Haste them to church: tell them, Love says,

Religion breeds but fond delays

To lengthen out the tedious days.

Chide the slow priest, that so goes on
As if he fear'd he should have done
His sermon ere the glass be run:

Bid him post o'er his words as fast
As if himself were now to taste
The pleasure of so fair a waist.

Now lead the blessed couple home,
And serve a dinner up for some:
Their banquet is as yet to come.

Maids, dance as nimbly as your blood
Which I see swell a purple flood,
In emulation of that good

The bride possesseth! for I deem
What she enjoys will be the theme,
This night, of every virgin's dream.

But envy not their blest content,
The hasty night is almost spent,
And they of Cupid will be shent.

The sun is now ready to ride;
Sure, 'twas the morning I espied,
Or 'twas the blushing of the bride.

See how the lusty bridegroom's veins
Swell, 'till the active torrent strains
To break those o'erstretch'd azure chains!

And the fair bride, ready to cry
To see her pleasant loss so nigh,
Pants like the sealed pigeon's eye!

Put out the torch! Love loves no lights:
Those that perform his mystic rites
Must pay their orisons by nights.

Nor can that sacrifice be done
By any priest or nun alone,

But when they both are met in one.

Now you that taste of Hymen's cheer,
See that your lips do meet so near
That cockles might be tutor❜d there.

And let the whispering of your love
Such short and gentle murmurs prove,
As they were lectures to the dove.

And in such strict embraces twine,
As if you read unto the vine,

The ivy, and the columbine.

Thence may there spring many a pair
Of sons and daughters strong and fair.-
How soon the gods have heard my prayer!

Methinks already I espy

The cradles rock, the babies cry,
And drowsy nurses lullaby.

SIR ASTON COKAIN

Was born of a knightly and ancient family at Ashbourn in the Peak of Derbyshire, 1608; educated at both the Universities, especially Cambridge, being a fellow-commoner of Trinity College; and having continued for some time at the inns of court "for fashion sake," says Wood, travelled with Sir Kenelm Digby, and married on his return. He lived a studious life upon his estate in Warwickshire, and suffered much during the civil wars for the king's cause, and his religion, which was that of Rome. We are told, he "was esteemed by many an ingenious gentleman, 66 a good poet, and a great lover of learning; yet by others a perfect boon fellow, by which means he wasted all he "had." He died at Derby, 1683.

66

His "Poems of divers sorts," appeared in 1658, and had various titles (Vide Gentleman's Magazine for 1797). They may perhaps be consulted with advantage by those who search after anecdotes of contemporary characters, or pictures of their manners. The following appeared the most advantageous specimen of his poetry.

To Plautia.

AWAY, fond thing! tempt me no more!

I'll not be won with all thy store!
I can behold thy golden hair,

And for the owner nothing care:

Thy starry eyes can look upon,

And be mine own when I have done :
Thy cherry ruby lips can kiss,
And for fruition never wish:

Can view the garden of thy cheeks,
And slight the roses there as leeks :
Can hear thee sing with all thine art,
Without enthralling of mine heart:
My liberty thou canst not wrong
With all the magic of thy tongue :
Thy warm snow-breasts and I can see,
And neither sigh nor wish for thee:
Behold thy feet, which we do bless
For bearing so much happiness,
Yet they at all should not destroy
My strong preserved liberty:
Could see thee naked, as at first
Our parents were, when both uncurst,
And with my busy searching eyes
View strictly thy hid rarities;
Yet, after such a free survey,

From thee no lover go away.
For thou art false, and wilt be so:
I else no other fair would woo.
Away therefore, tempt me no more!
I'll not be won with all thy store.