GOOD-MORROW. DACK clouds away, and welcome day ;

With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air, blow soft; mount, larks, aloft,

To give my love good-morrow. Wings from the wind to please her mind,

Notes from the lark I'll borrow; Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing,

To give my love good-morrow. Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast;

Sing, birds, in every furrow; And from each hill let music shrill

Give my fair love good-morrow. Blackbird and thrush in every bush,

Stare, linnet and cock-sparrow; You pretty elves, among yourselves, Sing my fair love good-morrow.

THOMAS HEYWOOD.
TO LUCASTA.

STA.
DELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,

That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,

To war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase,

The first foe in the field,
And with a stronger faith embrace

A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such

As you, too, must adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more.

SIR RICHARD LOVELACE.

CUPID AND CAMPASPE.

(From " Alexander and Campaspe.'') NUPID and my Campaspe played

At cards for kisses; Cupid paid. He staked his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves and team of sparrows; Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek, but none knows how; With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin. All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes; She won; and Cupid blind did rise. O Love, hath she done thus to thee? What shall, alas! become of me?

JOHN LYLY.

Time, while I gaze upon thy sweetness,

Flies like a courser nigh the goal;
To-morrow where shall be his fleetness,

When thou art parted from my soul? Our hearts shall beat, our tears shall flow, But not together—no, no, no!

THOMAS CAMPBELL.