He would from my trencher feed,

Then would hop, and then would run,

;

And cry Philip when h' had done Oh! whofe heart can choose but bleed?

Oh! how eager would he fight,

And ne'er hurt tho' he did bite;
No morn did pass,
But on my glass

He would fit, and mark and do
What I did; now ruffle all

His feathers o'er, now let them fall,
And then straightway fleek them too.

Where will Cupid get his darts
Feather'd now, to pierce our hearts ?
A wound he may,

Not love, convey;
Now this faithful bird is gone,

Oh! let mournful turtles join

With loving redbreafts, and combine

To fing dirges o'er his stone..

SONG.

WHILST early light fprings from the skies,

A fairer from your bride doth rife;
A brighter day doth thence appear,
And make a fecond morning there.
Her blush doth shed,

All o'er the bed,

Clear fhame-fac'd beams,

That spread in ftreams,

And purple round the modeft air.

I will not tell what shrieks and cries,
What angry pishes, and what fies,
What pretty oaths, then newly born,
The lift'ning taper heard there fworn:
Whilft froward fhe,

Most peevishly,

Did yielding fight,

To keep all night,

What she'd have proffer'd you ere morn!

Fair, we know maids do refusfe

Το

grant what they do come to lofe; Intend a conqueft you that wed!

They would be chastely ravished;

Perfuade and woo.

Know, pleasure's by extorting fed.

O may
Only by hard encircling you;
May the round about you twine
Like the easy twisting vine,
And whilft you fip

her arms wax black and blue,

From her full lip

Pleasures as new

As morning dew,

Let those foft ties your hearts combine.

SONG.

COME, O Come, I brook no ftay,
He doth not love that can delay!
See, how the stealing night

Hath blotted out the light,
And tapers do fupply the day.

To be chafte, is to be old,

And that foolish girl that's cold,
Is fourscore at fifteen :

Defires do write us green,

And loofer flames our youth unfold.

See, the first taper's almost gone!

Thy flame like that will straight be none : And I as it expire,

Unable to hold fire;

She lofeth time that lies alone.

O let us cherish then these

powers,

Whilft we yet may call them ours!
Then we best spend our time,
When no dull zealous chime,
But fprightful kiffes strike the hours!

SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

SONG.

WHY fo pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why fo pale?

Will, if looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?

Prithee, why fo pale?

Why fo dull and mute, young finner ?
Prithee, why fo mute?

Will, if speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?

Prithee, why fo mute?

Quit, quit for fhame; this will not meve, This cannot take her;

If of herself she will not love,

Nothing can make her.

The Devil take her!