like notes, when you least need the same: To sing to you 'twill be on flame ! But, when the tedious winter's night

Comes on, that wants both heat and light,
And that his pretty music may

With pleasure pass the time away,
Which else perhaps might sadness bring-
Your guest is hoarse, and cannot sing.

Acquaintance so leaves man in misery
Who did adore him in prosperity.

SIR EDWARD SHERBURNE.

THIS learned translator was born in 1618, and was constant to the royal cause during the reign of Charles I., in whose armies he held the post of commissary-general of artillery. From March 1654, till October 1659, he travelled through great part of Europe with his pupil Sir John Coventry. As a reward for his loyalty, he was knighted by Charles II. in 1682; but suffered inconvenience on James II.'s abdication. His "Poems and Translations, amorous, lusory, moral, and divine," printed in 1651, 12mo, exhibit marks of considerable genius, which, however, is not sufficiently regulated by judgment. He translated three tragedies from Seneca, viz. Medea, Troades, and Phædra and Hippolitus, and the philosophical poem of Manilius, with notes, 1675, folio. The poet Stanley was his friend and kinsman.

For further particulars, see Wood's Fasti, ii. 18, or the Biographia Britannica.

Ice and Fire.

NAKED Love did to thine eye,
Chloris, once, to warm him, fly:
But its subtle flame and light

Scorch'd his wings, and spoil'd his sight.

Forc'd from thence, he went to rest

In the soft couch of thy breast:

But there met a frost so great
As his torch extinguish'd straight.

When poor Cupid thus (constrain'd
His cold bed to leave) complain'd,
"Alas! what lodging's here for me,
If all ice and fire she be ?"

The Surprize.

THERE'S no dallying with Love,
Though he be a child, and blind;
Then let none the danger prove
Who would to himself be kind:
Smile he does when thou dost play,
But his smiles to death betray.

Lately with the boy I sported;
Love I did not, yet love feign'd;
Had no mistress, yet I courted;
Sigh I did, yet was not pain'd:
'Till at last this love in jest
Prov'd in earnest my unrest.

When I saw my fair-one first,
In a feigned fire I burn'd;
But true flames my poor heart pierc'd,

When her eyes on mine she turn'd :

None who loves not, then, make shew;
Love's as ill deceiv'd as fate:

Fly the boy, he'll cog and woo;

Mock him, and he wounds thee straight.

Ah! who dally boast in vain;

False love wants not real pain.

Love once, love ever.

SHALL I, hopeless, then pursue

A fair shadow that still flies me ? Shall I still adore and woo

A proud heart that does despise me?

I a constant love may so,

But, alas! a fruitless, show.

*

Whilst these thoughts my soul possess,

Reason Passion would o'ersway,

Bidding me my flames suppress,
Or divert some other way;
But what Reason would pursue,
That my heart runs counter to.

VOL. III.

R

So a pilot, bent to make

Search for some unfound-out land, Does with him the magnet take, Sailing to the unknown strand; But that (steer which way he will) To the loved north points still.

The Sun-rise.

[An Extract.]

THOU youthful goddess of the morn,
Whose blush they in the east adore,
Daughter of Phoebus, who before
Thy all-enlightening sire art born!
Haste and restore the day to me,
That my love's beauteous object I may see!

Too much of time the night devours;

The cock's shrill voice calls thee again : Then quickly mount thy golden wain, Drawn by the softly-sliding hours,

And make apparent to all eyes

With what enamel thou dost paint the skies!

Ah, now I see the sweetest dawn!
Thrice welcome to my longing sight!
Hail, divine beauty, heavenly light!
I see thee through yon cloud of lawn