CAREW. Mr. Headley, in his Biographical Sketches, p. 39, has very justly observed, that "Carew has the ease, without the "pedantry of Waller, and perhaps less conceit. He re"minds us of the best manner of lord Lyttelton. Waller " is too exclusively considered as the first man who brought "versification to any thing like its present standard. "Carew's pretensions to the same merit are seldom suffi"ciently either considered or allowed." Lord Clarendon, however, has remarked of his poems, that, "for the sharp"ness of the fancy, and for the elegance of the language "in which that fancy was spread, they were at least equal, "if not superior, to any of that time. But his glory was "that, after fifty years of his life spent with less severity " and exactness than they ought to have been, he died with "the greatest remorse for that licence, and with the greatest "manifestation of Christianity, that his best friends could "desire." Carew is generally supposed to have died young in 1639, and I have therefore placed his birth about 1600, though, from the preceding passage from Clarendon, it seems probable that his birth ought to be placed earlier, or his death later. The earliest edition of his works which I have seen, was printed in 1642, which, however, is called in the title the second edition. SWEETLY breathing vernal air, Pearls upon the violet-bed: On whose brow, with calm smiles drest, The halcyon sits, and builds her nest; Beauty, youth, and endless spring, Dwell upon thy rosy wing. Thou, if stormy Boreas throws Down whole forests when he blows, With a pregnant flowery birth If he blast what's fair or good, PERSUASIONS TO LOVE.. THINK not, 'cause men flattering say, To be enjoy'd, and 'twere a sin There to be scarce, where she hath been Thus common beauties, and mean faces, Το you, the giver, more content, Than me, the beggar. Oh then be 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. Then wisely choose one to your friend, Whose love may (when your beauties end) Remain still firm. Be provident, And think before the summer's spent For, when the storms of time have mov'd And yellow spread where red once shin'd; your You never know a second May. |