TEARS

At the grave of Sir Albertus Morton, who was buried at Southampton;

WEPT BY SIR H. WOTTON.

SILENCE, in truth, would fpeak my forrow best,
For deepest wounds can least their feelings tell.
Yet, let me borrow from mine own unrest

But time to bid him, whom I lov'd, farewel.

Oh my unhappy lines! you that before

Have ferved my youth to vent fome wanton cries, And now, congeal'd with grief, can scarce implore Strength to accent! Here my Albertus lies!

This is the fable ftone, this is the cave

And womb of earth that doth his corpfe embrace. While others fing his praise, let me engrave These bleeding numbers to adorn the place.

Here will I paint the character of woe,
Here will I pay my tribute to the dead ;
And here my faithful tears in showers fhall flow,
To humanize the flints whereon I tread :

Where though I mourn my matchless loss alone, And none between my weakness judge and me; Yet e'en these penfive walls allow my moan, Whofe doleful echoes to my plaints agree,

But is he gone? and dwell I rhyming here

As if fome muse would listen to my lay, When all diftun'd fit waiting for their dear, And bathe the banks where he was wont to play?

Dwell thou in endless light, discharged foul,

Freed now from nature's and from fortune's truft, While on this fluent globe my glass shall roll, And run the rest of my remaining dust,

Upon the Death of Sir A. Morton's Wife.

He firft deceased; fhe, for a little, tried

E

To live without him, lik'd it not, and died,

WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.

An author much admired by his cotemporaries. He died in 1643. His plays and poems were published in a volume octavo, in 1651.

SONG

IN THE LADY ERRANT.

To carve

our loves in myrtle rinds,
And tell our fecrets to the woods;
To fend our fighs by faithful winds,
And truft our tears unto the floods;
To call where no man hears,
And think that rocks have ears,
To walk, and reft, to live and die,

And yet not know how, whence, or why;
To have our hopes with fear still check'd,
To credit doubts, and truth fufpect,
This, this is what we may

A lover's abfence fay.

LOVE BUT ONE.

SEE thefe two little brooks that flowly creep
In fuaky windings through the plains;
I knew them once one river, swift and deep,
Bleffing and bleft by poets' ftrains.

But, fince it broke itself, and double glides,
The naked banks no dress have worn;
And yon dry barren mountain now derides
These valleys, which loft glories mourn,

O Chloris, think how this prefents thy love,
Which, when it ran but in one stream,

We happy fhepherds thence did thrive, and 'prove,
And thou waft mine and all men's theme.

But fince 't hath been imparted to one more,
And in two ftreams doth weakly creep,
Our common mufe is thence grown low and poor,
And mine as lean as these my sheep.

But think withal what honour thou haft loft,
Which we did to thy full ftream pay.

Whilft now, that swain that swears he loves thee most,
Slakes but his thirst, and goes away!

FALSEHOOD.

STILL do the stars impart their light
To those that travel in the night;
Still time runs on, nor doth the hand
Or fhadow of the dial ftand:

The ftreams ftill glide and conftant are;
Only thy mind

Untrue I find,

Which carelessly

Neglects to be

Like ftream or shadow, hand or star.

LESBIA ON HER SPARROW.

TELL me not of joys, there's none
Now my little fparrow's gone;
He, juft as you,

Would figh and woo,

He would chirp and flatter me;

He would hang the wing a while,

Till at length he saw me smile, Lord! how fullen he would be!

He would catch a crumb, and then
Sporting let it go again;

He from my lip,

Would moisture fip;