SONG In the amorous Warre, by JASPER Mayne, TIME is a feather'd thing; And whilft I praise The fparklings of thy looks, and call them rays, Takes wing; Leaving behind him, as he flies, An unperceived dimnefs in thine eyes. His minutes, whilft they're told, Do make us old, And every fand of his fleet glass, Increafing age as it doth pass, Whilft we do speak, our fire Doth into ice expire: Flames turn to froft, And ere we can Know how our crow turns fwan, Or how a filver fnow Springs there where jet did grow, Our fading spring is in dull winter loft. SIR ROBERT HOWARD. The poems of this author, confifting of fongs and fonnets, and a play called the Blind Lady, were printed in 1660, in one volume octavo. SONG TO THE INCONSTANT CYNTHIA. IN thy fair breaft, and once fair foul, Nor muft we only part in joy, : Our tears as well must be unkind; In our divided joys and pain. Yet we may love, but on this different score, THE RESOLUTION. No, Cynthia, never think I can None but the duller Perfians kneel, Though I refolve to love no more, To your much injured peace and name, She that to age her charms refigns, SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. He was Poet Laureat during the reigns of Charles the 1ft and 2d. His works, confifting of Gondebert, Madagascar, several Small poems, and fixteen plays, were published in 1673, in a large volume folio. THE DREAM. то MR. GEORGE PORTER. No victor, when in battle spent, Methought I faw the earliest shade, And sweetest that the spring can spread, Though dead fhe lay, yet could I fee Nor yet the injured lover's tree; But all fhew'd unconcern'd to be, As if juft nature there did strive To be as pitilefs as fhe Was to her lover when alive. And now, methought I loft all care Yet foon, now from my princefs free, Birds that are long in cages aw'd, If they get out, a while will roam; But ftraight want skill to live abroad, Then pine, and hover near their home. And to the ocean rivers run, From being pent in banks of flowers : Not knowing that th' exhaling fun Will send them back in weeping show'rs. Soon thus, for pride of liberty, I low defires of bondage found; And vanity of being free Bred the difcretion to be bound, |