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“O see, Constantial my short race is run;
See how my blood the thirsty ground doth dye;
But live thou happier than thy love hath done,
And when I'm dead, think sometime upon me!
More my short time permits me not to tell,
For now Death seizeth me; my dear, fare-
well 1*
As soon as he had spoke these words, life fled
From his pierc'd body, whilst Constantia, she
Kisses his cheeks, that lose their lively red,
And become pale and wan; and now each eye,
Which was so bright, is like, when life was
A star that's fall'n, or an eclipsed sun.
Thither Philocrates was driven by Fate,
And saw his friend lie bleeding on the earth;
Near his pale corpse his weeping sister sate,
Her eyes shed tears, her heart to sighs gave
Philocrates, when he saw this, did cry,
“Friend, I’ll revenge, or bear thee company'
“Just Jove hath sent me to revenge his fate;
Nay, stay, Guisardo, think not Heaven in jest:
'Tis vain to hope flight can secure thy state.”
Then thrust his sword into the villain's breast.
“Here,” said Philocrates, “thy life I send
A sacrifice, to appease my slaughter'd friend.”
But, as he fell, “Take this reward,” said he,
“For thy new victory.” With that he flung
His darted rapier at his enemy,
Which hit his head, and in his brain-pan hung.
With that he falls, but, listing up his eyes,
“Farewell, Constantial” that word said, he
What shall she do She to her brother runs,
His cold and lifeless body does embrace;
She calls to him that cannot hear her moans,
And with her kisses warms his clammy face.
“My dear Philocrates " she, weeping, cries,
“Speak to thy sister!” but no voice replies.
Then running to her love, with many a tear,
Thus her mind's fervent passion she exprest;
“O stay, blest soul, stay but a little here,
And take me with you to a lasting rest.
Then to Elysium's mansions both shall sly,
Be married there, and never more to die.”

Bút, seeing them both dead, she cry'd, “Ah me!
Ah, my Philetus' for thy sake will I
Make up a full and perfect tragedy:
Since ’twas for me, dear love, that thou didst
I'll follow thee, and not thy loss deplore;
These eyes, that saw thee kill’d, shall see no

“It shall not sure be said that thou didst die,
And thy Constantia live when thou wast slain:
No, no, dear soul! I will not stay from thee;
That will reflect upon my valued fame.”
Then piercing her sad breast, “I come !” sh
cries, -
And Death for ever clos'd her weeping eyes.
Her soul being fled to its eternal rest,
Her father comes, and, seeing this, he falls
To th' earth, with grief too great to be exprest:
Whose doleful words my tired Muse me calls
To 9 prpass; which I most gladly do, for fear
That I should toil too much the reader's ear.



To The Richt worshipful, MY very Lovinc MASTER Mr. LAMBERTOSBOLSTON,

chief school-MASTER of WESTM Instern school.

SIR, My childish Muse is in her spring, and yet Can only show some budding of her wit. One frown upon her work, learn'd sir, from you, Like some unkinder storm shot from your brow, Would turn her spring to withering autumn's time, And make her blossoms perish ere their prime. But if you smile, if in your gracious eye She an auspicious alpha can descry, How soon will they grow fruit! how fresh appear! That had such beams their infancy to chear !

Which being sprung to ripeness, expect then

The earliest offering of her grateful pen.

Your most dutiful scholar,

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Unto thy constant love, to which 'tis paid:

I strait will meet thee in the pleasant shade
Of cool Elysium ; where we, being met,
Shall taste thosejoys that here we could not get.”

Then through his breast thrusting his sword, life hies
From him, and he makes haste to seek his fair:
And as upon the colour'd ground he lies,
His blood had dropt upon the mulberries;
With which th' unspotted berries stained were,
And ever since with red they colour'd are.

At last fair Thisbe left the den, for fear of disappointing Pyramus, since she was bound by promise for to meet him there: But when she saw the berries changed were From white to black, she knew not certainly It was the place where they agreed to be.

With what delight from the dark cave she came,
Thinking to tell how she escap'd the beast!
But, when she saw her Pyramus lie slain,
Ah! how perplex'd did her sad soul remain'
She tears her golden hair, and beats her breast,
And every sign of raging grief exprest.
She blames all-powerful Jove ; and strives to take
His bleeding body from the moisten’d ground.
She kisses his pale face, till she doth make
It red with kissing, and then seeks to wake
His parting soul with mournful words; his wound
Washes with tears, that her sweet speech con-
found. -

But afterwards, recovering breath, said she,
“Alas! what chance hath parted thee and I?
O tell what evil hath befall'm to thee,
That of thy death I may a partner be:
TellThisbe what hath caus'd this tragedy!”
He, hearing Thisbe's name, lifts up his eye;

And on his love he rais'd his dying head:
Where, striving long for breath, at last, said he,
“OThisbe, I am hasting to the dead,
And cannot heal that wound my fear hath bred:
Farewell, sweet Thisbe! we must parted be,
For angry Death will force me soon from thee.”

Life did from him, he from his mistress, part,
Leaving his love to languish here in woe.
What shall she do? How shall she ease her heart?
Or with what language speak her inward sm
Usurping passion reason doth o'erflow,
She vows that with her Pyramus she’ll go:
Then takes the sword wherewith her love was slain,
With Pyramus's crimson blood warm still ;
And said, “Oh stay, blest soul, awhile refrain,
That we may go together, and remain
In endless joys, and never fear the ill
Of grudging friends !”—Then she herself did kill.

