O do not think it strange: times were not come, Why should not he, since of more pure a frame,
And these fair stars had not pronounc'd their doom. Return to us again, and be the same?
The Destinies did on that day attend,

But, wretch! what wish I? to the winds I send When on this northern region thou shouldst lend These plaints and pray’rs: Destinies cannot levd Thy cheerful presence, and, charg'd with renown, Thee more of time, nor Heavens consent will thus Set on thy brows the Caledonian crown.

Thou leave their starry world to dwell with us; Thy virtues now thy just desire shall grace, Yet shall they not thee keep amidst their spheres Stern chance shall change, and to desert give place. Without these lamentations and tears. Let this be known to all the Fates admit

Thou wast all virtue, courtesy, and worth ; To their grave counsel, and to every wit

And, as Sun's light is in the Moon set forth, That courts Heaven's inside: this let Sybils know, World's supreme excellence in thee did shine: And those mad Corybants who dance and glow Nor, though eclipsed now, shalt thou decline, On Dindimus' high tops with frantic fire :

But in our memories live, while dolphins streams Let this be knowu to all Apollo's choir,

Shall haunt, while eaglets stare on Titan's beams, And people: let it not be hd from you,

Whilst swans upon their crystal tombs shall sing, What mountains noise, and foods proclaim as true. Whilst violets with purple paint the spring. Wherever fame abroad his praise sball ring, A gentler shepherd flocks did never feed All shall observe, and serve this blessed king. On Albion's bills, nur sing to oaten reed.

While what she found in thee my Muse would blaze, The end of king Charles's entertainment | Grief doth distract ber, and cut short thy praise. at Edinburgh, 1633.

How oft have we, environ'd by the throng
Of tedious swains, the cooler shades among,
Contemp'd Earth's glow-worm greatness, and the
Of Fortune scorned, deeming it disgrace (chace
To court inconstancy! How oft have we

Some Chloris' name grav’n in each virgin tree;
PASTORAL ELEGY

And, finding favours fading, the next day

What we had carv'd we did deface away. ON THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM ALEXANDER. Woful remembrance! Nor time por place

Of thy abodement shadows any trace; In sweetest prime and blooming of his age, But there to mc thou shin'st: late glad desires, Dear Alcon, ravish'd from this mortal stage, And ye once roses, how are ye turn'd briars! The shepherds mourn'd, as they him lov'd before. Contentments passed, and of pleasures chief, Among the rout, him Idmon did deplore;

Now are ye frightful horrours, bells of grief! Idmon, who, whether Sun in east did rise,

When from thy native soil love had thee driven, Or dive in west, pour'd torrents from his eyes (Thy safe return prefigurating) a Hearen Of liquid crystal; under hawthorn shade,

Of Aattering hopes did in my fancy move;
At last to trees and flocks this plaint he made: Then little dreaming it should atoms prove.
“ Alcon ! delight of Heaven, desire of Earth, These groves preserve will I, these loved soods,
Off-spring of Phæbus, and the Muses' birth, These orchards rich with fruits, with fish these
The Graces' darling, Adon of our plains,

floods,
Flame of the fairest nymphs the Earth sustains ! My Alcon will return, and once again
What pow'r of thee hath us bereft? what fate, His chosen exiles he will entertain;
By thy untimely fall, would ruinate

The populous city holds bim, amongst barms
Our hopes? O Death! what treasure in one hour Of some fierce Cyclops, Circe's stronger charms.
Hast thou dispersed ! how dost thou devour “These banks,” said I, “ he visit will, and streams;
What we on Earth hold dearest! All things good, These silent shades, ne'er kiss'd by courting beapis.
Too envious Heavens, how blast ye in the bud! Far, far, off I will meet him, I first
The corn the greedy reapers cut not down Shall him approaching know, and first be blest
Before the fields with golden ears it crown; With his aspect; I first shall hear his voice,
Nor doth the verdant fruits the gardener pull; Him find the same he parted, and rejoice
But thou art cropt before thy years were full. To learn his passed perils; know the sports

With thee, sweet youth! the glories of our fields of foreign shepherds, fawns, and fairy courts. Vanish away, and what contentments yields. No pleasure like the fields, an happy state The lakes their silver look, the woods their shades, The swains enjoy, secure from what they hate : The springs their crystal want, their verdure meads, Free of proud cares they innocently spend The years their early seasons, cheerful days; The day, nor do black thoughts their ease offend; Hills gloomy stand, now desolate of rays:

Wise Nature's darlings, they live in the world Their amorous whispers zephyrs not us bring, Perplexing not themselves how it is hurl'd. Nor do air's choristers salute the spring;

