With threatening eyes, offensive mair than swords, And silent pride, t'abase my high desire?— Reclaim these thoughts which does you so in

spire!

Love fearless is of death or yet disgrace,

And through his hap he hopeth for his hire So much the more his boldness does increase. Your beauty was the first that won the place And scal'd the walls of my undaunted heart,

Which, captive now, pines in a caitive case,
Unkindly met with rigour for desert:-

Yet not the less your servant shall abide,
In spite of rude repulse or silent pride.

WILLIAM SMITH,

Author of "Chloris, or the Complaint of the passionate despised Shepheard," 1596, 4to. This publication consists of fifty sonnets, which are inscribed to Spenser, under his pastoral appellation of Colin Clout, the " deere and most "entire beloved patron of these maiden verses." Perhaps the dramatic writer of this name, mentioned in the Biographia Dramatica, may be our virgin sonneteer; but no particulars of his life are known. See Ritson's Bibliographia.

SONNET.

THY beauty subject of my song I make,
O fairest fair, on whom depends my life!
Refuse not then the task I undertake

To please thy rage, and to appease my strife: But with one smile remunerate my toil,

None other guerdon I of thee desire; Give not my lowly Muse, new-hatch'd, the foil, But warmth, that she may at the length aspire Unto the temples of thy star-bright eyes,

Upon whose round orbs perfect beauty sits; From whence such glorious chrystal beams arise, As best my Chloris' seemly face befits:

Which eyes, which beauty, which bright chrystal

beam,

Which face of thine hath made my love extreme.

SONNET.

My love, I cannot thy rare beauties place
Under those forms which many writers use.
Some like to stones compare their mistress' face;
Some in the name of flowers do love abuse;
Some makes their love a goldsmith's shop to be,
Where orient pearls and precious stones abound:
In my conceit these far do disagree,

The perfect praise of beauty forth to sound.
O Chloris, thou dost imitate thyself!

Self-imitating passeth precious stones; For all the Eastern-Indian golden pelf

Thy red and white with purest fair atones. Matchless for beauty Nature hath thee framed, Only unkind and cruel thou art named,

JOHN DONNE,

Was born at London, in 1573, and educated at home till the eleventh year of his age. His academical residence then became divided for some time between Oxford and Cambridge, and his studies between poetry and law. He accompanied the earl of Essex in an expedition against Cadiz, was secretary for some time to Sir Thomas Egerton, lord keeper of the great seal, and having taken orders was promoted to be king's chaplain, preacher of the society in Lincoln's-inn, and dean of St. Paul's. He died in 1631. His biographer, Izaac Walton, represents his oratory in the pulpit as extremely edifying; and Dryden was of opinion that his satires "when translated into numbers, "and English," would be generally admired. As Pope has thus translated them, every reader is able to form his own judgment on the truth of this opinion. His poems were printed together in one volume 4to, 1633, and re-edited by his son in 1635, 12mo, since which time they have undergone a variety of impressions.

SONG.

Go, and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,

Or who cleft the devil's foot;

Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy's stinging,

And find

What wind

Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou beest born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see;

Ride ten thousand days and nights,

Till age snow white hairs on thee: Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me All strange wonders that befel thee, And swear

No where

Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know!
Such a pilgrimage were sweet:

Yet, do not! I would not go,

Though at next door we might meet. Though she were true when you met her, And last till you write your letter,

Yet she

Will be

False, ere I come, to two or three.