Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced,
Holds his dear Psyche sweet, entranced
After her wandering labours long,
Till free consent the gods among
Make her his eternal bride,
And from her fair unspotted side
Two blissful twins are to be born,
Youth and Joy: so Jove hath sworn.
But now my task is smoothly done,
I can fly, or I can run,

Quickly to the green earth's end,
Where the bow'd welkin low doth bend;
And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon.

Mortals that would follow me,
Love virtue; she alone is free:
She can teach ye how to climb
Higher than the sphery chime;
Or if virtue feeble were,

Heaven itself would stoop to her.

SONNETS.

I.

To the Nightingale.

O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray
Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still;
Thou with fresh hopes the lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.
The liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love; O, if Jove's will
Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay,
Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:

Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.

II.

On his being arrived to the Age of Twenty-three. How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,. Stolen on his wing my three and twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career,

But my late spring no bud or blossom sheweth. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, That I to manhood am arrived so near;

And inward ripeness doth much less appear, That some more timely-happy spirits endueth. Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still in strictest measure even

To that same lot, however mean or high, Toward which Time leads me,and the will of Heaven: All is, if I have grace to use it so,

As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.

III.

When the Assault was intended to the City. CAPTAIN, or colonel, or knight in arms,

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize,

If deed of honour did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee; for he knows the charms That call fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: The great Emathian conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground: and the repeated air Of sad Electra's poet had the power

To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.

IV.

To a virtuous Young Lady.

LADY, that in the prime of earliest youth
Wisely hast shunn'd the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour up the hill with heavenly truth,
The better part with Mary and with Ruth
Chosen thou hast; and they that overween,
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
Thy care is fix'd, and zealously attends
To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,
And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure

Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friends
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
Hast gain'd thy entrance, virgin wise and pure.

V.

To the Lady Margaret Ley.

DAUGHTER to that good earl, once president
Of England's council and her treasury,
Who lived in both, unstain'd with gold or fee,
And left them both, more in himself content,
Till sad the breaking of that parliament
Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chæronea, fatal to liberty,

Kill'd with report that old man eloquent.

Though later born than to have known the days,
Wherein your father flourish'd, yet by you,
Madam, methinks, I see him living yet;
So well your words his noble virtues praise,
That all both judge you to relate them true,
And to possess them, honour'd Margaret.

VI.

On the Detraction which followed upon my writ-
ing certain Treatises.

A BOOK was writ of late, called Tetrachordon,
And woven close, both matter, form, and style;
The subject new; it walk'd the town a while,
Numbering good intellects; now seldom pored on.
Cries the stall-reader, Bless us! what a word on
A title-page is this!" And some in file

Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile-
End Green. Why is it harder, sirs, than Gordou,
Colkitto, or Macdonnel, or Galasp?

Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek, . That would have made Quintilian stare and gasp. Thy age, like ours, O soul of Sir John Cheek,