Set; O then, how long a night
Shuts the

eyes of our short light!
Then let amorous kisses dwell
On our lips; begin, and tell
A thousand, and a hundred score,
An hundred, and a thousand more;
"Till another thousand smother
That, and that wipe off another.
Thus, at last, when we have number'd
Many a thousand, many a hundred,
We'll confound the reckoning quite,
And lose ourselves in wild delight:
While our joys so multiply
As shall mock the envious eye.


Love, brave virtue's younger brother,
Erst had made my heart a mother.
She consults the conscious spheres,
To calculate her


son's years : She asks if sad or saving powers Gave omen to his infant hours:

She asks each star that then stood by

love shall live or die..

If poor

Ah my heart! is that the way?
Are these the beams that rule thy day?
Thou know'st a face, in whose each look
Beauty lays ope love's fortune-book :
On whose fair revolutions wait
Th'obsequious motions of love's fate.
Ah, my heart! her eyes and she
Have taught thee new astrology!
Howe'er love's native hours were set,
Whatever starry synod met,
"Tis in the mercy of her eye,
If poor love shall live or die.

If those sharp rays, putting on
Points of death, bid love begone,
(Though the heav'ns in council sate
To crown an uncontrolled fate;
Though their best aspects, twin'd upon
The kindest constellation,
Cast amorous glances on his birth,
And whisper'd the confederate earth
To pave his paths with all the good
That warms the bed of youth and blood ;)
Love has no plea against her eye:
Beauty frowns, and love must die.

But if her milder influence move,
And gild the hopes of humble love;
(Though heaven's inauspicious eye
Lay black on love's nativity;
Though every diamond in Jove's crown
Fix'd his forehead to a frown ;)
Her eye a strong appeal can give :
Beauty smiles; and love shall live.

Epitaph upon Husband and Wife, who died and

were buried together.
To these, whom death again did wed,
This grave's the second marriage-bed.
For, though the hand of fate could force
'Twixt soul and body a divorce,
It could not sever man and wife,
Because they both liv'd but one life.
Peace, good reader, do not weep;
Peace, the lovers are asleep.

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They, sweet turtles, folded lie
In the last knot that love could tie.
[And though they lie as they were dead,
Their pillow stone, their sheets of lead;
Pillow hard, and sheets not warm,
Love made the bed, they'll take no harm.]
Let them sleep, let them sleep on,
"Till this stormy night be gone,
And the eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn,
And they wake into a light
Whose day shall never die in night.

The lines inclosed in brackets are in no printed edition; they were found in a MS. copy, and are perhaps not Crashaw's.


Younger brother of the treasurer Godolphin. His character

is very minutely drawn by lord Clarendon, in his account of his own life, and in the History of the Rebellion. He was born in 1610, and killed at the attack of Chagford in Devonshire, Jan. 1642-3. His translation of the third book of the Æneid is printed in Dryden's Miscellanies, Vol. IV. p. 134. The following specimen was copied from a MS. in the possession of Mr. Malone, containing several small poems by Godolphin, Waller, Carew, and others.


Or love, me less, or love me more;

And play not with my liberty: Either take all, or all restore;

Bind me at least, or set me free. Let me some nobler torture find Than of a doubtful wavering mind : Take all my peace! but you betray Mine honour too, this cruel way.

'Tis true that I have nurs'd before

That hope, of which I now complain;

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