To tell what grief their parents did sustain,
Were more than my rude quill can overcome;
Much did they weep and grieve, but all in vain,
For weeping calls not back the dead again.
Both in one grave were laid, when life was done;
And these few words were writ upon the tomb:


Undersfath this marble stone,
Lie two beauties join'd in one.
Two, whose loves deaths could not sever;
For both liv'd, both dy'd together.
Two, whose souls, being too divine
For earth, in their own sphere now shine.
Who have left their loves to fame,
And their earth to earth again.

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7 From the zrnnaia, sive Musarum Cantabrigiensium Consentus et Congratulatio, ad serenissimum Britanniarum Regem Carolum, de quinta sua sobole [Princess Anne], clarissimna Principe, sibi nuper felicissimmè nata. Cantabrigiæ, 1637. _ I doubt not but it will prove a pleasing amusement to the curious reader, to trace the first dawnings of genius in some of our first-rate poetic characters ; and to compare them with the eminence they afterwards attained to, and the rank they at last held among their brethren of the laurel. Some early specimens of Dryden's genius may be seci, in the first volume of his poems. Those of Cowley, here printed, abound with strokes of wit, some true, but the far greater part false ; which thoroughly characterise the writer, and may be justly pronounced to point out his genius and manner, in miniature. K.—This species of entertaininent the kind attention of Mr. Kynaston (the friend to whom 1 owe these remarks) enables me considerably to extend, by furnishing the earliest poetical productions of some writers who are now universally looked up to as excellent ; none of which are to be foumd in any edition of their respective works. In such juvenile performances, it is well observed by an admirable critic, ** the absurd conceits and extravagant $ancies are the true seeds amd germs, which afterwards ripen, by proper vulture, iato the unwst luxuriant harwests.” Register, 1779, p. 139, J. \,

See Annual

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Whilst the rude North Charles his slow wrath
doth call,
Whilst warre is feard, and conquest hop'd by all,
The severall shires their various forces lend,
And some do men, some gallant horses send,
Some steel, and some (the stronger weapon) gold:
These warlike contributions are but old.
That countrey learn’d a new and better way,
Which did this royall prince for tribute pay.
Who shall henceforth be with such rage possest,
Torouse our English lion from his rest?
When a new sonne doth his blest stock adorn,
Then to great Charles is a new armie born.
In private births hopes challenge the first place:
There's certaintie at first in the king's race;
And we may say, Such will his glories be,
Such his great acts, and, yet not prophesie.
I see in him his father's boundlesse sprite,
Powerfull as flame, yet gentle as the light.
I see him through an adverse battle thrust,
Bedeck'd with noble sweat and comely dust.
I see the pietie of the day appeare,
Joyn'd with the heate and valour of the yeare,
Which happie Fate did to this birth allow :
I see all this; for sure 'tis present now.

* From the Voces Votiva ab Academicis Cantabrigiensibus pro novissimo Caroli et Mariae Principe Filio, emissae. Cantabrigiae, 1640.

• Henry, who was declared by his father duke of Gloucester in 1641, but not so created till May 13, 1659. He died September 13, 1660.-The Verses . takon from the Woces Votivae, &c. 1640. . N.

Leave off then, London, to accuse the starres
For adding a worse terrour to the warres;
Nor quarrel with the Heavens, 'cause they beginne
To send the worst effect and scorge of sinne,
That dreadfull plague, which wheresoe're’t abide,
Devours both man and each disease beside.
For every life which from great Charles does flow,
And's female self, weighs down a crowd of low
And vulgar souls: Fate rids of them the Earth,
To make more room for a great prince's birth.
So when the Sumne, after his watrie rest,
Comes dancing from his chamber of the east,
A thousand pettie lamps, spread ore the skie,
Shrink in their doubtfull beams, then wink, and die:
Yet no man grieves; the very birds arise,
And sing glad notes in stead of elegies:
The leaves and painted flowers, which did erewhile
Tremble with mournfull drops, beginne to smile.
The losse of many why should they bemone,
Who for them more than many have in one *
How blest must thou thy self, bright Mary, be,
Who by thy wombe can'st blesse our miserie?
May't still be fruitful! May your offspring too
Spread largely, as your fame and virtues do !
Fill every season thus: Time, which devours
It's own somes, will be glad and proud of yours.
So will the year (though sure it weari’d be
With often revolutions) when 't shall see
The honour by such births it doth attain,
Joy to return into itself again.

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Ta’ infernal sisters did a council call
Of all the fiends, to the black Stygian hall;
The dire Tartarian monsters, hating light,
Begot by dismal Erebus and Night,
Where'er dispers'd abroad, hearing the fame
Of their accursed meeting, thither came.
Revenge, whose greedy mind no blood can fill,
And Envy, neversatisfy'd with ill:
Thither blind Boldness, and impatient Rage,
Resorted, with Death's neighbour, envious Age.
These, to oppress the Earth, the Furies sent":
The council thus dissolv'd, an angry Fever,
Whose quenchless thirst by blood was sated never,
Envying the riches, honour, greatness, love,
And virtue (load-stone, that all these did move)
Of noble Carleton, him she took away,
And, like a greedy vulture, seiz'd her prey.
Weep with me, each who either reads or hears,
And know his loss deserves his country's tears!
The Muses lost a patron by his fate,
Virtue a husband, and a prop the State.
Sol's chorus weeps, and, to adorn his hearse,
Calliope would sing a tragic verse.
And, had there been before no spring of theirs,
They would have made a Helicon with tears.

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