Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air? He who of these delights can judge, and spare TO CYRIACK SKINNER. Cyriack! this three years' day these eyes, though clear Bereft of light their seeing have forgot; Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? The conscience, friend! to have lost them overplied In Liberty's defence, my noble task, Of which all Europe rings from side to side. This thought might lead me through the world's vain masque, Content, though blind, had I no better guide. ON HIS DECEASED WIFE. Methought I saw my late espoused Saint Whom Jove's great Son to her glad husband gave, And such as yet once more I trust to have But O, as to embrace me she inclined, I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night. LUCIUS CARY. (VISCOUNT FALKLAND.) 1610—1643. AN EPITAPH. The chief perfections of both sexes join'd, Rome's Senate might have wish'd, her Conclave may : So void of the least pride, to her alone THOMAS NABBES. 1612?-1645. HER REAL WORTH. What though with figures I should raise Calling her cheek a blushing rose, JAMES GRAHAME. (MARQUIS OF MONTROSE.) 1612-13-1650. TO HIS LOVE. My dear and only Love! I pray Which virtuous souls abhor, As Alexander I will reign, He either fears his fate too much, That dares not put it to the touch And I will reign and govern still, And in the empire of thy heart, I'll mock and smile at thy neglect, But if thou wilt prove faithful then I'll deck and crown thy head with bays, RICHARD CRASHAW. 1615-1652. WISHES. TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS. Whoe'er she be, That not impossible She That shall command my heart and me; Where'er she lie, Lock'd up from mortal eye, In shady leaves of destiny: Till that ripe Birth Of studied Fate stand forth And teach her fair steps tread our earth; Till that Divine Idea take a shrine Of crystal flesh, through which to shine : Meet her, my Wishes! Bespeak her to my blisses, And be you call'd my absent kisses.— I wish her beauty That owes not all its duty To gaudy tire or glistering shoe-tye, Something more than Taffeta or tissue can, Or rampant feather or rich fan, More than the spoil Of shop, or silkworm's toil, Or a bought blush, or a set smile; A face that's best By its own beauty dress'd, And can alone commend the rest,— A face made up Out of no other shop Than what Nature's white hand sets ope; A cheek where youth And blood, with pen of truth Write what their reader sweetly ru'th, A cheek where grows More than a morning rose, Which to no box its being owes; Lips where all day A lover's kiss may play, Yet carry nothing thence away; Looks that oppress Their richest tires, but dress Themselves in simple nakedness ; Eyes that displace The neighbour diamond and outface That sun-shine by their own sweet grace; Tresses that wear Jewels, but to declare How much themselves more precious are, |