SONGS,

EY THOMAS CAREW, ESQ.*

MURDRING BEAUTY.

I'L

gaze no more on her bewitching face, Since ruine harbours there in every place: For my

enchanted soul alike she drowns With calms and tempests of her smiles and frowns. I'I love no more those cruel eyes of hers, 5 Which, pleas'd or anger'd, ftill are murderers. For if she dart (like lightning) thro' the ayr Her beams of wrath, she kils me with despair; If the behold me with a pleasing eye, I surfet with excefle of joy, and dye. 10

ETERNITY OF LOVE PROTESTED.

How ill doth he deserve a lover's name,

Whose pale weak flame
Cannot retain

• Born 1589; dyed 1639.

His heat in spight of absence or disdain ;
But doth at once, like paper

fet on fire,

5 Burn and expire ! True love can never change his seat, Nor did he ever love that could retreat. That noble flame, which my breft keeps alive, Shall still survive

JO When my soule's fled; Nor shall my love dye when my bodye's dead; That shall wait on me to the lower shade,

And never fade. My very ashes in their urn

15 Shall, like a hallowed lamp, for ever burn.

THE FAREWELL.

BY HENRY KING, BISHOP OF CHICHESTER.*

Splendidis longùm valedico nugis.

Farewell,fond Love, under whose childish whip
I have serv'd out a weary prentiship;
Thou that haft made me thy scorn'd property,
To dote on rocks, but yielding loves to fly:
Go, bane of my dear quiet and content, 5
Now practise on some other patient.

Farewell, false Hope, that fann'd my warm desire,
Till it had rais'd a wild unruly fire,
Which nor fighs cool, nor tears extinguish can,
Although my eyes out-Aow'd the ocean:
Forth of my thoughts for ever, thing of air,
Begun in errour, finish’d in despair.

Farewell, vain World, upon whose restless stage
Twixt Love and Hope, I have foold out my age;
Henceforth, ere sue to thee for

my

redress, 15
Ile wooe the wind, or court the wilderness;
And buried from the dayes discovery,
Study a flow yet certain way to dy.

* Born 1592 ; dyed 1669.

20

My woful monument shall be a cell,
The murmur of the purling brook my knell;
My lasting epitaph the rock shall grone:
Thus when sad lovers ask the weeping stone,
What wretched thing does in that center lie?
The hollow eccho will reply, 'twas I.

THE STORY OF PHOEBUS AND DAPHNE

APPLIED.

BY EDMUND WALLER, ESQ.*

IO

Thirsis, a youth of the inspired train,
Fair Sacharissa lov'd, but lov'd in vain :
Like Phoebus sung the no lesse amorous boy;
Like Daphne she, as lovely and as coy:
With numbers he the flying nimph pursues, 5
With numbers such as Phoebus self might use:
Such is the chase when love and fancy leads
Ore craggy mountains, and through flowry meads;
Invok'd to testifie the lovers care,
Or form fome image of his cruell fair.
Urg'd with his fary, like a wounded deer,
Ore these he fled; and, now approaching near,
Had reacht the nimph with his harmonious lay,
Whom all his charms could not incline to stay;
Yet what he sung in his immortal strain, 15
Though unsuccessfull, was not sung in vain :
All, but the nimph that should redress his wrong,
Attend his passion, and approve his song.
Like Phoebus thus, acquiring unfought praise,
He catcht at love, and fill'd his arm with bayes,