But soon reflection's power impress'd And tho' in distant climes to roam, THE TIMID LOVER. Yes, it is true I utter'd not my tale; But didst thou never hear the bitter sighs That swelled my breast, ne'er see what deadly pale, Stole o'er my cheek, how often to mine eyes, Spite of myself, the grief-wrung tears would rise, When, by thy side, some youth than me more bold, More blest in all those charms that wealth sup plies, With ready tongue his artful story told? For thee in thousand nameless actions shown? And might not these have taught thee, far above The feeble power of words, my matchless love? AN APOLOGY FOR HAVING LOVED BEFORE. They that never had the use Whether it be best or no. f. So, they that are to love inclin'd, Sway'd by chance, not choice or art, To the first that's fair or kind, Make a present of their heart: 'Tis not she that first we love, But whom dying we approve. To man, that was in th' evening made, But when the bright sun did appear, He neither might, nor wish'd to know For that (as mine your beauties now) Employ'd his utmost sight. UPON MY MISTRESS DANCING. I stood and saw my mistress dance, By one that knew I was in love, My wonder, to behold her move SONNET. Lately at afternoon, the sun hot-shining, Flush'd with the grape, and in poetics deep; On a soft sopha carelessly reclining, Tuning new sonnets, lo! I dropp'd asleep. Thro' the vine-bower'd windows then inclining, My mistress from the garden chanc'd to peep; And left her lily's with the heat repining, On tip-toe to my cool recess to creep. She read the verse for her sweet self intended ON AURELIA'S BLUSHING. Say, gentle spirit, has thou seen, When the sun darts o'er ocean low, And sudden bursts on heav'n's wide scene, Say, hast thou seen the opal white, And hast thou seen an ebon cloud, |