More witching tongue, are beauty's armoury :
To rally, to discourse in companies,

Who 's fine, who courtly, who a wit, who wise;
And with the awing sweetness of a dame,
(As conscious of a face can tigers tame)
By tasks and circumstances to discover,
Amongst the best of princes, the best lover;

;

(The fruit of all those flowers) who serves with most
Self-diffidence, who with the greatest boast;
Who twists an eye of hope in braids of fear
Who silent (made for nothing but to bear
Sweet scorn and injuries of love) envies
Unto his tongue the treasure of his eyes :
Who, without vaunting shape, hath only wit,
Nor knows to hope reward, though merit it;
Then, out of all, to make a choice so rare,
So lucky-wise, as if thou wert not fair.1

All mischiefs reparable but a lost love.

I.

A second Argo, freighted

With fear and avarice,

Between the sea and skies

Hath penetrated

To the new world, unworn

With the red footsteps of the snowy morn.

Thirsty of mines,

II.

She comes rich back, and, the cur'd rampire past

Of watery mountains, cast

Up by the winds,

Ungrateful shelf near home

Gives her usurped gold a silver tomb.

1 Addressed to Zelidaura.

III.

A devout pilgrim, who
To foreign temple bare
Good pattern, fervent prayer,
Spurr'd by a pious vow,
Meas'ring so large a space,

That earth lack'd regions for his plants1 to trace,

IV.

Joyful returns, though poor;

And, just by his abode,

Falling into a road

Which laws did ill secure,

Sees plunder'd by a thief,

(O happier man than I !) for 'tis his life.

V.

Conspicuous grows a tree,
Which, wanton, did appear
First fondling of the year
With smiling bravery,

And in his blooming pride

The lower house of flowers did deride:

VI.

When his silk robes, and fair,

(His youth's embellishing

The crownet of a spring,

Narcissus of the air)

Rough Boreas doth confound,

And with his trophies strews the scorned ground.

VII.

Trusted to tedious hope
So many months the corn,
Which now begins to turn

1 Soles of his feet.

Into a golden crop ;

The lusty grapes, which, plump,

Are the last farewell of the summer's pomp ;

VIII.

How spacious spreads the vine !-
Nurs'd up with how much care!
She lives, she thrives, grows fair,
'Bout her lov'd elm doth twine :-
Comes a cold cloud, and lays
In one, the fabric of so many days.

A silver river small

In sweet accents

His music vents

IX.

(The warbling virginal,

To which the merry birds do sing,

Timed with stops of gold 1 the chrystal string).

X.

He steals by a green wood

With fugitive feet,

Gay, jolly, sweet,

Comes me a troubled flood,

And scarcely one sand stays,

To be a witness of his golden days.—

The ship's upweigh'd;

XI.

The pilgrim made a saint;

Next spring re-crowns the plant;

Winds raise the corn was laid;

The vine is prun'd;

The rivulet new-tun'd: :

1 Allusions to the Tagus, and golden sands.

But in the ill I have,

I'm left alive only to dig my grave.

XII.

Lost Beauty, I will die,
But I will thee recover,
And that I die not instantly,
Shows me more perfect lover:
For (my soul gone before).

I live not now to live, but to deplore.

THE FATAL JEALOUSY, A TRAGEDY: BY NEVIL PAYNE, 1673.

No truth absolute; after seeing a masque of gipsies. Ist Spectator. By this we see that all the world's a

cheat,

Whose truths and falsehoods lie so intermix'd,

And are so like each other, that 'tis hard

To find the difference; who would not think these people

A real pack of such as we call gipsies?

2nd Spect. Things perfectly alike are but the same;
And these were gipsies, if we did not know
How to consider them the contrary :

So in terrestrial things there is not one
But takes its form and nature from our fancy,
Not its own being, and is but what we think it.
1st Spect. But truth is still itself?

2nd Spect. No, not at all, as truth appears to us;
For oftentimes

That is a truth to me, that 's false to you.
So 'twould not be, if it was truly true.

How clouded man

Doubts first, and from one doubt doth soon proceed
A thousand more, in solving of the first !
Like nighted travellers we lose our way ;
Then every ignis fatuus makes us stray,
By the false lights of reason led about,
Till we arrive where we at first set out:
"Nor shall we e'er truth's perfect highway see,
Till dawns the daybreak of eternity."

Apprehension.

Oh, Apprehension !—

So terrible the consequence appears,

It makes my brain turn round, and night seem darker.

The moon begins to drown herself in clouds,
Leaving a duskish horror everywhere;

My sickly fancy makes the garden seem

Likes those benighted groves in Pluto's kingdoms. Injured husband.

Wife (dying). Oh, oh, I fain would live a little longer, If but to ask forgiveness of Gerardo,

My soul will scarce reach heaven without his pardon.

Gerardo (entering). Who's that would go to heaven, and wants my pardon?

Take it, whate'er thou art, and mayst thou be
Happy in death, whate'er thou didst design.

GERARDO; his wife murdered.

Ger. It is in vain to look them,1 if they hide;
The garden 's large; besides, perhap they are gone.
We'll to the body.

Serv. You're by it now, my lord.

Ger. This accident amazes me so much,

I go I know not where.

1 The murderers.