I watch'd the dawn of every grace, While yet 'twas safe to gaze; But now despotic o'er the plains These charms arise too fiercely bright, Thus to the rising God of day Their early vows the Persians pay, Whose glowing chariot mounting soon They sicken and expire. THERE lives a lass upon the green, Her eyes are Cupid's darts and wings, To all the vale below. If Pastorella's dawn of light Can warm and wound us so, Hr He that loves a rosy cheek, But a smooth and steadfast mind, Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes. * CAREW. * Carew, though infected with the bad taste of his age, and in general overrun with artificial thoughts and conceits, has written some pieces of great sweetness and elegant simplicity of which this is a very pleasing example. STILL to be neat, still to be drest, Tho' art's hid causes are not found, Give me a look, give me a face Than all th' adulteries of art; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. * B. JONSON. * This is one of a very few productions of the once celebrated author, which, by their singular elegance and neatness, form a striking contrast to the prevalent coarseness and quaintness of his tedious effusions. WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? Pr'ythee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Pr'ythee, why so pale? Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Pr'ythee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Speaking nothing do 't? Pr'ythee, why so mute? * SUCKLING. WHENCE comes my love? O heart! disclose : 'Twas from cheeks that shame the rose; * The third stanza of this sprightly song is omitted, on account of its inferiority and coarseness. From |