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Do not conceal those breasts of thine,
Do not conceal that fragrant scent,
Do not conceal thy heavenly voice,
Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse,
Do not conceal no beauty, grace,
TO CYNTHIA, ON HER MOTHER'S DECEASE.
APRIL is past! then do not shed,
Nor do not waste in vain, Upon thy mother's earthy bed,
Thy tears of silver rain.
Thou canst not hope that her cold earth
By watering will bring forth
To one of the like worth.
Tis true the rain fall’n from the sky,
Or from the clouded air,
And makes the heaven more fair.
With thy dear face it is not so,
Which if once overcast,
They like the Syrens blast.
Therefore, when sorrow shall becloud
Thy fair serenest day,
To chace the storm away.
Author of “ Poems divine and humane,” (London, 1641) a
very scarce little volume. These posthumous poems contain many good lines, but in general wretchedly marred by extravagant conceits. The following is, perhaps, the
least faulty specimen. From the numerous complimentary verses by contemporary
wits, which, according to the custom of the times, usher in the author and his productions with hyperbolical praise, it appears that Beedome died very young.
THE QUESTION AND ANSWER.
When the sad ruin of that face
In its own wrinkles buried lies, And the stiff pride of all its grace,
By time undone falls slack, and dies; Wilt thou not sigh, and wish, in some vex'd fit, That it were now as when I courted it?
And when thy glass shall it present
Without those smiles which once were there, Shewing, like some stale monument,
A scalp departed from its hair;
At thyself frighted, wilt not start, and swear
Yes, yes, I know thou wilt; and so
Pity the weakness of thy scorn,
Though fair it was, it is forlorn.
Then shall I live; and live to be
Thy envy, thou my pity: say Whene'er thou see me, or I thee,
(Being nighted from thy beauty's day) 6 "Tis he! and had my pride not wither'd me, “ I had, perhaps, been still as fresh as he."
Then shall I smile, and answer,“ True; thy scorn “ Left thee thus wrinkled, slackt, corrupt, forlorn."
A writer concerning whom nothing seems to be known,
except that he published a sniall volume in 1657, under the title of “ Tarpıxov Awfov, or, a legacy to his sons, “ being a miscellany of precepts, theological, moral, poli“tical, and oeconomical, digested into seven centuries of “ quadrins," second edition: the first appeared in 1651. These moral and religious epigrams (for such they are) appear to be the real dictates of paternal solicitude, and the result of long experience. A few specimens, taken by chance from the concluding century, may serve as examples of the author's style; which is uniformly nervous and correct, and highly creditable to his learning and good sense as well as piety, but seldom very eminently poetical.
chine Some stately structure leans its weighty head, Are from their centre mov'd, or made incline,
The pile soon sinks, and shrinks to its first bed:
So, when you see death's agents daily come,
And from the earth just men and good translate,