissed, and wept, and from their lips and eyes. 
 
 In a mixed dew of briny sweet 
 
 Their joys and sorrows meet ; 
 But she cries out. Nym. Shepherd, arise, 
 The sun betrays us else to spies. 
 
 Shepherd. 
 The winged hours fly fast whilst we embrace, 
 
 But when we want their help to meet, 
 
 They move with leaden feet. 
 Nym. Then let us pinion time, and chase 
 The day for ever from this place. 
 
 Shepherd. 
 Hark ! Nym. Ah me, stay ! Shep. For ever. 
 Ny7n. No, arise; 
 We would be gone. Shep. My nest of spice ! 
 Ny7n. My soul ! Shep. My paradise ! 
 Cho. Neither could say farewell, but through their 
 
 eyes 
 Grief interrupted speech with tears' supplies.
 
 THOMAS CARE W. 43 
 
 SWEETLY-BREATHING VERNAL AIR. 
 
 Sweetly-breathing vernal air, 
 That with kind warmth dost repair 
 Winter's ruins ; from whose breast 
 All the gums and spice of th' east 
 Borrow their perfumes ; whose eye 
 Gilds the morn, and clears the sky ; 
 Whose dishevell'd tresses shed 
 Pearls upon the violet bed ; 
 On whose brow with calm smiles dress'd, 
 The halcyon sits and builds her nest ; 
 Beauty, youth, and endless spring, 
 Dwell upon thy rosy wing. 
 
 Thou, if stormy Boreas throws 
 Down whole forests when he blows, 
 With a pregnant flow'ry birth 
 Canst refresh the teeming earth : 
 If he nip the early bud, 
 If he blast what's fair or good, 
 If he scatter our choice flowers, 
 If he shake our hills, or bowers, 
 If his rude breath threaten us ; 
 Thou canst stroke great ^olus. 
 And from him the grace obtain 
 To bind him in an iron chain.
 
 44 HENRY KING, 
 
 IX. 
 
 HENRY KING (Bishop of Chichester). 
 1591 — 1669. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Dry those fair, those crystal eyes, 
 
 Which like growing fountains rise 
 
 To drown their banks; grief's sullen brooks 
 
 Vv^'ould better flow in furrow'd looks ; 
 
 Thy lovely face was never meant 
 
 To be the shore of discontent. 
 
 Then clear those waterish stars again, 
 Which else portend a lasting rain ; 
 Lest the clouds which settle there 
 Prolong my winter all the year. 
 And thy example others make 
 In love with sorrow for thy sake.
 
 HENRY KING. 45 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Tell me no more how fair she is : 
 I have no mind to hear 
 
 The story of that distant bliss 
 I never shall come near ; 
 
 By sad experience I have found 
 
 That her perfection is my wound. 
 
 And tell me not how fond I am 
 To tempt my daring fate, 
 
 From whence no triumph ever came 
 But to repent too late ; 
 
 There is some hope ere long I may 
 
 In silence dote myself away. 
 
 I ask no pity, Love, from thee, 
 
 Nor will thy justice blame ; 
 So that thou wilt not envy me 
 
 The glory of my flame. 
 Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies 
 In that it falls her sacrifice.
 
 46 HENRY KING, 
 
 SIC VITA. 
 
 Like to the falling of a star, 
 Or as the flight of eagles are ; 
 Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 
 Or silver drops of morning dew ; 
 Or like a wind that chafes the flood, 
 Or bubbles which on water stood ; 
 Ev'n such is man whose borrowed light 
 Is straight call'd in and paid to-night. 
 The wind blows out, the bubble dies : 
 The spring entomb'd in autumn lies ; 
 The dew dries up, the star is shot ; 
 The flight is past — and man forgot.
 
 SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 47 
 
 SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 
 
 1609—1641. 
 THE STOLEN HEART. 
 
 I PRITHEE send me back my heart, 
 
 Since I cannot have thine, 
 For if from yours you will not part, 
 
 \Vhy then shouldst thou have mine ? 
 
 Yet now I think on't, let it lie, 
 
 To find it were in vain, 
 For thou'st a thief in either eye 
 
 Would steal it back again. 
 
 Why should two hearts in one breast lie, 
 And yet not lodge together ? 
 
 O Love ! why is thy sympathy 
 If thus our breasts thou sever? 
 
 But love is such a mystery 
 
 I cannot find it out : 
 For when I think I'm best resolved, 
 
 I then am most in doubt.
 
 48 S/J^ JOHN S UCKLING. 
 
 Then farewell care, and farewell woe, 
 
 I will no longer pine : 
 For I'll believe I have her heart, 
 
 As much as she hath mine.
 
 SIR JOHN S UCKLING, 49 
 
 A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING. 
 
 I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been, 
 WTiere I the rarest things have seen ; 
 
 O, things without compare ! 
 Such sights again cannot be found 
 In any place on English ground, 
 
 Be it at wake or fair. 
 
 At Charing Cross, hard by the way, 
 Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, 
 
 There is a house with stairs ; 
 And there I did see coniing down 
 Such folk as are not in our town, 
 
 Forty at least in pairs. 
 
 Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine 
 (His beard no bigger tho' than thine) 
 
 Walked on before the rest. 
 Our landlord looks like nothing to him, 
 The King (God bless him) 'twould undo him 
 
 Should he go still so drest. 
 
 But wot you what ? The youth was going 
 To make an end of all his wooing ; 
 
 The parson for him stay'd : 
 Yet by his leave (for all his haste) 
 He did not so much wish all past, 
 
 Perchance, as did the maid.
 
 50 SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 
 
 The maid (and thereby hangs a tale), 
 For such a maid no \Vhitsun-ale 
 
 Could ever yet produce : 
 No grape, that's kindly ripe, could be 
 So round, so plump, so soft as she. 
 
 Nor half so full of juice. 
 
 Her finger was so small, the ring 
 Would not stay on, which they did bring, 
 
 It was too wide a peck ; 
 And to say truth (for out it must), 
 It look'd like the great collar just 
 
 About our young colt's neck. 
 
 Her feet beneath her petticoat, 
 Like little mice, stole in and out, 
 
 As if they fear'd the light : 
 But O she dances such a way. 
 No sun upon an Easter day 
 
 Is half so fine a sight ! 
 
 Her cheeks so rare a white was on, 
 No daisy makes comparison, 
 
 Who sees them is undone, 
 For streaks of red were mingled there, 
 Such as are on a Catherine pear, 
 
 The side that's next the sun 1
 
 5//? JOHN SUCKLING. 5 1 
 
 Her lips were red, and one was thin 
 Compar'd to that was next her chin 
 
 (Some bee had stung it newly) ; 
 But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, 
 I durst no more upon them gaze 
 
 Than on the sun in July. 
 
 Her mouth so small, when she does speak, 
 Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, 
 
 That they might passage get ; 
 But she so handled still the matter, 
 They came as good as ours, or better. 
 
 And are not spent a whit. 
 
 Passion o' me ! how i run on ! 
 
 There's that that would be thought upon, 
 
 I trow, besides the bride : 
 The business of the kitchen's great, 
 For it is fit that men should eat ; 
 
 Nor was it there denied. 
 
 Just in the nick the cook knock'd thrice, 
 And all the waiters in a trice 
 
 His summons did obey ; 
 Each serving-man with dish in hand 
 March'd boldly up, like our train'd band, 
 
 Presented, and away.
 
 52 SIR JOHN S UCKLING. 
 
 When all the meat was on the table, 
 What man of knife, or teeth, was able 
 
 To stay to be intreated ? 
 And this the very reason was, 
 Before the parson could say grace, 
 
 The company was seated. 
 
 Now hats fly off, and youth carouse ; 
 Healths first go round, and then the house, 
 
 The bride's come thick and thick ; 
 And when 'twas nnmed another's health, 
 Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, 
 
 And who could help it, Dick ? 
 
 O' th' sudden up they rise and dance ; 
 Then sit again, and sigh, and glance ; 
 
 Then dance again, and kiss. 
 Thus several ways the time did pass. 
 Till every woman m ish'd her place. 
 
 And every man wish'd his !
 
 S/J^ JOHN SUCKLING. 53 
 
 ORSAMES' SONG IN " AGLAURA.' 
 
 Why so pale and wan, fond lover? 
 
 Prithee why so pale ? 
 Will, when looking well can't move her, 
 
 Looking ill prevail ? 
 
 Prithee why so pale ? 
 
 Wliy so dull and mutC; young sinner? 
 
 Prithee why so mute ? 
 Will, when speaking well can't win her, 
 
 Saying nothing do't ? 
 
 Prithee why so mute ? 
 
 Quit, quit for shame ! this will not move 
 
 This cannot take her ; 
 If of herself she will not love, 
 
 Nothing can make her : 
 
 The devil take her.
 
 54 SIR JOHN SUCKLING, 
 
 A 
 
 CONSTANCY. 
 
 Out upon it, I have loved 
 Three whole days together, 
 
 And am like to love three more, 
 If it prove fair weather. 
 
 Time shall moult away his wings 
 
 E'er he shall discover 
 In the whole wide world again 
 
 Such a constant lover. 
 
 Eut the spite on't is, no praise 
 
 Is due at all to me : 
 Love with me had made no stays, 
 
 Had it any been but she, — 
 
 Had it any been but she, 
 
 And that very face. 
 There had been at least e'er this 
 
 A dozen dozen in her place.
 
 SJR JOHN S UCKLING. 5 5 
 
 THE QUESTION. 
 
 Say, but did you love so long ? 
 
 In truth I needs must blame you : 
 Passion did your judgment wrong, 
 
 Or want of reason shame you. 
 
 But Time's fair and witty daughter 
 
 Shortly shall discover 
 Y'are a subject fit for laughter 
 
 And more fool than lover. 
 
 But I grant you merit praise 
 
 For your constant folly ; 
 Since you doted three whole days, 
 
 Were you not melancholy ?
 
 56 S/J^ JOHN SUCKLING. 
 
 THE INVOCATION. 
 
 Ye juster powers of love and fate, 
 Give me the reason why 
 
 A lover cross'd 
 
 And all hopes lost, 
 May not have leave to die. 
 
 It is but just, and love needs must 
 Confess it is his part, 
 
 When he does spy 
 
 One wounded lie, 
 To pierce the other's heart. 
 
 But yet if he so cruel be 
 To have one breast to hate 
 If I must live 
 And thus survive, 
 How far more cruel's fate ! 
 
 In this same state I find too late 
 I am, and here's the grief: 
 Cupid can cure. 
 Death heal, I'm sure, 
 Yet neither sends relief.
 
 SIR JOHN S UCKLING. 57 
 
 BARLEY-BREAK. 
 
 Love, Reason, Hate, did once bespeak 
 
 Three mates to play at barley-break ; 
 
 Love Folly took ; and Reason, Fancy ; 
 
 And Hate consorts with Pride ; so dance they. 
 
 Love coupled last, and so it fell 
 
 That Love and Folly were in hell. 
 
 They break, and Love would Reason meet, 
 But Hate was nimbly on her feet ; 
 Fancy looks for Pride, and thither 
 Hies, and they two hug together ; 
 Yet this new coupling still doth tell, 
 That Love and Folly were in hell. 
 
 The rest do break again, and Pride 
 Hath now got Reason on her side ; 
 Hate and Fancy meet, and stand 
 Untouched by Love and Folly's hand 
 Folly was dull, but Love ran well ; 
 So Love and Folly were in hell.
 
 58 5/7? JOHN S UCKLING. 
 
 GRAINEVERT'S SONG IN '' BRENNORALT.'* 
 
 Come let the State stay 
 
 And drink away, 
 There is no business above it : 
 
 It warms the cold brain, 
 
 Makes us speak in high strain, 
 He's a fool that does not approve it. 
 
 The Macedone youth 
 
 Left behind him this truth, 
 That nothing is done with much thinking ; 
 
 He drunk, and he fought, 
 
 Till he had what he sought, 
 The world was his own by good drinking.
 
 SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 59 
 
 LOVE AND DEBT. 
 
 There's one request I make to Him 
 Who sits the clouds above; 
 
 That I were fairly out of debt, 
 As I am out of love. 
 
 Then for to dance, to drink, and sing, 
 
 I should be very willing ; 
 I should not owe one lass a kiss, 
 
 Nor any rogue one shilling. 
 
 'Tis only being in love, or debt, 
 
 That robs us of our rest. 
 And he that is quite out of both. 
 
 Of all the world is blest. 
 
 He sees the golden age, wherein 
 All things were free and common ; 
 
 He eats, he drinks, he takes his rest — 
 And fears nor man nor woman.
 
 6o 5//e JOHN SUCKLING, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 The crafty boy, that had full oft essay'd 
 To pierce my stubborn and resisting breast, 
 But still the bluntness of his darts betray'd, 
 Resolved at last of setting up his rest 
 
 Either my wild unruly heart to tame, 
 
 Or quit his godhead, and his bow disclaim. 
 
 So all his lovely looks, his pleasing fires, 
 All his sweet motions, all his taking smiles ; 
 All that awakes, all that inflames desires, 
 All that sweetly commands, all that beguiles, 
 He does into one pair of eyes convey. 
 And there begs leave that he himself may stay. 
 
 And there he brings me, where his ambush lay 
 Secure, and careless to a stranger land : 
 And never warning me, which was foul play, 
 Does make me close by all this beauty stand, 
 
 Wliere, first struck dead, I did at last recover, 
 To know that I might only live to love her.
 
 S/R JOHN SUCKLING. 6 1 
 
 So I'll be sworn I do, and do confess, 
 
 The blind lad's power, whilst he inhabits there ; 
 
 But I'll be even with him nevertheless. 
 
 If e'er I chance to meet with him elsewhere. 
 
 If other eyes invite the boy to tarry, 
 
 I'll fly to hers as to a sanctuary.
 
 62 SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 When, dearest, I but think of thee, 
 Methinks all things that lovely be 
 Are present, and my soul delighted ; 
 For beauties that from worth arise 
 Are like the grace of deities, 
 Still present with us, tho' unsighted. 
 
 Thus whilst I sit, and sigh the day 
 
 With all his borrowed lights away, 
 
 Till night's black wings do overtake me, 
 
 Thinking on thee, thy beauties then, 
 
 As sadder lights do sleepy men, 
 
 So they by their bright rays awake me. 
 
 Thus absence dies, and dying proves 
 No absence can su^>sist v/ith loves 
 That do partake of fair perfection ; 
 Since in the darkest night they may, 
 By love's quick motion, find a way 
 To see each other by reflection.
 
 SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 63 
 
 The waving sea can with each flood 
 Bath some high promont, that has stood 
 Far from the main up in the river : 
 Oh think not then but love can do 
 As much, for that's an ocean too, 
 Which flows not every day, but ever.
 
 64 RICHARD LOVELACE. 
 
 Xi. 
 
 RICHARD LOVELACE. 
 
 1618— 165S. 
 
 UPON THE CURTAIN OF LUCASTA'S 
 PICTURE. 
 
 Oh, stay that covetous hand ! First turn all eye, 
 
 All depth of mind ; then mystically spy 
 
 Her soul's fair picture, her fair soul's, in all 
 
 So truly copied from the original, 
 
 That you will swear her body by this law 
 
 Is but a shadow, as this, its. Now draw.
 
 RICHARD LOVELACE. 65 
 
 TO LUCASTA, ON GOING BEYOND 
 THE SEAS. 
 
 If to be absent were to be 
 
 Away from thee ; 
 
 Or that when I am gone 
 
 You or I were alone ; 
 
 Then, my Lucasta, might I crave 
 
 Pity from bkxstering wind, or swallowing wave. 
 
 Though seas and land betwixt us both, 
 
 Our faith and troth, 
 
 Like separated souls, 
 
 All time and space controls ; 
 
 Above the highest sphere we meet 
 
 Unseen, unknown, and greet as angels greet. 
 
 So then we do anticipate 
 
 Our after-fate. 
 
 And are alive i' the skies ; 
 
 And thus our lips and eyes 
 
 Can speak like spirits unconfined 
 
 In heaven, their earthly bodies left behind.
 
 66 RICHARD LOVELACE. 
 
 TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO 
 THE WARS. 
 
 Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind, 
 
 That from the nunnery 
 Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind 
 
 To war and arms I fly. 
 
 True, a new mistress now I chase, 
 
 The first foe in the field, 
 And with a stronger faith embrace, 
 
 A sword, a horse, a shield. 
 
 Yet this inconstancy is such, 
 
 As you too shall adore ; 
 I could not love thee. Dear, so much, 
 
 Loved I not Honour more.
 
 RICHARD LOVELACE, 
 
 67 
 
 A DIALOGUE BETWIXT CORDANUS AND 
 AMORET. 
 
 Cordamis, Distressed pilgrim, whose dark clouded eyes 
 
 Speak thee a martyr to love's cruelties, 
 
 Whither away ? 
 Amoret. \Vhat pitying voice I hear 
 
 Calls back my flying steps ? 
 Cordamis. Prithee, draw near. 
 
 Amoret. I shall but say : kind swain, what doth 
 become 
 
 Of a lost heart, ere to Elysium 
 
 It wounded walks ? 
 Cordamis, First, it does freely fly 
 
 Into the pleasures of a lover's eye ; 
 
 But, once condemned to scorn, it fettered lies, 
 
 An ever-bowing slave to tyrannies. 
 Amoret, I pity its sad fate, since its offence 
 
 Was but for love. Can tears recall it thence ? 
 Co7-danns. O no, such tears, as do for pity call 
 
 She proudly scorns, and glories in their fall. 
 Amoret. Since neither sighs nor tears, kind shepherd, 
 tell. 
 
 Will not a kiss prevail ? 
 Cordanus. Thou may'st as well 
 
 Court Echo with a kiss. 
 Amoret, Can no art move 
 
 A sacred violence to make her love ?
 
 68 RICHARD LOVELACE, 
 
 Cordamis, O no ! 'tis only Destiny or Fate 
 
 Fashions our wills either to love or hate. 
 Amoret, Then, captive heart, since that no human 
 spell 
 Hath power to grasp thee his, farewell. 
 Cordamis. Farewell ! 
 
 Chorus, Lost hearts, like lambs drove from their 
 folds by fears, 
 May back return by chance, but not by tears.
 
 RICHARD LOVELACE. 69 
 
 IT IS ALREADY MORN. 
 
 Why shouldst thou swear I am forsworn, 
 
 Since thine I vowed to be ? 
 Lady, it is already morn ; 
 
 And 'twas last night I swore to thee 
 
 That fond impossibility. 
 
 Have I not loved thee much and long, 
 A tedious twelve hours' space ! 
 
 I must all other beauties wrong, 
 And rob thee of a new embrace 
 Did I still doat upon thy face.
 
 70 RICHARD LOVELACE. 
 
 TO AMARANTHA, THAT SHE WOULD 
 DISHEVEL HER HAIR. 
 
 Amarantha, sweet and fair, 
 Ah, braid no more that shining hair ! 
 As my curious hand or eye 
 Hovering round thee, let it fly. 
 
 Let it fly as unconfined 
 As its cahn ravisher, the wind, 
 Who hath left his darling, th' East, 
 To wanton o'er that spicy nest. 
 
 Every tress must be confessed 
 But neatly tangled at the best, 
 Like a clue of golden thread 
 Most excellently ravelled. 
 
 Do not then wind up that light 
 In ribands, and o'ercloud in night, 
 Like the sun in's early ray. 
 But shake your head and scatter day.
 
 \l 
 
 RICHARD LOVELACE. 71 
 
 TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON. 
 
