Shew me no more those fnowy breasts,
With azure rivers branched,

Where whilft mine eye with plenty feasts,
Yet is my thirft not stanched.
O, Tantalus! thy pains ne'er tell,
By me thou art prevented,
'Tis nothing to be plagu'd in hell,
But thus in heav'n tormented.

Clip me no more in those dear arms,
Nor thy life's comfort call me ;
O, these are but too powerful charms,
And do but more enthrall me.
But fee how patient I am grown,
In all this coyle about thee;
Come, nice thing, let thy heart alone,
I cannot live without thee.

DONNE.

SONG

Go, and catch a falling ftar,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past times are,
Or who cleft the Devil's foot;
Teach me to hear mermaids finging,
Or to keep off envy's ftinging,
And find

What wind

Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'ft born to fee ftrange fights,
Things invifible, go fee;

Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age fnow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return'ft, will tell me
All strange wonders that befel thee,

And fwear

No where

Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'ft one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,

Tho' at next door we might meet.

Though the were true when you met her, And laft till you write your letter,

Yet the

Will be

Falfe ere I come to two or three.

I

SONG.

NEVER ftoop'd fo low as they
Which in an eye, cheek, lip, can prey.
Seldom to them who foar no higher
Than virtue or the mind t' admire;
For fense and understanding may
Know what gives fuel to their fire.

My love, tho' filly, is more brave,
For, may I mifs whene'er I crave,
If I know yet what I would have.

DAVISON.

CUPID's PASTIME.

FROM PERCY'S COLLECTION.

Ir chanc'd of late a shepherd fwain,
That went to seek his ftraying sheep,
Within the thicket, on the plain,
Efpied a dainty nymph asleep.

Her golden hair o'erfpread her face,
Her careless arms abroad were caft,
Her quiver had her pillow's place,

Her breast lay bare to every blast.

The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill,
Nought durft he do, nought durst he say;
When chance, or elfe perhaps his will,
Did guide the God of Love that way.

The crafty boy thus fees her fleep,

Whom if the wak'd he durft not see, Behind her closely seeks to creep, Before her nap fhould ended be.

There come, he fteals her fhafts away,
And puts his own into their place;
Nor dares he any longer stay,

But ere she wakes hies thence apace.

Scarce was he

gone

but she awakes,

And spies the fhepherd standing by, Her bended bow, in haste she takes, And at the fimple swain lets fly.

Forth flew the fhaft, and pierc'd his heart, That to the ground he fell with pain;

But up again forthwith he ftarts,

And to the nymph he ran amain.

Amaz'd to fee fo ftrange a fight,

She shot, and shot, but all in vain ; The more his wounds, the more his might, Love yielded ftrength amidst his pain.

Her angry eyes were great with tears,
She blames her hand, she blames her skill,
The bluntnefs of her shafts fhe fears,

And try them on herself she will.

Take heed, sweet nymph, try not thy fhaft, Each little touch will pierce thy heart; Alas! thou know'ft not Cupid's craft, Revenge is joy, the end is fmart.

Yet try the will, and pierce fome bare,
Her hands were glov'd, but next her hand
Was that fair breast, that breast so rare,
'That made the shepherd senseless stand.