Corb. O, but colour?

Mos. This will, sir, you shall send it unto me.
N, when I come to inforce, as I will do,
Your cares, your watchings, and your many prayers,
Your more than many gifts, your this day's present,
And last, produce your will; where, without
thought,

Or least regard, unto your proper issue,
A son so brave, and highly meriting,

The stream of your diverted love hath thrown you
Upon my master, and made him your heir:
He cannot be so stupid or stone dead,
But out of conscience, and mere gratitude-
Corb. He must pronounce me his ?
Mos. 'Tis true.

Corb. I thought on that too. See, how he The very organ to express my thoughts!

Mos. You have not only done yourself a good-
Corb. But multiplied it on my son.
Mos. "Tis right, sir.

Corb. Still, my invention.

Mos. 'Las, sir! heaven knows,

It hath been all my study, all my care,

(I e'en grow gray withal,) how to work things-
Corb. I do conceive, sweet Mosca.
Mos. You are he,

Mos. Your knowledge is no better than your ears, sir.

Corb. I do not doubt, to be a father to thee.
Mos. Nor I to gull my brother of his blessing.
Corb. I may have my youth restored to me,
why not?

Mos. Your worship is a precious ass!
Corb. What say'st thou ?

Mos. I do desire your worship to make haste, sir.
Corb. "Tis done, 'tis done; I go.
[Exit.

Volp. [leaping from his couch.] O, I shall burst! Let out my sides, let out my sides

Mos. Contain

Your flux of laughter, sir: you know this hope Is such a bait, it covers any hook.

Volp. O, but thy working, and thy placing it! I cannot hold; good rascal, let me kiss thee: I never knew thee in so rare a humour. Mos. Alas, sir, I but do as I am taught ; Follow your grave instructions; give them words; Pour oil into their ears, and send them hence. Volp. 'Tis true, 'tis true. What a rare punishIs avarice to itself!

Mos. Ay, with our help, sir.

[ment

Volp. So many cares, so many maladies, So many fears attending on old age, Yea, death so often call'd on, as no wish Can be more frequent with them, their limbs faint, Their senses dull, their seeing, hearing, going, All dead before them; yea, their very teeth, Their instruments of eating, failing them: Yet this is reckon'd life! nay, here was one, Is now gone home, that wishes to live longer! Feels not his gout, nor palsy; feigns himself Younger by scores of years, flatters his age With confident belying it, hopes he may, With charms, like Æson, have his youth restored: And with these thoughts so battens, as if fate Would be as easily cheated on, as he,

And all turns air? [Knocking within.] Who's that there, now? a third!

Mos. Close, to your couch again; I hear his It is Corvino, our spruce merchant.

[voice:

Volp. [lies down as before.] Dead. Mos. Another bout, sir, with your eyes. [Anointing them.]-Who's there?

THOMAS

CAREW.

WHEN Mr. Ellis pronounced that Carew certainly died in 1634, he had probably some reasons for setting aside the date of the poet's birth assigned by Lord Clarendon ; but as he has not given them, the authority of a contemporary must be allowed to stand. He was of the Carews of Gloucestershire, a family descended from the elder stock of that name in Devonshire, and a younger brother of Sir Matthew Carew, who was

a zealous adherent of the fortunes of Charles I. He was educated at Oxford, but was neither matriculated nor took any degree. After returning from his travels, he was received with distinction at the court of Charles I. for his elegant manners and accomplishments, and was appointed gentleman of the privy chamber, and sewer in ordinary to his majesty. The rest of his days seem to have passed in affluence and ease, and

he died just in time to save him from witnessing the gay and gallant court, to which he had contributed more than the ordinary literature of a courtier, dispersed by the storm of civil war that was already gathering *.

The want of boldness and expansion in Carew's thoughts and subjects, excludes him from rivalship with great poetical names; nor is it difficult, even within the narrow pale of his works, to discover some faults of affectation, and of still more objectionable indelicacy. But among the poets who have walked in the same limited path, he is pre-eminently beautiful, and deservedly ranks among the earliest of those who gave a cultivated grace to our lyrical strains. His slowness in composition was evidently that sort of care in

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the poet, which saves trouble to his reader. His poems have touches of elegance and refinement, which their trifling subjects could not have yielded without a delicate and deliberate exercise of the fancy; and he unites the point and polish of later times with many of the genial and warm tints of the elder muse. Like Waller, he is by no means free from eonceit; and one regrets to find him addressing the Surgeon bleeding Celia, in order to tell him that the blood which he draws proceeds not from the fair one's arm, but from the lover's heart. But of such frigid thoughts he is more sparing than Waller; and his conceptions, compared to that poet's, are like fruits of a richer flavour, that have been cultured with the same assiduity*.

