Here, staid coldness I admire,
There, the lively active fire.

She that doth by skill dispense
Every favour she bestows,
Or the harmless innocence

Which nor court nor city knows,

Both alike my soul inflame,
That wild beauty, and this tame.

She that wisely can adorn

Nature with the wealth of art,
Or whose rural sweets do scorn
Borrow'd helps to take a heart;
The vain care of that's my pleasure,
Poverty of this my treasure.

Both the wanton and the coy
Me with equal pleasures move;

She whom I by force enjoy,

Or who forceth me to love: This, because she'll not confess, That, not hide her happiness.

She whose loosely flowing hair,

Scatter'd like the beams o' th' morn,

Playing with the sportive air

Hides the sweets it doth adorn,

Captive in the net restrains me,
In those golden fetters chains me.

Nor doth she with power less bright
My divided heart invade,

Whose soft tresses spread, like night,
O'er her shoulders a black shade;
For the star-light of her eyes

Brighter shines through those dark skies.

Black, or fair, or tall, or low,
I alike with all can sport,
The bold sprightly Thais woo,
Or the frozen Vestal court.
Every beauty takes my mind,
Tied to all, to none confin'd.

The Exequies.

DRAW near

You lovers, that complain

Of fortune or disdain,

And to my ashes lend a tear!

Melt the hard marble with your groans,

And soften the relentless stones,

Whose cold embraces the sad subject hide

Of all Love's cruelties, and Beauty's pride!

No verse,

No epicedium bring;

Nor peaceful requiem sing,

To charm the terrors of my herse!
No profane numbers must flow near

The sacred silence that dwells here:
Vast griefs are dumb: softly, oh softly mourn!
Lest
you disturb the peace attends my urn.

Such offerings as you have;

Forsaken cypress, and sad yew;

For kinder flowers can take no birth

Or growth from such unhappy earth.
"Here lies

Weep only o'er my dust, and say,

"To Love and Fate an equal sacrifice.

SONG.

WHEN, dearest beauty, thou shalt pay
Thy faith and my vain hope away
To some dull soul, that cannot know
The worth of that thou dost bestow;
Lest with my sighs and tears I might
Disturb thy unconfin'd delight,
To some dark shade I will retire,
And there, forgot by all, expire.

Thus, whilst the difference thou shall prove
Betwixt a feign'd and real love,

Whilst he, more happy, but less true,
Shall reap those joys I did pursue,
And with those pleasures crowned be
By Fate, which Love design'd for me,
Then thou perhaps thyself wilt find
Cruel too long, or too soon kind.

ROBERT HEATH:

I know nothing more of than that he was the author of "Clarastella," (a collection of love-verses) "together with "Poems occasional, Elegies, Epigrams, Satyrs,” in one "volume, 12mo. printed in 1650.

SONG.

INVEST my head with fragrant rose,
That on fair Flora's bosom grows! :
Distend my veins with purple juice,
That mirth may through my soul diffuse!
'Tis wine and love, and love in wine
Inspires our youth with flames divine.

Thus, crown'd with Paphian, myrtle, I
In Cyprian shades will bathing lie;
Whose snow if too much cooling, then
Bacchus shall warm my blood again.
"Tis wine and love, and love in wine
Inspires our youth with flames divine.