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Secure repose, and never dream
If the quick spirits in your eye
Then, Celia, let us reap our joys,
Ere time such goodly fruit destroys.
fresh beauties ever fade;
Thus, either Time his sickle brings
A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.
SHEPHERD, NYMPH, CHORUS.
Shep. This mossy bank they press’d. Nym. That aged oak
Did canopy the happy pair
All night from the damp air.
Till the day-breaking their embraces broke.
And now she hangs her pearly store (Robb’d from the eastern shore)
I'th' cowslip's bell and rose's ear:
Nym. Those streaks of doubtful light usher not day,
But show my sun must set; no morn
Shall shine till thou return:
Shep. If thine eyes gild my paths, they may forbear
Their useless shine. Nym. My tears will quite
Extinguish their faint light.
Cho. They kiss'd, and wept; and from their lips and eyes,
In a mix'd dew of briny sweet,
Their joys and sorrows meet;
Shep. The winged hours fly fast whilst we embrace;
But when we want their help to meet,
They move with leaden feet.
Shep. Hark! Nym. Ah me, stay! Shep. For ever.
Nym. No, arise;
Nym. My soul. Shep. My paradise.
Ask me no more where Jove bestowe,
Ask me no more whither do stray
Ask me no more whither doth haste
Ask me no more, where those stars light,
Ask me no more, if east or west
SIR JOHN SUCKLING.
This witty baronet was born in 1608. He was the son of the Comptroller of the Household of Charles I. He was uncommonly precocious; at five is said to have spoken Latin, and at sixteen had entered into the service of Gustavus Adolphus,' the lion of the North, and the bulwark of the Protestant faith.' On his return to England, he was favoured by Charles, and became, in his turn, a most enthusiastic supporter of the Royal cause ; writing plays for the amusement of the Court; and, when the Civil War broke out, raising, at his own expense of £1200, a regiment for the King, which is said to have been distinguished only by its 'finery and cowardice.' When the Earl of Strafford came into trouble, Suckling, along with some other cavaliers, intrigued for his deliverance, was impeached by the House of Commons, and had to flee to France. Here an early death awaited him. His servant having robbed him, he drew on, in vehement haste, his boots, to pursue the defaulter, when a rusty nail, or, some say, the blade of a knife, which was concealed in one of them, pierced his heel. A mortification ensued, and he died, in 1641, at thirty-three years of age.
Suckling has written five plays, various poems, besides letters, speeches, and tracts, which have all been collected into one thin volume. They are of various merit; none, in fact, being worthy of print, or at least of preservation, except one or two of his songs, and his · Ballad upon a Wedding.' This last is an admirable expression of what were his principal qualitiesnaïveté, sly humour, gay badinage, and a delicious vein of fancy, coming out occasionally by stealth, even as in his own exquisite lines about the bride,
• Her feet, beneath her petticoat,
As if they fear'd the light.'
Why so pale and wan, fond lover!
Prithee why so pale ?
Looking ill prevail ?
Why so dull and mute, young sinner?
Prithee why so mute?
Will, when speaking well can't win her,
Saying nothing do't?
Quit, quit for shame! this will not move,
This cannot take her;
Nothing can make her-
A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING.
1 I tell thee, Dick, where I have been,
Oh, things without compare!
Be it at wake or fair.
2 At Charing-Cross, hard by the way
There is a house with stairs :
Vorty at least, in pairs.
Walk'd on before the rest: Our landlord looks like nothing to him: The king (God bless him) 'twould undo him, Should he
still so dress'd.
4 At Course-a-park, without all doubt,