T

MAKING HAY-ROPES

AMETAS

HINK'ST THOU that this love can stand,
Whilst thou still dost say me Nay?

Love unpaid does soon disband:

Love binds love, as hay binds hay.

THESTYLIS

Think'st thou that this rope would twine
If we both should turn one way?
Where both parties so combine
Neither love will twist nor hay.

AMETAS

Thus you vain excuses find,
Which yourself and us delay:
And love ties a woman's mind
Looser than with ropes of hay.

THESTYLIS

What you can not constant hope
Must be taken as you may.

AMETAS

Then let's both lay by our rope,

And go kiss within the hay!

G

ALEXANDER BROME

No

PALINODE

O MORE, no more of this, I vow! 'Tis time to leave this fooling now, Which few but fools call wit.

There was a time when I begun,
And now 'tis time I should have done
And meddle no more with it:
He physic's use doth quite mistake,
Who physic takes for physic's sake.

My heat of youth, and love, and pride,
Did swell me with their strong spring-tide,
Inspired my brain and blood;

And made me then converse with toys
Which are call'd Muses by the boys,
And dabble in their flood.

I was persuaded in those days
There was no crown like love and bays.

But now my youth and pride are gone,
And age and cares come creeping on,
And business checks my love :

What need I take a needless toil

To spend my labour, time, and oil,

Since no design can move?

For now the cause is ta'en away

What reason is 't the effect should stay?

'Tis but a folly now for me

To spend my time and industry
About such useless wit:

For when I think I have done well,
I see men laugh, but can not tell
Where 't be at me or it.

Great madness 'tis to be a drudge,

When those that can not write dare judge.

Besides the danger that ensu'th

To him that speaks or writes the truth,
The premium is so small :

To be call'd Poet and wear bays,

And factor turn of songs and plays,—
This is no wit at all.

Wit only good to sport and sing

Is a needless and an endless thing.

Give me the wit that can't speak sense,
Nor read it but in 's own defence,

Ne'er learn'd but of his Gran'am !
He that can buy and sell and cheat
May quickly make a shift to get

His thousand pound per annum ; And purchase without more ado The poems, and the poet too.

Who in her sweetness strives to outdo
The loudness of the hoarse cuckoo.

Cuckoo cries he; jug, jug, jug! sings she :

From bush to bush, from tree to tree.
Why in one place then tarry we?

Come away! Why do we stay?
We have no debt or rent to pay;
No bargains or accompts to make;
Nor land nor lease, to let or take.
Or if we had, should that remore us
When all the world's our own before us,
And where we pass and make resort

It is our kingdom and our court.

Cuckoo ! cries he; jug, jug, jug! sings she: From bush to bush, from tree to tree.

Why in one place then tarry we?

HENRY VAUGHAN

EPITHALAMIUM

TO THE BEST AND MOST ACCOMPLISH'D COUPLE

BLESSINGS as rich and fragrant crown your heads

As the mild heaven on roses sheds

When at their cheeks like pearls they wear

The clouds that court them in a tear!

And may they be fed from above

By Him which first ordain'd your love!

Fresh as the Hours may all your pleasures be,
And healthful as Eternity!

Sweet as the flowers' first breath, and close
As the unseen spreadings of the Rose
When she unfolds her curtain'd head
And makes her bosom the Sun's bed!

Soft as yourselves run your whole lives, and clear
As your own glass, or what shines there!
Smooth as Heaven's face, and bright as he
When without mask or tiffany,

In all your time not one jar meet,—
But peace as silent as his feet!

Like the Day's warmth may all your comforts bé,

Untoil'd for and serene as he,