Be brought to move one step from thee,
May'st thou no paffion have for me!

If my bufy' Imagination,

Do not thee in all things fashion ;
So that all fair species be
Hieroglyphic marks of thee;
If when the her sports does keep
(The lower foul being all afleep)
She play one dream, with all her art,
Where thou haft not the longest part;
If aught get place in my remembrance,
Without some badge of thy resemblance—
So that thy parts become to me
A kind of art of memory ;-
If my Understanding do

Seek any knowledge but of you;
If she do near thy body prize
Her bodies of philofophies;
If the to the Will do fhew
Aught defirable but you;
Or, if that would not rebel,
Should the another doctrine tell;
If my Will do not refign

All her liberty to thine;

If fhe would not follow thee,

Though Fate and thou should'st disagree;

And if (for I a curfe will give,
Such as fall force thee to believe)
My foul be not entirely thine;
May thy dear body ne'er be mine !

FROM

ROM Hate, Fear, Hope, Anger, and Envy, free,-
And all the paffions else that be,
In vain I boast of liberty,

In vain this state a freedom call;

Since I have Love, and Love is all:
Sot that I am, who think it fit to brag
That I have no disease befides the plague!
So in a zeal the fons of Ifrael

Sometimes upon their idols fell,

And they depos'd the powers of hell ; -
Baal and Aftarte down they threw,
And Acharon and Moloch too :

All this imperfect piety did no good,
Whilft yet, alas! the calf of Bethel stood.

Fondly I boaft, that I have dreft my vine
With painful art, and that the wine
Is of a tafte rich and divine;

Since Love, by mixing poifon there,
Has made it worse than vinegar.
Love ev'n the taste of Nectar changes fo,
That Gods chufe rather water here below.

Fear, Anger, Hope, all paffions elfe that be,

Drive this one tyrant out of me,

And practise all your tyranny!

The change of ills fome good will do:
Th' oppreffed wretched Indians fo,

Being flaves by the great Spanish monarch made,
Call in the States of Holland to their aid.

WISDOM.

W IS DO M.

"T

IS mighty wife that you would now be thought,
With your grave rules from mufty morals brought;
Through which some streaks too of divinity ran,
Partly of Monk and partly Puritan ;

With tedious repetitions too you 'ave ta'en
Often the name of vanity in vain.

Things, which, I take it, friend, you 'd ne'er recite,
Should the I love but fay t' you, "Come at night."
The wifeft king refus'd all pleasures quite,
Till Wisdom from above did him enlight;
But, when that gift his ignorance did remove,
Pleasures he chofe, and plac'd them all in love.
And, if by' event the counfels may be feen,
This Wifdom 'twas that brought the fouthern queen :
She came not, like a good old wife, to know
The wholesome nature of all plants that grow;
Nor did fo far from her own country roam,
To cure fcald-heads and broken-fhins at home:
She came for that, which more befits all wives,
The art of giving, not of faving, lives..

B

ENEATH this gloomy shade,
By Nature only for my forrows made,
I'll spend this voice in cries;
In tears I'll waste these eyes,

By Love fo vainly fed :

So Luft, of old, the Deluge punished.

"Ah, wretched youth!" said I;

"Ah, wretched youth !" twice did I fadly cry;
"Ah, wretched youth !" the fields and floods reply.

When thoughts of Love I entertain,

I meet no words but " Never," and "In vain." "Never," alas! that dreadful name

Which fuels the internal flame :

"Never" my time to come must waste ;
"In vain" torments the present and the past.
"In vain, in vain," said I;

“In vain, in vain!" twice did I fadly cry ;
“In vain, in vain!" the fields and floods reply.

No more fhall fields or floods do fo;

For I to fhades more dark and filent go :
All this world's noise appears to me

A dull, ill-acted comedy:

No comfort to my wounded fight,

In the fun's bufy and impertinent light.
Then down I laid my head,

Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead,
And my freed foul to a ftrange fomewhere fled.

“Ah,

"Ah, fottish Soul !" said I,

`When back to' its cage again I saw it fly;
"Fool, to refume her broken chain,

"And row her galley here again !

“Fool, to that body to return

"Where it condemn'd and deftin'd is to burn! "Once dead, how can it be,

"Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee, "That thou should'st come to live it o'er again in me ?”

WELL then; I now do plainly fee

This bufy world and I shall ne'er agree;

The very honey of all earthly joy

Does of all meats the fooneft cloy

And they, methinks, deferve my pity,

Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buz, and murmurings,
Of this great hive, the city.

Ah, yet, ere I'descend to th' grave,
May I a small house and large garden have!
And a few friends, and many books, both true,
Both wife, and both delightful too!
And, fince love ne'er will from me flee,

A miftrefs moderately fair,

And good as guardian-angels are,

Only belov'd, and loving me!

“Ok,