PERSUASIONS TO LOVE.

THINK not, 'cause men flattering say,
Y' are fresh as April, sweet as May,
Bright as is the morning-star,
That you are so ;-or though you are,
Be not therefore proud, and deem
All men unworthy your esteem :

Starve not yourself, because you may
Thereby make me pine away;
Nor let brittle beauty make
You your wiser thoughts forsake:
For that lovely face will fail;
Beauty's sweet, but beauty's frail ;
'Tis sooner past, 'tis sooner done,
Than summer's rain, or winter's sun:
Most fleeting, when it is most dear;
"Tis gone, while we but say 'tis here.
These curious locks so aptly twined,
Whose every hair a soul doth bind,
Will change their auburn hue, and grow
White, and cold as winter's snow.
That eye which now is Cupid's nest
Will prove his grave, and all the rest
Will follow; in the cheek, chin, nose,
Nor lily shall be found, nor rose ;
And what will then become of all
Those, whom now you servants call?
Like swallows, when your summer's done
They'll fly, and seek some warmer sun.

The snake each year fresh skin resumes,
And eagles change their aged plumes;
The faded rose each spring receives
A fresh red tincture on her leaves:

But if your beauties once decay,

You never know a second May.

Oh, then be wise, and whilst your season
Affords you days for sport, do reason ;

[* He is mentioned as alive in 1638 in Lord Falkland's verses on Jonson's death; and as there is no poem of Carew's in the Jonsonus Virbius, it is not unlikely that he was dead before its publication.]

Spend not in vain your life's short hour,
But crop in time your beauty's flower:
Which will away, and doth together
Both bud and fade, both blow and wither.

SONG.

MEDIOCRITY IN LOVE REJECTED.

GIVE me more love, or more disdain,
The torrid, or the frozen zone
Bring equal ease unto my pain;

The temperate affords me none;
Either extreme, of love or hate,
Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm; if it be love,
Like Danae in a golden shower,
I swim in pleasure; if it prove
Disdain, that torrent will devour
My vulture-hopes; and he's possess'd
Of heaven that's but from hell released:
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain;
Give me more love, or more disdain.

TO MY MISTRESS SITTING BY A RIVER'S SIDE, AN EDDY.

MARK how yon eddy steals away
From the rude stream into the bay;
There lock'd up safe, she doth divorce
Her waters from the channel's course,
And scorns the torrent that did bring
Her headlong from her native spring.
Now doth she with her new love play,
Whilst he runs murmuring away.

[* "Few will hesitate to acknowledge that he has more fancy and more tenderness than Waller; but less choice, less judgment and knowledge where to stop, less of the equability which never offends, less attention to the unity and thread of his little pieces. I should hesi tate to give him, on the whole, the preference as a poet, taking collectively the attributes of that character."HALLAM, Lit. Hist, vol. iii. p. 507.]

Mark how she courts the banks, whilst they
As amorously their arms display,
T'embrace and clip her silver waves :
See how she strokes their sides, and craves
An entrance there, which they deny ;
Whereat she frowns, threatening to fly
Home to her stream, and 'gins to swim
Backward, but from the channel's brim
Smiling returns into the creek,
With thousand dimples on her cheek.

Be thou this eddy, and I'll make
My breast thy shore, where thou shalt take
Secure repose, and never dream

Of the quite forsaken stream:
Let him to the wide ocean haste,
There lose his colour, name, and taste;
Thou shalt save all, and, safe from him,
Within these arms for ever swim.

SONG.

PERSUASIONS TO ENJOY.

If the quick spirits in your eye
Now languish, and anon must die;
If ev'ry sweet, and ev'ry grace
Must fly from that forsaken face:
Then, Celia, let us reap our joys,
Ere time such goodly fruit destroys.

Or, if that golden fleece must grow
For ever, free from aged snow;

If those bright suns must know no shade,
Nor your fresh beauties ever fade;
Then fear not, Celia, to bestow
What still being gather'd still must grow.
Thus, either Time his sickle brings
In vain, or else in vain his wings.

INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED.

KNOW, Celia, since thou art so proud, 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown: Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd

Of common beauties, lived unknown, Had not my verse exhaled thy name, And with it impt the wings of Fame.

That killing power is none of thine,

I gave it to thy voice and eyes:` Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine:

Thou art my star, shinest in my skies; Then dart not from thy borrow'd sphere Lightning on him that fix'd thee there. Tempt me with such affrights no more, Lest what I made I uncreate : Let fools thy mystic forms adore, I'll know thee in thy mortal state. Wise poets, that wrap truth in tales, Knew her themselves through all her veils.

DISDAIN RETURNED.

