On down and floods then, swan-like, I
Will stretch my limbs, and singing die.
'Tis wine and love, and love in wine,
Inspires our youth with flames divine.

Robert Heath.

UNGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED.

NOW Celia, (since thou art so proud,)
'Twas I that gave thee thy renown;
Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd
Of common beauties, lived unknown,
Had not my verse exhaled thy name,
And with it impt the wings of fame.

That killing power is none of thine,

I gave it to thy voice and eyes;
Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;

Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies :
Then dart not from thy borrow'd sphere
Lightning on him that fix'd thee there.

Tempt me with such affrights no more,
Lest what I made I uncreate,
Let fools thy mystic forms adore,

I'll know thee in thy mortal state:
Wise poets, that wrapt truth in tales,
Knew her themselves through all her veils.

Thomas Carew.

DRINKING SONG.

OME, let the state stay
And drink away,

There is no business above it:

It warms the cold brain,

Makes us speak in high strain,

He's a fool that does not approve it.

The Macedon youth

Left behind him this truth,

That nothing is done with much thinking;
He drunk and he fought,

Till he had what he sought:

The world was his own by good drinking.

Sir John Suckling.

YOUNG FOLLY.

INE young Folly, tho' you were
That fair beauty I did swear,

Yet you ne'er could reach my heart;

For we courtiers learn at school,

Only with your sex to fool

You're not worth the serious part.

When I sigh and kiss your hand,
Cross my arms, and wond'ring stand,
Holding parley with your eye:

Then dilate on my desires,

Swear the sun ne'er shot such fires,
All is but a handsome lie.

When I eye your curl or lace,
Gentle soul, you think your face
Straight some murder doth commit;
your virtue doth begin

And

To grow scrupulous of my sin,
When I talk to show my wit.

Therefore, madam, wear no cloud,
Nor to check my love grow proud,
For in sooth, I much do doubt
'Tis the powder on your hair,
Not your breath, perfumes the air,

And your clothes that set you out.
Yet though truth has this confess'd,
And I vow I love in jest,

When I next begin to court, And protest an amorous flame, You will swear I in earnest am, Bedlam! this is pretty sport.

William Habington.

THE SURPRISE.

HERE'S no dallying with love,

Though he be a child and blind; Then let none the danger prove, Who would to himself be kind; Smile he does when thou dost play, But his smiles to death betray.

Lately with the boy I sported,

Love I did not, yet love feign'd ; Had not mistress, yet I courted; Sigh I did, yet was not pain'd;

'Till at last this love in jest Proved in earnest my unrest.

When I saw my fair one first,
In a feigned fire I burn'd;

But true flames my poor heart pierced
When her eyes on mine she turn'd:
So a real wound I took

For my counterfeited look.

None who loves not then make shew,

Love's as ill deceived as fate;

Fly the boy, he'll cog and woo;

[2 st.

Mock him, and he wounds thee straight.

Ah! who dally boast in vain;

False love wants not real pain.

Edward Sherburne.

GOOD COUNSEL TO A YOUNG MAID.

HEN you the sun-burnt pilgrim see,

Fainting with thirst, haste to the springs; Mark how, at first with bended knee

He courts the crystal nymphs, and flings

His body to the earth, where he
Prostrate adores the flowing deity.

But when this sweaty face is drench'd
In her cool waves, when from her sweet
Bosom his burning thirst is quench'd;

Then mark how with disdainful feet
He kicks her banks, and from the place,
That thus refresh'd him, moves with sullen pace.

So shalt thou be despised, fair maid,
When by the sated lover tasted;
What first he did with tears invade,

Shall afterwards with scorn be wasted:
When all thy virgin-springs grow dry,

When no streams shall be left, but in thine eye.

Thomas Carew.

TO CASTARA.

IVE me a heart where no impure
Disorder'd passions rage;

Which jealousy doth not obscure,
Nor vanity t' expense engage;
Nor woo'd to madness by quaint oaths,
Or the fine rhetoric of clothes,

Which not the softness of the age

To vice or folly doth decline:

Give me that heart, Castara, for 'tis thine.

Take thou a heart, where no new look

Provokes new appetite:

With no fresh charm of beauty took,
Or wanton stratagem of wit;
Not idly wandering here and there,
Led by an amorous eye or ear;

Aiming each beauteous mark to hit;

Which virtue doth to one confine:

Take thou that heart, Castara, for 'tis mine. [1 st.

William Habington.