DANIEL.

SONNET.

Look, Delia, how w' esteem the half-blown rose,
The image of thy blush and fummer's honour;
Whilft yet her tender bud doth undisclose
That full of beauty time bestows upon her.

No fooner fpreads her glory in the air,

But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to de

cline;

She then is fcorn'd that late adorn'd the fair;
So fade the roses of thofe cheeks of thine.

No April can revive thy wither'd flowers,
Whofe fpringing grace adorns thy glory now:
Swift fpeedy Time, feather'd with flying hours,
Diffolves the beauty of the fairest brow.
Then do not thou fuch treasure waste in vain,
But love now whilst thou may'st be lov'd again.

SONNET.

If this be love to draw a weary breath,

With downward looks, ftill reading on the earth
Thefe fad memorials of my love's despair;

If this be love, to war against my soul,

Lie down to wail, rife up to figh and grieve, The never-refting stone of care to roll,

Still to complain my griefs, whilft none relieve;

If this be love, to clothe me with dark thoughts,
Haunting untrodden paths to wail apart;
My pleasures, horror, mufic, tragic notes,
Tears in mine eyes, and forrow at my heart;
If this be love, to live a living death;
Then do I love, and draw this weary breath.

SONNET.

years

shall wreck my wrong,

I ONCE may fee when
When golden hairs shall change to filver wire;
And those bright rays that kindle all this fire,
Shall fail in force, their working not so strong.

Then beauty (now the burthen of my fong)
Whose glorious blaze the world doth so admire,
Muft yield up all to tyrant Time's defire;
Then fade those flowers that deck'd her pride fo long.

When if she grieve to gaze her in her glass,

Which then presents her winter-wither'd hue,

Go you, my

verse, go

For what the was,

tell her what she was;

fhe best shall find in you.

Your fiery heat lets not her glory pass,

But (Phoenix like) shall make her live anew.

SONNET.

BEAUTY, fweet love, is like the morning dew,
Whose short refresh the tender green,

upon

Cheers for a time, but till the fun doth shew,
And ftraight 'tis gone as it had never been.

Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish,
Short is the glory of the blushing rofe:
The hue which thou fo carefully doft nourish,

Yet which at length thou must be forc'd to lose.

When thou, furcharg'd with burthen of thy years, Shall bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth, And when in beauty's leafe, expir'd, appears

The date of age, the calends of our death— But ah! no more this must not be foretold, For women grieve to think they must be old.

SONNE T.

I

would read

MUST not grieve my love, whose eyes Lines of delight whereon her youth might smile, Flowers have time before they come to feed,

And she is young, and now must sport the while.

And sport (fweet maid) in season of these years, And learn to gather flowers before they wither, And where the sweetest blossom first appears,

Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither.

Lighten forth fmiles to cheer the clouded air,
And calm the tempeft which my fighs do raise;
Pity and smiles do beft become the fair,

Pity and fmiles muft only yield thee praise.
Make me to fay, when all my griefs are gone,
Happy the heart that figh'd for such a one.

ODE.

Now each creature joys the other,

Paffing happy days and hours,
One bird reports unto another,
In the fall of filent showers;
Whilft the earth (our common mother)
Hath her bofom deck'd with flowers.

Whilft the greatest torch of heaven
With bright rays warms Flora's lap,
Making days and nights both even,
Cheering plants with fresher sap;
My field of flowers quite bereaven,
Wants refresh of better hap.

With ftreams of milk, and honey dropt from trees;

Unto the husbandman

Her voluntary fruits, free, without fees ;

Nor for no cold did freeze,

Nor any cloud beguile,

Th' eternal flow'ring spring,

Wherein liv'd every thing,

And whereon th' heavens perpetually did smile;
Not for no fhip had brought

From foreign fhores, or warres, or wares ill
fought:

But only, for that name,

That idle name of wind,

That idol of deceit, that empty found

Call'd honour, which became

The tyrant of the mind,

And fo torments our nature without ground,

Was not yet vainly found :

Nor yet fad grief imparts,

Amidft the fweet delights

Of joyful amorous wights,

Nor were his hard laws known to freeborn

hearts: