« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
'Tis true that I have nurs'd before
That hope, of which I now complain;
Fearing to meet with your disdain.
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:
Then give me more, or give me less :
Do not disdain a mutual sense ;
In their own free indifference!
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 soli. “ dity.” Many high testimonies to his character may be seen in the Biographia Dramatica.
[In “ The Lady Errant.”]
And tell our secrets to the woods;
To call where no man hears,
To walk and rest, to live and die,
This, this is what we may
Love but one.
See these two little brooks that slowly creep
In snaky windings through the plains !
* * * * *
But, since it broke itself, and double glides, · The naked banks no dress have worn; And yon dry barren mountain now derides
These valleys, which lost glories mourn.
O Chloris, think how this presents thy love !
Which when it ran but in one stream, We happy shepherds thence did thrive, and 'prove,
And thou wast mine and all men's theme.
But since 't hath been imparted to one more,
And in two streams doth weakly creep, Our common Msuse is thence grown low and poor,
And mine as lean as these my sheep.
But think withal what honour thou hast lost,
Which we did to thy full stream pay! Whilst now that swain that swears he loves thee most
Slakes but his thirst and goes away!
Still do the stars impart their light
Only thy mind
Neglects to be
Lesbia on her Sparrow.
Tell me not of joy! there's none,
He, just as you,
Would sigh and woo,
He would hang the wing a while,
Till at length he saw me smile, Lord! how sullen he would be !
He would catch a crumb, and then
He from my lip
Would moisture sip,
Then would hop, and then would run,
And cry Phillip when he'd done; Oh! whose heart can choose but bleed ?
Oh! how eager would he fight,
No morn did pass,