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“O see, Constantia! my short race is run; See how my blood the thirsty ground doth dye; But live thou happier than thy love hath done, And when I'm dead, think sometime upon me! More my short time permits me not to tell, For now Death seizeth me; my dear, farewell to As soon as he had spoke these words, life fled From his pierc'd body, whilst Constantia, she Kisses his cheeks, that lose their lively red, And become pale and wan; and now each eye, Which was so bright, is like, when life was done, A star that's fall'n, or an eclipsed sun. Thither Philocrates was driven by Fate, And saw his friend lie bleeding on the earth; Near his pale corpse his weeping sister sate, Her eyes shed tears, her heart to sighs gave birth. Philocrates, when he saw this, did cry, “Friend, I'll revenge, or bear thee company' “Just Jove hath sent me to revenge his fate; Nay, stay, Guisardo, think not Heaven in jest: 'Tis vain to hope flight can secure thy state.” Then thrust his sword into the villain's breast. “Here,” said Philocrates, “thy life I send A sacrifice, to appease my slaughter'd friend.” But, as he fell, “Take this reward,” said he, “For thy new victory.” With that he flung His darted rapier at his enemy, Which hit his head, and in his brain-pan hung. ' With that he falls, but, lifting up his eyes, “Farewell, Constantia!” that word said, he dies. - What shall she do She to her brother runs, His cold and lifeless body does embrace; She calls to him that cannot hear her moans, And with her kisses warms his clammy face. “My dear Philocrates " she, weeping, cries, “Speak to thy sister!” but no voice replies.

Then running to her love, with many a tear,
Thus her mind's fervent passion she exprest;
“O stay, best soul, stay but a little here,
And take me with you to a lasting rest.
Then to Elysium's mansions both shall fly,
Be married there, and never more to die.”

But, seeing them both dead, she cry’d, “Ah me!
Ah, my Philetus! for thy sake will I
Make up a full and perfect tragedy:
Since ’twas for me, dear love, that thcu didst
Pll follow thee, and not thy loss deplore;
These eyes, that saw thee kill'd, shall see no

“It shall not sure be said that thou didst die,
And thy Constantia live when thou wast slain:
No, no, dear soul! I will not stay from thee;
That will reflect upon my valued fame.”
Then piercing her sad breast, “I come!” she
And Death for ever clos'd her weeping eyes.
Her soul being fled to its eternal rest,
Her father comes, and, seeing this, he falls
To th’ earth, with grief too great to be exprest:
Whose doleful words my tired Muse me calls
To o'erpass; which I most gladly do, for fear
That I should toil too unuch the reader's ear.


To The right worshipful, My very Loving MASTER MR, LAMBERTOSBOLSTON,

chief school-MASTER OF WESTMINstER school.

SIR, My childish Muse is in her spring, and yet Can only show some budding of her wit. One frown upon her work, learn'd sir, from you, Like some unkinder storm shot from your brow, Would turn her spring to withering autumn's time, And make her blossoms perish ere their prime. But if you smile, if in your gracious eye She an auspicious alpha can descry, How soon will they grow fruit! how fresh appear! That had such beams their infancy to chear!

Which being sprung to ripeness, expect then

The earliest offering of her grateful pen."

Your most dutiful scholar,

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The all-subduing god his bow doth bend,
Whets and prepares his most remorseless dart,
Which he unseen unto their hearts did send,
And so was Love the cause of Beauty's end.
But could he see,he had not wrought their smart;
For pity sure would have o'ercome his heart.

Like as a bird, which in a net is ta'en,
By struggling more entangles in the gin;
So they, who in Love's labyrinth remain,
With striving never can a freedom gain.
The way to enter's broad; but, being in,
No art, no labour can an exit win.

