"This done, she rolls in death her dizzy eyes,

"And with a sigh, which I received, she dies!"

SONG.

BY SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.

HEARS

EARS 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,

"Without his dart or flame."

Phillis, without frown or smile,

Sat and knotted all the while.

"So many months in silence past,

"And yet in raging love,

"Might well deserve one word at last

"My passion should approve."

Phillis, without frown or smile,

Sat and knotted all the while.

"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.

Let that inclination perish,

Which I dare no longer cherish!

With harmless thoughts I did begin,
But in the crowd Love enter'd in;
I knew him not, he was so gay,
So innocent, and full of play.

At every hour, in every place,
I either saw, or form'd your face:
All that in plays was finely writ
Fancy for you and me did fit.

My dreams at night were all of you,
Such as till then I never knew.

I sported thus with young Desire,
Never intending to go higher..

But now his teeth and claws are grown,

Let me the fatal lion shun;

You found me harmless-leave me so!
For, were I not, you'd leave me too.

SONG.

BY THE SAME.

Nor, Celia, that I juster am

Or better than the rest;

For I would change each hour, like them,

Were not my heart at rest.

But I am tied to very thee

By every thought I have: Thy face I only care to see, Thy heart I only crave.

All that in woman is adored,
In thy dear self I find ;

For the whole sex can but afford
The handsome and the kind.

Why then should I seek farther store,
And still make love anew?

When change itself can give no more,
'Tis easy to be true.

LAURA SLEEPING.

BY CHARLES COTTON.

WINDS, whisper gently whilst she sleeps,

And fan her with your cooling wings, Whilst she her drops of beauty weeps From pure, and yet-unrivall'd springs!

M

Glide over beauty's field, her face,
To kiss her lip and cheek be bold,
But with a calm and stealing pace,
Neither too rude, nor yet too cold.

Play in her beams, and crisp her hair,
With such a gale as wings soft love;
And with so sweet, so rich an air,

As breathes from the Arabian grove.

A breath as hush'd as lover's sigh,

Or that unfolds the morning's door; Sweet, as the winds that gently fly

Το sweep the spring's enamell'd floor.

SONG.

BY THE SAME.

PRITHEE, why so angry, sweet?

'Tis in vain

To dissemble a disdain :

That frown i' th' infancy I'll meet,

And kiss it to a smile again.