Now fie upon that everlasting life… She hates! Ah me! It makes me m… As if love fir’d his torch at a mo… Or with his joyes e’re crown’d the… Oh, let me live and shout, when I…

Amarantha sweet and faire, Ah brade no more that shining hair… As my curious hand or eye, Hovering round thee, let it flye. II.

Heark! Oh heark! you guilty tree… In whose gloomy galleries Was the cruell’st murder done, That e’re yet eclipst the sunne. Be then henceforth in your twigges

Cleft as the top of the inspired h… Struggles the soul of my divided q… Whilst this foot doth the watry mo… That Sinai’s living and enlivenin… Behold my powers storm’d by a twis…

FOR Cherries plenty, and for Cor… Enough for fifty, were there more… For Elles of Beere Flutes of Can… That well did wash downe pasties—m… For Peason, Chickens, sawces high…

Strive not, vain lover, to be fine… Thy silk’s the silk-worm’s, and no… You lessen to a fly your mistriss’… To think it may be in a cobweb cau… What, though her thin transparent…

Were it that you so shun me, 'caus… (Cruels’t) a fellow in your wretch… Or that you take some small ease i… Torments, to heare another sadly g… I were most happy in my paines, to…

That frantick errour I adore, And am confirm’d the earth turns r… Now satisfied o’re and o’re, As rowling waves, so flowes the gr… And as her neighbour reels the sho…

Sir, your sad absence I complain,… Her long-hid spring, that gave her… Who now her cheerful aromatick hea… Shrinks in her cold and dismal wid… Whilst the false sun her lover dot…

You, that can haply mixe your joye… And weave white Ios with black El… Can caroll out a dirge, and in one… Sing to the tune either of life, o… You, that can weepe the gladnesse…

Sweet serene skye-like flower, Haste to adorn her bower; From thy long clowdy bed Shoot forth thy damaske head. New-startled blush of Flora!

DE SCAEVOLA. Lictorem pro rege necans nunc muti… Sacrifico propriam concremat igne… Miratur Porsenna virum, paenamque… Maxima cum obscessis faedera a vic…

Depose your finger of that ring, And crowne mine with’t awhile; Now I restor’t. Pray, dos it brin… Back with it more of soile? Or shines it not as innocent,

Tell me not, (sweet,) I am unkind… That from the nunnerie Of thy chaste breast and quiet min… To warre and armes I flie. True: a new Mistresse now I chase…

YEE happy floods! that now must… The sacred conduicts of her Wombe… Smooth, and transparent as your fa… When you are deafe, and windes are… II