These lovers, though their parents did reprove Their fires, and watched their deeds with jealousy; Though in these storms no comfort could remove The various doubts and fears that cool hot love; Though he nor her's, nor she his face could see, Yet this could not abolish Love's decree;

For age had crack'd the wall which did them part;
This the unanimous couple soon did spy,
And here their inward sorrows did impart,
Unlading the sad burthen of their heart.
Though Love be blind, this shows he can descry
A way to lessen his own misery.
Oft to the friendly cranny they resort,
And feed themselves with the celestial air

of odoriferous breath; no other sport

They could enjoy; yet think the time but short,
And wish that it again renewed were,
To stock each other's breath for ever there.

Sometimes they did exclaim against their fate,
And sometimes they accus'd imperial Jove;
Sometimes repent their flames; but all too late;
The arrow could not be recall"d: their state
was first ordain’d by Jupiter above,
And Cupid had appointed they should love.

They curst the wall that did their kisses part,
And to the stones their mournful words they sent,
As if they saw the sorrow of their heart,
And by their tears could understand their smart:
But it was hard and knew not what they meant,
Nor with their sighs, alas! would it relent.

This in effect they said; “Curs'd Wall ! O Why
Wilt thou our bodies sever, whose true love
Breaks thorough all thy flinty cruelty!
For both our souls so closely joined lie,
That nought but angry Death can them re-
And though he part them, yet they'll meet

Abortive tears from their fair eyes out-flow'd,
And damm'd the lovely splendour of their sight,
which seem'd like Titan, whilst some watery cloud
O'erspreads his face, and his bright beams doth
Till Vesper chas'd away the conquer'd light,
And forced them (though loth) to bid good-
But ere Aurora, usher to the day,
Began with welcome lustre to appear,
The lovers rise, and at that cranny they
Thus to each other their thoughts open lay,
With many a sigh and many a speaking tear;
Whose grief the pitying Morning blusht to hear.

* Dear love!” said Pyramus, “how long shall we,
Like fairest flowers not gather'd in their prime,
Waste precious youth, and let advantage flee,
Till we bewail (at last) our cruelty
Upon ourselves? for beauty, though it shine
Like day, will quickly find an evening-time.
“Therefore, sweet Thisbe, let us meet this night
At Ninus' tomb, without the city wall,
Under the mulberry-tree, with berries white
Abounding, there to enjoy our wish'd delight.
For mounting love, stoptin its course, doth fall,
And long'd-for, yet untasted, joy kills all.

“What though our cruel parents angry be?
What though our friends, alas! are too unkind,
Time, that now offers, quickly may deny,
And soon hold back fit opportunity.
Who lets slip Fortune, her shall never find;
Occasion, once pass'd by, is bald behind.”
She soon agreed to that which he requir’d,
For littlewooing needs, where both consent;
What he so long had pleaded, she desir'd:
Which Venus seeing,with blind Chance conspir'd,
And manya charming accent to her sent,
That she (at last) would frustrate their intent.
Thus Beauty is by Beauty's means undone,
Striving to close those eyes that make her bright;
Just like the Moon, which seeks to eclipse the Sun,
Whence all her splendor, all her beams, do come:

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7. From the XTNmAIA, sive Musarum Cantabrigiensium Consentus et Congratulatio, ad serenissi-.

mum Britamiarum Regem Carolum, de quinta sua sobole [Princess Anne], clarissima Principe, sibl nuper felicissimme nata. Cantabrigiae, 1637. I doubt not but it will prove a pleasing amusement to the curious reader, to trace the first dawnings of genius in some of our first-rate poetic characters; and to compare them with the eminence they afterwards attained to, and the rank they at last held among their brethren of the laurel. Some early specimens of Dryden's genius may be seen in the first volume of his poems. Those of Cowley, here printed, abound with strokes of wit, some true, but the far greater part false; which thoroughly characterise the writer, and may be justly pronounced to point out his genius and manner, in miniature. K.—This species of entertainment the kind attention of Mr. Kynaston (the friend to whom I owe these remarks) enables me considerably to extend, by furnishing the earliest

ical productions of some writers who are now universally looked up to as excellent; none of which are to be found in any edition of their respective works. In such juvenile performances, it is well observed by an admirable critic, “the absurd conceits and extravagant fancies are the true seeds and

germs, which afterwards ripen, by proper culture, ist9 the most luxuriant harvests.” See Annual Register, 1779, p. 180. J. N.

