But long in vain did I adore,

Long wept and sigh'd in vain ;
She still protested, vow'd, and swore

She ne'er would ease my pain.

At last o’ercome she made me blest,

And yielded all her charms; And I forsook her when possest,

And fled to other's arms.

But let not this, dear CÆLIA, now

To rage thy breast incline;
For why, since you forgot your vow,
Should I remember mine?

SOAME JENYNS.

CORINNA cost me many a prayer,

Ere I her heart could gain,
But she ten thousand more should hear

To take that heart again.

Despair I thought the greatest curse ;

But to my cost I find CORINNA's constancy still worse,

Most cruel when too kind.

How

How blindly then does Cupid carre,

How ill divide the joy,
Who does at first his lovers starve,

And then with plenty cloy!

Take, oh take those lips away

That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes, the break of day,

Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.

Hide, oh hide those hills of snow

Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow

Are of those that April wears :
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee. *

* This sweet and fanciful production of an early age was probably popular at its first appearance, as one stanza of it is given in Shakespear's " Measure for Measure," and both in a play of Beaumont and Fletcher's. It has commonly been attributed to Shakespear, but probably erroneously.

Send home my long-stray'd eyes to me,
Which, oh! too long have dwelt on thee;
But if from thee they've learnt such ill,

To sweetly smile

And then beguile,
Kcep the deceivers, keep them still.

Send home my harmless heart again,
Which no unworthy thought could stain ;
But if it has been taught by thine

To forfeit both

Its word and oath, Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine,

Yet send me back

my

heart and eyes, That I may know thy falsities, And laugh and joy one day, when thoa

Shalt grieve and mourn

For one will scorn,
And prove as false as thou dost now.*

DONNE (altered)

* Donne is so rugged a versifier, that scarcely any of his productions are reducible to regular measure without some alteration. His language, also, is generally far from elegant or refived, and his thoughts are extremely strained and artificial, The preceding piece, however, has not required much correction to entitle it to a distinguished place among ingenious songs,

ON A LADY'S GIRDLE.

That which her slender waist confined
Shall now my joyful temples bind :
No monarch but would give his crown
His arms might do what this has donc.

It was my heav'n's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer;
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move.

A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair :
Give me but what this riband bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.

WALLER.

Go, lovely Rose!
Tell her that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,
When I resemble her to thee,
How fair and sweet she seems to be.

Tell

Tell her that's young,
And shuns to have her graces spied,

That hadst thou sprung
In deserts where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended dicd.

Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retired :

Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desired,
And pot blush so to be admired.

Then die; that she
The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee;
How small a part of time they share,
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

WALLER.

I truth can fix thy wavering heart,

Let Damon urge his claim;
He feels the passion void of art,

The pure, the constant flame.

Tho