SONG. [1654.] SOLITUDE, of friends the best, And the best companion ; Mother of truths, and brought at least Every day to bed of one; In this flowery mansion I contemplate how the rose Stands upon thorns, how quickly goes The dismaying jelamine: Only the soul, which is divine, No decay of beauty knows. The World is Beauty's Mirror. Flowers, In their first virgin purity, Flatterers both of the nose and eye To be cropped by paramours Is their best of destiny : And those nice darlings of the land, Which seemed heaven's painted bow to scorn, And bloomed the envy of the morn, Are the gay trophy of a hand. SIR RICHARD FANSHAW. SONG. [1654.] STILL-BORN Silence, thou that art Floodgate of the deeper heart; Offspring of a heavenly kind; Froft o' th' mouth, and thaw o' th' mind; Secrecy's confident, and he That makes religion Mystery: Where retired' Devotion dwells: With thy enthusiasms come; Seize this maid, and make her dumb. RICHARD FLECKNOE. ON CHLORIS WALKING IN THE SNOW. [1654.] I SAW fair Chloris walk alone, When feathered rain came softly down; WIT'S RECREATIONS. SONG. [1657.] I. TELL me no more how fair fhe is, I have no mind to hear The ftory of that diftant bliss II. And tell me not how fond I am From whence no triumph ever came, But to repent too late: There is some hope ere long I may In filence dote myself away. III. I afk no pity, love, from thee, Nor will thy justice blame, So that thou wilt not envy me The glory of my flame: Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies, In that it falls her sacrifice. HENRY KING, Bishop of Chichester. FAIRY SONG. [1658.] COME, follow, follow me, Come, follow Mab, your Queen. When mortals are at reft, Through keyholes we do glide; And if the house be foul There we pinch their arms and thighs; But if the house be swept, And from uncleanness kept, For we use, before we go, Upon a mushroom's head The brains of nightingales, Is meat that's easily chewed; The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, And if the moon doth hide her head, On tops of dewy grass So nimbly do we pass, The young and tender stalk Ne'er bends when we do walk: Yet in the morning may be seen Where we the night before have been. MYSTERIES OF LOVE AND ELOQUENCE. |