To your much injured peace and name,
Love's farewel as a tribute pay ;.
Grow more reserv'd, and raise your fame
By your own choice, not your decay.

She that to age her charms resigns,
And then at last turns votary,
Though virtue much the change inclines,
"Tis sullied by necessity.

ROBERT HEATH.

STANZAS

On Clarastella saying she would commit herself to a Nunnery.

STAY, Clarastella, prithee stay!

Recal those frantic vows again!
Wilt thou thus cast thyself away,
As well as me, in fond disdain ?
Wilt thou be cruel to thyself? chastise

Thy harmless body, 'cause thy powerful eyes
Have charm'd my senses by a strange surprise?
Is it a sin to be beloved?

If but the cause you could remove
Soon the effect would be removed;
Where beauty is, there will be love.
Nature, that wisely nothing made in vain,

Did make you lovely to be lov'd again,

And, when such beauty tempts, can love refrain?

When Heaven was prodigal to you,
And you with beauty's glory stored,
He made you like himself for view,
To be beheld and then adored.

Why should the gold then fear to see that sun
That form'd it pure? Why should you live a nun,
And hide those rays Heav'n gave to you alone?

Thyself a holy temple art,

Where love shall teach us both to pray;
I'll make an altar of my heart,

And incense on thy lips I'll lay.

Thy mouth shall be my oracle, and then

For beads we'll tell our kisses o'er again,

Till they, breath'd from our souls, shall cry, amen.

SONG.

ANACREONTIC.

INVEST my head with fragrant rose,
That on fair Flora's bosom grows!
Distend my veins with purple juice,
That mirth may through my soul diffuse.

"Tis wine and love, and love in wine,
Inspires our youth with flames divine.
Thus, crown'd with Paphian myrtle, I
In Cyprian shades will bathing lie;
Whose snows if too much cooling, then
Bacchus shall warm my blood again.

"Tis wine and love, and love in wine, Inspires our youth with flames divine. Life's short and winged pleasures fly; Who mourning live, do living die. On down and floods then, swan-like, I Will stretch my limbs, and singing die.

'Tis wine and love, and love in wine, Inspires our youth with flames divine.

Goo

ROBERT HERRICK.

THE MAD MAID's SONG.

OOD-morrow to the day so fair;
Good morrow, Sir, to you;

Good-morrow to mine own torn hair,

Bedabbled with the dew.

Good-morrow to this primrose too;
Good-morrow to each maid,

That will with flow'rs the tomb bestrew
Wherein my love is laid.

I'll seek him there! I know, ere this, The cold, cold earth doth shake him ; But I will go, or send a kiss

By you, Sir, to awake him.

Pray, hurt him not; though he be dead.
He knows well who do love him;
And who with green-turfs rear his head,
And who do rudely move him.

He's soft and tender-pray, take heed-
With bands of cowslips bind him ;"
And bring him home-but 'tis decreed
That I shall never find him.

AS Julia once a slumbering lay

It chanc'd a Bee did fly that way,

After a dew, or dew-like shower,
To tipple freely in a flower.

For some rich flower, he took the lip

Of Julia, and began to sip;

But when he felt he suck'd from thence

Honey, and in the quintessence,

He drank so much he scarce could stir, So Julia took the Pilferer.

And thus surpris'd, as filchers use,
He thus began himself to' excuse :
Sweet Lady-Flower, I never brought
Hither the least one thieving thought;
But taking those rare lips of yours
For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flowers,
I thought I might there take a taste,
Where so much Syrup ran at waste.
Besides, know this, I never sting
The flower that gives me nourishing;
But with a kiss, or thanks, do pay
For honey that I bear away.
This said, he laid his little scrip
Of honey 'fore her Ladyship:

And told her, as some tears did fall,
That that he took, and that was all.
At which she smil'd, and bade him go
And take his bag; but thus much know,
When next he came a pilfering so,
He should from her full lips derive,
Honey enough to fill his hive.