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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,

A new life gives to others' joys,

Whilst that I
Grief-stricken lie,
Nor can meet

With any sweet
But what faster mine destroys.
What are all the senses' pleasures,
When the mind hath lost all measures !

Hear, O hear!
How sweet and clear
The nightingale

And waters fall
In concert join for others' ears,

Whilst to me,
For harmony,
Every air

Echoes despair,
And every drop provokes a tear,
What are all the senses' pleasures,
When the mind hath lost all measures?

ROBERT VEEL,

Born at Alveston, in Gloucestershire; entered of Edm. Hall,

Oxford, in 1663, aged 15; “ continued there (says Wood) “ about 10 terms; went to the great city, lived after “ the manner of poets, in a debauched way, and wrote “partly for the use of his idle and vain companions, but

more to gain money to carry on the trade of folly.” Among other things he was author of “ New Court Songs “ and Poems," 8vo. 1672. He seems to have been an easy versifier, though without much originality,

VANITY OF WORLDLY HAPPINESS.

How eager are our vain pursuits

Of pleasure, and of worldly joys!
And
yet,

how empty are the fruits !
How full of trouble, grief, and noise !
We to our ancestors new follies add,
Proving ourselves less happy, and more mad.

What, but a tempest, is the world,

Whereon this bark of ours is tost?
Which, by ambition wildly hurld,

Is split against a rock, and lost !

The safer vulgar this with wonder see,
And from our ruin learn humility.

With costlý silks we do adorn

These stalking pageants, made of clay, Whose very flowers, when they are worn,

But emblems are of our decay : Batter'd by sickness, or inflam'd by lust, Or undermin’d by time, we fall to dust.

FRAILTY OF BEAUTY.

As poor Aurelia sat alone,

Hard by a river's flowery side,

Envious at nature's new-born pride, Her slighted self thus she reflected on.

Alas! that nature should revive

These flowers, which after winter's snow

Spring fresh again and brisker show; And for our brighter sex so ill contrive !

Beauty, like them, a short-liv'd thing,

On us in vain he did bestow;

Beauty, that only once can grow, An autumn has, but knows no second spring.

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