By this who does not plainly see,

How down our throats at once is hurl'd (Whilst merrily we drinking be)

The quintessence of all the world? Whilst all drink then in land, air, sea, Let us too drink as well as they.

Invocation of Silence.

STILL-born Silence! thou that art

Flood-gate of the deeper heart!

Offspring of a heavenly kind,

Frost o' th' mouth, and thaw o' th' mind.
Secrecy's confident, and he

Who makes religion mystery!
Admiration's speaking'st tongue!
Leave, thy desart shades among,
Reverend hermits' hallowed cells,
Where retir'd Devotion dwells!
With thy enthusiasms come,

Seize our tongues, and strike us dumb!

MATTHEW STEVENSON,

Author of "Poems, or a miscellany of Sonnets, Satyrs, "Drollery, Panegyricks, Elegies, &c." London, 1673, 12mo. a book which sometimes occurs with the title of "Norfolk "Drollery ;" and in 1685 was called "The Wits, or Poems "and Songs on various Occasions." A different volume of "Poems by Matthew Stevenson," appeared in 1665, and "Bellum Presbyteriale," an heroic poem, in 1661. In 1654, he printed a 12mo. miscellany, styled “Occa"sion's Offspring." Stevenson seems to have resembled Fleckno as a poet and publisher. The following song from the first-mentioned miscellany is tolerable.

SONG.

Carolina.

SHOULD I sigh out my days in grief,
And, as my beads, count miseries,
My wound would meet with no relief
For all the balsam of mine eyes:
I'll therefore set my heart at rest,
And of bad market make the best.

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 could 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 lower to-morrow. Why should we then, with wrinkled care,

Deface what nature made so fair?

UNCERTAIN AUTHORS.

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 lily whiteness borrowed.

You blush'd; and then the rose with red was dight:
The lily kist your hands; and so came white:
Before that time the rose was but a stain,
The lily 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;