Though every diamond in Jove's crown
Fix'd his forehead to a frown;)

Her eye a strong appeal can give :
Beauty smiles; and Love shall live.

Epitaph upon Husband and Wife, which died and were buried together.

To these, whom Death again did wed,
This grave's the second marriage-bed.
For though the hand of Fate could force
"Twixt soul and body a divorce,

It could not sever man and wife,

Because they both liv'd but one life.
Peace, good reader, do not weep!
Peace! the lovers are asleep.
They, sweet turtles, folded lie

In the last knot that Love could tie.
[And though they lie as they were dead,
Their pillow stone, their sheets of lead;
Pillow hard, and sheets not warm,
Love made the bed, they'll take no harm.]
Let them sleep, let them sleep on,
'Till this stormy night be gone,

And th' eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn,
And they waken with that light

Whose day shall never sleep in night.

The lines inclosed in brackets are in no printed edition: they

were found in a MS. copy, and are perhaps not Crashaw's.

P

VOL. III.

SIDNEY GODOLPHIN

Was brother to the treasurer Godolphin, " a young gentleman of incomparable parts," says Lord Clarendon, who has given him a very high character, drawn with great minuteness, in the Account of his own Life, and in the History of the Rebellion. He was born in 1610, sent to Exeter College, Oxford, 1624, where he continued about three years, and killed at the attack of Chagford, in Devonshire, Jan. 1642-3. His translation of the fourth book of the Eneid, in which he was assisted by Waller, was printed in 1658, 12mo, and may be found in Dryden's Miscellanies (ed. 1716), vol. iv. p. 134.

The following specimen was copied from a MS. in the possession of Mr. Malone, containing several small poems by Godolphin, Waller, Carew, and others.

SONG.

OR love me less, or love me more
And play not with my liberty:
Either take all, or all restore;

Bind me at least, or set me free!
Let me some nobler torture find
Than of a doubtful wavering mind:
Take all my peace! but you betray
Mine honour too, this cruel way.

'Tis true that I have nurs'd before

That hope, of which I now complain;
And, having little, sought no more,
Fearing to meet with your disdain.
The sparks of favour you did give,
I gently blew, to make them live;
And yet have gain'd, by all this care,
No rest in hope, nor in despair.

I see you wear that pitying smile

Which you have still vouchsaf'd my smart, Content thus cheaply to beguile

And entertain an harmless heart:

But I no longer can give way

To hope which doth so little pay ;
And yet

I dare no freedom owe,

Whilst you are kind, though but in show.

Then give me more, or give me less :

Or

Do not disdain a mutual sense;

your unpitying beauties dress

In their own free indifference!

But show not a severer eye,
Sooner to give me liberty;

For I shall love the very scorn
Which, for my sake, you do put on.

WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT

Was born, according to Wood, in 1611; and in 1628 sent to Christ-Church, Oxford, where he died, soon after his nomination to the office of junior proctor, in 1643. His learning, his eloquence in the pulpit, and his poetical talents, are extolled by all his contemporaries; and his poems and plays were ushered into the world in 1651 with no less than fifty copies of commendatory verses. For this torrent of panegyric he was probably indebted to the sweetness of his manners, and his proficiency in academical learning, because his poetry, as Mr. Headley has justly observed, is not remarkable for "elegance or even neatness of style," though certainly recommended by "good sense and solidity." Many high testimonies to his character may be seen in the Biographia Dramatica.

ODE.

[In "The Lady-Errant."]

To carve our loves in myrtle rinds,
And tell our secrets to the woods;
To send our sighs by faithful winds,
And trust our tears unto the floods;
To call where no man hears,

And think that rocks have ears,
To walk and rest, to live and die,

And yet not know whence, how, or why;