Some set their hearts on winged wealth,
Others to honour's towers aspire;
But give me freedom and my health,
And there's the sum of my desire;
If all the world should pay me rent,
It would not add to my content.

There is no fence against our fate,

Eve's daughters all are born to sorrow; Vicissitudes upon us wait

That laugh to-day, and lour to-morrow. Why should we then, with wrinkled care, Deface what nature made so fair?

UNCERTAIN AUTHORS.

SONNET.

[From Sam. Pecke's "Festum Voluptatis, or Banquet of Pleasure," 1639, 4to.]

YOUNG men fly, when beauty darts
Amorous glances at your hearts:
The fix'd mark gives the shooter aim,
And ladies' looks have power to maim:
Now 'twixt their lips, now in their eyes,
Wrapt in a kiss, or smile, love lies.
Then fly betimes, for only they
Conquer love that run away.

THE BAG OF THE BEE.

From "Wit a sporting in a pleasant Grove of new Fancies," collected by H. B. 1657.

[This is also to be found in Herrick's poems, and ought to have been inserted amongst the extracts from that author.]

ABOUT the sweet bag of a bee

Two Cupids fell at odds:

And whose the pretty prize should be
They vow'd to ask the gods.

Which Venus hearing, thither came,
And for their boldness stript them,
And, taking from them each his flame,
With rods of myrtle whipt them.

Which done, to still the wantons' cries,
When quiet grown she'd seen them,
She kiss'd, and wip'd their dove-like eyes,
And gave the bag between them.

TO HIS MISTRESS.

[From "Wit restored," a poetical miscellany, 1658, 12mo.]

I'LL tell you whence the rose did first grow red,
And whence the lilly whiteness borrowed.
You blush'd; and then the rose with red was dight:
The lilly kist your hands; and so came white:
Before that time the rose was but a stain,

The lilly nought but paleness did contain.
You have the native colour! these-they die;
And only flourish in your livery!

PHILLADA FLOUTS ME.

[From the same Collection.]

OH! what a pain is love;
How shall I bear it?
She will unconstant prove,
I greatly fear it.

She so torments my mind,

That my strength faileth,
And wavers with the wind,

As a ship that saileth;

Please her the best I may,

She looks another way;

Alack and well-a-day!

Phillada flouts me!

All the fair yesterday
She did pass by me;
She look'd another way,
And would not spy me.
I woo'd her for to dine,
But could not get her.
Will had her to the wine;
He might entreat her.
With Daniel she did dance,
On me she look'd askance,
Oh! thrice unhappy chance!
Phillada flouts me!

Fair maid! be not so coy,

Do not disdain me;

I am my mother's joy,

Sweet! entertain me!

She'll give me, when she dies,

All that is fitting;

Her poultry, and her bees,

And her geese sitting;