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And, where their love could not prevail, Take the vain liberty to rail.

Whoe'er would make his victor less,
Must his own weak defence confess;
And, while her power he does defame,
He poorly doubles his own shame.

Even that malice does betray,
And speak concern another way;
And all such scorn in me is but
The smoke of fires ill put out.

He's still in torment, whom the rage
To detraction does engage:
In love, indifference is sure
The only sign of perfect cure.

SONG.

“ HEARS not my Phillis, how the birds

Their feather'd mates salute? “ They tell their passion in their words ;

“ Must I alone be mute ?"

Phillis, without frown or smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.

“ The god of love in thy bright eyes

" Does like a tyrant reign; “ But in thy heart a child he lies,

cc Without his dart or flame." Phillis, &c.

So many months in silence past,

“And yet in raging love, “ Might well deserve one word at last

“ My passion should approve." Phillis, &c.

“ Must then your faithful swain expire,

" And not one look obtain; " Which he, to sooth his fond desire,

“ Might pleasingly explain ?" Phillis, without frown or smile, Sat and knotted all the while.

SONG,

Phillis is my only joy,

Faithless as the winds or seas ; Sometimes coming, sometimes coy, Yet she never fails to please.

If with a frown
I am cast down,
Phillis smiling,

And beguiling,
Makes me happier than before.

Though, alas ! too late I find

Nothing can her fancy fix;
Yet the moment she is kind,
I forgive her all her tricks;

Which though I see,
I can't get free;
She deceiving,

I believing;
What need lovers wish for more ?

OUT OF LYCOPHRON.

What shall become of man so wise

When he dies?

None can tell
Whether he goes to heaven or hell

Or, after a few moments here,

He disappear;

And at last
Perish entirely like a beast?

But women, wine, and mirth, we know, Are all the joys he has below:

Let us then ply those joys we have;
'Tis vain to think beyond the grave.
Out of our reach the gods have laid

Of time to come th' event,
And laugh to see the fools afraid

Of what the knaves invent,

GEORGE DIGBY, EARL OF BRISTOL,

Born in Madrid, 1612: died, 1676. “ A singular person,

(says lord Orford) whose life was one contradiction. He wrote against popery, and embraced it: he was a zealous

opposer of the court, and a sacrifice for it: was con“ scientiously converted, in the midst of his prosecution of “ lord Strafford, and was most unconscientiously a prose“cutor of lord Clarendon. With great parts, he always “ hurt himself and his friends; with romantic bravery, “ he was always an unsuccessful commander. He spoke “ for the test-act though a Roman-catholic; and addicted “ himself to astrology on the birth-day of true philosophy.” For particulars of his life, and a catalogue of his writings,

vide Wood Ath. Vol. II. p. 579. This eccentric man composed a comedy called “ Elvira,"

from whence the following song is extracted. It was printed in 1667, and obtained his lordship a place in Suckling's “ Session of the Poets.”

SONG.

See, O see!
How every tree,
Every bower,
Every flower,

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