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UNGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED. K NOW, Celia (since thou art so proud)

'Twas I that gave thee thy renown; Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd

Of common beauties, liv'd unknown, Had not my verse exhald 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 wrap truth in tales,
Know her themselves through all her veils.

Now that the Winter's gone, the Earth hath lost Her snow-white robes; and now no more the

Frost Candies the grass, or casts an icy cream Upon the silver lake, or crystal stream : But the warm Sun thaws the benumbed earth, And makes it tender ; gives a second birth To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble bee. Now, do a choir of Chirping Minstrels bring In triumph to the world the youthful Spring ; The valleys, hills and woods, in rich array, Welcome the Morning of the longed-for May... Now all things smile! only my Love doth lour! Nor hath the scalding noon-day sun the pow'r i

To melt the marble ice that still doth hold
Her heart congeal'd, and make her pity cold.
The ox, which lately did for shelter fly
Into the stall, doth now securely lie,
In open fields; and love no more is made
By the fireside : but in the cooler shade
Amyntas now doth with his Chloris sleep,
Under a sycamore; and all things keep
Time with the Season.-Only she doth carry
June in her eyes ; in her heart, January !

ASK ,

When June is past, the fading rose?
For in your beauties' orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more-whither do stray
The golden atoms of the Day;
For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more-whither doth haste
The Nightingale, when May is past;
For in your sweet-dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more-where those Stars light,
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.
Ask me no more-if east or west,
The Phænix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you, at last, she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies !

Vol. I.

SHIRLEY.

DEATH's FINAL CONQUEST. THE

glories of our birth and state

Are shadows, not substantial things ; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hands on kings.

Sceptre and crown

Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field,

And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still.

Early or late,

They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow,

Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Upon death's purple altar now, See where the victor victim bleeds.

All heads must come

To the cold tomb ;
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust.

HABINGTON.

TO THE SUN. THOU art return?d, great Light, to that blest hour

In which I first, by marriage' sacred power, Join'd with Castara hearts; and as the same Thy lustre is as then, so is our flame: Which had increas'd, but that by love's decree Twas such at first-it ne'er could greater be ! But tell me, glorious Lamp! in thy survey Of things below thee, what did not decay By age to weakness ? I, since that, have seen The Rose bud forth and fade; the Tree grow green, And wither; and the beauty of the field With Winter wrinkled : even thyself dost yield Something to Time, and to the grave fall nigher: But Virtuous Love is one sweet, endless fire!

THE DESCRIPTION OF CASTARA.
LIK
IKE the violet, which alone

Prospers in some happy shade,
My Castara lives unknown,

To no looser eye betray'd ; For she's to herself untrue, Who delights i'th' public view. Such is her beauty, as no arts

Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace ;
Her high birth no pride imparts,

For she blushes in her place;
Folly boasts a glorious blood-
She is noblest, being good.
She her throne makes reason climb,

Whilst wild passions captive lie;
And, each article of time,
Her pure thoughts to heaven fly.
All her vows religious be,
And her love she vows to me.

TO CASTARA. GIVE me a heart, where no impure

Disorder'd passions rage;
Which jealousy doth not obscure,

Nor vanity t expence engage:
Nor woo'd to madness by quaint oaths,
Or the fine rhetoric of cloaths,

Which not the softness of the age
To vice or folly doth incline :
Give me that heart, Castarà, 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.

SONG.
FINE.young Folly, tho’ you were

That fair beauty I did swear,
Yet you ne'er could touch 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,

Hoiding 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

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