 When love with unconfined wings 
 
 Hovers within my gates, 
 And my divine Althea brings 
 
 To whisper at the grates ; 
 When I lie tangled in her hair, 
 
 And fetter'd to her eye, 
 The Gods that wanton in the air 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When flowing cups run swiftly round 
 
 With no allaying Thames, 
 Our careless heads with roses bound, 
 
 Our hearts with loyal flames; 
 When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 
 
 When healths and draughts go free, 
 Fishes that tipple in the deep 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When, like committed linnets, I 
 
 With shriller note shall sing 
 The sweetness, mercy, majesty, 
 
 And glories of my king ; 
 When I shall voice aloud how good 
 
 He is, how great should be, 
 Enlarged winds, that curl the flood. 
 
 Know no such liberty.
 
 72 RICHARD LOVELACE. 
 
 Stone walls do not a prison make, 
 
 Nor iron bars a cage, 
 Minds, innocent and quiet, take 
 
 That for an hermitage ; 
 If I have freedom in my love, 
 
 And in my soul am free, 
 Angels alone, that soar above, 
 
 Enjoy such liberty.
 
 MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. t^ 
 
 XII. 
 
 MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 1612— 1650. 
 
 TO HIS LOVE. 
 
 INIy dear and only love, I pray 
 
 That little world of thee 
 Be govern'd by no other sway 
 
 But purest monarchy ; 
 For if confusion have a part, 
 
 Which virtuous souls abhor, 
 And hold a synod in my heart, 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 As Alexander I will reign, 
 
 And I will reign alone ; 
 My thoughts did evermore disdain 
 
 A rival on my throne. 
 He either fears his fate too much, 
 
 Or his deserts are small, 
 That dares not put it to the touch, 
 
 To gain or lose it all.
 
 74 MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. 
 
 But I will reign and govern still, 
 
 And always give the law, 
 And have each subject at my will, 
 
 And all to stand in awe : 
 But 'gainst my batteries if 1 find 
 
 Thou storm or vex me sore, 
 As if thou set me as a blind, 
 
 I'll never love thee more. 
 
 But if thou wilt prove faithful then 
 
 And constant of thy word, 
 I II make thee glorious by my pen, 
 
 And famous by my sword ; 
 I'll serve thee in such noble ways 
 
 Was never heard before ; 
 I'll deck and crown thee all with bays, 
 
 And love thee more and more.
 
 LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY. 75 
 
 XIII. 
 
 LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY. 
 
 1 58 1— 1648. 
 SONG. 
 
 J|Jow that the April of your youth adorns 
 The garden of your face, "" ' 
 
 Now that for you each knowing lover mourns, 
 And all seek to your grace, 
 
 Do not repay affection with scorns. 
 
 What though you may a matchless beauty vaunt, 
 
 And all that hearts can move 
 By such a power, that seemeth to enchant ; 
 
 Yet, without help of love 
 Beauty no pleasure to itself can grant. 
 
 1 Tlien think each minute that you lose a day ; 
 \ The longest youth is short. 
 
 The shortest age is long ; Time flies away 
 And makes us but his sport. 
 
 And that which is not Youth's, is Age's prey.
 
 76 LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY, 
 
 THE KISS. 
 
 Come hither, Womankind, and all their worth, 
 Give me thy kisses as I call them forth. 
 Give me thy billing kiss, that of the dove, 
 
 A kiss of Love ; 
 The melting kiss, a kiss that doth consume 
 
 To a perfume ; 
 The extract kiss, of every sweet a part, 
 
 A kiss of Art; 
 The kiss which ever stirs some new delight, 
 
 A kiss of might ; 
 The music kiss, crotchet and quaver time. 
 
 The kiss of rhyme ; 
 The kiss of eloquence which doth belong 
 
 Unto the tongue ; 
 The kiss of all the sciences in one, 
 
 The kiss alone. 
 So, 'tis enough.
 
 LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY. 77 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 Dear, when I did from you remove 
 
 I left my joy, but not my love ; 
 AA^ That never can depart. 
 
 * y It neither higher can ascend 
 
 / ' Nor lower bend : 
 
 Fixed in the centre of my heart 
 
 As in his place, 
 
 And lodged so, how can it change, 
 
 Or you grow strange ?
 
 7S LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY 
 
 ELEGY. 
 
 Must I then see, alas, eternal night 
 
 Sitting upon those fairest eyes. 
 And closing all those beams, which once did rise 
 
 So radiant and bright. 
 That light and heat in them to us did prove 
 
 Knowledge and Love ? 
 
 Or if you did delight no more to stay 
 Upon this low and earthly stage, 
 
 But rather chose an endless heritage. 
 Tell us at least, we pray. 
 
 Where all the beauties that those ashes ow'd 
 Are now bestow'd ? 
 
 Doth the Sun now his light with yours renew ? 
 
 Have Waves the curling of your hair ? 
 Did you restore unto the Sky and Air 
 
 The red and white and blue ? 
 Have you vouchsafed to flowers since your death 
 
 That sweetest breath ?
 
 ANONYMOUS, 79 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 i^From ' Wit Restored; 1658.) 
 TO B. R., FOR HER BRACELETS. 
 
 'Tis not, dear love, that amber twist 
 
 Which circles round thy captive wrist 
 
 Can have the power to make me more 
 
 Your prisoner than I was before. 
 
 Though I that bracelet dearer hold 
 
 Than misers would a chain of gold ; 
 Yet this but ties my outward part, 
 Heart-strings alone can tie my heart. 
 
 'Tis not that soft and silken wreath. 
 Your hands did unto mine bequeath ; 
 Can bind with half so powerful charms, 
 As the embraces of your arms ; 
 Although not iron bands, my fair, 
 Can bind more fiercely than your hair. 
 i^et what will chain me most will be 
 Your heart in true love's-knot to me.
 
 8o ANONYMOUS. 
 
 'Tis not those beams, your hairs, nor all 
 
 Your glorious outside doth me thrall : 
 
 Although your looks have force enow 
 
 To make the stateliest tyrants bow ; 
 
 Nor any angel could deny 
 
 Your person his idolatry. 
 
 { Yet I do not so much adore 
 
 / The temple, but the goddess more. 
 
 If then my soul you would confine 
 To prison, tie your heart to mine ; 
 Your noble virtues, constant love, 
 The only powerful chains will prove, 
 To bind me ever, such as those 
 The hands of death shall ne'er unloose. 
 Until I such a prisoner be, 
 No liberty can make me free.
 
 ANONYMOUS. 8i 
 
 THE CONSTANT LOVERS. 
 
 {^Frotn * Wii Restored,' 1658.) 
 
 I KNOW as well as you she is not fair, 
 
 Nor hath she sparkling eyes, or curled hair ; 
 
 Nor can she brag of virtue or of truth. 
 
 Or anything about her, save her youth. 
 
 She is woman too, and to no end, 
 
 I know, I verses write and letters send : 
 
 And nought I do can to compassion move her ; 
 
 All this I know, yet cannot choose but love her. 
 
 Yet am not blind, as you and others be. 
 
 Who think and swear they little Cupid see 
 
 Play in their mistress' eyes, and that there dwell 
 
 Roses on cheeks, and that her breasts excel 
 
 The whitest snow, as if that love were built 
 
 On fading red and white, the body's gilt. 
 
 And that I cannot love unless I tell 
 
 Wherein or on what part my love doth dwell. 
 
 Vain heretics you be, for I love more 
 
 Than ever any did that told wherefore ; 
 
 Then trouble me no more, nor tell me why 
 
 'Tis ! because she is she, and I am I.
 
 82 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 OLD TIME. 
 [From Walter Porter'' s ^ Madrigals and Airs,'' 1632.) 
 
 Love in thy youth, fair maid, be wise, 
 
 Old Time will make thee colder. 
 And though each morning new arise, 
 
 Yet we each day grow older. 
 Thou as heaven art fair and young, 
 
 Thine eyes like twin stars shining ; 
 But ere another day be sprung, 
 
 All these will be declining ; 
 Then winter comes with all his fears, 
 
 And all thy sweets shall borrov/ ; 
 Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears, 
 
 And T, too late, shall sorrow. 
 
 
 6 
 
 y-^-v'^^^Vv. 
 
 , /
 
 ANONYMOUS. Z^ 
 
 AMINTOR'S WELL-A-DAY. 
 
 {From Lawes' ' Third Book of Ay i-es,'' 1653.) 
 
 Chloris, now thou art fled away, 
 Amintor's sheep are gone astray, 
 And all the joy he took to see 
 His pretty lambs run after thee 
 Is gone, is gone, and he alway 
 Sings nothing now but, — Well-a-day ! 
 
 His oaten pipe, that in thy praise 
 Was wont to sing such roundelays, 
 Is thrown away, and not a swain 
 Dares pipe or sing within his plain ; 
 'Tis death for any now to say 
 One word to him but, — Well-a-day ! 
 
 The maypole, where thy little feet 
 So roundly did in measures meet, 
 Is broken down, and no content 
 Comes near Amintor since you went. 
 All that 1 ever heard him say 
 Was, Chloris, Chloris, well-a-day !
 
 84 ANONYMOUS. 
 
 Upon these banks you used to thread 
 He ever since hath laid his head, 
 > And whisper'd there such pining woe, 
 
 ' As not a blade of grass will grow. 
 
 O Chloris ! Chloris ! come away, 
 And hear Amintor's Well-a-day !
 
 ANONYMOUS. 85 
 
 ONCE AND NO MORE. 
 
 {From John Cotgrave's * WWs Interpreter^^ 1655. 
 
 Once and no more; so said my life, 
 
 When in my arms inchained 
 
 She unto mine her lips did move, 
 
 And so my heart she gain'd. 
 
 This done she saith, 'Away I must, 
 
 For fear of being miss'd ; 
 
 Your heart's made over but in trust ; ' 
 
 And so again she kiss'd.
 
 86 FRANCIS OUARLES. 
 
 XV. 
 
 FRANCIS QUARLES. 
 
 1592—1644. 
 
 THE ROSEBUD. 
 
 As when a lady, walking Flora's bower, 
 Picks here a pink, and there a gilly-flower, 
 Now plucks a violet from her jDurpIe bed. 
 And then a primrose, the year's maidenhead, 
 There nips the brier, here the lover's pansy, 
 Shifting her dainty pleasures with her fancy, 
 This on her arms, and that she lists to wear 
 Upon the borders of her curious hair ; 
 At length a rose-bud (passing all the rest) 
 She plucks, and bosoms in her lily breast.
 
 RICHARD CRASHAW, 8? 
 
 XVI. 
 
 RICHARD CRASHAW. 
 
 1613? — 1650? 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 {Ou^ of Italian.) 
 
 To thy lover, 
 
 Dear, discover 
 That sweet blush of thine, that shameth 
 
 (When those roses 
 
 It discloses) 
 All the flowers that Nature nameth. 
 
 In free air 
 
 Flow thy hair : 
 That no more summer's best dresses 
 
 Be beholden 
 
 For their golden 
 Locks, to Phoebus' flaming tresses.
 
 88 RICHARD CRASHAW 
 
 O deliver 
 
 Love his quiver. 
 From thy eyes he shoots his arrows, 
 
 Where Apollo 
 
 Cannot follow ; 
 Feathered with his mother's sparrows. 
 
 O envy not 
 
 (That we die not) 
 Those dear lips whose door encloses 
 
 All the Graces 
 
 In their places, 
 Brother pearls, and sister roses. 
 
 From these treasures 
 
 Of ripe pleasures 
 One bright smile to clear the weather. 
 
 Earth and Heaven 
 
 Thus made even, 
 Both will be good friends together. 
 
 The air does woo thee, 
 
 Winds cling to thee, 
 Might a word once fly from out thee ; 
 
 Storm and thunder 
 
 Would sit under, 
 And keep silence round about thee.
 
 RICHARD CRASH AW, 89 
 
 But if Nature's 
 
 Common creatures. 
 So dear glories dare not borrow ; 
 
 Yet thy beauty 
 
 Owes a duty 
 To my loving, lingering sorrow. 
 
 When to end me 
 
 Death shall send me 
 All his terrors to affright me ; 
 
 Thine eyes' graces 
 
 Gild their faces, 
 And those terrors shalt delight thee. 
 
 When my dying 
 
 Life is flying; 
 Those sweet airs that often slew me 
 
 Shall revive me, 
 
 Or reprive me, 
 And to many deaths renew me.
 
 90 RICHARD CRASH AW. 
 
 HER TEARS, 
 
 The dew no more shall weep, 
 
 The primrose's pale cheek lo deck : 
 
 The dew no more shall sleep, 
 Nuzzled in the lily's neck ; 
 
 Much rather would it tremble here, 
 
 And leave them both to be thy tear. 
 
 Not the soft gold which steals 
 From the amber-weeping tree, 
 
 Makes sorrow half so rich 
 
 As the drops distill'd from thee ; 
 
 Sorrow's best jewels be in these 
 
 Caskets, of which Heaven keeps the keys. 
 
 When sorrow would be seen 
 
 In her bright majesty. 
 For she is a queen. 
 
 Then is she dressed by none but thee | 
 Then, and only then, she wears 
 Her richest pearls ; I mean thy tears. 
 
 Not in the evening's eyes, 
 
 When they red with weeping are 
 
 For the sun that dies. 
 
 Sits sorrow with a face so fair ; 
 
 Nowhere but here doth meet 
 
 Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet.
 
 RICHARD CRASHAW. 91 
 
 WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS. 
 
 Whoe'er she be, 
 
 That not impossible She,- 
 
 That shall command myli^art and me ; 
 
 Where'er she lie, 
 
 Locked up from mortal eye, 
 
 In shady leaves of destiny, 
 
 Till that ripe birth 
 
 Of studied Fate stand forth. 
 
 And teach her fair steps to oui earth ; 
 
 Till that divine 
 
 Idea take a shrine 
 
 Of crystal flesh, through which to shine : 
 
 Meet you her, my wishes. 
 
 Bespeak you to my blisses. 
 
 And be ye called, ray absent kisses. 
 
 I wish her beauty, 
 That owes not all its duty 
 To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tic;
 
 92 RICHARD CRASH AW, 
 
 Something more than 
 Taffeta or tissue can, 
 Or rampant feather, or rich fan : 
 
 A face that's best 
 
 By its own beauty drest, 
 
 And can aJone command the rest, 
 
 A face made up 
 
 Out of no other shop, 
 
 Than what nature's white hand sets ope. 
 
 A cheek where youth. 
 
 And blood, with pen of truth. 
 
 Write what the reader sweetly ru'th. 
 
 Lips, where all day 
 
 A lover's kiss may play, 
 
 Yet carry nothing thence away. 
 
 Eyes, that displace 
 
 The neighbour diamond, and out-face 
 
 That sunshine by their own sweet grace. 
 
 Smiles, that can warm 
 
 The blood, yet teach a charm 
 
 That chastity shnll take no harm.
 
 RICHARD CRASHA W. 93 
 
 Tears, quickly fled, 
 
 And vain, as those are shed 
 
 For a dying maidenhead. 
 
 A well-tamed heart. 
 
 For whose more noble smart 
 
 Love may be long choosing a part. 
 
 In her whole frame 
 
 Have Nature all the name. 
 
 Art and Ornament the shame. 
 
 I wish her store 
 
 Of worth may leave her poor 
 
 Of wishes ; and I wish — no more. 
 
 Now if Time knows 
 That Her, whose radiant brows 
 Weave them a garland of my vows ; 
 
 Her that dares to be 
 
 What these lines wish to see : 
 
 I seek no further, it is She.
 
 94 HENRY VAUGHAN. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 HENRY VAUGHAN, 
 1622? — 1695. 
 CIILORIS. 
 
 Amyntas, go ! Thou art undone, 
 Thy faithful heart is crossed by fate ; 
 
 That love is better not begun, 
 Where love is come to love too late. 
 
 Yet who that saw fair Chloris weep 
 
 Such sacred dew, with such pure grace, 
 
 Durst think them feigned tears, or seek 
 For treason in an angel's face.
 
 HENRY VAUGIIAN. 95 
 
 A SONG TO AMORET. 
 
 If I were dead, and in my place, 
 Some fresher youth design'd 
 
 To warm thee with new fires, and grace 
 Those arms I left behind ; 
 
 Were he as faithful as the sun 
 That's wedded to the sphere ; 
 
 His blood as chaste and temp'rate run 
 As April's mildest tears ; 
 
 Or were he rich, and with his heaps 
 And spacious space of earth. 
 
 Could make divine affection cheap, 
 And court his golden birth ; 
 
 For all these arts I'd not believe, — 
 No, though he should be thine, — 
 
 The mighty Amorist could give 
 So rich a heart as mine. 
 
 Fortune and beauty thou might'st find, 
 
 And greater men than I : 
 But my true resolved mind, 
 
 They never shall come nigh.
 
 96 HENRY V AUG HAN. 
 
 For I not for an hour did love, 
 Or, for a day, desire, 
 
 But with my soul had from Above, 
 This endless, holy fire.
 
 WILLIAM HABINGTON. 97 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 WILLIAM HABINGTON. 
 
 1605— 1654. ? 
 
 TO CASTARA. 
 
 Give me a heart where no impure 
 
 Disordered passions rage, 
 Which jealousy doth not obscure, 
 Nor vanity to expense engage, 
 Nor wooed to madness by quaint oaths 
 Or the fine rhetoric of clothes, 
 Which not the softness of the age 
 To vice or folly doth decline; 
 Give me that heart, Castara, for 'tis thine. 
 
 Take thou a heart where no new look 
 
 Provokes new appetite; 
 With no fresh charm of beauty took, 
 Or wanton strategem of wit; 
 Not idly wandering here and there, 
 Led by an amorous eye or ear 
 Aiming each beauteous mark to hit 
 Which virtue doth to one confine; 
 Take thou this heart, Castara, for 'tis mine. 
 
 7
 
 98 WILLIAM HA BING TON, 
 
 THE DESCRIPTION OF CASTARA. 
 
 Like the Violet which alone 
 Prospers in some happy shade ; 
 My Castara lives unknown, 
 To no looser eye betrayed, 
 For she's to herself untrue 
 Who delights i' the public viev/ 
 
 Such is her beauty as no arts 
 Have enriched with borrowed grace; 
 Her high birth no pride imparts, 
 For she blushes in her place. 
 Folly boasts a glorious blood. 
 She is noblest, being good. 
 
 Cautious, she knew never yet 
 
 What a wanton courtship meant ; 
 
 Nor speaks loud to boast her wit, 
 
 In her silence eloquent ; 
 Of her self survey she takes. 
 But 'tween men no difference makes. 
 
 She obeys with speedy will 
 Her grave parents' wise commands; 
 And so innocent that ill 
 She nor acts nor understands; 
 Woman's feet run still astray 
 If once to ill they know the way.
 
 WILLIAM HABINGTON. 99 
 
 She sails by that rock, the Court, 
 
 Where oft honour splits her mast; 
 
 And retiredness thinks the port, 
 
 Where her fame may anchor cast ; 
 Virtue safely cannot sit 
 Where vice is enthroned for wit. 
 
 She holds that day's pleasure best 
 Where sin waits not on delight ; 
 Without mask, or ball, or feast, 
 Sweetly spends a winter's night. 
 
 O'er that darkness, whence is thrust 
 Prayer and sleep oft governs lust. 
 
 She her throne makes reason climb, 
 Whi^e wild passions captive lie; 
 And each article of time 
 Her pure thoughts to Heaven fly : 
 All her vows religious be, 
 And her love she vows to me.
 
 lOO WILLIAM IIABINGTON, 
 
 TO CUPID, UPON A DIMPLE IN CASTARA'S 
 CHEEK. 
 
