TO BLOSSOMS.

FAIRE pledges of a fruitfull tree,
Why do yee fall so fast?

Your date is not so past,

But you may stay yet here a while,
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What, were yee borne to be

An houre or half's delight,

And so to bid goodnight?

'Twas pitie nature brought yee forth
Meerly to shew your worth,
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'r so brave;

And after they have shown their pride,
Like you, a while, they glide
Into the grave.

MAN'S DYING-PLACE UNCERTAIN.

MAN knowes where first he ships himselfe ; but he Never can tell where shall his landing be.

NOTHING FREE-COST.

NOTHING comes free-cost here; Jove will not let His gifts go from him, if not bought with sweat.

FEW FORTUNATE.

MANY we are, and yet but few possesse
Those fields of everlasting happinesse.

TO PERENNA.

How long, Perenna, wilt thou see
Me languish for the love of thee?
Consent, and play a friendly part
To save, when thou may'st kill a heart.

TO THE LADYES.

TRUST me, ladies, I will do
Nothing to distemper you;
If I any fret or vex,

Men they shall be, not your sex.

THE OLD WIVES PRAYER.

HOLY-ROOD come forth and shield
Us i'th' citie, and the field:
Safely guard us, now and aye,
From the blast that burns by day,

And those sounds that us affright
In the dead of dampish night.
Drive all hurtfull feinds us fro,
By the time the cocks first crow.

UPON A CHEAP LAUNDRESSE. EPIG.

FEACIE, some say, doth wash her clothes i'th’lie
That sharply trickles from her either eye.
The laundresses, they envie her good-luck,
Who can with so small charges drive the buck.
What needs she fire and ashes to consume,
Who can scoure linnens with her own salt reeume?

UPON HIS DEPARTURE HENCE.

THUS I

Passe by
And die

As one
Unknown

And gon:
I'm made

A shade,
And laid

I'th grave;
There have
My cave:
Where tell
I dwell.
Farewell.

THE WASSAILE.

GIVE way, give way, ye gates, and win
An easie blessing to your bin

And basket, by our entring in.

May both with manchet stand repleat;
Your larders too so hung with meat,
That though a thousand, thousand eat,

Yet, ere twelve moones shall whirl about Their silv'rie spheres, ther's none may doubt But more's sent in then was serv'd out.

Next, may your dairies prosper so,
As that your pans no ebbe may know;
But if they do, the more to flow,—

Like to a solemne sober stream
Bankt all with lillies, and the cream
Of sweetest cow-slips filling them.

Then, may your plants be prest with fruit,
Nor bee or hive you have be mute,

But sweetly sounding like a lute.

Next may your duck and teeming hen
Both to the cocks tread say amen,

And for their two egs render ten.

Last, may your harrows, shares, and ploughes, Your stacks, your stocks, your sweetest mowes, All prosper by your virgin vowes.

Alas! we blesse, but see none here
That brings us either ale or beere ;
In a drie house all things are neere.*

Let's leave a longer time to wait,
Where rest and cobwebs bind the gate,
And all live here with needy fate:

Where chimneys do for ever weepe
For want of warmth, and stomachs keepe
With noise the servants eyes from sleep.

It is in vain to sing, or stay

Our free feet here, but we'l away;
Yet to the Lares this we'l say :—

The time will come, when you'l be sad,
And reckon this for fortune bad,
T'ave lost the good ye might have had.

UPON A LADY FAIRE, BUT FRUITLESSE.

TWICE has Pudica been a bride, and led
By holy Himen to the nuptiall bed.

*Close, penurious.