More we enjoy it, more it dies; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries— Among favorite love-lyrics of the olden time, is that entitled Rosalind's Madrigal, by LODGE. Here it is : What if I beat the wanton boy He will repay me with annoy, Then sit thou safely on my knee, The following impassioned and beautiful lines are the commencement of a poem, entitled The Exequy, written by DR. KING: Accept, thou shrine of my dead saint, Instead of dirges, this complaint; And for sweet flowers to crown thy hearse, Receive a strew of weeping verse, From thy grieved friend, whom thou might'st see Quite melted into tears for thee! Dear loss! since thy untimely fate, My task hath been to meditate On thee, on thee; thou art the book, The library whereon I look, Though almost blind; for thee (loved clay) Using no other exercise But what I practise with mine eyes: So I compute the weary hours With sighs dissolved into showers. His terse lines on Life are more familiar: Like to the falling of a star, -- Or as the flights of eagles are; The flight is past-and man forgot! SIR H. WOTTON's admired lines, entitled The Happy Life, are well worthy of a place among the most perfect passages of our English poetry :— WOTTON is also justly celebrated for his brilliant stanzas addressed to the Princess Elizabeth, daughter of James I. :— Ye violets, that first appear, By your pure, purple mantles known,— As if the Spring were all your own,— Ye curious chanters of the wood, That warble forth dame Nature's lays, By your weak accents; what's your praise Another of those courtly minstrels was SIR JOHN SUCKLING; and here, with some of his graceful contributions to our poetic anthology, we conclude the first of our evening studies :— Why so pale and wan, fond lover? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Pr'ythee, why so pale? Why so pale and mute, young sinner? Will, when speaking well can't move her, Saying nothing do't? Pr'ythee, why so mute? Quit, quit, for shame; this will not move, This cannot take her ; If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her; The devil take her! His most celebrated piece is The Wedding, written in honour of the beautiful daughter of the Earl of Suffolk. Here are a few of the sparkling stanzas :— Her finger was so small, the ring Would not stay on which they did bring, It was too wide a peck: |