 Nimble boy, in thy v/arm flight 
 What cold tyrant dimmed thy sight ? 
 Hadst thou eyes to see my fair. 
 Thou wouldst sigh thyself to air, 
 Fearing, to create this one, 
 Nature had herself undone. 
 But if you, when this you hear, 
 Fall down murdered through your ear, 
 Beg of Jove that you may have 
 In her cheek a dimpled grave. 
 Lily, rose, and violet 
 Shall the perfumed hearse beset; 
 While a beauteous sheet of lawn 
 O'er the wanton corpse is drawn : 
 And all lovers use this breath, 
 ' Here lies Cupid blest in death.'
 
 WILLIAM HABINGTON. loi 
 
 TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA. 
 
 Ye blushing virgins happy are 
 
 In the chaste nunnery of her breasts, 
 
 For he'd profane so chaste a fair 
 
 Who e'er should call them Cupid's nests. 
 
 Transplanted thus how bright ye grow, 
 How rich a perfume do ye yield ! 
 In some close garden cowslips so 
 Are sweeter than i' th' open field. 
 
 In those white cloisters live secure 
 From the rude blasts of wanton breath, 
 Each hour more innocent and pure, 
 Till you shall wither into death.
 
 I02 WILLIAM HABINGTON. 
 
 WE SAW, AND WOO'D EACH OTHER'S EYES. 
 
 We saw, and woo'd each other's eyes, 
 My soul contracted then with thine. 
 
 And both burnt in one sacrifice, 
 
 By which our marriage grew divine. 
 
 Let wilder youth, whose soul is sense, 
 
 Profane the temple of delight, 
 And purchase endless penitence. 
 
 With the stolen pleasure of one night. 
 
 Time's ever ours, while we despise 
 
 The sensual idol of our clay, 
 For though the sun do set and rise. 
 
 We joy one everlasting day, 
 
 Whose light no jealous clouds obscure, 
 
 While each of us shine innocent. 
 The troubled stream is still impure. 
 
 With virtue flies away content. 
 
 Thus when to one dark silent room, 
 Death shall our loving coffins thrust ; 
 
 Fame will build columns on our tomb, 
 And add a perfume to our dust.
 
 WILLIAM HABINGTON. 103 
 
 UPON CASTARA'S DEPARTURE. 
 
 VowES are vaine. No suppliant breath 
 Stayes the speed of swift-heel'd Death. 
 Life with her is gone, and I 
 Learne but a new way to dye. 
 See the flowers condole, and all 
 Wither in my funerall. 
 The bright Lilly, as if day 
 Parted with her, fades away. 
 Violets hang their heads, and lose 
 All their beauty. That the Rose 
 A sad part in sorrow beares, 
 Witnesse all those dewy teares. 
 Which, as Pearle, or Dyamond like, 
 Swell upon her blushing cheeke. 
 All things mourne, but oh, behold 
 How the wither'd marigold 
 Closeth up, now she is gone, 
 Judging her the setting Sunne.
 
 [04 THOMAS RANDOLPH, 
 
 XIX. 
 
 THOMAS RANDOLPH. 
 
 1606? — 1634.? 
 
 HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 I HAVE a mistress, for perfections rare 
 
 In every eye, but in my thoughts most fair. 
 
 Like tapers on the altar shine her eyes ; 
 
 Her breath is the perfume of sacrifice. 
 
 And wheresoe'er my fancy would begin, 
 
 Still her perfection lets religion in. 
 
 We sit and talk, and kiss away the hours 
 
 As chastely as the morning dews kiss flowers. 
 
 I touch her, like my beads, with devout care. 
 
 And come unto my courtship as my prayer.
 
 THOMAS RANDOLPH. 105 
 
 X ODE, 
 
 TO MASTER ANTHONY STAFFORD. 
 
 Come, spur away, 
 I have no patience for a longer stay. 
 
 But must go down 
 And leave the changeable noise of this great town. 
 ; I will the country see, 
 ■ Where old simplicity, 
 Though hid in grey, 
 Doth look more gay 
 Than foppery in plush and scarlet clad. 
 Farewell, you city wits, that are 
 Almost at civil war ; 
 'Tis time that I grow wise, when all the world 
 grows mad. 
 
 More of my days 
 I will not spend to gain an idiot's praise ; 
 
 Or to make sport 
 For some slight praise of the Inns-of-Court. 
 
 Then, worthy Stafford, say 
 
 How shall we spend the day? 
 
 With what delights 
 
 Shorten the nights ?
 
 io6 THOMAS RANDOLPH, 
 
 When from this tumult we are got secure, 
 Where mirth with all her freedom goes, 
 Yet shall no finger lose ; 
 
 Where every word is thought, and every thought 
 is pure. 
 
 There from the tree 
 We'll cherries pluck, and pick the strawberry ; 
 
 And every day 
 Go see the wholesome country girls make hay, 
 
 Whose brown hath lovelier grace 
 
 Than any painted face, 
 
 That I do know 
 
 Hyde Park can show. 
 Where I had rather gain a kiss than meet 
 (Though some of them in greater state 
 Might court my love with plate) 
 The beauties of the Cheap, the wives of Lombard 
 
 Street. 
 
 But think upon 
 Some other pleasures : these to me are none. 
 
 Why do I prate 
 Of women, that are things against my fate ? 
 
 I never mean to wed 
 
 That torture to my bed. 
 
 My muse is she 
 
 My love shall be.
 
 THOMAS RANDOLPH. 107 
 
 Let clowns get wealth and heirs ; when I am gone, 
 
 And the great bugbear, grisly death, 
 
 Shall take this idle breath, 
 If I a poem leave, that poem is my son. 
 
 Of this no more ; 
 We'll rather taste the bright Pomona's store ; 
 
 No fruit shall 'scape 
 Our palates, from the damson to the grape. 
 
 Then (full) we'll seek a shade. 
 
 And hear what music's made ; 
 
 How Philomel 
 
 Her tale doth tell, 
 And how the little birds do fill the quire : 
 The thrush and blackbird lend their throats 
 Warbling melodious notes ; 
 We will all sports enjoy which others but desire. 
 
 Ours is the sky 
 Where at what fowl we please our hawk shall fly : 
 
 Nor will we spare 
 To hunt the crafty fox or timorous hare ; 
 
 But let our hounds run loose 
 
 In any grounds they'll choose, 
 
 The buck shall fall. 
 
 The stag, and all : 
 Our pleasures must from their own warrants be 
 For to my muse, if not to me, 
 I'm sure all game is free : 
 Heaven, earth, all are but parts of her great royalty.
 
 io8 THOMAS RANDOLPH. 
 
 And when we mean 
 To taste of Bacchus' blessings now and then, 
 
 And drink by stealth 
 A cup or two to noble Barkley's health, 
 
 I'll take my pipe and try 
 
 The Phrygian melody ; 
 
 Which he that hears 
 
 Lets through his ears 
 A madness to distemper all the brain. 
 Then I another pipe will take 
 And Doric music make. 
 To civilise with graver notes our wits again.
 
 THOMAS RANDOLPH. 109 
 
 FROM THE ' COTSWOLD ECLOGUE.' 
 
 Colin. Early in May up got the jolly rout, 
 
 Call'd by the lark, and spread the fields about : 
 One, for to breathe himself, would coursing be 
 From this same beech to yonder mulberry ; 
 A second leaped his supple nerves to try ; 
 A third was practising his melody ; 
 This a new jig was footing ; others were 
 Busied at wrestling, or to throw the bar, 
 Ambitious which should bear the bell away, 
 And kiss the nut-brovvn lady of the May. 
 This stirr'd 'em up ; a jolly swain was he 
 Whom Peg and Susan after victory 
 Crown'd with a garland they had made beset 
 With daisies, pinks, and many a violet, 
 Cowslip, and gilliflower. Rewards, though 
 
 small. 
 Encourage virtue, but if none at all 
 Meet her, she languisheth, and dies, as now 
 Where worth's denied the honour of a bough. 
 And, Thenot, this the cause I read to be 
 Of such a dull and general lethargy. 
 
 Thenot. Ill thrive the lout that did their mirth gainsay ! 
 Wolves haunt his flocks that took those sports 
 away ! 
 
 Colin. Some melancholy swains about have gone 
 To teach all zeal their own complexion :
 
 no THOMAS RANDOLPH. 
 
 Choler will admit sometimes, I see, 
 But phlegm and sanguine no religions be. 
 These teach that dancing is a Jezebel, 
 And barley-break the ready way to hell ; 
 The morrisc-idols, Whitsun-ales, can be 
 But profane relics of a jubilee ! 
 These, in a zeal t' express how much they do 
 The organs hate, have silenced bagpipes, too, 
 And harmless May-poles, all are rail'd upon, 
 As if they were the towers of Babylon. 
 Some think not fit there should be any sport 
 I' th' country, 'tis a dish proper to th' Court. 
 Mirth not becomes 'em ; let the saucy swain 
 Eat beef and bacon, and go sweat again. 
 Besides, what sport can in the pastimes be, 
 When all is but ridiculous foppery ?
 
 THOMA S RANDOLPH. 1 1 1 
 
 A DIALOGUE BETWIXT A NYMPH AND 
 A SHEPHERD. 
 
 Nymph. Why sigh you, swain ? this passion is not 
 common. 
 
 Is't for kids or lambkins ? 
 Shep. For a woman. 
 
 Nymph. How fair is she that on so sage a brow 
 
 Prints lowering looks ? 
 Shep. Just such a toy as thou. 
 
 Nymph. Is she a maid ? 
 
 Shep. What man can answer that ? 
 
 Ny?fiph. Or widow ? 
 Shep. No. 
 
 Nymph. What then ? 
 
 Shep. I know not what ; 
 
 Saint-like she looks, a Syren if she sing. 
 
 Her eyes are stars, her mind is everything. 
 Nymph. If she be fickle, shepherd, leave to woo, 
 
 Or fancy me. 
 Shep. No, thou art woman, too. 
 
 Nymph. But I am constant. 
 
 Shep. Then thou art not fair. 
 
 Nymph. Bright as the morning. 
 Shep. Wavering as the air. 
 
 Nymph. What grows upon this cheek ?
 
 112 THOMAS RANDOLPH, 
 
 Shep. A pure carnation. 
 
 Nymph. Come, take a kiss. 
 
 Shep. O sweet, O sweet temptation ! 
 
 Chorus. Ah, Love ! and canst thou never lose the field ? 
 Where Cupid lays the siege, the town must yield. 
 He warms the chiller blood with glowing fire, 
 And thaws the icy frost of cold desire.
 
 THOMAS RANDOLPH, 113 
 
 SONG. 
 
 {From ^ Hey for Honesty.') 
 
 Now come, my boon companions. 
 
 And let us jovial be ; 
 Though the Indies be the King of Spain's, 
 
 We are as rich as he. 
 
 As rich as any King of Spain 
 
 In mirth, if not in wealth, — 
 Boy, fill me then a bowl of sack : 
 
 I'll drink my mistress' health. 
 
 My mistress is but fifteen, 
 
 Her lips is all my bliss : 
 Go, tell her I will come at night, 
 
 And then prepare to kiss.
 
 114 THOMAS RANDOLPH, 
 
 THE POET. 
 
 From witty men and mad 
 All poetry conception had. 
 
 No sires but these will poetiy admit : 
 Madness or wit. 
 
 This definition poetry doth fit : 
 It is witty madness, or mad wit. 
 
 Only these two poetic heat admits : 
 
 A witty man, or one that's out of 's wits.
 
 THOMAS RANDOLPH. 115 
 
 PRECEPT. 
 
 Thy credit wary keep, 'tis quickly gone 
 Being got by many actions, lost by one.
 
 ii6 THOMAS RANDOLPH. 
 
 A CHARM SONG. 
 
 Quiet sleep, or i will make 
 
 Erinnys whip thee with a snake, 
 
 And cruel Rhadamanthus take 
 
 Thy body to the boiling lake. 
 
 Where fire and brimstone never slake ; 
 
 Thy heart shall burn, thy head shall ache. 
 
 And every joint about thee quake. 
 
 And therefore dare not yet to wake. 
 
 Quiet sleep, or thou shalt see 
 The horrid hags of Tartary, 
 Whose tresses ugly serpents be, 
 And Cerberus shall bark at thee. 
 And all the Furies that are three, — 
 The worst is called Tisiphone, — 
 Shall lash thee to eternity, 
 And therefore sleep thou peacefully.
 
 7 ROM AS RANDOLPH. 117 
 
 TO A PAINTED MISTRESS. 
 
 There are who know what once to-day it was — 
 Your eyes, your conscience, and your morning glass. 
 How durst you venture that adulterate part, 
 Belabour'd with your fucus and best art, 
 To the rude breath of every rash salute? 
 What did your proffer whisper? expect suit ? 
 You are too pliant with your ear ; you wish'd 
 Pomatum and vermilion might be kissed. 
 That lip, that cheek, by man was never known, 
 Those favours you bestow are not your own. 
 Henceforth such kisses I'll defy, like thee. 
 Which druggists sell to you, and you to me. 
 
 fo^^K^lu::^ ^--vtt^
 
 Ii8 THOMAS RANDOLPH. 
 
 INVOCATION. 
 
 Come from thy palace, beauteous Queen of Greece, 
 Sweet Helen of the world. Rise like the morn» 
 Clad in the smock of night, that all the stars 
 May close their eyes, and then, grown blind. 
 Run weeping to the man i' th' moon, 
 To borrow his dog to lead the spheres a-begging.
 
 WILLIAM CAIWVVRIGHT. iig 
 
 V 
 
 XX. 
 
 WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. 
 
 1610 — 1643. 
 TO CHLOE. 
 
 Chloe, why wish you that your years 
 
 Would backwards run, till they meet mine, 
 
 That perfect likeness, which endears 
 Things unto things, might us combine ? 
 
 Our ages so in date agree, 
 
 That twins do differ more than we. 
 
 There are two births, the one when light 
 First strikes the new awak'ned sense ; 
 
 The other when two souls unite ; 
 
 And we must count our life from thence : 
 
 When you lov'd me, and I lov'd you, 
 
 Then both of us were born anew.
 
 I20 WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT, 
 
 Love then to us did new souls give, 
 
 And in these souls did plant new pow'rs ; 
 
 Since when another life we live, 
 
 The breath we breathe is his, not ours ; 
 
 Love makes those young, whom age doth chill, 
 
 And whom he finds young, keeps young still. 
 
 Love, like that angel that shall call 
 Our bodies from the silent grave, 
 
 Unto one age doth raise us all, 
 None too much, none too little have ; 
 
 Nay, that the difference may be none 
 
 He makes two not alike, but one. 
 
 And now since you and I are such, 
 
 Tell me what's yours, and what is mine ? 
 
 Our eyes, our ears, our taste, smell, touch, 
 Do, like our souls, in one combine ; 
 
 So by this, I as well may be 
 
 Too old for you, as you for me.
 
 WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. 121 
 
 LULLABY. 
 
 Seal up her eyes, O Sleep, but flow 
 
 Mild as her manners to and fro ; 
 
 Slide softly into her that she 
 
 May receive no wound from thee. 
 
 And ye, present her thoughts, O Dreams, 
 
 With hushing winds and purling streams. 
 
 Whilst hovering Silence sits without 
 
 Carefril to keep disturbance out. 
 
 Thus seize her, Sleep, thus her again resign. 
 
 So what was Heaven's gift we'll reckon thine,
 
 122 WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. 
 
 HER FALSEHOOD. 
 
 Still do the stars impart their light 
 To those that travel in the night ; 
 Still time runs on, nor doth the hand 
 Or shadow on the dial stand ; 
 The streams still glide and constant are ; 
 
 Only thy mind 
 
 Untrue I find, 
 
 Which carelessly 
 
 Neglects to he 
 Like stream, or shadow, hand, or star.
 
 WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. 123 
 
 BID ME NOT GO. 
 
 Bid me not go where neither suns nor showers 
 
 Do make or cherish flowers, 
 
 Where discontented things in sadness lie, 
 
 And nature grieves as I. 
 
 When T am parted from those eyes 
 
 From which my better day doth rise, 
 
 Though some propitious power 
 
 Should plant me in a bower. 
 
 Where amongst happy lovers I might see 
 
 How showers and sunbeams bring 
 
 One everlasting spring; 
 
 Nor would those fall, nor these shine forth to me. 
 
 Nature herself to him is lost 
 
 Who loseth her he honours most.
 
 124 ABRAHAM COWLEY^ 
 
 XXI. 
 
 ABRAHAM COWLEY. 
 
 1618— 1667. 
 A SUPPLICATION. 
 
 Awake, awake, my Lyre ! 
 And tell thy silent master's humble tale 
 
 In sounds that may prevail ; 
 Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire ; 
 
 Though, so exalted she, 
 
 And I so lowly be 
 Tell her, such different notes make all thy harmony. 
 
 Hark, how the strings awake ! 
 And, though the moving hand approach not near, 
 
 Themselves with awful fear 
 A kind of numerous trembling make. 
 
 Now all thy forces try ; 
 
 Now all thy charms apply ; 
 Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye.
 
 ABRAHAM COWLEY, 125 
 
 Weak Lyre ! thy virtue sure 
 Is useless here, since thou art only found 
 
 To cure, but not to wound, 
 And she to wound, but not to cure. 
 
 Too weak, too, thou wilt prove 
 
 My passion to remove ; 
 Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love. 
 
 Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre ! 
 For thou canst never tell my humble tale 
 
 In sounds that will prevail, 
 Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire ; 
 
 All thy vain mirth lay by. 
 
 Bid thy strings silent lie, 
 Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die.
 
 126 ABRAHAM CO IVLE Y. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 This only grant me, that my means may lie 
 Too low for envy, for contempt too high. 
 
 Some honour I would have, 
 Nor from great deeds, but good alone ; 
 Th' unknown are better than ill known ; 
 
 Rumour can ope the grave. 
 Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends 
 Not on the number, but the choice of friends. 
 
 Books should, not business, entertain the light, 
 And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night. 
 
 . My house a cottage more 
 
 ( Than palace ; and should fitting be 
 For all my use, no luxury. 
 
 My garden painted o'er 
 With Nature's hand, not Art's, and pleasures yield, 
 Horace might envy in his Sabine field. 
 
 Thus would I double my life's fading space ; 
 For he, that runs it well, twice runs his race^ 
 
 And in this true delight, "^ 
 These unbought sports, this happy state, 
 I would nor fear, nor wish, my fate ; 
 But boldly say each night, 
 / To-morrow let my sun his beams display. 
 Or in clouds hide them ; I have liv'd to-day.
 
 ABRAHAM COWLEY. 127 
 
 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 
 
 Love in her sunny eyes does basking play ; 
 
 Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair ; 
 Love does on both her lips for ever stray, 
 
 And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there 
 In all her outward parts Love's always seen ; 
 But oh ! he never went within.
 
 128 ABRAHAM COWLEY. 
 
 FILL THE BOWL. 
 
 Fill the bowl with rosy wine, 
 Around our temples roses twine, 
 And let us cheerfully awhile, 
 Like the wine and roses, smile. 
 Crowned with roses, we contemn 
 Gyges' wealthy diadem. 
 To-day is ours ; what do we fear ? 
 To-day is ours ; we have it here ! 
 Let's treat it kindly, that it may 
 Wish, at least, with us to stay. 
 Let's banish business, banish sorrow, 
 To the gods belongs to-morrow.
 
 ABRAHAM COWLEY, 129 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 Tyrian dye why do you wear, 
 You whose cheeks best scarlet are ? 
 
 Why do you fondly pin 
 
 Pure linen o'er your skin, 
 
 Your skin that's whiter far ? — 
 Casting a dusky cloud before a star. 
 