These hillocks Phæbus loves, Ceres these plains, The freezing winds our gardens do deflow'r. These shades the Sylvans ; and here Pales strains Ah Destinies, and you whom skies embow'r, Milk in the pails; the maids which baunt the springs To his fair spoils bis spright again yet give, Dauce on these pastures; here Amintas sings: And, like another phenix, make him live! (stems, Hesperian gardens, Tempe's shades, are here, The herbs, though cut, sprout fragrant froin their Or what the eastern Inde and west hold dear. And make with crimson blush our anadems : Come then, dear youth! the wood-nymphs thing The Sun, when in the west he doth decline,

thee boughs Heaven's brightest tapers at his funerals shine ; With rose and lily to impa le thy brows." His face, when wash'd in the Atlantic seas, Thus ignorant I'mus'd, not conscious yet Revives, and cheers the welkin with new rays: Of what by Death was done, and ruthless Fate:

Amidst these trances Fame thy loss doth sound, Phil. Learn I pray this, like to thee,
And through my ears gives to my heart a wound. And say, I love as I do me.
With stretch'd-out arms I sought thee to embrace, Dam. Alas! I do not love myself,
But clasp'd, amaz'd, a coffin in thy place;

Por I 'm split on beauty's shelf.
A coffin, of our joys which had the trust, [dust! Puil. Like to what, good shepherd, say?
Which told that thou wert come, but chang'd to Dam. Like to thee, fair cruel May.
Scarce, ev'n when felt, could I believe this wrack,
Nor that thy time and glory Heavens would break.
Now, since I cannot see my Alcon's face,
And find nor vows nor prayers to have place
With guilty stars, this mountain shall become

All good hath left this age, all tracks of shame:
To me a sacred altar, and a tomb

Mercy is banished, and pity dead; To famous Alcon. Here, as days, months, years

Justice, from whence it came, to Hear’n is filed; Do circling glide, I sacrifice will tears;

Religion, maim'd, is thought an idle name. Here spend my remnant time, exil'd from mirth,

Faith to distrust and malice hath giv'n place;
Till Death at last turn monarch of my earth.

Envy, with poison'd teeth, hath friendship torn;
Shepherds on Forth, and you by Doven rocks,

Renowned knowledge is a despis'd scorn;
Which use to sing and sport, and keep your flocks, Now evil't is, all evil not t embrace.
Pay tribute here of tears! ye never had

There is no life, save under servile bands; To aggravate your moans a cause more sad:

To make desert a vassal to their crimes, And to their sorrows hither bring your mands,

Ambition with avarice joins bands : Charged with sweetest flow'rs, and with pure hands; O ever shameful, O most shameless times! Pair nymphs, the blushing hyacinth and rose

Save that Sun's light we see, of good here tell,
Spread on the place his relics doth enclose;

This Earth we court so much were very Hell.
Weave garlands to his inemory, and put
Over bis hearse a verse in cypress cut:
Virtue did die, goodness but harm did give,
After the noble Alcon ceas'd to live:

Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus more?
Friendship an earthquake saffer'd; losing him

Is this the justice which on Earth we find ?
Love's brightest constellation turned dim.

Is this that firm decree which all doth bind?
Are these your influences, pow'rs above?
Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind,
Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove;

And they who thee, poor idol virtue! love,
MISCELLANIES.

Ply like a feather toss'd by storm and wind.
Ah! if a providence doth sway this all,
Why should best minds groan under most distress?

Or why should pride bumility make thrall,
A PASTORAL SONG.

And injuries the innocent oppress?

Heav'ns! hinder, stop this fate; or grant a time
PHILLIS AND DAMON.

When good may have, as well as bad, their prime.
Phil. SHEPHERD, dost thou love me well ?
Dam. Better than weak words can tell.
Poil. Like to what, good shepherd, say?

A REPLY.
Dam. Like to thee, fair cruel May.
PHIL. O how strange these words I find !

Who do in good delight,
Yet' to satisfy my mind,

That sov'reign justice ever doth reward ;
Shepherd, without mocking me,

And though sometime it smite,
Have I any love from thee?

Yet it doth them regard :
Like to what, good shepherd, say?

For ev'n amidst their grief
Dan. Like to thee, fair cruel May.

They find a strong relief,
PHIL Better answer had it been,

And death itself can work them no despite.
To say thou lov'st, me as thine eyne. Again, in evil who joy,
Dam. Wo is me! these I love not,

And do in it grow old,
For by them love entrance got.

In midst of mirth are charg'd with sin's annoy,
At that time they did behold,

Which is in conscience scrollid;
Thy sweet face and locks of gold.

