We need nor star, nor sun,

Save him, to lengthen days, and joys begun :
Sorrow and night to far climes haste away.

Now majesty and love

Combin'd are from above;

Prince never sceptre sway'd,

Love subjects more, of subjects more obey'd, Which may endure whilst Heaven's great orbs do

move.

Joys, did you always last,

Life's spark you soon would waste;
Grief follows sweet delight,

As day is shadowed by sable night,

Yet shall remembrance keep you still, when past.

MISCELLANIES.

A PASTORAL SONG.

PHILLIS AND DAMON.

Phil. SHEPHERD, dost thou love me well?
Dam. Better than weak words can tell.
Phil. Like to what good shepherd, say?
Dam. Like to thee, fair cruel May.
Phil. O how strange these words I find!
Yet to satisfy my mind,

Shepherd, without mocking me,
Have I any love from thee?
Like to what, good shepherd, say?
Dam. Like to thee, fair cruel May.
Phil. Better answer had it been,

To say thou lov'st me as thine eyne.
Dam. Wo is me! these I love not,
For by them love entrance got.
At that time they did behold,
Thy sweet face and locks of gold.
Phil. Like to what, dear shepherd, say?
Dam. Like to thee, fair cruel May.

Phil. Once, dear shepherd, speak more plain,
And I shall not ask again;

Say, to end this gentle strife,
Dost thou love me as thy life?

Dam. No, for it is turn'd a slave

To sad annoys, and what I have
Of life by love's stronger force

Is 'reft, and I 'm but a dead corse.
Phil. Like to what, good shepherd, say?
Dam. Like to thee, fair cruel May.
Phil. Learn I pray this, like to thee,
And say, I love as I do me.
Dam. Alas! I do not love myself,

For I'm split on beauty's shelf.

Phil. Like to what, good shepherd, say?
Dam. Like to thee, fair cruel May.

ALL good hath left this age, all tracks of shame :
Mercy is banished, and pity dead;

Justice, from whence it came, to Heav'n is filed;
Religion, maim'd, is thought an idle name.
Faith to distrust and malice hath giv'n place;
Envy, with poison'd teeth, hath friendship torn;
Renowned knowledge is a despis'd scorn;
Now evil 't is, all evil not t' embrace.
There is no life, save under servile bands;
To make desert a vassal to their crimes,
Ambition with avarice joins hands:
O ever shameful, O most shameless times!
Save that Sun's light we see, of good here tell,
This Earth we court so much were very Hell.

DOTH then the world go thus, doth all thus move? Is this the justice which on Earth we find?

Is this that firm decree which all doth bind?
Are these your influences, pow'rs above?

Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind,
Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove;
And they who thee, poor idle virtue! love,
Ply like a feather toss'd by storm and wind.
Ah! if a providence doth sway this all,

Why should best minds groan under most distress?
Or why should pride humility make thrall,
And injuries the innocent oppress?

Heav'ns! hinder, stop this fate; or grant a time
When good may have, as well as bad, their prime.

TO A SWALLOW

BUILDING NEAR THE STATUE OF MEDEA.

FOND Progne, chattering wretch,

That is Medea! there

Wilt thou thy younglings hatch?

Will she keep thine, her own who could not spare?

Learn from her frantic face

To seek some fitter place.

What other may'st thou hope for, what desire,
Save Stygian spells, wounds, poison, iron, fire?

THE BOAR'S HEAD.

AMIDST a pleasant green

Which Sun did seldom see,

Where play'd Anchises with the Cyprian queen, The head of a wild boar hung on a tree:

And, driven by Zephyrs' breath,

Did fall, and wound the lovely youth beneath;
On whom yet scarce appears

So much of blood as Venus' eyes shed tears.
But, ever as she wept, her anthem was,
"Change, cruel change, alas!

My Adon, whilst thou liv'd, was by thee slain;
Now dead, this lover must thou kill again?"

TO AN OWL.

ASCALAPHUS, tell me,

So may night's curtain long time cover thee,
So ivy ever may

From irksome light keep thy chamber and bed;
And, in Moon's liv'ry clad,

So may'st thou scorn the choristers of day-
When plaining thou dost stay

Near to the sacred window of my dear,

Dost ever thou her hear

To wake, and steal swift hours from drowsy sleep?
And, when she wakes, doth e'er a stolen sigh creep
Into thy listening ear?

If that deaf god doth yet her careless keep,
In louder notes my grief with thine express,
Till by thy shrieks she think on my distress.