 Why bears your neck a golden chain ? 
 Did Nature make your hair in vain. 
 
 Of gold most pure and fine ? 
 
 With gems why do you shine ? 
 
 They, neighbours to your eyes, 
 Show but like Phosphor when the Sun doth rise. 
 
 I would have all my mistress' parts 
 Owe more to Nature than the arts ; 
 
 I would not woo the dress. 
 
 Or one whose nights give less 
 
 Contentment than the day; 
 She's fair whose beauty only makes her gay.
 
 130 ABRAHAM COWLEY, 
 
 THE CHRONICLE. 
 
 Margaritta first possest, if I remember well, my 
 Breast, 
 
 Margaritta first of all ; 
 But when a while the wanton Maid with my restless 
 heart had plaid, 
 
 Martha took the flying Ball. 
 
 Martha soon did it resign to the beauteous Katharine ; 
 
 Beauteous Katharine gave Place 
 (Though loth and angry she to part with the possession 
 of my Heart) 
 
 To Elisa's conquering face.
 
 ABRAHAM COWLEY. 131 
 
 THE WISH. 
 
 Well, then ; I now do plainly see 
 This busy world and I shall ne'er agree ; 
 The very honey of all earthly joy 
 
 Does of all meats the soonest cloy ; 
 
 And they, methinks, deserve my pity, 
 Who for it can endure the stings, 
 The crowd, and buzz, and murmurings, 
 
 Of this great hive, the city. 
 
 Ah, yet, ere I descend to th' grave, /» 
 
 J^ayXa small house and large garden have ! VT^l^.4ii^^ 
 
 And a few friends, and many books, both true, ^ 
 
 Both wise, and both delightful too ! 
 
 And since love ne'er will from me flee, 
 A mistress moderately fair, 
 And good as guardian angels are. 
 
 Only belov'd, and loving me ! 
 
 Oh, fountains ! when in you shall I 
 Myself eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts, espy ? 
 Oh, fields ! oh, woods ! when, when shall I be 
 made 
 
 The happy tenant of your shade ? 
 
 Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood ; 
 Where all the riches lie, that she 
 
 Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.
 
 1 32 A BRA HAM CO WLE V. 
 
 Pride and ambition here 
 Only in far-fetched metaphors appear; 
 Here nought but winds can hurtful murmurs scatter, 
 
 And nought but Echo flatter. 
 
 The gods, when they descended hither 
 From Heav'n did always choose their way; 
 And therefore we may boldly say 
 
 That 'tis the way to thither. 
 
 How happy here should I, 
 And one dear she, live and embracing die ! 
 She, who is all the world, and can exclude 
 In deserts solitude. 
 I should have then this only fear. 
 Lest men, when they my pleasures see, 
 [ Should hither throng to live like me, 
 .; And so make a city here.
 
 ^YA' WILLIAM D'AVENANT. 133 
 
 XXII. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM D'AVENANT. 
 
 1606— 1668. 
 SONG. 
 
 The lark now leaves his watery nest, 
 And climbing shakes his dewy wings ; 
 
 He takes your window for the east, 
 And to implore your light, he sings ; 
 
 Awake, awake, the morn will never rise, 
 
 Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. 
 
 The merchant bows unto the seaman's star, 
 The ploughman from the sun his season takes ; 
 
 But still the lover wonders what they are 
 Who look for day before his mistress wakes : 
 
 Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn ! 
 
 Then draw your curtains and begin the dawn.
 
 134 •S//^ WILLIAM D'AVENAISIT. 
 
 THE DYING LOVER. 
 
 Dear Love, let me this evening die, 
 
 O smile not to prevent it ! 
 Dead with my rivals let me lie, 
 
 Or we shall both repent it. 
 Frown quickly then, and break my heart, 
 
 That so my way of dying 
 May, tho' my life was full of smart. 
 
 Be worth the world's envying. 
 
 Some, striving knowledge to refine, 
 
 Consume themselves with thinking ; 
 And some, who friendship seal in wine. 
 
 Are kindly kill'd with drinking. 
 And some are wreck'd on th' Indian coast, 
 
 Thither by gain invited ; 
 Some are in smoke of battle lost. 
 
 Whom drums, not lutes, delighted. 
 
 Alas, how poorly these depart, 
 
 Their graves still unattended ! 
 Who dies not of a broken heart 
 
 Is not of death commended. 
 His memory is only sweet. 
 
 All praise and pity moving, 
 Who kindly at his mistress' feet 
 
 Does die with overloving.
 
 S/J^ WILLIAM D'AVENANT. 135 
 
 And now let lovers ring their bells 
 
 For me, poor youth departed, 
 Who kindly in his love excels. 
 
 By dying broken-hearted. 
 My grave with flowers let lovers strew. 
 
 Which, if thy tears fall near them. 
 May so transcend in scent and show. 
 
 As thou wilt shortly wear them.
 
 136 JOHN CLEVELAND. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 JOHN CLEVELAND. 
 
 1613— 1658. 
 
 A SONG OF SACK. 
 
 Come let's drink away the time, 
 When wine runs high, wit's in the prime, 
 Drink and stout drinkers are true joys; 
 Odd sonnets and such little toys 
 Are exercises fit for boys. 
 
 The whining lover that doth place 
 
 His fancy on a painted face, 
 
 And wastes his substance in the chase, 
 
 "Would ne'er in melancholy pine 
 
 Had he affections so divine 
 
 As once to fall in love with v/ine. 
 
 Then to our liquor let us sit ; 
 Wine makes the soul for actions fit. 
 Who drinks most wine hath the most wit 
 The gods themselves do revels keep, 
 And in pure nectar tipple deep 
 When slothful mortals are asleep.
 
 JOHN CLEVELAND. 137 
 
 The gods then let us imitate, 
 Secure from carping care and fate; 
 Wine, wit and courage both create. 
 In wine Apollo always chose, 
 His darkest oracles to disclose, 
 'Twas wine gave him his ruby nose. 
 
 Who dares not drink's a wretched wight, 
 Nor do I think that man dares fight 
 All day, that dares not drink at night; 
 Come fill my cup until it swim, 
 With foam that overlooks the brim. 
 Who drinks the deepest ? Here's to him.
 
 138 JOHN CLEVELAND. 
 
 ON PHILLIS, WALKING BEFORE SUNRISE. 
 
 The sluggish morn as yet undress'd, 
 My Phillis brake from out her rest, 
 As if she'd made a match to run 
 With Venus, usher to the sun, 
 The trees (like yeomen of her guard, 
 Serving more for pomp than ward, 
 Rank'd on each side with loyal duty). 
 Wave branches to enclose her beauty. 
 The winged choristers began 
 To chirp their matins ; and the fan 
 Of whistling winds, like organs play'd 
 Unto their voluntaries, made 
 The waken'd earth in odours rise 
 To be her morning sacrifice ; 
 The flowers, call'd out of their beds. 
 Start and raise up their drowsy heads ; 
 And he that for their colour seeks 
 May find it vaulting in her cheeks, 
 Where roses mix ; no civil war 
 Between her York and Lancaster. 
 The marigold whose courtier's face 
 Echoes the sun and doth unlace 
 Her at his rise, at his full stop 
 Packs and shuts up her gaudy shop, 
 Mistakes her cue, and doth display ; 
 Thus Phillis antedates the day.
 
 S/Ji EDWARD SHERBURNE. 139 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 SIR EDWARD SHERBURNE. 
 1618— 1702. 
 LYCORIS. 
 
 Lately by clear Thames, his side 
 
 Fair Lycoris I espied, 
 With the pen of her white hand 
 These words printing on the sand : 
 
 None Lycoris doth approve y 
 
 But Mirtillofor her love. 
 Ah, false Nymph, those words were fit 
 
 In sand only to be writ : 
 
 For the quickly rising streams 
 
 Of Oblivion and the Thames 
 
 In a little moment's stay 
 
 From the shore wash'd clean away 
 
 What thy hand had there impress'd, 
 
 And Mirtillo from thy breast.
 
 140 SIR EDWARD SHERBURNE. 
 
 THERE'S NO DALLYING WITH LOVE. 
 
 There's no dallying with love, 
 Although he be a child and blind ; 
 
 Then let none the danger prove 
 Who would to himself be kind ; 
 
 Smile he does when thou dost play, 
 
 But his smiles to death betray. 
 
 Lately with the boy I sported. 
 Love I did not, yet love feigned. 
 
 Had not mistress, yet I courted. 
 Sigh I did, yet was not pained ; 
 
 Till at last this love in jest 
 
 Proved in earnest my unrest. 
 
 When I saw my fair one first, 
 
 In a feigned fire I burned, 
 But true flames my poor heart pierced 
 
 When her eyes on mine she turned. 
 So a real wound I took 
 For my counterfeited look. 
 
 None who loves not then make show, 
 Love's as ill deceived as fate, 
 
 Fly the boy, he'll cog and woo. 
 
 Mock him, and he wounds thee straight. 
 
 Ah ! who dally boast in vain. 
 
 False love wants not real pain.
 
 S/J^ EDWARD SHERBURNE, 141 
 
 THE MAGNET. 
 
 Shall I hopeless then pursue 
 A fair shadow that still flies me ? 
 
 Shall I still adore and woo 
 A proud heart that does despise me ? 
 
 I a constant love may so, 
 But, alas ! a fruitless show. 
 
 Shall I by the erring light 
 
 Of two crossing stars still sail, 
 
 That do shine, but shine in spite, 
 Not to guide, but make me fail ? 
 
 I a wandering course may steer, 
 But the harbour ne'er come near. 
 
 Whilst these thoughts my soul possess 
 Reason passion would o'ersway. 
 
 Bidding me my flames suppress 
 Or divert some other way ; 
 
 But what reason would pursue, 
 That my heart runs counter to. 
 
 So a pilot, bent to make 
 
 Search for some unfound-out land, 
 Does with him the magnet take. 
 
 Sailing to the unknown strand ; 
 But that, steer which way he will, 
 
 To the loved North points still.
 
 142 SIR EDWARD SHERBURNE. 
 
 BY A GENTLE RIVER LAID. 
 
 By a gentle river laid, 
 Thirsis to his Phillis said : 
 
 * Equal to these sandy grains 
 Is the number of my pains ; 
 
 And the drops within their bounds 
 Speak the sum of all my wounds.' 
 
 Phillis, whom like passion burns, 
 Thirsis answer thus returns : 
 
 * Many as the Earth hath leaves 
 Are the griefs my heart receives ; 
 And the stars, which Heaven inspires, 
 Reckon my consuming fires.' 
 
 Then the shepherd in the pride 
 Of his happy love reply'd : 
 ' With the choristers of air 
 Shall our numerous joys compare; 
 And our mutual pleasures vie 
 With the Cupids in thy eye.' 
 
 Thus the willing shepherdess 
 Did her ready love express : 
 
 * In delights our pains shall cease. 
 And our wars be cured by peace ; 
 We will count our griefs with blisses. 
 Thousand torments, thousand kisses. '
 
 SIR EDWARD SHERBURNE, 143 
 
 VIOLETS IN THAUMANTIA'S BOSOM. 
 
 Twice happy violets ! that first had birth 
 In the warm spring, when no frosts nip the earth 
 Thrice happy now ; since you transplanted are 
 Unto the sweeter bosom of my fair.
 
 144 SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE. 
 
 1608— 1666. 
 
 OF BEAUTY. 
 
 Let us use it while we may, 
 
 Snatch those joys that haste away! 
 
 Earth her winter coat may cast, 
 
 And renew her beauty past ; 
 
 But, our winter come, in vain 
 
 We solicit Spring again ; 
 
 And when our furrows snow shall covet 
 
 Love may return, but never lover. 
 
 /l>rX^ 

 
 THOMAS STANLEY. 145 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 THOMAS STANLEY. 
 
 1625— 1678. 
 
 LOVE'S HERETIC. 
 
 Wheresoe'er I turn or move 
 
 A new passion doth detain me : 
 Those kind beauties that do love, 
 
 Or those proud ones that disdain me ; 
 This frown melts, and that smile burns me, 
 This to tears, that ashes turns me. 
 
 She whose loosely flowing hair. 
 
 Scattered like the beams o' th' morn, 
 
 Playing with the sportive air. 
 Hides the sweets it doth adorn. 
 
 Captive in that net restrains me, 
 
 In those golden fetters chains me. 
 
 Soft fresh virgins, not full blown, 
 With their youthful sweetness take me ; 
 
 Sober matrons, that have known 
 
 Long since what these prove, awake me ; 
 
 Here staid coldness I admire, 
 
 There the lively active fire. 
 
 10
 
 146 THOMAS STANLEY. 
 
 She that doth by skill dispense 
 Every favour she bestows, 
 
 Or the harmless innocence, 
 
 Which nor court nor city knows, 
 
 Both alike my soul enflame, 
 
 That wild beauty, and this tame.
 
 THOMAS STANLEY. 
 NIGHT. 
 
 Charissa. What if Night 
 
 Should betray us, and reveal 
 
 To the light 
 All the pleasures that we steal? 
 
 Philocharis. Fairest ! we 
 
 Safely may this fear despise ; 
 
 How can she 
 See our actions who wants eyes ? 
 
 Charissa. Each dim star 
 
 And the clearer lights, we know, 
 
 Night's eyes are ; 
 They were blind that thought her so ! 
 
 Philocharis. Those pale fires 
 
 Only burn to yield a light 
 
 To our desires, 
 And though blind, to give us sight. 
 
 Charissa. By this shade, 
 
 That surrounds us, might our flame 
 
 Be betray'd 
 And the day disclose its name. 
 
 Philocharis. Dearest Fair ! 
 
 These dark witnesses we find 
 
 Silent are ; 
 Night is dumb as well as blind. 
 
 147
 
 148 THOMAS STANLEY. 
 
 CELIA SINGING. 
 
 Roses in breathing forth their scent, 
 Or stars their borrowed ornament ; 
 Nymphs in the watery sphere that move, 
 Or angels in the orbs above ; 
 The winged chariot of the light, 
 Or the slow, silent wheels of night ; 
 
 d (lLl Ck * '^ '^^^ shade, which from the swifter sun 
 
 Doth in a swifter motion run ; 
 
 y. f^ Or souls that their eternal rest do keep, 
 
 ' Make far less noise than Celia's breath in sleep. 
 
 But if the Angel, which inspires 
 This subtle flame with active fires 
 Should mould this breath to words, and those 
 Into a harmony dispose. 
 The music of this heavenly sphere 
 Would steal each soul out at the ear. 
 And into plants and stones infuse 
 A life that cherubim would choose. 
 And with new powers invert the laws of fate, 
 Kill those that live, and dead things animate.
 
 THOMAS STANLEY, 149 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 You earthly souls that court a wanton flame. 
 
 Whose pale, weak influence 
 Can rise no higher than the humble name 
 
 And narrow laws of sense, 
 Learn, by our friendship, to create 
 
 An immaterial fire. 
 Whose brightness angels may admire, 
 
 But cannot emulate. 
 
 Sickness may fright the roses from her cheek, 
 
 Or make the lilies fade, 
 But all the subtle ways that Death doth seek 
 
 Cannot my love invade. 
 Flames that are kindled by the eye, 
 
 Through time and age expire, 
 But ours, that boast a reach far higher. 
 
 Can nor decay nor die.
 
 ISO THOMAS STANLEY. 
 
 FAREWELL. 
 
 Yet ere I go, 
 Disdainful Beauty, thou shalt be 
 
 So wretched, as to know 
 What joys thou fling'st away with me. 
 
 A faith so bright 
 As Time or Fortune could not rust ; 
 
 So firm, that lovers might 
 Have read thy story in thy dust, 
 
 And crowned thy name 
 With laurel verdant as thy youth, 
 
 Whilst the shrill voice of Fame 
 Spread wide thy beauty and my truth. 
 
 This thou hast lost. 
 For all true lovers, when they find 
 
 That my just aims were crost, 
 Will speak thee lighter than the wind. 
 
 And none will lay 
 Any oblation on thy shrine, 
 
 But such as would betray 
 Thy faith, to faiths as false as thine.
 
 THOMAS STANLEY. 151 
 
 THE TOMB. 
 
 When, cruel fair one, I am slain 
 
 By thy disdain, 
 And, as a trophy of thy scorn, 
 
 To some old tomb am borne, 
 Thy fetters must their power bequeath 
 
 To those of Death ; 
 Nor can thy flame immortal burn, 
 Like monumental fires within an urn ; 
 Thus freed from thy proud empire, I shall prove 
 There is more liberty in Death than Love. 
 
 And when forsaken lovers come 
 
 To see my tomb. 
 Take heed thou mix not with the crowd, 
 
 And, as a victor, proud, 
 To view the spoils thy beauty made, 
 
 Press near my shade, 
 Lest thy too cruel breath or name 
 Should fan my ashes back into a flame, 
 And thou, devour'd by this revengeful fire. 
 His sacrifice, who died as thine, expire.
 
 52 THOMAS STANLEY. 
 
 But if cold earth, or marble, must 
 
 Conceal my dust. 
 Whilst hid in some dark ruins I, 
 Dumb and forgotten, lie, 
 The pride of all thy victory 
 Will sleep with me ; 
 And they who should attest thy glory 
 Will, or forget, or not believe this story. 
 Then to increase thy triumph let me rest. 
 Since by thine eye slain, buried in thy breast.
 
 EDMUND WALLER. 153 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 1605— 1687. 
 
 HER FACE. 
 
 May not a thousand dangers sleep 
 In the smooth bosom of this deep ? 
 No ; 'tis so rockless and so clear, 
 That the rich bottom does appear 
 Paved with all precious things ; not torn 
 From shipwrecked vessels, but there born. 
 
 Sweetness, truth, and every grace 
 Which time and use are wont to teach, 
 The eye may in a moment reach. 
 And read distinctly in her face.
 
 154 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 HER GIRDLE. 
 
 That which her slender waist confined, 
 Shall now my joyful temples bind ; 
 No monarch but would give his crown, 
 His arms might do what this has done. 
 
 It was my Heaven's extremest sphere, 
 The pale which held that lovely deer. 
 My joy, my grief, my hope, my love. 
 Did all within this circle move ! 
 
 A narrow compass ! And yet there 
 Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair 
 Give me but what this ribband bound, 
 Take all the rest the Sun goes round.
 
 EDMUND WALLER. 155 
 
 THE ERRAND OF THE ROSE. 
 
 Go, lovely Rose ! 
 Tell her that wastes her time and me, 
 
 That now she knows, 
 When I resemble her to thee, 
 How sweet and fair she seems to be. 
 
 Tell her that's young 
 And shuns to have her graces spied, 
 
 That hadst thou sprung 
 In deserts, where no men abide. 
 Thou must have uncommended died. 
 
 Small is the worth 
 Of beauty from the light retired ; 
 
 Bid her come forth, 
 Suffer herself to be desired, 
 And not blush so to be admired. 
 
 Then die ! that she 
 The common fate of all things rare 
 
 May read in thee : 
 How small a part of time they share 
 That are so wondrous sweet and fair.
 
 156 EDMUND WALLER, 
 
 TO MY YOUNG LADY LUCY SIDNEY. 
 
 Why came I so untimely forth 
 Into a world, which, wanting thee, 
 
 Could entertain us with no worth, 
 Or shadow of felicity ? 
 
 That time should me so far remove 
 
 From that which I was born to love ! 
 
 Yet, fairest blossom, do not slight 
 
 That age which you may know so soon 
 
 The rosy morn resigns her light 
 And milder glory to the noon ; 
 
 And then what wonders shall you do, 
 
 Whose dawning beauty warms us so ? 
 
