If't hap the lady pleasant seem, Such is the peace that lovers find, Like flowers in the mead. Now war, now peace, now war again; * A voluminous writer in the earlier part of the last century. From his long, dull, puritanical rhimes, he has acquired the name and character of the English Bavius. His more juvenile pieces, however, of which the above is a fpecimen, would not difcredit the beft writer of that age. Should' Should my heart be griev'd or pin'd, If fhe be not so to me, Shall a womans virtues move What care I how good the be. Caufe her fortune feems too high, And, unless that mind I fee, What care I though great she be. Great, or good, or kind, or fair, If the love me, this believe, if she flight me when I woo; SONG XXIV. BY SIR WALTER RALEIG H. SH HALL I, like an hermit, dwell Calling home the smallest part To bestow it, where I Meet a rival every day? may If the undervalues me, Were her treffes angel gold; To convert them to a braid, Were her hands as rich a prize VOL. I. If If the lay them out to take No, she must be perfect fnow, Then, if others share with me, SONG XXV. BY SIR JOHN SUCKLING. WHY HY fo pale and wan, fond lover? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail ? Prithee why fo pale ? Why fo dull and mute, young finner ? Prithee why so mute ? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee why fo mute? Quit, quit for fhame; this will not move, This cannot take her; If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her; The devil take her. Y SONG XXVI. E little Loves, that round her wait, As Celia on her pillow lies, Ah! gently whisper, Strephon dies. If this will not her pity move, And haughty Strephon fcorns to die. SONG XXVII. BY SIR JOHN SUCKLING 'T IS now fince I fat down before That foolish fort, a heart, (Time ftrangely spent) a year, or more, And still I did my part: |