FRANCIS BEAUMONT. A CHARM. [From his Poems, 1640.] SLEEP, old man! let silence charm thee; Quiet thoughts, and darkness arm thee, Phoebe hath put out her light, Let no fatal bell or clock, Pierce the hollow of thine ear! Tongueless be the early cock, Let no rat, nor silly mouse, Come, my sweet Corinna, come, But thy jealous husband's snoring. And with thy sweet perfumed kisses, Love's delight and sweetest bliss, is Got with greatest danger. WILLIAM DRUMMOND, Of Hawthornden, born in 1585, died in 1649. Mr. Pinkerton considers him, and justly, as the second of all the Scotish poets, being only inferior to Dunbar. His "Poems" appeared in 4to. Edin. 1616; his " Flowres of Sion," Edin. 1630: and both are contained, though with some variations in the text, in the 8vo. edition of London, 1656, with a curious head by Gaywood. The collection of his works, printed by Watson (Edinburgh, 1711), is also esteemed; but a correct edition of this charming poet is much wanted, and, as it is said, may be soon expected from Dr. Anderson. SONNET TO SLEEP. SLEEP, silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince, whose approach peace to all mortals brings, Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings; Since I am thine, oh! come, but with that face, Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath, SONNET TO HIS LUTE. My lute, be as thou wast, when thou didst grow Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, SONNET TO THE NIGHTINGALE. DEAR quirister, who from those shadows sends, Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled sky The bird, as if my questions did her move, PHOEBUS arise, SONG. And paint the sable skies With azure, white, and red: Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed, |