 Hope waits upon the flowery prime ; 
 
 And Summer, though it be less gay, 
 Yet is not looked on in a time 
 
 Of declination or decay ; 
 For with a full hand that does bring 
 All that was promised by the Spring.
 
 EDMUND WALLER. 157 
 
 BEHOLD THE BRAND OF BEAUTY TOSS'D. 
 
 Behold the brand of beauty toss'd ! 
 
 See how the motion does dilate the flame ! 
 Delighted love his spoils does boast. 
 
 And triumph in this game. 
 Fire, to no place confined, 
 
 Is both our wonder and our fear ; 
 Moving the mind, 
 
 As lightning hurled through the air. 
 
 High heaven the glory does increase 
 
 Of all her shining lamps, this artful way ; 
 The sun in figures, such as these, 
 
 Joys with the moon to play; 
 To the sweet strains they advance, 
 
 Which do result from their own spheres. 
 As this nymph's dance 
 
 Moves with the numbers which she hears.
 
 158 EDMUND WALLER, 
 
 THE BUD. 
 
 Lately on yonder swelling bush 
 Big with many a coming rose, 
 
 This early bud began to blush, 
 And did but half itself disclose ; 
 
 I plucked it, though no better grown, 
 
 And now you see how full 'tis blown. 
 
 Still as I did the leaves inspire, 
 
 With such a purple light they shone 
 
 As if they had been made of fire, 
 
 And spreading so, would flame anon. 
 
 All that was meant by air or sun, 
 
 To the young flower, my breath has done. 
 
 If our loose breath so much can do, 
 What may the same in forms of love, 
 
 Of purest love, and music too, 
 When Flavia it aspires to move ; 
 
 When that, which lifeless buds persuades 
 
 To wax more soft, her youth invades ?
 
 EDMUJSD WALLER. 159 
 
 ON A r-REDE OF DIVERS COLOURS 
 
 WOVEN BY FOUR LADIES. 
 
 Twice twenty slender virgin fingers twine 
 This curious web, where all their fancies shine. 
 As Nature them, so they this shade have wrought, 
 Soft as their hands and various as their thought. 
 Not Juno's bird when, his fair train dispread, 
 He woos the female to his painted bed, 
 No, not the bow, which so adorns the skies, 
 So glorious is, or boasts so many dies.
 
 i6o EDMUND WALLER, 
 
 TO MR. HENRY LAWES, 
 
 WHO HAD NEWLY SET A SONG OF MINE IN THE 
 YEAR 1635. 
 
 Verse makes heroic virtue live ; 
 
 But you can life to verses give. 
 
 As when in open air we blow, 
 
 The breath, though strained, sounds Hit and low 
 
 But if a trumpet takes the blast, 
 
 It lifts it high and makes it last ; 
 
 So in your airs our numbers drest 
 
 Make a shrill sally from the breast 
 
 Of nymphs, who, singing what we penned, 
 
 Our passions to themselves commend ; 
 
 ^Vhile love, victorious with thy art. 
 
 Governs at once their voice and heart. 
 
 \
 
 EDMUND WALLER. i6i 
 
 TO A LADY 
 
 SINGING A SONG OF HIS COMPOSING. 
 
 Chloris, yourself you so excel, 
 
 When you vouchsafe to hreathe my thought 
 That, like a spirit, with this spell 
 
 Of my own teaching I am caught. 
 
 That eagle's fate and mine are one, 
 Which on the shaft that made him die 
 
 Espied a feather of his own, 
 
 Wherewith he wont to soar so high. 
 
 TI
 
 [62 EDMUND WALLER. 
 
 ON THE PICTURE OF A FAIR YOUTH 
 
 TAKEN AFTER HE WAS DEAD. 
 
 As gathered flowers, while their wounds are new, 
 Look gay and fresh, as the stalk they grew ; 
 Torn from the root that nourished them, awhile 
 (Not taking notice of their fate) they smile. 
 And, in the hand which rudely plucked them, show 
 Fairer than those that to their autumn grow. 
 So love and beauty still that visage grace ; 
 Death cannot fright them from their wonted place ; 
 Alive, the crooked hand of age had marred 
 Those lovely features which cold death has spnred.
 
 EDMUND WALLER, 163 
 
 HIS LAST VERSES. 
 
 The seas are quiet now the wind gives o'er ; 
 
 So calm are we when passions are no more 1 
 
 For then we know how vain it is to boast 
 
 Of fleeting things so certain to be lost. 
 
 Clouds of affection from our younger eyes ' 
 
 Conceals that emptiness that age descries. -^i>?,-;VMr^-'i-r 
 
 The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed, 
 Lets in new life through chinks that Time has 
 
 made ; 
 Stronger by weakness, wiser men become 
 As they draw near to their eternal home. 
 Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view 
 That stand upon the threshold of the new.
 
 i64 SIJ^ JOHN DENHAM, 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 SIR JOHN DENHAM. 
 
 1615— 1668. 
 
 LOVE AND HATE. 
 
 Love, making all things else his foes, 
 Like a fierce torrent overflows 
 Whatever doth his course oppose. 
 
 This vi^as the cause, the poets sung 
 Thy mother from the sea was sprung, 
 But they were mad to make thee young. 
 
 Love is as old as place or time, 
 'Twas he the fatal tree did climb, 
 Grandsire of Father Adam's crime. 
 
 Love drowsy days and stormy nights 
 Makes, and breaks friendship, whose delights 
 Feed, but not glut our appetites.
 
 SII^ JOHN DENHAM. 165 
 
 Love ! in what poison is thy dart 
 Dipped, when it makes a bleeding heart? 
 None know but they who feel the smart. 
 
 Such is the world's preposterous fate, 
 Amongst all creatures, mortal hate, 
 Love, though immortal, doth create.
 
 i66 SIR JOHN DENHAM, 
 
 SONG. • 
 
 Morpheus, the humble god that dwells 
 In cottages and smoky cells, 
 Hates gilded roofs and beds of down, 
 And, though he fears no prince's frown. 
 Flies from the circle of a crown. 
 
 Come, I say, thou powerful god, 
 And thy leaden charming rod 
 Dipt in the Lethean lake. 
 O'er his wakeful temples shake, 
 Lest he should sleep and never wake 1 
 
 Nature, alas ! why art thou so 
 Obliged to thy greatest foe ? 
 Sleep, that is thy best repast, 
 Yet of death it bears a taste, 
 And both are the same thing at last.
 
 ALEXANDER BROME. 167 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 ALEXANDER BROME. 
 
 1620 — 1666. 
 
 THE COUNSEL. 
 
 Why's my friend so melancholy ? 
 
 Prythee why so sad, so sad ? 
 Beauty's vain and love's a folly, 
 
 Wealth and women make men mad. 
 To him that has a heart that's jolly 
 
 Nothing's grevious, nothing's sad : 
 
 Come, cheer up, my lad ! 
 
 Does thy mistress seem to fly thee 
 
 Prythee don't repine, repine ; 
 If at first she do deny thee 
 
 Of her love, deny her thine ; 
 She shows her coyness but to try thee. 
 
 And will triumph if thou pine : 
 
 Drown thy thoughts in wine !
 
 i68 ALEXANDER BROME. 
 
 Try again, and don't give over, 
 
 Ply her, she's thine own, thine own ; 
 
 Cowardice undoes a lover, 
 
 They are tyrants if you moan ; 
 
 If nor thyself nor love can move her. 
 But she'll slight thee, and be gone : 
 Let her, then, alone !
 
 ALEXANDER BROME, 169 
 
 TO A COY LADY. 
 
 I PRITHEE leave this peevish fashion, 
 Don't desire to be high-priz'd, 
 
 Love's a princely noble passion, 
 And doth scorn to be despis'd. 
 
 Though we say you're fair, you know 
 
 We your beauty do bestow, — 
 
 For^our fancy makes you^so. 
 
 Don't be proud 'cause we adore you, 
 We do 't only for our pleasure. 
 
 And those parts in which you glory 
 We by fancy weigh and measure. 
 , When for deities you go, 
 
 For angels, or for queens, pray know,- 
 
 'Tis our fancy makes you so.
 
 I70 ALEXANDER BROME. 
 
 THE RESOLVE. 
 
 Tell me not of a face that's fair, 
 
 Nor lip and cheek that's red, 
 Nor of the tresses of her hair, 
 
 Nor curls in order laid ; 
 Nor of a rare, seraphic voice 
 
 That like an angel sings, 
 Though if I were to have my choice 
 
 I would have all these things. 
 But, if that thou wilt have me love, 
 
 And it must be a She, 
 The only argument can move 
 
 Is, that she will love me. 
 
 The glories of your ladies be 
 
 But metaphors of things, 
 And but resemble what we see 
 
 Each common object brings. 
 Roses out-red their lips and cheeks. 
 
 Lilies their whiteness stain : 
 Wliat fool is he that shadows seeks 
 
 And may the substance gain ! 
 Then if thou'lt have me love a lass 
 
 Let it be one that's kind, 
 Else I'm a servant to the glass 
 
 That's with Canary lin'd.
 
 ALEXANDER BROME. 171 
 
 TO HIS FRIEND THAT HAD VOWED 
 SMALL-BEER. 
 
 Leave off, fond hermit, leave thy vow, 
 
 And fall again to drinking ; 
 That beauty that won't sack allow. 
 
 Is hardly worth thy thinking. 
 Dry love or small can never hold. 
 And, without Bacchus, Venus soon grows cold. 
 
 Dost think by turning anchorite, 
 
 Or a dull small-beer sinner, 
 Thy cold embraces can invite. 
 
 Or sprightless courtship win her ? 
 No, 'tis Canary that inspires, 
 'Tis sack, like oil, gives flame to am'rous fires. 
 
 This makes thee chant thy mistress' name, 
 And to the Heavens to raise her; 
 
 And range this universal frame 
 For epithets to praise her. 
 
 Low liguors render brains unwitty, 
 
 And ne'er provoke to love, but move to pity. 
 
 ?>• 

 
 172 ALEXANDER BROME, 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I HAVE been in love, and in debt, and in drnik, 
 
 This many and many year ; 
 And these three are plagues, enough, one would 
 think, 
 
 For one poor mortal to bear. 
 'Twas drink made me fall into love. 
 
 And love made me fall into debt ; 
 And though I have struggled and struggled and 
 strove, 
 
 I cannot get out of them yet. 
 
 There's nothing but money can cure me, 
 
 And rid me of all my pain ; 
 
 'Twill pay all my debts. 
 
 And remove all my lets ; 
 And my mistress that cannot endure me, 
 
 Will love me, and love me again.
 
 ALEXANDER BROME. 173 
 
 'TIS NOT HER BIRTH. 
 
 'Tis not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure, 
 Nor do I covet her for sensual pleasure. 
 Nor for that old morality, 
 Do I love her 'cause she loves me. 
 _Sure he that loves his lady 'cause she's, fair. 
 Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her. 
 Something there is moves me to love, and I 
 Do know I love, but know not how, nor why.
 
 174 CHARLES COTTON. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 CHARLES COTTON. 
 
 1630— 1687. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 See, how like twilight slumber falls 
 T' obscure the glory of those balls ; 
 And as she sleeps, 
 See how light creeps 
 Through the chinks and beautifies 
 The rayey fringe of her fair eyes. 
 
 Observe Love's feuds, how fast they fly 
 To every heart from her clos'd eye. 
 
 What then will she 
 
 When waking be ? 
 A glowing light for all t' admire, 
 Such as would set the world on fire. 
 
 Then seal her eyelids, gentle sleep, 
 Whilst cares of her mine open keep, 
 
 Lock up, I say, 
 
 Those doors of day, 
 Which with the morn for lustre strive, 
 That I may look on her, and live.
 
 CHARLES COTTON, 175 
 
 TO CHLORIS. 
 
 Farewell, my sweet, until I come, 
 Improv'd in merit, for thy sake, 
 
 With characters of honour, home 
 Such as thou canst not then but take. 
 
 To loyalty my love must bow. 
 My honour, too, calls to the field, 
 
 Where for a lady's busk I now 
 Must keen and sturdy iron wield. 
 
 Yet, when I rush into these arms. 
 Where death and danger do combine, 
 
 I shall less subject be to harms 
 Than to those killing eyes of thine.
 
 176 CHARLES COTTON, 
 
 COME, LET'S MIND OUR DRINKING. 
 
 i Come, let's mind our drinking, 
 
 •' Away with this thinking ; 
 
 ^ It ne'er that I heard of did any one good ; 
 
 Prevents not disaster, 
 
 But brings it the faster. 
 
 Mischance is by mirth and by courage withstood. 
 
 He ne'er can recover 
 The day that is over, 
 
 The present is with us, and does threaten no ill ; 
 He's a fool that will sorrow 
 For the thing call'd to-morrow, 
 
 But the hour we've in hand we may wield as we 
 will. "~^ 
 
 / A night of good drinking 
 Is worth a year's thinking. 
 
 There's nothing that kills us so surely as sorrow ; 
 Then to drown our cares, boys. 
 Let's drink up the stairs, boys. 
 
 Each face of the gang will a sun be to-morrow. 
 
 y
 
 SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE, 177 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE. 
 
 1634— 1694. 
 
 COUNSEL TO LOVERS. 
 
 Ye happy swains, whose hearts are frea 
 
 From Love's imperial chain, 
 Take warning and be taught by me, 
 
 T' avoid th' enchanting pain. 
 Fatal the wolves to trembling flocks, — 
 
 Fierce winds to blossoms prove, 
 To careless seamen, hidden rocks. 
 
 To human quiet, love. 
 
 Then fly the Fair, if bliss you prize ; 
 
 The snake's beneath the flower ; 
 Who ever gazed on beauteous eyes, 
 
 And tasted quiet more ? 
 How faithless is the lover's joy ! 
 
 How constant is his care ! 
 The Kind with falsehood do destroy, 
 
 The Cruel, with despair. 
 
 12
 
 178 S/7^ GEORGE ETHEREGE. 
 
 TO CELIA. 
 
 It is not, Celia, in your power 
 
 To say how long our love will last; 
 
 It may be we, within this hour, 
 
 May lose those joys we now do taste ; 
 
 The blessed, who immortal be, 
 
 From change of love are only free. 
 
 Then since we mortal lovers are, 
 Ask not how long our love will last ; 
 
 But while it does, let us take care 
 Each minute be with pleasure past. 
 
 Were it not madness to deny 
 
 To live, because we're sure to die ? 
 
 Fear not, though love and beauty fail, 
 My reason shall my heart direct ; 
 
 Your kindness now shall then prevail. 
 And passion turn into respect. 
 
 Celia, at worst, you'll in the end 
 
 But change a lover for a friend.
 
 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY, 179 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 
 
 1639 — 1701. 
 SONG. 
 
 Phyllis, you have enough enjoy'd 
 
 The pleasures of disdain ; 
 Methinks your pride should now be cloy'd 
 
 And grow itself again ; 
 Open to love your long-shut breast, 
 
 And entertain its sweetest guest. 
 
 Love heals the wounds that beauty gives, 
 
 And can ill-usage slight ; 
 He laughs at all that fate contrives, 
 
 Full of his own delight ; 
 We in his chains are happier far 
 
 Than kings themselves without them are. 
 
 Leave then to tame philosophy 
 
 The joys of quietness. 
 With me into love's empire fly, 
 
 And taste my happiness ; 
 Where even tears and sighs can show 
 
 Pleasures the cruel never know.
 
 i8o SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 
 
 TO PHILLIS. 
 
 Phillis, men say that all my vows 
 
 Are to thy fortune paid ; 
 Alas I my heart he little knows, 
 
 Who thinks my love a trade. 
 
 Were I of all these woods the lord, 
 
 One berry from thy hand 
 More real pleasure would afford 
 
 Than all my large command. 
 
 My humble love has learn'd to live 
 On what the nicest maid, 
 
 Without a conscious blush, may give 
 Beneath the myrtle shade.
 
 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. i8i 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Phyllis is my only joy, 
 
 Faithless as the winds and seas, 
 Sometimes cunning, sometimes coy, 
 Yet she never fails to please j 
 If with a frown 
 I am cast down, 
 Phyllis smiling 
 And beguiling, 
 Makes me happier than before. 
 
 Though, alas ! too late I find 
 Nothing can her fancy fix. 
 Yet the moment she is kind 
 I forgive her with her tricks 5 
 Which, though, I see, 
 I can't get free ; 
 She deceiving, 
 I believing, — 
 What need lovers wish for more ?
 
 i82 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Ah, Chloris ! could I now but sit 
 
 As unconcern'd as when 
 Your infant beauty could beget 
 
 No happiness or pain ! 
 When I this dawning did admire, 
 
 And praised the coming day, 
 I little thought the rising fire 
 
 Would take my rest away. 
 
 Your charms in harmless childhood lay 
 
 Like metals in a mine ; 
 i^ge from no face takes more away 
 
 Than youth conceal'd in thine. 
 But as your charms insensibly 
 
 To their perfection prest, 
 So love as unperceiv'd did fly, 
 
 And center'd in my breast. 
 
 My passion with your beauty grew, 
 
 While Cupid at my heart, 
 Still as his mother favour'd you, 
 
 Threw a new flaming dart. 
 Each gloried in their wanton part ; 
 
 To make a lover. He 
 Employed the utmost of his art — 
 
 To make a beauty, She. 
 
 \
 
 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 183 
 
 TO CHLORIS. 
 
 Chloris, I cannot say your eyes 
 
 Did my unwary heart surprise ; 
 
 Nor will I swear it was your face, 
 
 Your shape, or any nameless grace ; 
 
 For you are so entirely fair. 
 
 To love a part injustice were : 
 
 So when the stars in heav'n appear, 
 
 And join to make the night look clear, 
 
 The light we no one's bounty call. 
 
 But the obliging gift of all. 
 
 He that does lips or hands adore, 
 
 Deserves them only and no more ; 
 
 But I love all and every part, 
 
 And nothing else can ease my heart. 
 
 Cupid, that lover weakly strikes 
 
 Who can express what 'tis he likes.
 
 i84 5/ie CHARLES SEDLEY. 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 As Amoret with Phillis sat 
 
 One evening on the plain, 
 And saw the charming Strephon wait 
 
 To tell the nymph his pain ; 
 The threatening danger to remove 
 
 She whispered in her ear : 
 Ah ! Phillis, if you would not love, 
 
 This shepherd do not hear, 
 None ever had so strange an art. 
 
 His passion to convey 
 Into a list'ning virgin's heart, 
 
 And steal her soul away. 
 Fly, fly betimes, for fear you give 
 
 Occasion for your fate. 
 *In vain,' said she, *in vain I strive, 
 
 Alas ! 'tis now too late.'
 
 SIR CHARLES SEDLEV. 185 
 
 THINK NOT BY DISDAIN. 
 
 Celinda, think not by disdain 
 
 To vanquish my desire, 
 By telling me I sigh in vain 
 
 And feed a hopeless fire ; 
 Despair itself too weak does prove 
 
 Your beauty to disarm ; 
 By Fate I was ordain'd to love 
 
 As you were born to charm.
 
 186 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Love, when 'tis true, needs not the aid 
 Of sighs nor oaths to make it known ; 
 
 And, to convince the cruel'st maid, 
 Lovers should use their love alone. 
 
 Into their very looks 'twill steal, 
 
 And he that most would hide his flame 
 
 Does in that ease his pain reveal ; 
 Silence itself can love proclaim. 
 
 I could not sigh, and with cross'd arms 
 Accuse your rigour and my fate ; 
 
 Nor tax your beauty with such charms 
 As men adore and women hate ; 
 
 But careless lov'd, and without art. 
 
