108. TO THE PAINTER, TO DRAW HIM A PICTURE.

COME, Skilful Lupo, now, and take
Thy bice, thy umber, pink, and lake;
And let it be thy pencil's strife,
To paint a Bridgeman to the life :
Draw him as like too, as you can,
An old, poor, lying, flattering man:
His cheeks bepimpled, red and blue;
His nose and lips of mulberry hue.
Then, for an easy fancy, place

A burling iron for his face :

Next, make his cheeks with breath to swell,
And for to speak, if possible:

But do not so, for fear lest he

Should by his breathing, poison thee.

III. A LYRIC TO MIRTH.

WHILE the milder fates consent,

Let's enjoy our merriment:

Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play;
Kiss our dollies night and day:
Crowned with clusters of the vine,

Let us sit, and quaff our wine.
Call on Bacchus, chant his praise;

Shake the thyrse, and bite the bays:

Bice, properly a brown grey, but by transference from "blue bice" and " green bice," used for blue and green.

Burling iron, pincers for extracting knots.

Rouse Anacreon from the dead,
And return him drunk to bed:

Sing o'er Horace, for ere long

Death will come and mar the song:
Then shall Wilson and Gotiere
Never sing or play more here.

112. TO THE EARL OF WESTMORELAND.

WHEN my date's done, and my grey age must die,
Nurse up, great Lord, this my posterity:

Weak though it be, long may it grow and stand,
Shored up by you, brave Earl of Westmoreland.

113. AGAINST LOVE.

WHENE'ER my heart love's warmth but entertains,
Oh frost! oh snow! oh hail! forbid the banes.
One drop now deads a spark, but if the same
Once gets a force, floods cannot quench the flame.
Rather than love, let me be ever lost,
Or let me 'gender with eternal frost.

114. UPON JULIA'S RIBAND.

As shows the air when with a rainbow grac'd,
So smiles that riband 'bout my Julia's waist :
Or like-nay 'tis that zonulet of love,
Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.

Wilson, Dr. John Wilson, the singer and composer, one of the king's musicians (1594-1673).

Gotiere, Jacques Gouter, a French musician at the court of Charles I.

115. THE FROZEN ZONE; OR, JULIA DISDAINFUL.

WHITHER? say, whither shall I fly,

To slack these flames wherein I fry?
To the treasures, shall I go,

Of the rain, frost, hail, and snow?
Shall I search the underground,

Where all damps and mists are found?
Shall I seek (for speedy ease)

All the floods and frozen seas?
Or descend into the deep,
Where eternal cold does keep?
These may cool; but there's a zone

Colder yet than anyone:

That's my Julia's breast, where dwells
Such destructive icicles,

As that the congelation will

Me sooner starve than those can kill.

116. AN EPITAPH UPON A SOBER MATRON.

WITH blameless carriage, I lived here
To the almost seven and fortieth year.
Stout sons I had, and those twice three;
One only daughter lent to me:
The which was made a happy bride
But thrice three moons before she died.
My modest wedlock, that was known
Contented with the bed of one,

Carriage, behaviour.

117. TO THE PATRON OF POETS, M. END.

PORTER.

LET there be patrons, patrons like to thee,
Brave Porter! poets ne'er will wanting be:
Fabius and Cotta, Lentulus, all live

In thee, thou man of men! who here do'st give
Not only subject-matter for our wit,

But likewise oil of maintenance to it:

For which, before thy threshold, we'll lay down
Our thyrse for sceptre, and our bays for crown.
For, to say truth, all garlands are thy due:
The laurel, myrtle, oak, and ivy too.

118. THE SADNESS OF THINGS FOR SAPPHO'S SICKNESS.

LILIES will languish; violets look ill;

Sickly the primrose; pale the daffodil;

That gallant tulip will hang down his head,
Like to a virgin newly ravished;

Pansies will weep, and marigolds will wither,
And keep a fast and funeral together;

If Sappho droop, daisies will open never,
But bid good-night, and close their lids for ever.

119. LEANDER'S OBSEQUIES.

WHEN as Leander young was drown'd
No heart by love receiv'd a wound,
But on a rock himself sat by,
There weeping sup'rabundantly.
Sighs numberless he cast about,
And all his tapers thus put out:
His head upon his hand he laid,
And sobbing deeply, thus he said:

"Ah, cruel sea," and, looking on't,
Wept as he'd drown the Hellespont.
And sure his tongue had more express'd
But that his tears forbade the rest.

120. HOPE HEARTENS.

NONE goes to warfare but with this intent-
The gains must dead the fears of detriment.

121. FOUR THINGS MAKE US HAPPY HERE.

HEALTH is the first good lent to men;
A gentle disposition then :

Next, to be rich by no by-ways;

Lastly, with friends t'enjoy our days.

122. HIS PARTING FROM MRS. DOROTHY KENNEDY,

WHEN I did go from thee I felt that smart
Which bodies do when souls from them depart.
Thou did'st not mind it; though thou then might'st

see

Me turn'd to tears; yet did'st not weep for me. 'Tis true, I kiss'd thee; but I could not hear

Thee spend a sigh t'accompany my tear.

Methought 'twas strange that thou so hard should'st

prove,

Whose heart, whose hand, whose every part spake love.

Prithee, lest maids should censure thee, but say
Thou shed'st one tear, whenas I went away;
And that will please me somewhat: though I know,
And love will swear't, my dearest did not so.