And when their life's frail thread is cut by time,
Pas. Like to what, dear shepherd, say?

They punishment find equal to each crime.
Dam. Like to thee, fair cruel May.
Phil. Once, dear shepherd, speak more plain,

And I shall not ask again;
Say, to end this gentle strife,
Dost thou love me as thy life?

Look how in May the rose,
Dam. No, for it is turn'd a slave

At sulphur's azure fumes,
To sad annoys, and what I have

In a short space her crimson blush doth lose,
Of life by love's stronger force

And, all amaz'd, a pallid white assumes.
Is 'reft, and I'm but a dead corse.

So time our best consumes,
Phil. Like to what, good shepherd, say?

Makes youth and beauty pass, Dam. Like to thee, fair cruel May.

And what was pride turns horrour in our glass.

<

DAPHNIS.
TO A SWALLOW

Now Daphnis' arms did grow
BUILDING NEAR THE STATUE OF MEDEA.

la slender branches; and her braided bair,

Which like gold waves did flow, Fond Progne, chattering wretch,

In leafy twigs was stretched in the air; That is Medea! there

The grace of either foot
Wilt thou thy younglings batch?

Transform'd was to a root;.
Will she keep thine, her own who could not spare? A tender bark enwraps ber body fair.
Learn from her frantic face

He who did cause her ill
To seek some fitter place.

Sore wailing stood, and from his blubber'd eyne What other may'st thou hope for, what desire,

Did show'rs of tears upon the ripd distil,
Save Stygian spells, wounds, poison, iron, fire ?

Which, water'd thus, did bud and turn more green.
O deep despair! O heart-appalling grief!
Wben that doth woe increase should bring relief.

VENUS ARMED.

THE BEAR OF LOVE.
To practice new alarms

In woods and desert bounds
In Jove's great court above,
The wanton queen of love.

A beast abroad doth roam;
Of sleeping Mars put on the horrid arms;

So loving sweetness and the honey-comb, Where gazing in a glass

It doth despise the arms of bees and wounds:
To see what thing she was,

I, by like pleasure led,
To mock and scoff the blue-eyed maid did move; To prove what Hear'ns did place
Who said, “Sweet queen, thus should you have of sweet on your fair face,
been dight

Whilst therewith I am fed,
When Vulcan took you napping with your knight.” Rest careless (bear of love) of hellish smart,

And how those eyes afflict and wound my heart.

THE BOAR'S HEAD.

FIVE SONNETS FOR GALATEA.

Amidst a pleasant green

I.
Which Sun did seldom see,
Where play'd Anchises with the Cyprian queen,

STREPHON, in vain thou bring'st thy rhymes and soars, The head of a wild boar hung on a tree:

Deck'd with grave Pindar's old and witber'd dow'rs; And, driven by Zephyrs' breath,

In vain thou count'st the fair Europa's wrongs, Did fall, and wound the lovely youth beneath ;

And her whom Jove deceiv'd in golden show'rs. On whom yet scarce appears

Thou hast slept never under myrtle's shed; So much of blood as Venus' eyes shed tears.

Or, if that passion hath thy soul oppressid, But, ever as she wept, her anthem was,

It is but for some Grecian mistress dead, “ Change, cruel change, alas!

Of such old sighs thou dost discharge thy breast;
My Adon, whilst thou liv'd, was by thee slain ; How can true love with fables hold a place?
Now dead, this lover must thou kill again?”

Thou who with fables dost set forth thy lore,
Thy love a pretty fable needs must prove:
Thou suest for grace, in scorn more to disgrace.
I cannot think thou wert charm'd by my looks,

O no! thou learn'st thy love in lovers' books
TO AN OWL.

II.
ASCALAPHUS, tell me,

No more with candid words infect mine ears;
So may night's curtain long time cover thee, Tell me no more how that you pine in anguish;
So ivy ever may

When sound you sleep, no more say that you lasFrom irksome light keep thy chamber and bed ;

guish; And, in Moon's liv'ry clad,

No more in sweet despite say you spend tears. So may'st thou scorn the choristers of day

Who hath such hollow eyes as not to see, When plaining thou dost stay

How those that are hair-brain'd boast of Apollo, Near to the sacred window of my dear,

And bold give out the Muses do them follos,
Dost ever thou her hear

Though in love's library, yet no lovers be.
To wake, and steal swift hours from drowsy sleep? | If we, poor souls! least favour but them show,
And, when she wakes, doth e'er a stolen sigh creep That straight in wanton lines abroad is blaz'd;
Into thy listening ear?