 Knowing my love you must have spied, 
 
 And thinking it a foolish part 
 To set to show what none can hide.
 
 SI/^ CHARLES SEDLEY. 187 
 
 TO CELIA. 
 
 Not, Celia, that I juster am 
 
 Or better than the rest ; 
 For I would change each hour, like them, 
 
 Were not my heart at rest. 
 
 But I am tied to very thee 
 
 By every thought I have; 
 Thy face I only care to see, 
 
 Thy heart I only crave. 
 
 All that in woman is adored 
 
 In thy dear self I find ; 
 For the whole sex can but afford 
 
 The handsome and the kind. 
 
 Why then should I seek further store, 
 
 And still make love anew ? 
 When change itself can give no more, 
 
 'Tis easy to be true.
 
 i88 
 
 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 
 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Love still has something of the^a, 
 From whence his mother rose; 
 
 No time his slaves from doubt can free, 
 Nor give their thoughts repose. 
 
 They are becalm'd in clearest days, 
 And in rough weather toss'd; 
 
 They wither under cold delays, 
 Or are in tempests lost. 
 
 One while they seem to touch the port; 
 
 Then straight into the main 
 Some angry wind, in cruel sport, 
 
 Their vessel drives again.
 
 EARL OF DORSET. 189 
 
 xxxm. 
 
 CHARLES SACKVILLE, 
 
 EARL OF DORSET. 
 
 1637 — 1706- 
 SONG WRITTEN AT SEA. 
 
 To all you Ladies now on land 
 
 We men at sea indite ; 
 But first would have you understand 
 
 How hard it is to write ; 
 The Muses now, and Neptune too, 
 We must implore to write to you. 
 With a fa la, la, la, la. 
 
 For though the Muses should prove kind, 
 
 And fill our empty brain, 
 Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind 
 
 To wave the azure main. 
 Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, 
 Roll up and down our ships at sea. 
 
 Then if we write not by each post. 
 
 Think not we are unkind, 
 Nor yet conclude our ships are lost 
 
 By Dutchman, or by wind ; 
 Our tears we'll send a speedier way. 
 The tide shall waft them twice a day.
 
 I90 EARL OF DORSET. 
 
 The king with wonder and surprise 
 Will swear the seas grow bold, 
 
 Because the tides will higher rise, 
 Than e'er they did of old ; 
 
 But let him know it is our tears 
 
 Bring floods of grief to Whitehall-Stairs. 
 
 Should foggy Opdam chance to know 
 
 Our sad and dismal story, 
 The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, 
 
 And quit their forts at Goree, 
 For what resistance can they find 
 From men who've left their hearts behind ? 
 
 Let wind and weather do its worst, 
 
 Be you to us but kind, 
 Let Dutchman vapour, Spaniards curse, 
 
 No sorrow we shall find ; 
 'Tis then no matter how things go, 
 Or who's our friend, or who's our foe. 
 
 To pass our tedious hours away, 
 
 We throw a merry main, 
 Or else at serious ombre play. 
 
 But why should we in vain 
 Each other's ruin thus pursue ? 
 We were undone when we left you !
 
 EARL OF DORSET. 191 
 
 But now our fears tempestuous grow, 
 
 And cast our hopes away, 
 Whilst you, regardless of our woe, 
 
 Sit careless at a play, — 
 Perhaps permit some happier man 
 To kiss your hand or flirt your fan. 
 
 When any mournful tune you hear, 
 
 That dies in every note, 
 As if it sighed with each man's care. 
 
 For being so remote, 
 Think then how often love we've made 
 To you, when all those tunes were played. 
 
 In justice you can not refuse 
 
 To think of our distress, 
 When we for hopes of honour lose 
 
 Our certain happiness ; 
 And those designs are but to prove 
 Ourselves more worthy of your love. 
 
 And now we've told you all our loves. 
 
 And likewise all our fears, 
 In hopes this declaration moves 
 
 Some pity from your tears ; 
 Let's hear of no inconstancy. 
 We have too much of that at sea.
 
 192 EARL OF DORSET. 
 
 ON THE COUNTESS OF DORCHESTER. 
 
 Tell me, Dorinda, why so gay, 
 
 Why such embroidery, fringe, and lace ? 
 Can any dresses find a way 
 To stop the approaches of decay. 
 And mend a ruin'd face. 
 
 Wilt thou still sparkle in the box. 
 
 Still ogle in the ring ? 
 Canst thou forget thy age, thy locks. 
 Can all that shines on shells and rocks 
 
 Make thee a fine young thing ?
 
 EARL OF DORSET, 193 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes 
 United cast too fierce a light, 
 
 Which blazes high, but quickly dies, 
 Fains not the heart, but hurts the sight. 
 
 Love is a calmer, gentler joy, 
 
 Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace, 
 Her Cupid is a blackguard boy. 
 
 That runs his link full in your face. 
 
 13
 
 194 EARL OF DORSET. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Phillis, for shame, let us improve 
 
 A thousand different ways 
 Those few short moments snatched by love 
 
 From many tedious days. 
 
 If you want courage to despise 
 
 The censure of the grave, 
 Though love's a tyrant in your eyes, 
 
 Your heart is but a slave. 
 
 My love is full of noble pride, 
 
 Nor can it e'er submit 
 To let that fop, Discretion, ride 
 
 In triumph over it. 
 
 False friends I have, as well as you. 
 
 Who daily counsel me 
 Fame and ambition to pursue, 
 
 And leave off loving thee. 
 
 But when the least regard I show 
 
 To fools who thus advise. 
 May I be dull enough to grow 
 
 Most miserably wise.
 
 EARL OF DORSET. 195 
 
 SONG. 
 
 May the ambitious ever find 
 
 Success in crowds and noise, 
 While gentle love does fill my mind 
 
 With silent real joys. 
 
 May knaves and fools grow rich and great, 
 And the world think them wise, 
 
 While I lie dying at her feet, 
 And all the world despise ! 
 
 Let conquering kings their triumphs raise, 
 
 And melt in court delights ; 
 Her eyes can give much brighter days, 
 
 Her arms aiuch softer nights.
 
 196 EARL OF MULGRA VE, 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 JOHN SHEFFIELD, 
 
 EARL OF MULGRAVE 
 
 (duke of BUCKINGHAMSHIRE). 
 
 1649— 172I. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 From all uneasy passions free, 
 Revenge, ambition, jealousy, 
 Contented, I had been too blest, 
 If love and you had let me rest ; 
 Yet that dull life 1 now despise ; 
 
 Safe from your eyes 
 I fear'd no griefs, but then I found no joys. 
 
 Amidst a thousand kind desires, 
 Which beauty moves and love inspires ; 
 Such pangs I feel of tender fear 
 No heart so soft as mine can bear. 
 Yet I'll defy the worst of harms ; 
 
 Such are your charms, 
 'Tis worth a life to die within your arms.
 
 EARL OF MULGRA VE. 197 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Come let us now resolve at last 
 To live and love in quiet ; 
 
 We'll tie the knot so very fast 
 That Time shall ne'er untie it. 
 
 The truest joys they seldom prove 
 Who free from quarrels live ; 
 
 'Tis the most tender part of love 
 Each other to forgive. 
 
 \Vhen least I seem concerned, I took 
 
 No pleasure, nor no rest ; 
 And when I feign'd an angry look, 
 
 Alas ! I loved you best. 
 
 Own but the same to me, you'll tind 
 How blest will be your fate : 
 
 O, to be happy, to be kind, 
 Sure never is too late.
 
 198 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 JOHN WII.MOT, 
 
 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 1647— 1680. 
 SONG. 
 
 My dear Mistress has a heart 
 
 Soft as those kind looks she gave me, 
 When, with love's resistless art. 
 
 And her eyes, she did enslave me. 
 But her constancy's so weak, 
 
 She's so wild and apt to wander, 
 That my jealous heart would break, 
 
 Should we live one day asunder. 
 
 Melting joys about her move, 
 
 Killing pleasures, wounding blisses ; 
 She can dress her eyes in love, 
 
 And her lips can warm with kisses. 
 Angels listen when she speaks, 
 
 She's my delight, all mankind's wonder ; 
 But my jealous heart would break, 
 
 Should we live one day asunder.
 
 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 199 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Give me leave to rail at you, 
 
 T ask nothing but my due ; 
 
 To call you false, and then to say 
 
 You shall not keep my heart a day ; 
 
 But alas ! against my will, 
 
 I must be your captive still. 
 
 Ah ! be kinder, then, for I 
 
 Cannot change and would not die. 
 
 Kindness has resistless charms, 
 
 All besides but weakly move ; 
 
 Fiercest anger it disarms, 
 
 And clips the wings of flying love. 
 
 Beauty does the heart invade, 
 
 Kindness only can persuade ; 
 
 It gilds the lover's servile chain, 
 
 And makes the slaves grow pleas'd again.
 
 EARL OF ROCHESTER, 
 
 UPON DRINKING IN A BOWL. 
 
 Vulcan, contrive me such a cup 
 
 As Nestor us'd of old ; 
 Show all thy skill to trim it up, 
 
 Damask it round with gold. 
 
 Make it so large, that, fiU'd with sack 
 
 Up to the swelling brim, 
 Vast toasts on the delicious lake, 
 
 Like ships at sea, may swim. 
 
 Eng: ave not battle on his cheek, 
 With war I've nought to do, 
 
 I'm none of those that took Maestrick, 
 Nor Yarmouth leaguer knew. 
 
 Let it no name of planets tell, 
 Fix'd stars, or constellations ; 
 
 For I am no Sir Sidrophel, 
 Nor none ol his relations. 
 
 But carve thereon a spreading vine, 
 Then add two lovely boys ; 
 
 Their limbs in amorous folds entwine, 
 The type of future joys.
 
 EARL OF ROCHESTER 201 
 
 Cupid and Bacchus my saints are, 
 May Drink and Love still reign I 
 
 With wine I was-li away my care, 
 And then to love again.
 
 202 EARL OF ROCHESTER, 
 
 A DIALOGUE. 
 
 Strephon, 
 
 Prithee, now, fond fool, give o'er; 
 Since my heart is gone before, 
 To what purpose should I stay ? 
 Love commands the other way. 
 
 Daphne. 
 
 Perjur'd swain, I knew the time 
 When dissembling was your crime ; 
 In pity now employ that art, 
 Which first betrayed, to ease my heart. 
 
 Strephon. 
 
 Women can with pleasure feign, 
 Men dissemble still with pain. 
 What advantage will it prove, 
 If I lie, who cannot love ? 
 
 Daphne. 
 
 Tell me then the reason, why 
 Love from hearts in love does fly ? 
 Why the bird will build a nest, 
 Where she ne'er intends to rest ?
 
 EARL OF ROCHESTER. lo; 
 
 Sirephon. 
 
 Love, like other little boys, 
 Cries for hearts, as they for toys ; 
 Which, when gained, in childish play, 
 Wantonly are thrown away. 
 
 Daphne. 
 
 Still on wing, or on liis knees, 
 Love does nothing by degrees, 
 Basely flying when most prized, 
 Meanly fawning when despised. 
 Flattering or insulting ever, 
 Generous and grateful never ; 
 All his joys are fleeting dreams, 
 All his vows severe extremes. 
 
 Sirephon. 
 
 Nymph, unjustly you inveigh; 
 Love, like us, must fate obey. 
 Since 'tis nature's law to change, 
 Constancy alone is strange. 
 See the Heavens in lightning break, 
 Next in storms of thunder speak ; 
 Till a kind rain from above 
 Makes a calm, — so 'tis in love. 
 Flames begin our first address, 
 Like meeting thunder we embrace, 
 Then, you know, the showers that fall 
 Quench the fire, and quiet all.
 
 504 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 Daphne. 
 
 How should I the showers forget ? 
 'Twas so pleasant to be wet ! 
 They kill'd love, I knew it well; 
 I died all the while they fell. 
 Say, at least, what nymph it is 
 Robs my breast of so much bliss ? 
 If she's fair, I shall be eas'd, 
 Through my ruin you'll be pleas'dc 
 
 Strephon. 
 
 Daphne never was so fair, 
 Strephon, scarcely, so sincere. 
 Gentle, innocent, and free, 
 Ever pleased with only me. 
 Many charms my heart enthral, 
 But there's one above them all : 
 With aversion she does fly 
 Tedious, trading. Constancy. 
 
 Daphne. 
 
 Cruel shepherd i I submit. 
 Do what Love and you think fit: 
 Change is fate, and not design, — 
 Say you would have still been mine.
 
 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 205 
 
 Strephon, 
 
 Nymph, I cannot ; 'tis too true, 
 Change has greater charms than you. 
 Be by my example wise, 
 Faith to pleasure sacrifice. 
 
 Daphne. 
 
 Silly swain, I'll have you know 
 'Twas my practice long ago: 
 Whilst you vainly thought me true, 
 I was false in scorn of you. 
 By my tears, my heart's disguise, 
 I thy love and thee despise. 
 Womankind more joy discovers 
 Making fools than making lovers.
 
 2o6 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 INSULTING BEAUTY, YOU MIS-SPEND, 
 
 Insulting beauty, you mis-spend 
 
 Those frowns upon your slave ; 
 
 Your scorn against such rebels bend 
 
 Who dare with confidence pretend 
 
 That other eyes their hearts defend 
 
 From all the charms you have. 
 
 Your conquering eyes so partial are, 
 
 Or mankind is so dull, 
 That while I languish in despair 
 Many proud, senseless hearts declare 
 They find you not so killing fair 
 
 To wish you merciful. 
 
 They an inglorious freedom boast ; 
 
 I triumph in my chair. ; 
 Nor am I unrevenged, though lost, 
 Nor you unpunished, though unjust. 
 When I alone, who love you most. 
 
 Am killed with your disdain.
 
 EARL OF ROCHESTER, 207 
 
 TO CORINNA. 
 
 What cruel pains Corinna takes, 
 To force that harmless frown ; 
 
 When not one charm her face forsakes, 
 Love cannot lose his own. 
 
 So sweet a face, so soft a heart, 
 
 Such eyes so very kind, 
 Betray, alas, the silly art, 
 
 Virtue had ill designed. 
 
 Poor, feeble tyrant ! who in vain 
 Would proudly take upon her, 
 
 Against kind nature to maintain 
 Afifected rules of honour ! 
 
 The scorn she bears so helpless proves, 
 When I plead passion to her. 
 
 That much she fears (but more she loves) 
 Her vassal should undo her !
 
 2o8 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 THE MISTRESS. 
 
 An age, in her embraces past, 
 
 Would seem a winter's day ; 
 Where life and light, with envious haste. 
 
 Are torn and snatched away. 
 
 But, oh ! how slowly minutes roll 
 
 When absent from her eyes ; 
 That fed my love, which is my soul , 
 
 It languishes and dies. 
 
 For then, no more a soul but shade. 
 
 It mournfully does move ; 
 And haunts my breast, by absence made 
 
 The living tomb of love. 
 
 You wiser men despise me not ; 
 
 \Vhose love-sick fancy raves, 
 Oh shades of souls, and heaven knows what !- 
 
 Short ages live in graves. 
 
 Wliene'er those wounding eyes, so full 
 
 Of sweetness you did see, 
 Had you not been profoundly dull, 
 
 You had gone mad like me.
 
 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 209 
 
 SONG. 
 
 While on those lovely looks T gaze, 
 
 To see a wretch pursuing, 
 In raptures a blest amaze, 
 
 His pleasing happy ruin, 
 'Tis not for pity that I move, 
 
 His fate is too aspiring, 
 \\Tiose heart, broke with a load of love, 
 
 Dies wishing and admiring. 
 
 But if this murder you'd forego, 
 
 Your slave from death removing ; 
 Let me your art of charming know, 
 
 Or learn you mine of loving; 
 But whether death or life betide. 
 
 In love 'tis equal measure ; 
 The victor lives with empty pride, 
 
 The vanquished die with pleasure. 
 
 14
 
 2IO EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 LOVE AND LIFE. 
 
 All my past life is mine no more, 
 
 The flying hours are gone ; 
 Like transitory dreams given o'er, 
 Whose images are kept in store 
 By memory alone. 
 
 The time that is to come is not ; 
 
 How can it then be mine ? 
 The present moment's all my lot ; 
 And that, as soon as it is got, 
 
 Phillis, is only thine. 
 
 Then talk not of inconstancy, 
 False hearts, and broken vows ; 
 
 If I, by miracle, can be 
 
 This live-long minute true to thee, 
 'Tis all that heaven allows.
 
 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 211 
 
 TO HIS MISTRESS. 
 
 My light thou art, without thy glorious sight 
 My eyes are darken'd with eternal night ; 
 My Love, thou art my way, my life, my light. 
 
 Thou art my way, I wander if thou fly ; 
 Thou art my light, if hid, how blind am I ! 
 Thou art my life, if thou withdraw'st I die. 
 
 Thou art my life, if thou but turn away, 
 
 My life's a thousand deaths. Thou art my way 
 
 Without thee, Love, I travel not, but stray.
 
 212 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 
 
 CONSTANCY. 
 
 I CANNOT change, as others do, 
 
 Though you unjustly scorn ; 
 Since that poor swain that sighs for you, 
 
 For you alone was born. 
 No, Phillis, no, your heart to move 
 
 A surer way I'll try ; 
 And to revenge my slighted love, 
 
 Will still love on, will still love on, and die- 
 When killed with grief, Amyntas lies. 
 
 And you to mind shall call 
 The sighs that now unpitied rise, 
 
 The tears that vainly fall ; 
 That welcome hour, that ends this smart, 
 
 Will then begin your pain ; 
 For such a faithful, tender heart 
 
 Can never break, can never break, in vain.
 
 EARL OF ROCHESTER. 213 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Dear, from thine arms then let me fly, 
 That my fantastic mind may prove 
 
 The torments it deserves to try, 
 
 That tears my fixed heart from my love. 
 
 When wearied with a world of woe 
 
 To thy safe bosom I retire, 
 Where love, and peace, and truth, do flow. 
 
 May T contented there expire ! 
 
 Lest, once more wandering from that heaven, 
 I fall on some base heart unblest, 
 
 Faithless to thee, false, unforgiven, 
 And lose my everlasting rest.
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL INDEX OF WRITERS. 
 
 I. William Browne (1590-1645) was born at Tavistock, 
 
 educated at Exeter College, Oxford, which he left with- 
 out taking: a decree, and entered the Inner Temple 
 in 1611. He was at one time tutor to the Earl of 
 Carnarvon, and on his death, in 16i3, he received the 
 patronage of the Earl of Pembroke. He died at Ottery- 
 St.-Mary in 1645. The first part of his chief work, Brit- 
 annia's Pastorals, was published in 1613 ; the second part 
 in 1616, the year of Shakespeare's death. A third part 
 was unknown till 1851, when it was published from a 
 manuscript in the Cathedral Library at Salisbury. He is 
 said to have been assisted in his other pastoral poem, The 
 Shepherd's Pipe, by ^Vither, published in 1614, His Inner 
 Temple Masque was written to be represented by members 
 of that society in January 1614-15. 
 
 II. William Drummond, of Hawthomden (1585-1649), the son 
 
 of Sir John Drummond, Gentleman Usher to King Jame.'^, 
 was born at that Hawthornden near Edinburgh with 
 which his name has ever since been associated. He was an 
 ardent Royalist, and there is a story that the execution of 
 Charles hastened his own death. He was intimate with 
 Ben Jonson and Drayton, and a historical visit Avas paid to 
 him by the former at Hawthornden. His first work was 
 Teares on the Death of Moeliades (Prince Henry), 1612. 
 Besides this he published Wanderinq Muses, or the River 
 Forth Feasting, 'a panegyricke to the king's most excel- 
 lent majestie,' 1617 ; Flowers of Zion, 1623 ; and a moral 
 treatise in prose, entitled the Cypress Grove; besides a 
 number of occasional poems. The Conversations with Ben 
 Jonson was written in 1619. 
 
