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When threads can make
A heart-string quake;-

Can scarce deny
The soul consists of harmony.

Oh, lull me, lull me, charming air,

My senses rock'd with wonder sweet!
Like snow on wool thy fallings are,
Soft like a spirit's are thy feet.

Grief, who need fear
That hath an ear?
Down let him lie,

And slumbering die,
And change his soul for harmony.

From a Miscellany entitled “Wit Restored," 12mo, published 1658.


GEORGE HERBERT, born 1593, died 1632.

Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,

The bridal of the earth and sky.
Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to night,-

For thou must die.

Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave
Bids the rash

eye, Thy root is ever in the

And thou must die.

wipe his

Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,

A box where sweets compacted lie;
My music shews


your closes,
And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like season'd timber, never gives,
But when the whole world turns to coal,

Then chiefly lives.


RICHARD LOVELACE, born 1618, died 1658.

WHEN love with unconfined wings

Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at my grates ;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fetter'd to her

The birds that wanton in the air

Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round,

With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses bound,

Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts are free,
Fishes that tipple in the deep

Know no such liberty.

When linnet-like confined, I

With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty,

And glories of ny king:
When I shall voice aloud how good

He is, how great should be,
Enlarged winds that curl the flood

Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take

That for a hermitage :
If I have freedom in my love,

And in my soul am free,-
Angels alone that soar above

Enjoy such liberty.

* This Song to Althea will live as long as the English language."-ROBERT SOUTHBY.

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From ALLISON'S “Hours' Recreations in Music," 1606.

to war ;

In hope a king doth go

In hope a lover lives full long; In hope a merchant sails full far;

In hope just men do suffer wrong; In hope the ploughman sows his seed: Thus hope helps thousands at their need. Then faint not, heart, among the rest; Whatever chance, hope thou the best.


SIMON WASTELL, from "The Microbiblia," 1623. Like as the damask rose you see, Or like the blossom on the tree, Or like the dainty flower in May, Or like the morning of the day, Or like the sun, or like the shade, Or like the gourd which Jonas had E'en such is man; whose thread is spun, Drawn out, and cut, and so is done. The rose withers, the blossom blasteth; The flower fades, the morning hasteth; The sun sets, the shadow flies; The gourd consumes,-and man he dies !

Like to the grass that's newly sprung,
Or like a tale that's new begun.
Or like the bird that's here to-day,
Or like the pearlèd dew of May,
Or like an hour, or like a span,
Or like the singing of a swan-
E'en such is man; who lives by breath,
Is here, now there, in life and death.
The grass withers, the tale is ended ;
The bird is flown, the dew's ascended;
The hour is short, the span is long;
The swan's near death, -man's life is done

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Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire !
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing;
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long!



Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity;
Quips, and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathèd smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides.

Ha! ha! ha! ha!

The music of this song was composed by Handel, and introduced by John Kemble in

Garrick's revived arrangement of Milton's masque of“ Comus,"


EDMUND WALLBE, born 1603, died 1687.

Go, lovely rose !

Tell her that wastes her time and me,
That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,
How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung

In deserts where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired:
Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,
And not blush so to be admired-

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