You labour may To lead aftray The heart that conftant shall remain ; And I the while Will fit and smile To fee you spend your time in vain. The following Rhomboidal DIRGE, is inferted on account of its fingularity. Ah me! Am I the fwain, That late, from forrow free, Did all the cares on earth disdain? And still untouch'd, as at fome safer games, Play'd with the burning coals of love and beauty's flames? Was't I, could dive, and found each paffion's fecret depth at will, And from thofe huge o'erwhelmings rife by help of reason still? And am I now, O heavens! for trying this in vain, So funk that I fhall never rife again? Then, let despair set forrow's string For frains that doleful'ft be, And I will fing Ah me! But why, O fatal time, Doft thou constrain, that I Should perish in my youth's sweet prime I, but a while ago, you cruel powers! In fpite of fortune cropt contentment's sweetest flowers; And yet, unfcorned, ferve a gentle nymph, the fairest she That ever was belov'd of man, or eyes did ever see. Yea, one whofe tender heart would rue for my distress, Yet I, poor I, must perish ne'ertheless; And,which much more augmentsmy care, Unmoaned I must die, And no man c'er Know why! Thy leave, Yet take, ere grief bereave The breath which I enjoy too long. Tell thou that fair one this; my foul prefers Her love above my life: and that I died hers. And let him be for evermore to her remembrance dear, Who lov'd the very thought of her, whilst he remained here. And now farewel, thou place of my unhappy birth, Where once I breath'd the sweetest air on earth. You Since me my wonted joys forfake, And all my trust deceive, Of all I take My leave. Farewel, Sweet groves, to you! You hills that higheft dwell, And all you humble vales, adieu! wanton brooks, and folitary rocks; My dear companions all, and you my tender flocks! Farewel, my pipe! and all those pleasing songs, whose moving strains Delighted once the fairest nymphs that dance upon the plains. You discontents, whofe deep and over-deadly smart Have, without pity, broke the truest heart, Sighs, tears, and every fad annoy, That erft did with me dwell, And others joy, Farewel! Adieu, Fair fhepherdeffes! Let garlands of sad yew Adorn your dainty golden treffes! I, that lov'd you, and often with my quill Made mufic that delighted fountain, grove, and hill, I, whom you loved fo, and with a sweet and chaste embrace, Yea, with a thousand rarer favours would vouchsafe to grace, I now must leave you all alone, of love to plain; And never pipe nor never fing again. I muft, for evermore, be gone, And therefore bid I you, And every one, I die! For, oh! I feel Death's horrors drawing nigh, And all this frame of nature reel. My hopeless heart, despairing of relief, Sinks underneath the heavy weight of faddeft grief, Which hath fo ruthless torn, so rack'd, so tortur'd every vein. All comfort comes too late to have it ever cur'd again. My fwimming head begins to dance death's giddy round, A fhuddering chilness doth each sense confound, Benumb'd is my cold fweaty brow, A dimness shuts my eye, And now, oh now, I die! BEN JONSON. SONG. COME, my Celia, let us prove, While we may, the fweets of love; Time will not be ours for ever, He at length our good will fever; Spend not then his gifts in vain, Suns that fet may rise again; But if once we lose the light, "Tis with us perpetual night. Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumour are but toys; Cannot we delude the eyes Of a few poor household spies? Or his easier ears beguile So removed by our wile? 'Tis no fin love's fruits to steal; But the fweet theft to reveal, To be taken, to be seen, These have crimes accounted been. |