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mine eyes, and the delight of mine heart, Anne Hathaway.” This lady was eight years older than Shakespeare, but still only in her twenty-sixth year, when he married her—"an age,” says Dr. Drake, “ compatible with youth, and with the most alluring beauty.”
Why so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prethee, why so pale?
Looking ill, prevail?
Why so dull and mute, young
Saying nothing, doe't?
Quit, for shame! this will not move,
This cannot take her;
Nothing can make ber:
By Sir JOHN SUCKLING. This sprightly knight was born in 1613. He spoke Latin at five years of age, and wrote it when nine. He possessed a general knowledge of polite literature; but applied himself more particularly to music and poetry. In the
course of his foreign travels, he made a campaign under Gustavus Adolphus; and after his return, raised a splendid troop of horse at the expense of twelve thousand pounds, for the service of the king (Lloyd's Memoirs). This troop, with Sir John at its head, behaved so ill in their engagement with the Scots upon the English border, in 1639, as to occasion the famous lampoon by Sir John Mennis, “ Sir John he got him an ambling nag, &c.” (Percy, II. 323,) which was set to an Irish tune, and much sung by the parliamentarians.
This disastrous expedition, says Nichols, and the ridicule that attended it, was supposed to have hastened his death, which happened in 1641, in the twenty-eighth or twenty-ninth year of his age. The whole of his works were published several times by Tonson, and in two neat volumes by Davis, in 1770.
HE THAT LOVES A ROSY CHEEK.
He that loves a rosy
Fuel to maintain his fires;
But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts, and calm desires,
Kindle never-dying fires;
No tears, Celia, now shall win
My resolv'd heart to return;
And find nought but pride and scorn;
my revenge, convey That love to her I cast away.
ASK ME NO MORE.
Ask me no more,—where Jove bestows,
Ask me no more,—whither do stray
love heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. .
Ask me no more,—whither doth baste
Ask me no more,—where those stars light
Ask me no more,-if east or west
GOOD COUNSEL TO A YOUNG MAID.
the sun-burn'd pilgrim see,
He courts the crystal nymph, and flings
But when his sweaty face is drench'd
In her cool waves, when from her sweet
Then mark how, with disdainful feet,
Thus shalt thou be despis’d, fair maid,
When by thy sated lover tasted;
Shall afterwards in scorn be wasted;
The three foregoing Pieces are by THOMAS CAREW, whose admirers were the first men of the age in which he lived. Lord Clarendon says, “ Carew was a person of a pleasant and facetious wit, whose poems, for the sharpness of the fancy, and elegance of the language in which that fancy was spread, were at least equal, if not superior, to any of that time." Born, 1580; died, 1639. His poems were published in 1772, by Davis.
Ye happy swains, whose hearts are free
From love's imperial chain,
To avoid the enchanting pain;
Fierce winds to blossoms prove,
To human quiet, love.
Fly the fair sex, if bliss you prize,
The snake's beneath the flower;
That tasted quiet more?
How constant is their care!
The cruel, with despair.
By SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE; this celebrated wit was born near London, 1634; author of three plays, and a volume of sprightly poetry. His accomplishments procured him the favour of James the Second's Queen, to whom he had dedicated his “Man of Mode.” Report says that he came to an untimely end, by an accident which befel him at Ratisbon.