Love has no plea against her eye:
Beauty frowns, and love must die.

But if her milder influence move,
And gild the hopes of humble love;
(Though heaven's inauspicious eye
Lay black on love's nativity;
Though every diamond in Jove's crown
Fix'd his forehead to a frown ;)
Her eye a strong appeal can give :
Beauty smiles; and love shall live.

Epitaph upon Husband and Wife, who died and were buried together.

To these, whom death again did wed,
This grave's the second marriage-bed.
For, though the hand of fate could force
"Twixt soul and body a divorce,
It could not sever man and wife,

Because they both liv'd but one life.
Peace, good reader, do not weep;
Peace, the lovers are asleep.

They, sweet turtles, folded lie

In the last knot that love could tie.
[And though they lie as they were dead,
Their pillow stone, their sheets of lead;
Pillow hard, and sheets not warm,
Love made the bed, they'll take no harm.]
Let them sleep, let them sleep on,
"Till this stormy night be gone,
And the eternal morrow dawn;
Then the curtains will be drawn,
And they wake into a light

Whose day shall never die in night.

The lines inclosed in brackets are in no printed edition; they were found in a MS. copy, and are perhaps not Crashaw's.

SIDNEY GODOLPHIN,

Younger brother of the treasurer Godolphin. His character is very minutely drawn by lord Clarendon, in his account of his own life, and in the History of the Rebellion. He was born in 1610, and killed at the attack of Chagford in Devonshire, Jan. 1642-3. His translation of the third book of the Æneid is printed in Dryden's Miscellanies, Vol. IV. p. 134. The following specimen was copied from a MS. in the possession of Mr. Malone, containing several small poems by Godolphin, Waller, Carew, and others.

SONG.

OR love me less, or love me more;
And play not with my liberty:
Either take all, or all restore;

Bind me at least, or set me free.
Let me some nobler torture find
Than of a doubtful wavering mind:
Take all my peace! but you betray
Mine honour too, this cruel way.

"Tis true that I have nurs'd before

That hope, of which I now complain;

And, having little, sought no more,
Fearing to meet with your disdain.
The sparks of favour you did give,
I gently blew, to make them live ;
And yet have gain'd, by all my care,
No rest in hope, nor in despair.

I see you wear that pitying smile
Which you have still vouchsaf'd my smart,
Content, thus cheaply, to beguile

And entertain an harmless heart:

But I no longer can give way
To hope that doth so little pay;

And yet I dare no freedom owe,
Whilst you are kind, though but in show.

Then give me more, or give me less :
Do not disdain a mutual sense:
Or your unpitying beauties dress
In their own free indifference!

But shew not a severer eye,
Sooner to give me liberty;

For I shall love the very scorn

Which, for my sake, you do put on.

WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT

Was born, according to Wood, in 1611; and in 1628 sent to Christ Church, Oxford, where he died, soon after his nomination to the office of junior proctor, in 1643. His learning, his oratory in the pulpit, and his poetical talents, are extolled by all his contemporaries; and his poems and plays were ushered into the world in 1651, with no less than fifty copies of commendatory verses. For this torrent of panegyric, he was probably indebted to the sweetness of his manners, and his proficiency in academical learning, because his poetry, as Mr. Headley has justly observed, is not remarkable for elegance or even neatness of style, though certainly recommended by good sense and solidity. Many high testimonies to his character may be seen in the Biog, Dram.

SONG.

[In "the Lady Errant."]

To carve our loves in myrtle rinds,
And tell our secrets to the woods;

To send our sighs by faithful winds,
And trust our tears unto the floods;
To call where no man hears,
And think that rocks have ears,