 III. Sir William Alexander, Earl of Stirling (1580-1640), a 
 friend of Drummond, was Secretary of State for Scotland for
 
 2i6 INDEX OF WRITERS. 
 
 fifteen years, from 1626 until his death, and he shared a con- 
 siderable amount of the obloquy which fell on Charles I. 
 for his attempt to establish Episcopacy in the North. He 
 was a prolific poet, though none of his productions have 
 attained lasting fame. His first publication was a volume 
 entitled Aurora, First Fancies of the Author's Youth, in 
 praise of the lady whom he styles Aurora. He wrote 
 several tragedies, one on the subject of Julius C?esar, and a 
 sacred poem, in twelve parts, on the Day of Judgment. In 
 1637 he published a complete edition of his works, with the 
 title of Recreations with the Muses. 
 
 IV. Sir Robert Ayton (1570-1638) was born at the castle of 
 Kincaldie, in the parish of Cameron, near St. Andrews. 
 After a university career at the latter place, he went on the 
 customary round of continental travel, and also studied law 
 at the University of Paris. James I. appointed him Gentle- 
 man of the Bedchamber and Private Secretary to the 
 Queen. In 163G he was made Master of Requests and 
 Ceremonies, and a Privy Councillor. He has a tomb and 
 monument in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 v. George Wither (1588-1667) was a native of Hampshire 
 and an alumnus of Magdalen College, Oxford. He was a 
 voluminous author, and his literary career extended from 
 1612-1641. The dates of his chief works are as follows :— 
 1613, Abuses Stript and Whipt; 1013, Fidelia and Shepherds 
 Hunting; 1618, The Mvtto; 1622, The Mistress of P hilar ete ; 
 1623, Hymns and Songs of the Church; 1628, Britain's 
 Remembrancer; 1635, Emblems; 1641, Hallelujah. His 
 Abuses Sl.-ipt and Whipt earned him an Imprisonment in 
 the Marshalsea, which he lightened by composing his 
 Shepherds Hunting. He took the popular side in the Civil 
 War, and rose to higli rank in Cromwell's army. At the 
 Restoration he was stripped of his possessions, and thrown 
 into prison for remonstrating. 
 
 VI. Nathaniel Field (1587-1638), actor and dramatist, was 
 the son of the Rev. John Field, an author who distinguished 
 himself by a violent attack on theatrical entertainments. 
 The son acted in Ben Jon son's Poetaster and Epicene. 
 He wrote A Woman is a Weathercock in 1612. This was 
 followed by Amends fw Ladies, 1618, from which the 
 song is taken. He is supposed to have collaborated with 
 Massinger in the Fatal Dowry, published in 1632. He 
 seems to have been an actor of no mean ability-
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS, 217 
 
 VII. William Strode (1599-1644), the only son of Philip Strode, 
 Esq., of Plimpton, was born in Devonshire, at the end of 
 Elizabeth's reipn^. He was admitted to Christ Church, 
 Oxford, from Westminster School, at the age of nineteen ; 
 was chosen public orator in 1629, and attained to proctorial 
 dignity. He was made Canon of Christ Church in 16S8. 
 He is said to have been a ' good preacher, an exquisite 
 orator, and an eminent poet.' We have unfortunately little 
 work of his left. He published a tragi-cumedy called The 
 Floating Island, which Wood calls Passions Calmed, or the 
 Settling of the Floating Island. 
 
 vin. Thomas Carew (1598?-1639?), the descendant of a Glou- 
 cestershire family of no mean repute, was educated at 
 Corpus Christi College, Oxford, though he neither matri- 
 culated nor took any degree. After leaving Oxford, he 
 travelled abroad for a time, and on his return obtained the 
 notice and patronage of Charles I., who gave him the 
 appointment of Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and 
 Sewer-in-Ordinary (cup-bearer) to himself. His poems are 
 short and occasional, his longest production being a masque 
 called Ccelum Britan7iicum,y/Titten in 1634, which was under- 
 taken, in conjunction with Inigo Jones, at the command of 
 the king. None of his sliorter poems, except a few that 
 were set to music, were published before his death, but a 
 complete collection was issued in 1640. 
 
 IX. Henry King (1591-1669) was the son of John King, Bishop 
 of London, and was educated at Westminster School and 
 Christ Church, Oxford. He was successively made Chap- 
 lain to James I., Archdeacon of Colchester, Dean of 
 Rochester, and Bishop of Chichester in 1641. Though 
 considered a Puritan, and promoted chiefly to please that 
 party, he was ejected by them from his bishopric, which, 
 however, he recovered at the Restoration. Among other 
 works chiefly theoloiiical and devotional, including A deep 
 groan fetched at the funeral of the incomparable and 
 glorious monarch Charles I., in 1657 a volume of his Poems, 
 'Elegies, Paradoxes, and Sonnets was published without his 
 consent, but dedicated to him by the publishers. 
 
 X. Sir John Suckling (1609-1641), a courtier from his birth, 
 
 was the son of the ComptroUerof the Household to Charles 
 I. At the age of nineteen he wandered on the Continent 
 for four years seeking adventure. He served one campaign
 
 2i8 INDEX OF WRITERS, 
 
 under Gustavus Adolphus. He warmly espoused Charles' 
 cause, and raised a troop of horse in his service. After the 
 downfall of the Royalists, he fled to France, and thence to 
 Spain, where he fell into the clutches of the Inquisition. 
 The manner of his death is variously related. According 
 to some accounts he poisoned himself; according to others 
 his death resulted from a rusty nail in his boot, which pro- 
 duced mortification. He published the drama of Aglaura 
 in 1638, and the Ballad of a Wedding in 1640. His other 
 works were collected after his death, and published under 
 the title of Fragnienta Aurea (1646). 
 
 XI. Richard Lovelace (161S-165S), the son of Sir William 
 Lovelace, Knight, was educated at Oxford. A member of 
 Parliament for Kent, he was chosen by that county to 
 deliver a petition to the House of Commons, praying that 
 the king might be restored to his rights. For this he was 
 thrown into prison, but liberated on heavy bail. He was 
 a§;ain imprisoned in 1648, during which time he collected 
 his poems, which he published in 1649 under the title of 
 Lucasta. Lucasta is supposed to be for lux casta, a name 
 which he bestowed on Miss Lucy Sacheverell, the lady 
 to whom he was attached, who, hearing false news of his 
 death, married another. Two dramas of his, The Scholar, 
 1634, The Soldier, 1640, are lost. His Posthume Poems were 
 published in 1659. 
 
 XII. The Marquis op Montrose (1612-1650).— James Graham, 
 Marquis of Montrose, was born at Montrose, studied at St. 
 Andrews, and subsequently made a prolonged stay on the 
 Continent. In 1637 he joined the Covenanters in their 
 resistance to Episcopacy. In 1639 he went over to the 
 Royalist side, and was made commander of the royal forces 
 in Scotland. After a series of brilliant victories, he was 
 defeated at Philiphaugh by Leslie, and fled to Norway in 
 1646. In 1650 he returned, but failed in raising an army, 
 and was hanged and quartered at Edinburgh. Nothing 
 by Montrose was published during his lifetime. 
 
 xni. Edward, Lord Herbert of Cherbury (1581-1648), 
 was born at Eyton, in Shropshire (3rd March). At the age 
 of twelve ho was sent to Oxford ; when about eighteen he 
 presented himself at the Court of Elizabeth. At the coro- 
 nation of James I. he was created a Knight of the Bath ; at 
 twenty-flve he went to Paris, one of the first of a series of 
 visits abroad ; in 1619 he was chosen ambassador to France
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS. 219 
 
 at the Instigation of Villiers ; his ambassadorship lasted till 
 1624. Six months after his return he was elevated to the 
 Irish peerage, with the title of Lord Castle-Island— the 
 name of an estate in Kerry inherited by his wife. On 7th 
 May 1629, Cliarles I. accorded him the English peerage 
 long promised him by Buckingham. He occupied a seat in 
 the Council of War in 1G32, and again in 1637. He was the 
 author of various works — T)e Religione Gentiliwni, De Veri- 
 tate, A History of the lieijn of Henry VIII., and the famous 
 Autobiography. A collection of his poems, written at 
 various periods throughout his life, was published by 
 his brother Henry seventeen years after Lord Herbert's 
 death. During the Civil Wars he played the part of an 
 opportunist. After the taking of his residence, Mont- 
 gomery Castle, by the Parliamentarian forces in 1644, 
 Herbert, almost destitute, retired to London, where he 
 lived upon a pension until his death on 20th August 1648. 
 (See Autobiography in the * Camelot Series.') 
 
 XIV. Anonymous. From ' Wit Restored,' 1658 ; Walter Porter's 
 ' Madrigals and Airs,' 1632 ; Lawes' ' Third Book of Airs,' 
 1653 ; and John Cotgrave's ' Wit's Interpreter,' 1655. 
 
 XV. Francis Quarles (1592-1644), a native of Essex, was edu- 
 cated at Cambridge, and became afterwards a student of 
 Lincoln's Inn. He successively held the offices of cup-bearer 
 to Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia, secretary to Archbishop 
 Usher, and Chronologer to the City of London. He suffered 
 much for the royal cause, and his death is attributed to 
 the constant harrying and vexation which he met with 
 at the hands of the Puritans. Among his numerous works, 
 the best known is The Divine Emblems, 1635. 
 
 XVI. Richard Crasiiaw (16137-1650?) was the son of a preacher 
 at the Temple Church, London. In 1G27 he was a Fellow 
 of Peterhouse, Cambridge. He is said to have been an 
 eloquent preacher. He was ejected from his Fellowship 
 by the Puritans ; removed to France, and adopted the 
 Roman Catholic faith. From Fraiice, Crashaw removed to 
 Italy, where, by the influence of Henrietta I^Iaria, he was 
 made Canon of the Church of Loretto. His works are 
 Epigrammatica Sacra, 1634; Steps to the Altar, 1646. 
 
 XVII. Henry Vaughan (1622?-1695) was a native of Breck- 
 nockshire, who deserted law for medicine, and was success- 
 ful in neither professions. He published Secular Poems
 
 220 INDEX OF WRITERS. 
 
 in 1646, but in later years, becoming deeply devout, grew 
 ashamed of his youthful muse. Among his other works are 
 Olor Iscantis, 1651 ; Silex Scintillans, Part i., 1650 ; Part ii., 
 1655 ; Thalia Eediviva, 1678. 
 
 XVIII. William Habington (1605-1654 7) was born at Ilindlip 
 Hall, near Worcester. His mother is said to have been the 
 writer of the famous letter to Lord Monteagle which dis- 
 closed the Gunpowder Conspiracy. He married Lucia, 
 daughter of Lord Powis, on whom he bestowed the fanciful 
 name of Castara, and in whose honour he published a 
 volume of poems bearing that name (1634). He also wrote a 
 tragi-comedy. The Queen of Arragon, acted in 1640, and A 
 History of 'Edward II. in the same year. His life was 
 throughout quiet and uneventful, and he is one of the 
 few poets who took no side in the Civil War. 
 
 XIX. Thomas Randolph (1606 ?-l634 ?) was a native of Dodford, 
 in Northamptonshire, and an alumnus of Trinity College, 
 Cambridge. He seems to have been known to Ben Jonson, 
 who at any rate regarded him as one of his 'sons.' Few 
 poets of the age showed a more brilliant promise than 
 Randolph, when he died— it is said— a victim to intem- 
 perate habits at the early age of twenty-nine. His chief 
 works are three dramas, The Jealous Loih'rs, 1632 (the only 
 work published in his lifetime). The Muses' Looking Glass, 
 and Amyntas, both in 163S. 
 
 XX. William Cartwuigiit (1610-1643), wlio, like Randolph, 
 was one of Ben Jonson's adopted ' sons,' was the son of an 
 innkeeper at Cirencester. He was educated at Oxford, and 
 in 1638 took holy orders. He was an ardent Royalist, and 
 paid the penalty by imprisonment when the Parliamentary 
 forces arrived at Oxford in 1642. He is said to have 
 died of the fever known as 'camp disease' in 1643. He 
 enjoyed an extraordinary reputation among his con- 
 temporaries, no less than fifty-six copies of eulogistic 
 verses being prefixed to the edition of his works published 
 posthumously in 1651. 
 
 XXI. Abraham Cowlev (1618-1607), the posthumous son of a 
 London stationer, was educated at Westminster School 
 (king's scholar) and Trinity College, Cambridge. After 
 being ejected from Cambridge he removed to Oxford, and 
 afterwards acted as sof-retary to the Queen during her exile 
 in Paris. At the Restoration he came back and lived iu
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS. 221 
 
 retirement at Barnes and Chertsey till his death. lie pub- 
 lished a vohiiue of poems, Poetical Blossoms, at the age of 
 fifteen, in 1683. Love's Riddle, a comedy, was published in 
 163S ; The 3lisf.ress in 1647 ; The Guardian in 1650. The 
 first folio edition of his works appeared in 1668. He 
 enjoyed an extraordinary reputation in his day, was re- 
 gardetl as the first poet of his age, and was buried in state 
 in the Abbey by the side of Chaucer and Spencer. 
 
 XXII. Sir William D'Avenant (1606-1668), the son of a vintner 
 at Oxford (according to a story of the day a natural 
 son of Shakespeare), had a long and varied career. On the 
 death of Ben Jonson in 1638 he was appointed Laureate. 
 He became manager of Drury Lane ; was sent to the Tower 
 in consequence of a political intrigue ; escaped to France ; 
 returned and was knighted for military skill and bravery ; 
 returned to France and becan his great epic poem Gondi- 
 bert; was captured by a Parliamentary man-of-war when 
 attempting to escape to Virginia ; imprisoned at Cowes ; 
 released, it is said, on the interposition of Milton ; estab- 
 lished a theatre in which he was successful both as a 
 manager and a dramatist; and died full of years and 
 honours. His Gondibert (1651) enjoyed a great reputation 
 in its day but his fame did not survive him long. 
 
 xxin. John Cleveland (1613-1658) was born at Loughborough, 
 the son of Thomas Cleveland, usher at Burton's Charity 
 School. He was admitted to Christ's College, Cambridge, 
 in 1627, and removed to St. John's on being elected fellow 
 in 1634. He lived at Cambridge nine years, 'the delight 
 and ornament of St. John's society'— until he was ejected 
 by thn Parliamentary visitors. He joined the Royalist 
 army at Oxford, and was made Judge Advocate. After 
 the surrender of the Royalists he was imprisoned, but 
 released by Cromwell after three months, after which he 
 lived in retirement, supporting himself chiefly by teaching. 
 Before 1656 a small volume of poems by J. C. was exten- 
 sively circulated. In 1677 a complete copy of his works was 
 published. 
 
 XXIV. Sir Edward Sherburne (1618-1702) was born in Gold- 
 smith's Rents, Cripplegate, and was educated privately in 
 England, and then sent abroad on the customary tour. 
 After his father's death, in 1641, he succeeded to the Clerk- 
 ship of His Majesty's Ordnance, which his father had held, 
 but the Rebellion soon deprived him of this oflBce, and
 
 222 INDEX OF WRITERS, 
 
 he was punished for his attachment to the kin? by con- 
 finement in the custody of the Usher of the Black Rod. 
 After his release he was for some time in great poverty, 
 until he met with his kinsman, Thomas Stanley, father of 
 the poet of the same name. He published a translation of 
 Seneca's Medea, and in 1651 he issued Poems and Transla- 
 tions. The Marquis of Halifax appointed him superin- 
 tendent of his affairs, and he was afterwards made travelling 
 tutor to the nephew of Lady Savile, the Marquis's mother. 
 After the Restoration he regained his place in the Ordnance. 
 In 1675 he published The Sphere of Marcus Manilius made 
 an English poem ; in 1679 a translation of Seneca's Troades. 
 He was knighted by the king in 1682. 
 
 XXV. Sir Richard Fanshawe (1608-1666), the brother of Lord 
 Fanshawe, was educated at Cambridge, and afterwards 
 became Secretary of the English embassy at Madrid. At 
 the outbreak of the Civil War he joined the Royalists, and 
 was Secretary of War to Prince Rupert. He published a 
 translation of the Pastor Fido of Guarini in 1648, and the 
 Lusiad of Camoens in 1658. With the latter production he 
 issued a number of miscellaneous poems. He also trans- 
 lated the Odes of Horace and the fourth book of the JEneid. 
 He was made a baronet in 1650, was taken prisoner at 
 Worcester, but permitted to go at large on bail. After the 
 Restoration he was appointed ambassador to Spain and 
 Portugal, and died at Madrid in 1666, 
 
 XXVI. Thomas Stanley (1625-1678), the only son of Sir Thomas 
 Stanley, knight, was born at Cumberlow, in Hertfordshire, 
 and is chiefly remembered among scholars for his edition of 
 uEschylus. He was also the author of a History of Philo- 
 sophy. He was educated at Pembroke College, Oxford, 
 and afterwards lived in the Middle Temple. A volume of 
 verses was published by him in 1651. 
 
 XXVII. Edmund Waller (1605-1687) was bom at ColeshlU, in 
 Warwickshire. His mother was a sister of John Hampden. 
 He was educated at Eton and King's College, Cambridge, 
 and elected Member of Parliament for Agraondesham at 
 the age of seventeen. At the age of twenty-five he married 
 a rich heiress, who died in the same year. He then paid 
 court to Lady Dorothy Sydney, whom he celebrates as 
 Sacharissa. This lady, however, married the Karl of Sun- 
 derland. In 1643 the poet was arrested as one of the leaders
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS. 223 
 
 of a plot against the parliament, was fined £10,000, 
 banished, and with some difficulty escaped with his 
 life. He wrote a panegyric on Oliver Cromwell, and 
 an address of congratulation to Charles II. on the 
 Restoration. He was made Provost of Eton, and died at 
 Beaconsfleld, in Buckinghamshire, in 1687. His poems were 
 first published in 1645, and were frequently reprinted, always 
 with additions, during his lifetime. 
 
 XXVIII. Sir John Denham (1615-1668), the son of the chief baron 
 of Exchequer in Ireland, was born in Dublin and educated 
 at Oxford. He was made Governor of Farnham Castle by 
 Charles I. , and was chiefly instrumental in carrying on the 
 king's secret correspondence when he was in the hands of 
 the army. After the execution of Charles, Denham resided 
 for some time in France, but returned at the Restoration. 
 He became subject to fits of insanity in later life. He 
 published a tragedy styled The Sophy in 1642, and his great 
 poem. Cooper's Hill, anonymously in the same year. 
 
 XXIX. Alexander Brome (1620-1666) was an attorney in the 
 Lord Mayor's court. In 1654 he published a comedy entitled 
 The Cunning Lovers, and a collected edition of his songs 
 and poems was issued in 1661, with commendatory verses by 
 Izaak Walton and others. He was also a contributor to and 
 editor of a variorum translation of Horace published in 
 1666. He is chiefly noted for his bacchanalian lyrics and 
 his spirited epigrams and songs in ridicule of the Rump. 
 
