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Sir William D'Avenant

the son of a vintner, was born in Oxford in 1605. He was first a page in the service of the first Duchess of Richmond, and afterwards was employed by Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke. After his master's murder he wrote for the stage, and produced in 1629 his first dramatic piece. Coming under the suspicion of the Parliament, he made off, but later seems to have acted in the field with courage. For this service he was knighted. He was leaving France with the intention of proceeding to Virginia, when captured and brought back to London. The influence of Milton with the Protector served him in good stead in the moment of danger. He died 1668.

Who look for Day before his
Mistress wakes

THE lark now leaves his wat'ry nest
And, climbing, shakes his dewy wings;
He takes this window for the east,
And to implore your light he sings:
Awake, awake! the morn will never rise
Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.

The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,
The ploughman from the sun his season takes ;
But still the lover wonders what they are

Who look for day before his mistress wakes.
Awake, awake! break through your veils of lawn,
Then draw your curtains and begin the dawn.

30bn Dilton

was born in London in 1608, and was educated at Cambridge. Upon his return from Continental travel he took up the Parliamentary cause, and later was appointed Latin Secretary to the Council of State and the Protector. At the Restoration, Sir Wm. D'Avenant befriended him, and his pardon was obtained. When the plague broke out he removed into Buckinghamshire, and completed his Paradise Lost (1667), for which he received £15 by instalments. It is said he was indebted for the idea of Paradise Regained to his amanuensis. He was blind during his later years, due to a natural weakness of the eyes and excessive application. He was thrice married. He died in 1674. The poem quoted is a translation by Langhorn from the Italian, a language in which Milton acquired great fluency.

Charles, must I say

CHARLES, must I say, what strange it seems to say,
This rebel heart that love hath held as naught,
Or, haply, in his cunning mazes caught,
Would laugh, and let his captive steal away;
This simple heart hath now become his prey.
Yet hath no golden tress this lesson taught,
Nor vermeil cheek that shames the rising day :
O no!-'twas beauty's most celestial ray,
With charms divine of sovereign sweetness fraught !
The noble voice, the soul-dissolving air,

The bright arch bending o'er the lucid eye,

The voice that, breathing melody so rare,

Might lead the toil'd moon from the middle sky!

Charles, when such mischief armed this foreign fair, Small chance had I to hope this simple heart should fly.

Sir John Suckling

was the son of a Secretary of State and Comptroller of the Royal Household, and was born at Whitton in Middlesex about 1609. At his father's death in 1627 he inherited considerable wealth, and leaving Trinity College, Cambridge, served a campaign in the army of Gustavus Adolphus. Upon his return he acquired, at the Court of Charles I., a reputation as a wit. With an attempt which was made to effect the escape of the Earl of Strafford, who was lying in the Tower, under articles of impeachment from the House of Commons, he was so seriously implicated as to render it advisable for him to quit the country. His death occurred in 1641. He was the author of several plays, and the well-known song, 'Why so pale and wan, fond lover?' occurs in a piece entitled Aglaura. His fame rests upon his light and short productions, where grace an elegance are everywhere apparent.

A Toast

SHE's pretty to walk with :

And witty to talk with :
And pleasant too to think on.

But the best use of all

Is, her health is a stale,

And helps us to make us drink on.

Sir John Suckling

Why so pale, fond Lover

WHY so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?

Prithee why so pale ?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner,

Prithee why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do't?

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—

The devil take her.

Samuel Butler

The

the author of Hudibras, was born in 1612, and died in 1680. short pieces here given deserve quotation, mainly, if not entirely, from the interest attaching to the great writer. Among his 'miscellaneous thoughts are these :

3

ALL Love, at first, like generous wine,
Ferments and frets until 'tis fine;
But when 'tis settled on the lee,

And from the impurer matter free,
Becomes the richer still the older,
And proves the pleasanter the colder.

Love is too great a happiness
For wretched mortals to possess ;
For, could it hold inviolate
Against those cruelties of Fate

Which all felicities below

By rigid laws are subject to,

It would become a bliss too high
For perishing mortality,

Translate to earth the joys above-
For nothing goes to heaven but Love.

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