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In the amorous Warre, by JASPER Mayne,
Oxford, 1659.

TIME is a feather'd thing;

And whilft I praise

The fparklings of thy looks, and call them rays, Takes wing;

Leaving behind him, as he flies,

An unperceived dimnefs in thine eyes.

His minutes, whilft they're told,

Do make us old,

And every fand of his fleet glass,

Increafing age as it doth pass,
Infenfibly fows wrinkles there,
Where flow'rs and roses did appear.

Whilft we do speak, our fire

Doth into ice expire:

Flames turn to froft,

And ere we can

Know how our crow turns fwan,

Or how a filver fnow

Springs there where jet did grow,

Our fading spring is in dull winter loft.

SIR ROBERT HOWARD.

The poems of this author, confifting of fongs and fonnets, and a play called the Blind Lady, were printed in 1660, in one

volume octavo.

SONG

TO THE INCONSTANT CYNTHIA.

IN thy fair breaft, and once fair foul,
I thought my vows were writ alone :
But others' oaths fo blurred the fcroll,
That I no more could read my own.
And am I ftill oblig'd to pay
When you had thrown the bond away?

Nor muft we only part in joy,

:

Our tears as well must be unkind;
Weep you, that could fuch truth destroy,
And I that did fuch falfeness find.
Thus we muft unconcern'd remain

In our divided joys and pain.

Yet we may love, but on this different score,
You what I am, I what you were before.

THE RESOLUTION.

No, Cynthia, never think I can
Love a divided heart and mind;
Your funshine love to every man,
Appears alike as great as kind.

None but the duller Perfians kneel,
And the bright god of beams implore;
Whilft others equal influence feel,
That never did the god adore.

Though I refolve to love no more,
Since I did once, I will advise:
The love of conquests now give o'er ;
Difquiets wait on victories.

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

She that to age her charms refigns,
And then at laft turns votary,
Though virtue much the change inclines,
'Tis fullied by neceffity.

SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT.

He was Poet Laureat during the reigns of Charles the 1ft and 2d. His works, confifting of Gondebert, Madagascar, several Small poems, and fixteen plays, were published in 1673, in a large volume folio.

THE DREAM.

то MR. GEORGE PORTER.

No victor, when in battle spent,
When he at night asleep doth lie
Rich in a conquer'd monarch's tent,
E'er had fo vain a dream as I.

Methought I faw the earliest shade,

And sweetest that the spring can spread,
Of Jasmin, brier, and woodbine made;
And there I faw Clorinda dead.

Though dead fhe lay, yet could I fee
No cypress, nor no mourning yew,

Nor yet the injured lover's tree;
No willow near her coffin grew:

But all fhew'd unconcern'd to be,

As if juft nature there did strive To be as pitilefs as fhe

Was to her lover when alive.

And now, methought I loft all care
In lofing her; and was as free
As birds let loose into the air,
Or rivers that are got to fea.

Yet foon, now from my princefs free,
I rather frantic grew than glad ;
For fubjects, getting liberty,
Get but a licence to be mad.

Birds that are long in cages aw'd,

If they get out, a while will roam; But ftraight want skill to live abroad, Then pine, and hover near their home.

And to the ocean rivers run,

From being pent in banks of flowers : Not knowing that th' exhaling fun

Will send them back in weeping show'rs.

Soon thus, for pride of liberty,

I low defires of bondage found; And vanity of being free

Bred the difcretion to be bound,

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