If she slight me when I woe, Abrabam Cowley 1618-1667 A VOTE (From Poetical Blossoms, second ed., 1636) This only grant me, that my means may lie Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends Not on the number, but the choice of friends. Books should, not business, entertain the light, And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night. My house a cottage more Than palace, and should fitting be For all my use, no luxury. My garden painted o'er With nature's hand, not art's; and pleasures yield, Horace might envy in his Sabine field. Thus would I double my life's fading space, These unbought sports, this happy state, To-morrow let my sun his beams display, THE GRASSHOPPER (From Miscellanies, 1650) Happy Insect what can be Thou dost drink, and dance, and sing; More harmonious than he. Thee country hindes with gladness hear, Thee Phoebus loves, and does inspire; Phœbus is himself thy sire. To thee of all things upon earth, Life is no longer than thy mirth, Happy insect, happy thou, Dost neither age, nor winter know, But when thou'st drunk, and danced, and sung, Thy fill, the flowery leaves among (Voluptuous, and wise with all, Epicurean animal!) Sated with thy summer feast, Thou retir'st to endless rest. James Sbirley 1596-1667 A DIRGE (From The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses, 1659) The glories of our blood and state Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made Some men with swords may reap the field, Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath, When they, poor captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; See, where the victor-victim bleeds: To the cold tomb, Only the actions of the just Smell sweet and blossom in their dust. Thomas Carew 1589-1639 DISDAIN RETURNED (Printed, without concluding stanza, in Porter's Madrigalles and Ayres, 1632) He that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires; Or from star-like eyes doth seek As old Time makes these decay, But a smooth and steadfast mind, No tears, Celia, now shall win, Sir John Suckling 1609-1641 ORSAMES' SONG. (From Aglaura, acted 1637) Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Will, when looking well can't move her, Prithee, why so pale? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Prithee, why so mute? Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move: This cannot take her. If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her: Richard Lovelace 1618-1658 TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS (From Lucasta, 1649) Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind True, a new mistress now I chase, Yet this inconstancy is such I could not love thee, dear, so much, |