FROM THE ITALIAN OF GUARINI.

Tho' chang'd to pens were all the trees;
To paper, heav'n; to ink, the seas :
Still, still, they'd not suffice, I swear,
Thy countless beauties to declare.

Or tho' as many tongues had I,
As sands the shore-as stars the sky:
Still, still, too vast a charm 'twould be,
To name each charm I find in thee.

TO A PHYSICIAN.

From the French of Montreuil.

Raymond, thou hast beneath thy care
Sylvia, the fairest of the fair,

Who treats with cruel scorn each lover;

Her rigour, daily, to the grave

Dooms thousands whom her eyes enslave,
And thou may'st half the nation save,
If Sylvia thou wilt not recover.

LEARNED LADIES.

The erudite Nicholas Udal, in a Dedication to Queen Catharine Parr, says, "It was a common thyng to see young virgins so nouzled and trained to

the studie of letters, that thei willyngly sett all other vain pastymes at nought for learnynge's sake. It was now no news at all, to see queens, and ladies of most high estate and progenie, instede of courtly dalliance, to embrace vertuous exercises, readyng and writyng, and with most earneste studie, both erlye and late, to apply themselves to the acquiryng of knowledge, as well as in all other liberal arts and disciplines, as also, most specially, of God and his most holy word. And in this behalf, like unto your Highnesse, as well for composyng and settyng forth many godly psalms and diverse other contemplative meditations, as also for causyng these paraphrases to be translated into our vulgare language, England can never be able to render thankes sufficient.

TO CELIA.

BY WALSH.

Though Celia's born to be ador'd,

And Strephon to adore her born,

In vain her pity is implor'd

She kills him twice, with charms and scorn.

Fair Saint, to yon blest orb repair,
To learn in Heaven a heav'nly mind:
Thence hearken to a sinner's prayer,

And be less beauteous, or more kind.

TO LUCASTA.

BY COLONEL LOVELACE.

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 chase,
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, Loved I not honour more.

"ON BEDS OF ROSES."

BY RICHARD RYAN.

On beds of roses let me lie,

Where fairies near

May o'er me breathe some spell or sigh, To make me, as in sleep I lie,

Dream of my dear.

For wheresoe'er my dear may rest,
Where'er she be,

One thought dwells ever in her breast,

And, e'er she sinks, by sleep opprest,
She thinks on me.

Then since thy waking thoughts are mine,

My only dear!

Dreams, in exchange, thou'lt not decline,

For mine are worth each thought of thine,-
For they're of thee, my dear.

TO A LADY WHO LAMENTED BEING OF THE

FEMALE SEX.

BY R. A. DAVENPORT.

Nature, Chloris, when she made you,
With all her choicest gifts array'd you;
A beauteous face, seducing form,
A mind sublime, and feelings warm;
And sentiment's delicious treasure,
She lavish'd on you without measure:
What's the reward for all her pains
The kind, th' indulgent mother gains?
Reproaches hard, and scornful slighting
Of graces every heart delighting!

But doating Nature should have known,
You would repay her fond endeavour
With murmurs and with frowns alone,

For children spoil'd are ingrates ever.

U

WOMAN.

Go,-search through ocean, earth, and sky,
To charm thy heart, thine ear, thine eye;
Go, and confess thou canst not trace
A beauty such as woman's face.

Fair is the rose that spreads its hue
To summer skies, serene and blue:
But fairer far the tints that speak
Of innocence on woman's cheek.

Bright is the star that serves to guide
The wand'rer to his own fire-side;
But brighter are the beams that lie
In lovely woman's sun-bright eye.

Sweet is the woodland's even song,
That floats the echoing gleus among ;
But sweeter tones thy hearts rejoice,
In listening to a woman's voice.

Dear to the blossom is the dew,
That can its fading bloom renew;
But dearer far shall lovers sip
The honey-dew on woman's lip.

Go, dig the earth, go,-plough the seas,
For wealth that soon shall cease to please,
Go, find that nothing can impart
A treasure such as woman's heart.