Nor hath he pow'r to breathe, or strength to greet
The gentle offers of his Amoret,

Who now amaz'd at's noble breast doth knock,
And with a kiss his gen'rous heart unlock;
Whilst she and the whole pomp doth enter there,
Whence her nor Time nor Fate shall ever tear.
But whither am I hurl'd? ho! back! awake
From thy glad trance; to thine old sorrow take!
Thus, after view of all the Indies' store,
The slave returns unto his chain and oar;
Thus poets who all night in blest heav'ns dwell,
Are call'd next morn to their true living hell;

So I unthrifty, to myself untrue,

Rise cloth'd with real wants, 'cause wanting you, And what substantial riches I possess,

I must to these unvalued dreams confess.

But all our clouds shall be o'erblown, when thee In our horizon, bright, once more we see; When thy dear presence shall our souls new dress, And spring an universal cheerfulness;

When we shall be o'erwhelm'd in joy, like they That change their night, for a vast half-year's day.

Then shall the wretched few, that do repine, See; and recant their blasphemies in wine; Then shall they grieve that thought I've sung too free High and aloud of thy true worth and thee,

And their foul heresies and lips submit
To th' all-forgiving breath of Amoret;
And me alone their anger's object call,
That from my height so miserably did fall;
And cry out my invention thin and poor,
Who have said nought, since I could say no more.

ADVICE TO MY BEST BROTHER,

COLONEL FRANCIS LOVELACE.

FRANK, wil't live unhandsomely? Trust not too far Thyself to waving seas, for what thy star Calculated by sure event must be,

Look in the glassy epithet and see.

Yet settle here your rest, and take your state, And in calm Halcyon's nest ev'n build your fate; Pr'ythee lie down securely, Frank, and keep With as much no noise the inconstant deep As its inhabitants; nay, stedfast stand, As if discover'd were a New-found-land Fit for plantation here; dream, dream still, Lull'd in Dione's cradle, dream, until Horror awake your sense, and you now find Yourself a bubbled pastime for the wind;

And in loose Thetis' blankets torn and toss'd,
Frank, to undo thyself why art at cost?

Nor be too confident, fix'd on the shore,
For even that too borrows from the store
Of her rich neighbour, since now wisest know,
(And this to Galileo's judgment owe)
The palsy Earth itself is every jot

As frail, inconstant, waving as that blot
We lay upon the deep, that sometimes lies
Chang'd, you would think, with's bottom's properties,
But this eternal strange Ixion's wheel

Of giddy earth, ne'er whirling leaves to reel
Till all things are inverted, till they are
Turn'd to that antic confus'd state they were.

Who loves the golden mean, doth safely want A cobwebb'd cot, and wrongs entail'd upon't; He richly needs a palace for to breed

Vipers and moths, that on their feeder feed.

The toy that we (too true) a mistress call,
Whose looking-glass and feather weighs up all;
And clothes which larks would play with, in the sun,
That mock him in the night when's course is run.

To rear an edifice by art so high

That envy should not reach it with her eye,

Nay, with a thought come near it, wouldst thou know How such a structure should be rais'd? Build low.

The blust'ring wind's invisible rough stroke, More often shakes the stubborn'st, prop'rest oak; And in proud turrets we behold withal,

'Tis the imperial top declines to fall.

Nor does heav'n's lightning strike the humble vales, But high aspiring mounts batters and scales.

A breast of proof defies all shocks of Fate, Fears in the best, hopes in the worser state; Heaven forbid that, as of old, time ever Flourish'd in Spring, so contrary, now never: That mighty breath which blew foul Winter hither, Can eas❜ly puff it to a fairer weather. Why dost despair then, Frank? Æolus has A Zephyrus as well as Boreas.

'Tis a false sequel, solecism, 'gainst those
Precepts by fortune giv'n us, to suppose
That cause it is now ill, 'twill e'er be so;
Apollo doth not always bend his bow;
But oft, uncrowned of his beams divine,
With his soft harp awakes the sleeping Nine.

In strictest things magnanimous appear,
Greater in hope, howe'er thy fate, than fear:
Draw all your sails in quickly, though no storm
Threaten your ruin with a sad alarm;
For tell me how they differ, tell me pray,
A cloudy tempest, and a too fair day.

An Anniversary

ON THE HYMENEALS OF MY NOBLE KINSMAN

THOMAS STANLEY, ESQ.

THE day is curl'd about again
To view the splendour she was in ;
When first with hallow'd hands

The holy man knit the mysterious bands;
When you two your contracted souls did move,
Like cherubims above,

And did make love;

As your un-understanding issue now
In a glad sigh, a smile, a tear, a vow.

Tell me, O self-reviving Sun,

In thy perigrination!

Hast thou beheld a pair

Twist their soft beams like these in their chaste air? As from bright numberless embracing rays

Are sprung th' industrious days;

So when they gaze,

And change their fertile eyes with the new morn,
A beauteous offspring is shot forth, not born.

Be witness then, all-seeing Sun,

Old spy, thou that thy race hast run,