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SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
1608-1644.
On a Wedding.
Her feet beneath her petticoat,
Like little mice stole in and out,

As if they feared the light;
But oh! she dances such a way!
No sun upon an Easter-day
Is half so fine a sight.

Her lips were red, and one was thin,
Compared with that was next her chin,
Some bee had stung it newly.

Song.
Why so pale and wan, fond lover,

Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,

Looking ill prevail?

Prithee, why so pale?

ROBERT HERRICK.
1591-1660.
The Rock of Rubies, and the Quarrie of Pearls.
Some asked me where the Rubies grew,

And nothing I did say;
But with my finger pointed to
The lips of Julia.

Some asked how Pearls did grow, and where?

Then spoke I to my Girl,
To part her lips, and showed them there

The quarelets of Pearl.

On her Feet.
Her pretty feet, like snails, did creep

A little out, and then,
As if they played at Bo-peep,

Did soon draw in again.

To the Virgins to make much of Time.
Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,

Old Time is still a-flying,
And this same flower, that smiles to-day,

To-morrow will be dying.'

Night Piece to Julia.
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;

And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

Seeke and Finde,
Attempt the end, and never stand to doubt,
Nothing's so hard but search will find it out.

* Let us crown ourselves with rosebuds, before they be withered. -Ecclesiasticus x. 20.

RICHARD LOVELACE.
1618-1658.
Orpheus to Beasts.
Oh! could you view the melody
Of every grace,
And music of her face,
You 'd drop a tear;
Seeing more harmony
In her bright eye,
Than now you hear.

To Lucasta on going to the Wars. I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more.

To Althea from Prison. Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron barres a cage; Mindes innocent, and quiet, take

That for an hermitage.

JAMES SHIRLEY.

1596-1666.

Contention of Ajax and Ulysses. Sc. iii.

Death's Final Conquest.
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

RICHARD CRASHAW.
1615-1652.

The conscious water saw its God and blushed.'

In Praise of Lessius' Rule of Health.
A happy soul, that all the way
To heaven hath a summer's day.

THOMAS DEKKER.

1638.

Old Fortunatus. And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds, There's a lean fellow beats all conquerors.

Honest Whore. P. ii. Act i. Sc. 2. We are ne'er like angels till our passion dies.

ABRAHAM COWLEY.

1618-1667.

The Waiting Maid.
Th' adorning thee with so much art

Is but a barb'rous skill;
'Tis like the poisoning of a dart,

Too apt before to kill.

'Lympha pudicn Deum vidit eterubuit. — Latin Poems.

The Motto.
What shall I do to be for ever known,
And make the age to come my own?

On the Death of Crashaw.
His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might
Be wrong; his life, I 'm sure, was in the right.

The Garden. Essay V.
God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.

From Anacreon.
The thirsty earth drinks up the rain
And thirsts and gapes for drink again;
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.

Why

Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why?

SIR JOHN DENHAM.

1615-1668. Cooper's Hill. Line 189. O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme! Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull; Strong without rage; without o'erflowing full.

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