Peace, Chloris! peace! or finging die, That together you and I

To heav'n may go;

For all we know

Of what the bleffed do above,

Is that they fing, and that they love.

FLATMAN.

This poet is a miserable imitator of Cowley. Of the three following extracts, the first is in the best style of his poetry ; the fecond a fpecimen of bis wit; and the third is remarkable from its having been imitated by Mr. Pope, in bis Ode of "The Dying Chriftian.”

SONG.

REMOV'D from fair Urania's eyes,

Into a village far away,

Fond Aftrophil began to say:

Thy charms, Urania, I despise;

"Go, bid fome other shepherd for thee die,

"That never understood thy tyranny."

Return'd at length, the amorous fwain,
Soon as he faw his deity,

Ador'd again and bow'd his knee,
Became her flave, and wore her chain.

The needle thus, that motionless did lie,

Trembles and moves when the lov'd loadstone's by.

SONG.

How happy a thing were a wedding,
And a bedding,

If a man might purchase a wife,
For a twelvemonth and a day;
But to live with her all a man's life,
For ever and for aye;

Till fhe grow as grey as a cat,

Good faith, Mr. Parfon, I thank you for that.

SONG.

A THOUGHT ON DEATH.

WHEN on my fick bed I languish,
Full of forrows, full of anguish;
Fainting, gasping, trembling, crying,

Panting, groaning, fpeechlefs, dying,--
Methinks I hear fome gentle spirit say,
Be not fearful, come away!

CHARLES COTTON.

This pleafing and elegant author rvas principally diftinguished by bis "Virgil Traveftie," and other burlesque Tranflations, and in this fiyle of writing was confidered as only inferior to Butler. His "Complete Angler," publifbed by Sir John Hawkins, together with that of Ifaac Walton, is also a defervedly popular performance. The following pieces are extracted from his "Poems on feveral Occafions, octavo, 1689."

LORD! how

TO CHLORIS.

you take upon you still!

How you crow and domineer!

How ftill expect to have your will,

And carry the dominion clear,

As you were still the fame that once you were!

Fie, Chloris, 'tis a grofs mistake,

Correct your errors, and be wise; I kindly still your kindness take,

But yet have learn'd, though love I prize,

Your froward humours to despise,

And now difdain to call them cruelties.

I was a fool while you were fair,
And I had youth t' excuse it;
And all the reft are so that lovers are:
I then myself your vaffal fware,
And could be ftill fo (which is rare),
But on condition that you not abuse it.

'Tis beauty that to woman-kind
Gives all the rule and sway;

Which once declining, or declin'd,
Men afterwards unwillingly obey.

Yet ftill you have enough, and more than needs, To rule a more rebellious heart than mine; For as your eyes ftill fhoot, my heart ftill bleeds, And I must be a fubject ftill:

Nor is it much against my will,

Though I pretend to wreftle and repine.

Your beauties, fweet, are at their height,
And I muft ftill adore;

New years new graces ftill create,
Nay, maugre time, mifchance, and fate,
You in your very ruins fhall have more
Than all the beauties that have grac'd the
world before.