Their names doth soar on our fame's overthrow;
If that deaf god doth yet her careless keep, Mark'd is our lightness, whilst their wits are prais'.
In louder notes my grief with thine express, In silent thoughits who can no secret cover,
Till by thy shrieks she think on my distress. He may, say we, but not well, be a lover.

III.

TO THAUMANTIA, SINGING.
Ye who with curious numbers, sweetest art,
Frame Dedal nets our beauty to surprise,

Is it not too, too much

Thou late didst to me prove
Telling strange castles builded in the skies,

A basilisk of love,
And tales of Cupid's bow and Cupid's dart;
Well, howsoe'er ye act your feigned smart,

And didst my wits bewitch?

Unless, to cause more harm,
Molesting quiet ears with tragic cries,
When you accuse our chastity's best part,

Made syren too thou with thy voice me charm?

Ah! though thou so my reason didst controul, . Nam'd cruelty, ye seem not half too wise ; Yea, ye yourselves it deem most worthy praise,

That to thy looks I could not prove a mole;
Beauty's best guard; that dragon, which doth keep As not to let me turn asp to thy song.

Yet do me not that wrong,
Hesperian fruit, the spur in you does raise,
'That Delian wit that otherways may sleep:
To cruel nymphs your lines do fame afford,
Oft many pitiful, not one poor word.

UPON A GLASS.
Ip thou wouldst see threads purer than the gold,

Where love his wealth doth show,
IV.

But take this glass, and thy fair hair behold.
Is it be love, to wake out all the night,

If wbiteness thou wouldst see more white than snow,
And watchful eyes drive out in dewy moans, And read on wonder's book,
And, when the Sun brings to the world his light, Take but this glass, and on thy forehead look.
To waste the day in tears and bitter groans;

Wouldst thou in winter see a crimson rose,
If it be love, to dim weak reason's beam

Whose thorns do hurt each heart?
With clouds of strange desire, and make the mind Look but in glass how thy sweet lips do close.
In hellish agonies a Heav'n to dream,

Wouldst thou see planets which all good impart,
Still seeking comforts where but griefs we find, Or meteors divine
1 If it be love, to stain with wanton thought

But take this glass, and gaze upon thine eyne.
A spotless chastity, and make it try

No-planets, rose, snow, gold, cannot compare
More furious flames than his whose cunning wrought with you, dear eyes, lips, brows, and amber hair!
That brazen bull, where he intomb'd did fry;
Then sure is love the causer of such woes,
Be ye our lovers, or our mortal foes.

OF A BEE.
As an audacious knight,

Come with some foe to fight,
And would you then shake off Love's golden chain, His sword doth brandish, makes his armour ring;
With which it is best freedom to be bound ? So this proud bee, at home perhaps a king,
And, cruel! do you seek to heal the wound Did buzzing fly about,
Of love, which hath such sweet and pleasant pain? And, tyrant, after thy fair lip did sting.
All that is subject unto Nature's reign

O champion strange as stout !
In skies above, or on this lower round,

Who hast by nature found
When it its long and far-sought end hath found, Sharp arms, and trumpet shrill, to sound and wound,
Doth in decadens fall and slack remain.
Behold the Moon, how gay her face doth grow
Till she kiss all the Sun, then doth decay !
See how the seas tumultuously do flow
Till they embrace lov'd banks, then post away:

O do not kill that bee
So is 't with love: unless you love me still,

That thus hath wounded thee!
O do not think I 'll yield unto your will !

Sweet, it was no despite,
But bue did him deceive:
For when thy lips did close,

He deemed them a rose.
SONNET.

What wouldst thou further crave?
Care's charming sleep, son of the sable night,

He wanting wit, and blinded with delight,

Would fain have kiss'd, but mad with joy did bite,
Brother to death, in silent darkness born,
Destroy my languish ere the day be light,
With dark forgetting of my care's return;
And let the day be long enough to mourn

OF A KISS.
The sbipwreck of my ill-adyentur'd youth ;
Let wat’ry eyes suffice to wail their scorn,

Ah! of that cruel bee
Without the troubles of the night's untruth. Thy lips have suck'd too much;
Cease, dreams, fond image of my fond desires ! For when they mine did touch,"
To model forth the passions of to morrow;

I found that both they hurt and sweeten'd me:
Let never rising Sun approve your tears,

This by the sting they have,
To add more grief to aggrarate my sorrow : And that they of the honey do receive:
Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, Dear kiss! else by what art
And never wake to feel the day's disdain.

Couldst thou at once both please and wound mybeart? yol y.

OF THE SAME.

1