True, a new mistress now I chace, And with a stronger faith embrace Yet this inconstancy is such I could not love thee, dear, so much, SONNET. WHEN I by thy fair shape did swear (And mingled with each vow a tear) I lov'd, I lov'd thee best, I swore as I profest; For all the while you lasted warm and pure My oaths too did endure; But once turn'd faithless to thyself, and old, They then with thee incessantly grew cold. SONG. To Althea, from prison. WHEN love, with unconfined wings, Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; The "birds," that wanton in the air, When flowing cups run swiftly round Our careless heads with roses bound, Fishes, that tipple in the deep, Know no such liberty. In the original it is "gods." The correction, which is very happy, is Dr. Percy's. When, like committed linnets, I* When I shall voice aloud how good Stone walls do not a prison make, That for an hermitage. And in my soul am free,- Enjoy such liberty. Dr. Percy has changed this line into "When, linnet "like confined, I," which is more intelligible. ABRAHAM COWLEY, Born in 1618. Died in 1667. O D E. [Abridged from 5 stanzas.] HERE'S to thee, Dick-this whining love despise ; Pledge me, my friend, and drink till thou be'st wise. It sparkles brighter far than she; "Tis pure and bright, without deceit, And such no woman e'er will be: No, they are all sophisticate. * Follies they have so numberless in store, 1 Neither their sighs nor tears are true, Those idly blow, these idly fall, Nothing like to ours at all: But sighs and tears have sexes too. Here's to thee again; thy senseless sorrows drown'd, Let the glass walk, till all thy griefs go round; Again; till these two lights be four; [Extract from "the Spring.”] THOUGH you be absent here, I needs must say The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay As ever they were wont to be: Nay, the birds' rural music too Is as melodious and free As if they sung to pleasure you. I saw a rose-bud ope this morn-I'll swear, [From "the Request."] I ASK not one in whom all beauties grow— . Let me but love, whate'er she be, She cannot seem deform'd to me; And I would have her seem to others so. |