Let it fly as unconfin'd

As its calm ravisher the Wind;
Who hath left his darling th' east
To wanton o'er that spicy nest.

Every tress must be confest
But neatly tangled at the best;
Like a clew of golden thread,
Most excellently ravelled.

Do not then wind up that light
In ribbons, and o'ercloud in night,
Like the Sun in 's early ray,

But shake your head and scatter day!

SONG.

To Lucasta. Going to the wars.

TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chace,
The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Lov'd I not honour more.

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; When I lie tangled in her hair, And fetter'd to her eye,—

The birds, that wanton in the air,
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,—
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*
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my king;

When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,—
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;

Minds innocent and quiet take

That for an hermitage.
If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,—
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

* Dr. Percy has changed this line into "When, linnet

“like confined, I," which is more intelligible.

ABRAHAM COWLEY

Was born in 1618, and died in 1667.

ODE.

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 right, without deceit, And such no woman e'er will be: No, they are all sophisticate.

Follies they have so numberless in store,

That only he who loves them can have more.
Neither their sighs nor tears are true;
Those idly blow, these idly fall,

Nothing like to our's 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 things too go round?