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Whilst the rude North Charles his slow wrath doth call, whilst warre is fear'd, and conquesthop’d by all, The severall shires their various forces lend, And some do men, some gallant horses send, Some steel, and some (the stronger weapon) gold: These warlike contributions are but old. That countrey learn’d a new and better way, Which did this royall prince for tribute pay. Who shall henceforth be with such rage possest, Torouse our English lion from his rest? When a new somme doth his blest stock adorn, Then to great Charles is a new armie born. In private births hopes challenge the first place: There's certaintie at first in the king's race; And we may say, Such will his glories be, Such his great acts, and, yet not prophesie. I see in him his father's boundlesse sprite, Powerfull as flame, yet gentle as the light. I see him through an adverse battle thrust, Bedeck'd with noble sweat and comely dust. * I see the pietie of the day appeare, Joyn'd with the heate and valour of the yeare, which happie Fate did to this birth allow : I see all this; for sure’tis present now.

* From the voces votive ab Academicis Cantabrigiensibus pronovissimo Caroli et Mariae Principe Filio, emissae. Cantabrigiae, 1640.

9 Henry, who was declared by his father duke of Gloucester in 1641, but not so created till May 13,

1659. He died September 13, 1660,-The Verses are taken from the Woces Wotival, &c. 1640. J. N.

Leave off them, London, to accuse the starres
For adding a worse terrour to the warres;
Nor quarrel with the Heavens, 'cause they beginne
To send the worst effect and scorge of sinne,
That dreadfull plague, which wheresoe're 'tabide,
Devours both man and each disease beside.
For every life which from great Charles does flow,
And's female self, weighs down a crowd of low
And vulgar souls: Fate rids of them the Earth,
To make more room for a great prince's birth.
So when the Sumne, after his watrie rest,
Comes dancing from his chamber of the east,
A thousand pettie lamps, spread ore the skie,
Shrink in their doubtfull beams, then wink, and die:
Yet no man grieves; the very birds arise,
And sing glad notes in stead of elegies:
The leaves and painted flowers, which did erewhile
Tremble with mournfull drops, beginne to smile.
The losse of many why should they bemone,
Who for them more than many have in one *
How blest must thou thy self, bright Mary, be,
Who by thy wombe can'st blesse our miserie?
May't still be fruitful! May your offspring too
Spread largely, as your fame and virtues do
Fill every season thus: Time, which devours
It's own sonnes, will be glad and proud of yours.
So will the year (though sure it weari’d be
With often revolutions) when 't shallsee
The honour by such births it doth attain,
Joy to return into itself again.

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Ta’ infernal sisters did a council call
Of all the fiends, to the black Stygian hall;
The dire Tartarian monsters, hating light,
Begot by dismal Erebus and Night,
Where'er dispers'd abroad, hearing the fame
Of their accursed meeting, thither came.
Revenge, whose greedymind no blood can fill,
And Envy, neversatisfy'd with ill:
Thither blind Boldness, and impatient Rage,
Resorted, with Death's neighbour, envious Age.
These, to oppress the Earth, the Furies sent":
The council thus dissolv'd, an angry Fever,
Whose quenchless thirst by blood was sated never,
Envying the riches, honour, greatness, love, -
And virtue (load-stone, that all these did move)
Of noble Carleton, him she took away,
And, like a greedy vulture, seiz'd her prey.
Weep with me, each who either reads or hears,
And know his loss deserves his country's tears!
The Muses lost a patron by his fate,
Virtue a husband, and a prop the State.
Sol's chorus weeps, and, to adorn his hearse,
Calliope would sing a tragic verse.

And, had there been beforeno spring of theirs,

They would have made a Helicon with tears.

* Something is here wanting, as appears from the want both of rhyme and connection. J. N.

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