If she be fickle, shepherd, leave to woo,

Or fancy me.-"No: thou art woman too."
But I am constant." Then thou art not fair."
Bright as the morning !" Wavering as air!"

What grows upon this cheek?" A pure carnation."
Come taste a kiss." O sweet, O sweet temptation!"

BOTH.

Ah, Love, and canst thou never lose the field?
Where Cupid lays the siege, the town must yield;
He warms the chilly blood with glowing fire,
And thaws the icy frost of cold desire.

JOHN MILTON,

Born 1608, died 1674.

TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

O NIGHTINGALE! that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve,

when all the woods are still;
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May.
Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love. O! if Jove's will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why : Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING,

Born 1609, died 1641.

SONG.

WHY so pale and wan, fond lover?

Prithee, why so pale?

Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?

Prithee, why so pale ?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner?

. Prithee, why so mute?

Will, when speaking well can't win her,

Saying nothing do't?

Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit for shame; this will not move

This cannot take her :

If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her.

The devil take her!

*

A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING.

I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been,
Where I the rarest things have seen;
Oh! things without compare!
Such sights again cannot be found
In any place on English ground,
Be it at wake or fair.

At Charing-cross, hard by the way
Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay,
There is a house with stairs;

And there did I see coming down

Such folk as are not in our town,

Forty at least, in pairs.

Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine

(His beard no bigger, though, than thine)

Walk'd on before the rest :

Our landlord looks like nothing to him;
The king, (God bless him!) 'twould undo him,
Should he go still so drest.

* Occasioned by the marriage of Roger Boyle, the first earl of Orrery (then Lord Broghill), with Lady Margaret Howard, daughter of the Earl of Suffolk.-ELLIS.

At course-a-park, without all doubt,
He should have first been taken out
By all the maids i'th' town;
Though lusty Roger there had been,
Or little George upon the green,

Or Vincent of the Crown.

But, wot you what? the youth was going To make an end of all his wooing;

The parson for him staid ;.

Yet, by his leave, for all his haste,
He did not so much wish all past,
Perchance, as did the maid.

The maid (and thereby hangs a tale;
For such a maid no Whitsun ale
Could ever yet produce)—

No grape that's kindly ripe could be
So round, so plump, so soft as she,
Nor half so full of juice.

Her finger was so small, the ring
Would not stay on which they did bring,

It was too wide a peck :

And to say truth, for out it must,
It look'd like the great collar, just,
About our young colt's neck.

Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice, stole in and out,

As if they fear'd the light:

But, oh! she dances such a way—
No sun upon an Easter day

Is half so fine a sight!

Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
No daisy makes comparison,

(Who sees them is undone ;)

For streaks of red were mingled there,
Such as are on a Catherine pear,
(The side that's next the sun.)

Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Compar'd to that was next her chin,

(Some bee had stung it newly);
But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face,
I durst no more upon them gaze

Than on the sun in July.

Her mouth so small when she does speak,

Thou 'dst swear her teeth her words did break, That they might passage get;

But she so handled still the matter,

They came as good as ours, or better,

And are not spent a whit.

*