He that loves a rosy cheek,

Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,

Gentle thoughts and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combined,

Kindle never-dying fires. Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips or eyes.

No tears, Celia, now shall win

My resolved heart to return; I have search'd thy soul within,

And find nought but pride and scorn; I have learn'd thy arts, and now Can disdain as much as thou. Some power, in my revenge, convey That love to her I cast away.

GOOD COUNSEL TO A YOUNG MAID.

WHEN you the sun-burnt pilgrim see, Fainting with thirst, haste to the springs; Mark how at first with bended knee

He courts the crystal nymphs, and flings His body to the earth, where he Prostrate adores the flowing deity. But when his sweaty face is drench'd

In her cool waves, when from her sweet Bosom his burning thirst is quench'd;

Then mark how with disdainful feet He kicks her banks, and from the place That thus refresh'd him, moves with sullen pace. So shalt thou be despised, fair maid,

When by the sated lover tasted; What first he did with tears invade,

Shall afterwards with scorn be wasted; When all the virgin springs grow dry, When no streams shall be left but in thine eye.

EPITAPH ON THE LADY MARY VILLIERS.

THE Lady Mary Villiers lies

Under this stone: With weeping eyes
The parents that first gave her breath,
And their sad friends, laid her in earth.
If any of them, reader, were
Known unto thee, shed a tear:
Or if thyself possess a gem,
As dear to thee as this to them;
Though a stranger to this place,
Bewail in their's thine own hard case;
For thou perhaps at thy return

May'st find thy darling in an urn.

SONG.

THE WILLING PRISONER TO HIS MISTRESS.

LET fools great Cupid's yoke disdain, Loving their own wild freedom better; Whilst, proud of my triumphant chain,

I sit and court my beauteous fetter.

Her murdering glances, snaring hairs,

And her bewitching smiles, so please me, As he brings ruin, that repairs

The sweet afflictions that disease me.

Hide not those panting balls of snow
With envious veils from my beholding;
Unlock those lips, their pearly row

In a sweet smile of love unfolding.

And let those eyes, whose motion wheels
The restless fate of every lover,
Survey the pains my sick heart feels,

And wounds, themselves have made, discover.

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.

SHEPHERD, NYMPH, CHORUS.

Shep. THIS mossy bank they prest. Nym. That
Did canopy the happy pair
[aged oak
All night from the damp air.
Cho. Here let us sit, and sing the words they spoke,

Till the day-breaking their embraces broke.
Shep. See, love, the blushes of the morn appear:
And now she hangs her pearly store
(Robb'd from the eastern shore)
I' th' cowslip's bell and rose's ear:
Sweet, I must stay no longer here.

Nym. Those streaks of doubtful light usher not
But show my sun must set; no morn
Shall shine till thou return:

[day,

Shep. If thine eyes gild my paths, they may forbear Their useless shine. Nym. My tears will quite Extinguish their faint light.

Shep. Those drops will make their beams more
Love's flames will shine in every tear. [clear,

Cho. They kiss'd, and wept ; and from their lips
In a mix'd dew of briny sweet,
[and eyes,
Their joys and sorrows meet;
But she cries out. Nym. Shepherd, arise,
The sun betrays us else to spies.

Shep. The winged hours fly fast whilst we embrace;
But when we want their help to meet,
They move with leaden feet.
Nym. Then let us pinion time, and chace
The day for ever from this place.

Shep. Hark! Nym. Ah me, stay! Shep. For ever. Nym. No, arise;

We must be gone. Shep. My nest of spice. Nym. My soul. Shep. My paradise. [eyes Cho. Neither could say farewell, but through their Grief interrupted speech with tears supplies.

FEMININE HONOUR.

IN what esteem did the gods hold

Fair innocence and the chaste bed, When scandal'd virtue might be bold,

Bare-foot upon sharp culters, spread
O'er burning coals, to march; yet feel
Nor scorching fire nor piercing steel!

Why, when the hard-edged iron did turn
Soft as a bed of roses blown,
When cruel flames forgot to burn

Their chaste, pure limbs, should man alone
'Gainst female innocence conspire,
Harder than steel, fiercer than fire?
Oh hapless sex! unequal sway

Of partial honour! who may know Rebels from subjects that obey,

When malice can on vestals throw Disgrace, and fame fix high repute On the loose shameless prostitute? Vain Honour! thou art but disguise,

A cheating voice, a juggling art ; No judge of Virtue, whose pure eyes

Court her own image in the heart, More pleased with her true figure there, Than her false echo in the ear.

SONG.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose ;
For in your beauties orient deep
These flow'rs, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more, whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For, in pure love, heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more, whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more, where those stars light,
That downwards fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more, if east or west,
The phoenix builds her spicy nest ;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.