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“VULCAN, CONTRIVE ME SUCH A CUP."

BY JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER.

(JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER, was born at Dichley, in Oxfordshire, in 1647. At twelve years of age he was sent to the University of Oxford, and on leaving it travelled on the Continent. He returned to England, in his eighteenth year, and was soon afterwards made Gentleman of the Bedchamber to the King, and Comptroller of Woodstock Park. He went to sea with the Earl of Sandwich, in 1665, and greatly distinguished himself by his gallantry; but his subsequent life was disgraced by a dissipation that brought on a decline, of which he died in 1680. Rochester was remarkable for wit and good nature ; his poems are in accordance with his morals and conduct, and cause us to regret that his great powers should have been devoted to folly.]

VULCAN, contrive me such a cup

As Nestor used of old ;
Show all thy skill to trim it up,

Damask it round with gold.

Make it so large, that, filld with sack

Up to the swelling brim,
Vast toasts on the delicious lake,

Like ships at sea, may swim.

Engrave not battle on his cheek ;

With war I've nought to do ;
I'm none of those that took Mæstrick,

Nor Yarmouth leaguer knew.

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“VULCAN, CONTRIVE ME SUCH A CUP.”

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But carve thereon a spreading vine ;

Then add two lovely boys ;
Their limbs in am'rous folds entwine,

The type of future joys.

Cupid and Bacchus my saints are,

May drink and love still reign !
With wine I wash away my cares,

And then to love again.

MY DEAR MISTRESS.

EARL OF ROCHESTER.

My dear mistress has a heart

Soft as those kind looks she gave me, When, with love's resistless art,

And her eyes, she did enslave me. But her constancy's so weak,

She's so wild and apt to wander, That my jealous heart would break,

Should we live one day asunder.

Melting joys about her move,

Killing pleasures, wounding blisses : She can dress her eyes in love,

And her lips can warm with kisses. Angels listen when she speaks,

She's my delight, all mankind's wonder; But my jealous heart would break,

Should we live one day asunder.

THE ANGLER'S WISH.

BY IZAAK WALTON.

[IZAAK WALTON was born at Stafford, in 1593. He kept a very small linendraper's shop, first at the Royal Exchange, and then in Fleet Street, at the corner of Chancery Lane ; and retained in the midst of London, notwithstanding the closest attention to business, an enthusiastic attachment to the country, its scenes, and its pleasures. He married a lady of respectable family, which was probably the cause of his introduction to many eminent persons. He retired from business in 1643, and lived for forty years afterwards in literary retirement, during which time he wrote a number of works ; nor did he relax his labours as an author, until he died, in his ninetieth year. He was buried at Winchester. His “ Complete Angler” is a book which will live as long as the love of country life exists. He was accustomed to say that “God never did make a more calm, quiet, innocent recreation than angling."]

I in these flowery meads would be ;
These crystal streams should solace me;
To whose harmonious bubbling noise,
I with my angle would rejoice;

Sit here, and see the turtle dove
Court his chaste mate to acts of love;

Or on the bank feel the west wind
Breathe health and plenty: please my mind,
To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers,
And then washed off by April showers ;

Here, hear my Kenna sing a song;
There, see a blackbird feed her young,

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