 XXX. Charles Cotton (1630-1687), the friend of Izaak Wal- 
 ton, was the son of Sir George Cotton of Ashbourne, in 
 Derbyshire. On his father's death in 1658 he inherited a 
 much-encumbered estate, and during the whole of his life 
 he seems to have been more or less hampered by pecuniary 
 difficulties. In his fortieth year he obtained a captain's com- 
 mission in the army, and afterwards he married his second 
 wife, the Countess Dowager of Ardglass. He lived the life of 
 a quiet country gentleman for the most part, occupying him- 
 self with angling and horticulture. He was a voluminous 
 writer, his works including Scarronides; or, Virgil Travestie, 
 Instructions how to Angle for a Trout and Grayling in a 
 CZear Stream (a supplement to the Complete Angler), transla- 
 tions of Montaigne's Essays, Corneille'a Horace, etc., besides 
 poems on various occasions.
 
 ^224 INDEX OF WRITERS. 
 
 XXXI. Sir George Etherege (1634-1694) was educated at 
 Cambridge, and after travelling on the Continent he entered 
 himself at one of the Inns of Court. In 1664 his comedy. 
 The Comical Revenge ; or. Love in a Tub, was acted and met 
 with great success. This was followed in 1668 by She Would 
 if She Could, and in 1676 by I'he Man of Mode ; or. Sir Fopling 
 Flutter, his best work. He is said to have been killed 
 by falling down the stairs of his house after a carouse at 
 Ratisbon, where he resided as British plenipotentiary. But 
 the date and manner of his death are alike uncertain. 
 
 XXXII. Sir Charles Sedley (1639-1701), the son of Sir John 
 Sedley of Aylesford, Kent, was educated at Oxford. He 
 was a great favourite with Charles II., at whose court he 
 passed' much of his time. He distinguished himself by 
 uniformly opposing the unconstitutional policy of James 
 II., and had a great share in bringing about the Revolution. 
 His most famous work was the comedy of The Mulberry 
 Garden, which appeared in 1668. Another comedy, styled 
 Bellamira, was so unfavourably received that he withdrew 
 from the stage. His poetical and dramatic works were 
 collected and published in 1719. 
 
 XXXIII. The Earl of Dorset (1637-1706).— Charles Sackvillo, 
 Earl of Dorset, was born January 24th, 1637. Before suc- 
 ceeding to the peerage he represented East Grinstead in 
 Parliament. He served as a volunteer in the first Dutch 
 war under the Duke of York, and, as it is generally said, 
 wrote the song 'To all you ladies' on the night before 
 the engagement in which Opda,m, the Dutch admiral, was 
 blown up with all his crew. He was Lord of the Bed- 
 chamber to Charles II., and Chamberlain of the Household 
 to William and Mary. He was the friend and patron of 
 almost all the poets of his time, from Waller to Pope. 
 
 XXXIV. The Earl of Mulgrave (1649-1721).— John Sheffield, 
 created Duke of Buckinghamshire in 1703, served with Prince 
 Rupert against the Dutch, and, in order to learn the art of 
 war under Turenne, served for a time in the French army. 
 He was a member of the Privy Council of James II., but 
 acquiesced in the Revolution, and afterwards became a 
 member of the Cabinet Council of William and Mary. His 
 two principal works are the Essay on Satire, which Dryden 
 is said to have revised, and the Essay on Poetry, 1682.
 
 LXDEX OF WRITERS. 224 
 
 XXXV. TilF, Earl of Rocpiester (1647-1680).— John Wilmot, 
 Earl of Rochester, was born in Oxfordshire, and educated 
 at Wadham ColleiS^e, Oxford. He succeeded to the title and 
 estates in 1659. He served in the fleet under Lord Sandwich, 
 and distinguished himself at the attack on Bergen. Of 
 the profligate courtiers that surrounded Charles II. 
 Rochester was the M'orst, and he early wore himself out. 
 An edition of his poems appeared in ICDO. 
 
 [As authorities conflict, the dates of births and deaths of 
 the above writers, and dates of their works, have, for the sake 
 of uniformity, been adopted from Mr. Ryland's Chronological 
 Outlines of English Literature, where they are given in that 
 volume.] 
 
 «5
 
 NOTES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 y. Her Visage. First, second, and sixth stanzas omitted. 
 
 IG. The Farewell. Burns has rendered this song, with many 
 alterations, into Scotch. He says, ' This song is altered 
 from a poem by Sir Robert Ayton, private secretary to 
 Mary and Anne, Queens of Scotland. I think that I have 
 improved the simplicity of the sentiments by giving them 
 a Scotch dress.' 
 
 17. The Manly Heart. This song appeared in its present form 
 in 1615, appended to Wither's Fidelia. It was published 
 again in the Midress of Philarete, and was reprinted 
 again and again— a fact which will account for the 
 number of various readings. There is a song attributed, 
 though with very slight authority, to Sir NYalter Raleigh, 
 which bears a striking resemblance to this. 
 
 20. The Poets Complaint. From the Mistress of Philarete (1622). 
 First and last four stanzas omitted. 
 
 22. On Chloris walking in the Snow. Taken from Musarum 
 Delicice (1656). 
 
 25. The Primrose. A poem almost exactly similar to this is 
 found in Herrick's Hesperides. This remark applies also 
 to The Enquiry on page 30. The two poems are to be 
 found in the edition of Carew's Poems published in 1640. 
 Herrick published his Hes%)erides in 1648. As Carew's 
 volume was not published until after his death, it is 
 possible that a mistake has occurred. 
 
 37. Celia's Beauty, 1. 6. Impt. — A term from falconry. ' To 
 
 imp a feather ' is to engraft or add a new feather for ^ 
 broken one. Imp originally means graft or scion. 
 
 38. Song. Last stanza omitted.
 
 228 NOTES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 46. Sic Vita. Hazlitt {Elizabethan Literature) attributes 
 these lines to Francis Beaumont. They are to be found 
 in King's Poems, Elegies, Paradoxes, and Sonnets, i)ub- 
 lishecl in 1657 without the consent of the author, but 
 dedicated to him. 
 
 49. Ballad upon a Wedding. FolIowin;T the example of previous 
 editors, the arrangement of st^^azas has been slightly 
 altered ; the fourth, fifth, tenth, fourteenth, and last 
 four stanzas omitted. Written on the occasion of the 
 marriage of Lord Broghill with Lady Margaret Howard, 
 daughter of the Earl of Suffolk. 
 
 50 No sun upon an Easter-day is half so fine a sight, 1. 17. 
 An allusion to the popular superstition that the sun 
 danced upon Easter Day; a superstition combatted by 
 Sir Thomas Browne in his ' Vulgar Errors,' 1G46 
 
 55. The Question. Last stanza omitted. 
 
 67. Barley-Break. An old rustic game playud by six persons 
 three of each sex coupled by lot. A space of ground was 
 marked off into three divisions. The middle division was 
 called ' Hell.' The couple formed last were condemned 
 to 'Hell,' and had to catch the others who advanced 
 across. The couple in 'Hell' could not separate until 
 they had made a capture, while the other two couples 
 were allowed to separate when hard pressed, and 
 apparently to interchange partners. 
 
 G5. To Lucasta, on going beyond the Seas. Second stanza 
 omitted. 
 
 69. It is already Morn. Last two stanzas omitted. 
 
 70. To Amarantha. Last three stanzas omitted. 
 
 71. To Althea, 1. 7. Birds is commonly substituted for Godt. 
 73. To his Love. Penultimate stanza omitted. 
 
 76. The Kiss. Two lines omitted. 
 
 77. Madrigal. Last three lines omitted. 
 
 79. To B. R., for her Bracelets. This and the following selection 
 taken from Wit Restored (1658), a miscellany edited 
 by Dr. James Smith, Archdeacon of Barnstaple, and Sir 
 John Mennis, Chief Comptroller of the Navy in Charles 
 L's reign. According to Anthony k Wood most of the 
 poems are Dr. Smith's own, though a fair number are to 
 bo foujul ill tlio wofki) of well-kijuwii poets of tuo day.
 
 NOTES. 229 
 
 PAGE 
 
 91-93. Wishes to his Supposed Mistress. In the original there are 
 
 forty-two verses. 
 94. Chloris. Extract. 
 97. To Castara. Last stanza omitted. 
 
 101. 2'o Iloses in the Bosom of Castara. Last stanza omitted. 
 
 102. We Satv, and Woo'd each Other's Eyes. Penultimate stanza 
 
 omitted. 
 
 104. His Mistress. From An Elegie. 
 
 105. Ode. Full title : Ode to Master Anthony Stafford, to hasten 
 
 him into the Country. Conjectured as being the last lines 
 Randolph ■wrote in London. 
 
 109-10. Fro7n An Eclogue on the noble Assemblies revived on 
 Cotswold Hills by Master Robert Dover. See an interesting 
 article on these games in Mr. Gosse's Seventeenth Century 
 Studies. 
 
 116. Charm Song. From The Jealous Lovers. 
 
 118. Invocation. Fragment from The Conceited Peddler. 
 
 127. Without and Within. Fragment. 
 
 129. To his Mistress. Last stanza omitted. 
 
 130. The Chronicle. First two stanzas only, and a preposterous 
 
 catalogue of eighteen or twenty ladies thus omitted. 
 
 134. The Dying Lover. Three stanzas omitted. 
 136. A Song of Sack. First line and last stanza omitted. 
 138. On Phillis, walking before Sunrise. Six lines omitted. 
 140. There's no Dallying with Love. Fourth and fifth stanzas 
 omitted. 
 
 143. Violets in Thaumantia's Bosom. Fragment. 
 
 149. Friendship. Last stanza omitted. 
 
 150. Farewell. Last stanza omitted. 
 
 161. To a Lady singing a Song of his Composing. Last stanza 
 omitted. 
 
 171. To his Friend that had vowed Small-Beer, 1. 6. And, with- 
 out Bacchus, Venus soon groivs cold. An adaptation of the 
 Latin proverb, Sine Cerere et Baccho friget Ve7ms. Last 
 stanza omitted. 
 
 15-
 
 230 NOTES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 172. Song. Last line omitted. 
 
 175. To Chloris. Last three stanzas omittefl. 
 
 17G. Come, Let's Mind our Drinking. Penultimate stanza 
 omitted. 
 
 182. Song. Third stanza omitted. 
 
 183. To Chloris. Two lines omitted. 
 186. Song. Third stanza omitted. 
 
 188. Song. Fragment of this famous song. 
 
 189. Song Written at Sea. Dorset professed to have written this 
 
 on the eve of the engagement with the Dutch (June 5, 1665). 
 Dr. Johnson remarks on this, ' I have heard from the late 
 Earl of Orrery, who was likely to have good hereditary 
 intelUgence, that Lord Buckhurst (as Dorset was then) 
 had been a week employed upon it, and only retouched or 
 finished it on the memorable evening.' 
 
 192. On the Countess of Dorchester. Locks, a rhyme substituted 
 for propriety. 
 
 196-7. So7igs. Dates not ascertaiTjed prior to going to press, but 
 these songs are sufficiently in keeping to warrant inclusion. 
 
 200. Upon Drinking in a Boivl, 1. 11. Maestrieht, taken by Louis 
 XIV. in 1673. Sidrophel, 1. 15. The name under which 
 William Lilly (1602-1681), the famous astrologer of the 
 day, is satirised by Butler in Uudibras, Part ii., 3. 
 
 209. So7ig. First stanza omitted. 
 
 211. To his Mistress. First two stanzas omitted, 
 
 213. Sotig. First stanza omitted.
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 Ah, CJiloiis ! could I now but sit 
 Alexis, here she stay'd . 
 All my past life is mine no more 
 Amarantha, sweet and fair 
 ^\ maryllis I did woo 
 Amongst the myrtles as I walked 
 Amyntas, go ! thou art undone 
 An age, in her embraces past . 
 As Amoret with Phillis sat 
 As gathered flowers, while their wounds are 
 As when a lady, walking Flora's bower 
 Ask me no more where Jove bestows . 
 Ask me why I send you here , 
 Awake, awake, my Lyre 
 Behold the brand of beauty toss'd 
 Bid me not go where neither suns nor showers 
 By a gentle river laid 
 Celinda, think not by disdain . 
 Chloe, why wish you that your year 
 Chloris, I cannot say your eyes 
 Chloris, now thou art fled away 
 Chloris, yourself you so excel . 
 Come from thy palace, beauteous Queen of Gre 
 Come hither, Womankind, and all their worth 
 Come, let's drink away the time 
 Come, let's mind our drinking . 
 Come, let the State stay 
 Come, let us now resolve at last 
 Come, spur away . 
 
 Pear, from thine arms then let me fly 
 Dear Love, let me this evening die 
 Dear, when I did from you remove 
 Distressed pilgrim, whose dark clouded eyes 
 Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes 
 • Dry those fair, those crystal eyes 
 Early in May up got the jolly rout 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 182 
 7 
 
 . 210 
 
 . 70 
 
 . 19 
 
 . 30 
 
 . 94 
 
 . 208 
 
 . 184 
 
 . 162 
 
 . 86 
 
 . 27 
 
 . 25 
 
 . 124 
 
 . 157 
 
 . 123 
 
 . 142 
 
 . 185 
 
 . 119 
 
 . 183 
 
 . 83 
 
 . 161 
 
 . 118 
 
 . 76 
 
 . 136 
 
 . 176 
 
 . 58 
 
 . 197 
 
 . 105 
 
 . 213 
 
 . 134 
 
 . 77 
 
 . 67 
 
 . 193 
 
 . 44 
 
 . 109
 
 232 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 Farewell, my sweet, until I come 
 
 Fill the bowl with rosy wine 
 
 From all uneasy passions free . 
 
 From witty men and mad 
 
 Give me a heart where no impure 
 
 Give me leave to rail at you 
 
 Give me more love, or more disdain 
 
 Go, lovely Rose . 
 
 He that loves a rosy cheek 
 
 I cannot change, as others do . 
 
 I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair 
 
 I have a mistress, for perfections raie 
 
 I have been in love, and in debt, and in drink 
 
 I know as well as you she is not fair 
 
 I lov'd thee once, I'll love no more 
 
 I prithee leave this peevish fashion 
 
 I prithee send me back my heart 
 
 I saw fair Chloris walk alone . 
 
 I swear, Aurora, by thy starry ej'es 
 
 I tell thee, Dick, where I have been 
 
 I was foretold, your rebel sex . 
 
 If I were dead, and in my place 
 
 If the quick spirits in your eye . 
 
 If to be absent were to be 
 
 I'll tell you whence the rose did first grow red 
 
 In Celia's face a question did arise 
 
 In petticoat of green 
 
 Insulting beauty, you mis-spend 
 
 It is not, Celia, in your power . 
 
 Keep on your mask, and hide your ey 
 
 Know, Celia, since thou art so proud 
 
 Lately by clear Thames, his side 
 
 Lately on yonder swelling bush 
 
 Leave off, fond hermit, leave thy vow 
 
 Let us use it while we may 
 
 Like the Idalian queen . 
 
 Like the Violet which alone 
 
 Like to the falling of a star 
 
 Love in her sunny eyes does basking play 
 
 Love in thy youth, fair maid 
 
 Love, making all things else his foes 
 
 Love, Reason, Hate, did once . 
 
 Love still has something of the sea 
 
 Love, that looks still on your eyes 
 
 Love, when 'tis true, needs not the aid
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 Mar^'aritta first possest, if I remember well, my Breast 
 
 Mark how the bashful morn 
 
 May not a thousand dan?;ers sleep 
 
 May the ambitious ever tiiid 
 
 Morpheus, the humble god that dwells 
 
 Must I then see, alas, eternal night 
 
 My dear and only love, I pray . 
 
 My dear Mistress has a heart . 
 
 My light thou art 
 
 Nimble boy, in thy warm fliirht 
 
 No more shall mea Is be deck'd with flowers 
 
 Not, Celia, that I juster am 
 
 Now come, my boon companions 
 
 Now that the April of your youtli adorns 
 
 O if thou knew'st how thou thyself dost harm 
 
 Oft have the Nymphs of greatest worth 
 
 Oh, stay that covetous hand 
 
 Once and no more ; so said my life 
 
 Out upon it, I have loved 
 
 Phillis, for shame, let us improve 
 
 Phillis, men say that all my vows 
 
 Pliylb's is my only joy 
 
 Phyllis, you have enough enjoy'd 
 
 Prithee, now, fond fool, give o'er 
 
 Quiet sleep, or I will make 
 
 Kead in these roses 
 
 Rise, Lady Mistress, rise 
 
 Roses in breathing forth their scent . 
 
 Say, but did you love so long . 
 
 Seal up her eyes, O Sleep 
 
 See, Chloris, how the clouds 
 
 See, how like twilight slumber falls . 
 
 Shall I hopeless then pursue 
 
 Shall 1 tell you whom I love 
 
 Shall I, wasting in despaire 
 
 Steer, hither steer 
 
 Still do the stars impart their ligh 
 
 Sweetly-breathing vernal air . 
 
 Tell me, Dorinda, why so gay . 
 
 Tell me no more how fair she is 
 
 Tell me not of a face that's fair 
 
 Tell me not. Sweet, I am unkind 
 
 That which her slender waist confined 
 
 The crafty boy, that had full oft 
 
 The dew no more shall weep 
 
 233 
 
 PAGE 
 
 130 
 
 34 
 
 153 
 
 195 
 
 166 
 
 78 
 
 73 
 
 198 
 
 211 
 
 10) 
 
 35 
 
 187 
 
 113 
 
 75 
 
 13 
 
 20 
 
 64 
 
 85 
 
 54 
 
 194 
 
 180 
 
 181 
 
 179 
 
 202 
 
 116 
 
 33 
 
 21 
 
 148 
 
 55 
 
 121 
 
 8 
 
 174 
 
 141 
 
 4 
 
 17 
 
 1 
 
 122 
 
 43 
 
 192 
 
 45 
 
 170 
 
 66 
 
 154 
 
 60 
 
 90
 
 234 
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 The ivory, coral, gold 
 
 The lark now leaves his watery nest . 
 
 The seas are quiet now the wind p^ves o'er 
 
 The sluggish morn as yet undress'd . 
 
 There are who know what once to-day it was 
 
 There's no dallying with love . 
 
 There's one request I make to Him 
 
 This mossy bank they press'd . 
 
 This only grant me, that my means may lie 
 
 This world a hunting is . 
 
 Thy credit wary keep 
 
 'Tis not, dear love, that amber tvFist . 
 
 'Tis not her birth, her friends, not yet her treasure 
 
 To all you Ladies now on land 
 
 To thy lover, dear, discover 
 
 Twice happy violets ! that first had birth 
 
 Twice twenty slender virgin fingers twine 
 
 Tyrian dye why do you wear 
 
 Verse makes heroic virtue live . 
 
 Vowes are vaine. No suppliant breath 
 
 Vulcan, contrive me such a cup 
 
 We saw, and woo'd each other's eyes 
 
 Well, then ; I now dc plainly see 
 
 What cruel pains Corinna takes 
 
 What if Night should betray us, and reveal 
 
 When, cruel fair one, I am slain 
 
 When, dearest, I but think of thee 
 
 When love with unconfined wings 
 
 Wheresoe'er I turn or move 
 
 WhUe on those lovely looks I gaze 
 
 Whoe'er she be . 
 
 Why came I so untimely forth . 
 
 Why shoulclst thou swear I am forsworn 
 
 Why sigh you, swain ? this passion is not 
 
 Why so pale and wan, fond lover 
 
 Why's my friend so melancholy 
 
 Would you know what's soft 
 
 Ye blushing virgins happy are . 
 
 Ye happy swains, whose hearts are free 
 
 Ye juster powers of love and fate 
 
 Yet ere I go, disdainful Beauty 
 
 You earthly souls that court a wanton flame 
 
 You that think Love .... 
 
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