When thirfty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes, that tipple in the deep,
Know no fuch liberty.

When linnet like confined, I
With fhriller note shall fing,
The mercy, sweetness, majefty
And glories of my king:
When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,

Th' enlarged winds that curl the flood
Know no fuch liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage,
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for a hermitage.

If I have freedom in my love,

And in my foul am free, Angels alone that foar above Enjoy fuch liberty.

E. SHERBURNE,

Author of "Poems and Tranflations, amorous, lufory, moral, and divine," a volume in duodecimo, 1651.

THE SURPRISE, A SONG.

THERE'S no dallying with love,
Though he be a child and blind;
Then let none the dangers prove,

Who would to himself be kind ;
Smile he does when thou dost play,
But his fmiles to death betray,

Lately with the boy I fported,
Love I did not, yet love feign'd;
Had no mistress, yet I courted;
Sigh I did, yet was not pain'd;
"Till at last this love in jest
Prov'd in earnest my unrest.

When I faw my fair one firít,
In a feigned fire I burn'd,

But true flames my poor heart pierc'd

When her eyes on mine she turn'd :
So a real wound I took

For my counterfeited look.

None who loves not then make shew:

Love's as ill deceiv'd as fate;

Fly the boy, he'll

cog and woo,

Mock him, and he wounds thee ftraight.

Ah! who daily boast in vain

Falfe love, want not real pain.

LOVE ONCE, LOVE EVER.

SHALL I, hopeless, then pursue
A fair fhadow that ftill flies me?
Shall I ftill adore and woo

A proud heart that does despise me?
I a conftant love may so,

But, alas! a fruitless, shew.

Whilst these thoughts my foul poffefs,
Reafon paffion would o'erfway,

Bidding me my flames suppress,
Or divert fome other way;

But what reason would pursue,

That

my heart runs counter to.

So a pilot, bent to make

Search for fome unfound-out land,
Does with him the magnet take,
Sailing to the unknown strand,
But that (fteer which way he will)
To the loved north points still.

EXTRACT

FROM THE SUN-RISE; a poem.

THOU youthful goddess of the morn,
Whose blush they in the east adore,
Daughter of Phoebus, who before
Thy all-enlightening fire art born!
Hafte, and restore the day to me,
That my love's beauteous object I

may

fee.

Too much of time the night devours,
The cock's fhrill voice calls thee again,
Then quickly mount thy golden wain,
Drawn by the foftly-fliding hours,

And make apparent to all eyes

With what enamel thou dost paint the skies.

Ah, now I fee the sweetest dawn!

Thrice welcome to my longing fight! Hail, divine beauty, heavenly light; I fee thee through yon cloud of lawn Appear, and as thy ftar does glide, Blanching with rays the east on every fide.

Dull filence, and the drowsy king
Of fad and melancholy dreams,
Now fly before thy cheerful beams,
The darkest shadows vanquishing:
The owl, that all the night did keep
A hooting, now is fled and gone to fleep.

But all thofe little birds, whofe notes
Sweetly the liftening ear enthral,
To the clear water's murmuring fall
Accord their difagreeing throats:
The luftre of that greater ftar

Praifing, to which thou art but harbinger.

With holy reverence inspir'd,

When firft the day renews its light,

The earth, at fo divine a fight,
Seems, as if all one altar fir'd,
Reeking with perfumes to the skies,
Which she prefents, her native facrifice.

The humble fhepherd, to his rays
Having his humble homage paid,
And to fome cool retired fhade
Driven his bleating flocks to graze,
Sits down, delighted with the fight

Of that great lamp, fo mild, so fair, fo bright.

The bee, through flow'ry gardens goes

Buzzing, to drink the morning's tears,
And from the early lily bears

A kifs commended to the rose,
And, like a wary messenger,

Whispers fome amorous story in her ear.

*

*The remainder of this poem would now be thought forced and

unnatural.