Then they'll shew bright,

And like us light,

When leaving bodies with their care,

They slide to us and air.

THE INDIAN

EMPEROR.

1665.

I

ΑΙ

THE FOLLY OF MAKING TROUBLES.

H fading joy! how quickly art thou past!
Yet we thy ruin haste.

As if the cares of human life were few,

We seek out new:

And follow fate, which would too fast pursue.

See how on every bough the birds express
In their sweet notes their happiness.

They all enjoy and nothing spare,

But on their mother nature lay their care:
Why then should man, the lord of all below,
Such troubles choose to know,

As none of all his subjects undergo?

Hark, hark, the waters, fall, fall, fall,

And with a murmuring sound

Dash, dash, upon

the ground,

To gentle slumbers call.

SECRET LOVE; OR, THE MAIDEN QUEEN. 1667.

CONCEALED LOVE.

FEED a flame within, which so torments me,

That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me:

"Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it,

That I had rather die, than once remove it.

Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it;
My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it.
Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses,
But they fall silently, like dew on roses.

Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel,
My heart's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel:
And while I suffer this to give him quiet,
My faith rewards my love, though he deny it.
will I
eyes
and there delight me;

On his

gaze, While I conceal my love no frown can fright me: To be more happy, I dare not aspire;

Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher.

SIR MARTIN MAR-ALL; OR, THE FEIGNED INNOCENCE. 1667.

DEEP IN LOVE.

BLIND love, to this hour,

Had ne'er, like me, a slave under his power:
Then blessed be the dart,

That he threw at my heart;

For nothing can prove

A joy so great, as to be wounded with love.

My days, and my nights,

Are filled to the purpose with sorrows and frights:
From my heart still I sigh,

And my eyes are ne'er dry;

So that, Cupid be praised,

I am to the top of love's happiness raised.

My soul's all on fire,

So that I have the pleasure to dote and desire:

Such a pretty soft pain,

That it tickles each vein;

"Tis the dream of a smart,

[heart.

Which makes me breathe short, when it beats at my

Sometimes, in a pet,

When I'm despised, I my freedom would get:

But straight a sweet smile

Does my anger beguile,

And my heart does recal;

Then the more I do struggle, the lower I fall.

Heaven does not impart

Such a grace as to love unto every one's heart;
For many may wish

To be wounded, and miss:

Then blessed be love's fire,

And more blessed her eyes, that first taught me desire.

TYRANNIC LOVE; OR, THE ROYAL MARTYR. 1669.

ST. CATHERINE ASLEEP.

You pleasing dreams of love and sweet delight,

Appear before this slumbering Virgin's sight:

Soft visions set her free

From mournful piety;

Let her sad thoughts from heaven retire;

And let the melancholy love

Of those remoter joys above

Give place to your more sprightly fire;

Let purling streams be in her fancy seen,

And flowery meads, and vales of cheerful green;
And in the midst of deathless groves

Soft sighing wishes lie,

And smiling hopes fast by,

And just beyond them ever-laughing loves.

A

THE COURSE OF LOVE.

H, how sweet it is to love!
Ah, how gay is young desire!
And what pleasing pains we prove
When we first approach love's fire!
Pains of love be sweeter far
Than all other pleasures are.

Sighs, which are from lovers blown,
Do but gently heave the heart:
Even the tears they shed alone,
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart.

Lovers when they lose their breath,
Bleed away in easy death.

Love and time with reverence use;
Treat them like a parting friend,
Nor the golden gifts refuse,

Which in youth sincere they send:
For each year their price is more,
And they less simple than before.
Love, like spring-tides, full and high,
Swells in every youthful vein;
But each tide does less supply,
Till they quite shrink in again :
If a flow in age appear,

'Tis but rain, and runs not clear.

WHO

That never viewed a brave sea-fight! Hang up your bloody colours in the air,

Up with your lights, and your nettings prepare; Your merry mates cheer with a lusty bold spright, Now each man his brindice, and then to the fight. St. George! St. George! we cry,

The shouting Turks reply.

Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot,
Ply it with culverin and with small shot;

Hark, does it not thunder? no, 'tis the gun's roar,
The neighbouring billows are turned into gore;
Now each man must resolve to die,

For here the coward cannot fly.

Drums and trumpets toll the knell,

And culverins the passing bell.

Now, now they grapple, and now board amain;
Blow up the hatches, they're off all again:

Give them a broadside, the dice run at all,

Down comes the mast, and yard and tacklings fall; She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune's wheel, She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel. Who ever beheld so noble a sight,

As this so brave, so bloody sea-fight!

ALBION AND ALBANUS.

FROM

1685.

NEREIDS RISING FROM THE SEA.

ROM the low palace of old father Ocean,
Come we in pity our cares to deplore;
Sea-racing dolphins are trained for our motion,
Moony tides swelling to roll us ashore.

Every nymph of the flood, her tresses rending,
Throws off her armlet of pearl in the main;
Neptune in anguish his charge unattending,
Vessels are foundering, and vows are in vain.

KING ARTHUR; OR, THE BRITISH WORTHY. 1691.

YOU

HARVEST HOME.*

OUR hay it is mowed, and your corn is reaped :
Your barns will be full, and your hovels heaped:
Come, my boys, come;

Come, my boys, come;

And merrily roar out harvest home!

Harvest home,

Harvest home;

And merrily roar out harvest home!

Come, my boys, come, &c.

* This rustic madrigal, with its rant against the parsons, forms part of the enchantments of Merlin, and is sung by Comus and peasants. The introduction of Comus is as anomalous as the allusion to tithes.