Now kings and queens poor sheepcotes have,
And mate with every body;

The honest men now play the knave,
And wise men play the noddy.
Some youths will now a mumming go,
Some others play at Roland-bo,
And twenty other game boys mo,
Because they will be merry.

Then, wherefore, in these merry days,
Should we, pray, be duller?

No, let us sing some roundelays,

To make our mirth the fuller:

And while we thus inspired sing,
Let all the streets with echoes ring;
Woods and hills, and everything,
Bear witness we are merry.

THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.

SHALL I, wasting in despaire,

Dye, because a woman's faire? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosie are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flow'ry meads in May; If she be not so to me,

What care I how faire she be?

Shall my foolish heart be pined
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposed nature
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder, than
The turtle-dove or pelican:

If she be not so to me,
What care I how kinde she be?

Shall a woman's virtue move

Me to perish for her love?
Or her well-deservings knowne,
Make me quite forget mine owne?
Be she with that godnesse blest,
Which may merit name of best ;
If she be not such to me,
What care I how good she be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the foole and dye?
Those that beare a noble minde,
Where they want of riches finde,

Thinke what with them they would doe,
That without them dare to wooe;
And unlesse that minde I see,
What care I how great she be?

Great, or good, or kinde, or faire,
I will ne'er the more despaire ;
If she love me, this beleeve;
I will dye ere she shall grieve,
If she slight me when I wooe,
I can scorn and let her goe:
If she be not fit for me,
What care I for whom she be?

VANISHED BLESSINGS.

'HE voice which I did more esteem

TH

Than music in her sweetest key, Those eyes which unto me did seem More comfortable than the dayThose now by me, as they have been, Shall never more be heard or seen; But what I once enjoyed in them Shall seem hereafter as a dream.

All earthly comforts vanish thus;

So little hold of them have we,
That we from them, or they from us,
May in a moment ravished be.
Yet we are neither just nor wise,

If present mercies we despise ;

Or mind not how there may be made

A thankful use of what we had.

THE CHRONICLE.

BY ABRAHAM COWLEY.-1618-67.

[ABRAHAM COWLEY was born in London, in 1618, after his father's death. He was educated first at Cambridge, and afterwards, when he was ejected from that University on account of his loyalty, at Oxford. He showed great zeal in the royal cause, forwarded it by every means in his power, and was an exile for twelve years. After the Restoration he was neglected by the Court, on account of some of his poems, and went to reside at a farm which had been obtained for him from the Queen, by the Duke of Buckingham, and finally settled at Chertsey, on the banks of the Thames. He died in 1667, and was interred in Westminster Abbey. Cowley was a poet from his earliest years, and published a volume at thirteen. His anacreontic pieces are the best which he wrote. Charles II. made a late and poor reparation for the neglect with which he had been treated, by declaring that "he left not a better man behind him in England;" but he was one of those few fortunate poets who attained to independence, and, in their lifetime, acquired honour and fame.]

MARGARITA first possest,

If I remember well, my breast.
Margarita first of all;

But when a while the wanton maid

With my restless heart had play'd,

Martha took the flying ball.

Martha soon did it resign

To the beauteous Catherine.

Beauteous Catherine gave place
(Though loth and angry she to part
With the possession of my heart)
To Eliza's conquering face.

Eliza till this hour might reign,
Had she not evil counsels ta'en;
Fundamental laws she broke,
And still new favourites she chose,
Till up in arms my passions rose,
And cast away her yoke.

Mary then, and gentle Anne,
Both to reign at once began :

Alternately they sway'd;

And sometimes Mary was the fair,
And sometimes Anne the crown did wear,
And sometimes both I obey'd.

Another Mary then arose,
And did rigorous laws impose;
A mighty tyrant she!
Long, alas should I have been
Under that iron-sceptred queen,

Had not Rebecca set me free.