WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.

An author much admired by his cotemporaries. He died in 1643. His plays and poems were published in a volume octavo, in 1651.

SONG

IN THE LADY ERRANT.

To carve our loves in myrtle rinds,
And tell our fecrets to the woods;
To fend our fighs by faithful winds,
And truft our tears unto the floods;
To call where no man hears,
And think that rocks have ears,
To walk, and reft, to live and die,
And yet not know how, whence, or why;
To have our hopes with fear still check'd,
To credit doubts, and truth fufpect,

This, this is what we may

A lover's abfence say.

LOVE BUT ONE.

SEE these two little brooks that flowly creep
In fuaky windings through the plains;
I knew them once one river, swift and deep,
Bleffing and bleft by poets' ftrains.

But, fince it broke itself, and double glides,
The naked banks no dress have worn;
And yon dry barren mountain now derides
These valleys, which loft glories mourn,

O Chloris, think how this presents thy love,
Which, when it ran but in one stream,

We happy fhepherds thence did thrive, and 'prove,
And thou waft mine and all men's theme.

But fince 't hath been imparted to one more,
And in two ftreams doth weakly creep,
Our common muse is thence grown low and poor,
And mine as lean as these my sheep.

But think withal what honour thou haft loft,
Which we did to thy full ftream pay.

Whilft now, that fwain that swears he loves thee most,
Slakes but his thirst, and goes away!

FALSEHOOD.

STILL do the ftars impart their light
To those that travel in the night;
Still time runs on, nor doth the hand
Or fhadow of the dial ftand:

The ftreams ftill glide and constant are;
Only thy mind

Untrue I find,

Which carelessly

Neglects to be

Like ftream or shadow, hand or ftar.

LESBIA ON MIR SPARROW.

TELL me not of joys, there's none

Now

my little fparrow's gone;

He, juft as you,

Would figh and woo,

He would chirp and flatter me;

He would hang the wing a while,

Till at length he saw me smile, Lord! how fullen he would be!

He would catch a crumb, and then

Sporting let it go again;

He from my lip,
Would moisture fip;

He would from my trencher feed,
Then would hop, and then would run,

And cry Philip when h' had done;
Oh! whofe heart can choose but bleed?

Oh! how eager would he fight,

And ne'er hurt tho' he did bite;
No morn did pass,

But on my glass

He would fit, and mark and do

What I did; now ruffle all

His feathers o'er, now let them fall, And then straightway fleek them too.

Where will Cupid get his darts
Feather'd now, to pierce our hearts ?
A wound he may,

Not love, convey;
Now this faithful bird is gone,

Oh! let mournful turtles join

With loving redbreasts, and combine

To fing dirges o'er his stone.

SONG.

WHILST early light fprings from the skies,

A fairer from your bride doth rise;
A brighter day doth thence appear,
And make a fecond morning there.
Her blush doth fhed,

All o'er the bed,

Clear fhame-fac'd beams,

That spread in ftreams,

And purple round the modeft air,

I will not tell what fhrieks and cries,
What angry pishes, and what fies,
What pretty oaths, then newly born,

The lift'ning taper heard there fworn ;
Whilft froward fhe,

Most peevishly,

Did yielding fight,

To keep all night,

What she'd have proffer'd you ere morn!

Fair, we know maids do refuse

To grant what they do come to lose ;
Intend a conqueft you that wed!

They would be chastely ravished ;