YOUNG LOVE. [Abridged from 8 stanzas.] COME, little infant! love me now, Clear thine aged father's brow Pretty surely 'twere to see By young love old time beguil'd, While our sportings are as free As the nurses with the child. Common beauties stay fifteen; Such as yours should swifter move; Whose fair blossoms are too green Yet for lust, but not for love. Love as much the snowy lamb, Or the wanton kid does prize, As the lusty bull, or ram, Now then love me: time may take Thee before thy time away; Of this need we'll virtue make, And learn love before we may. So we win of doubtful fate; And if good she to us meant, We that good shall antedate; And if ill, that ill prevent. છે. ALEXANDER BROME. [From his "Songs and other Poems," of which the first edition appeared in 1660, the second in 1664, and the third in 1668.] The character of this witty loyalist, who is supposed to have contributed very essentially by his writings to the restoration of Charles II. is thus drawn by honest Isaac Walton, in what he calls " an humble Eglog, written on the 29th of May, 1660." DAMON AND DORUS. * Let rebels' spirits sink, let those Here's a collection in this book As we have march'd to fight the cause Such songs as virgins need not fear To sing, or a grave matron hear. Here's love dress'd neat, and chaste, and gay Here's harmony, and wit, and art, To raise thy thoughts, and cheer thy heart. Dorus. Written by whom? Damon. A friend of mine, And one that's worthy to be thine: A civil swain, that knows his times For business, and that done, makes rhymes, And they with this sharp wit, and art, That's loyal does or should complain, &c. Born 1620: died 1666. He was an attorney in the Lord Mayor's Court, and preserved his loyalty untainted through the whole of the civil wars and the protectorship. In 1651, he published a comedy intitled " the Cunning Lovers," and in 1666, a translation of Horace by himself and others. He was also the editor of the dramatic works of his brother, Richard Brome. SONG. To a coy Lady. I PRITHEE leave this peevish fashion, Don't desire to be high-priz'd, And doth scorn to be despis'd. Though we say you're fair, you know We your beauty do bestow, For our fancy makes you so, Don't be proud 'cause we adore you, We do't only for our pleasure; And those parts in which you glory We by fancy weigh and measure. When for deities you go, For angels or for queens, pray know "Tis our fancy makes you so. Don't suppose your majesty Distinguish'd only by your pride. Tyrants make subjects rebels grow, And pride makes angels devils below, And your pride may make you so. PALINODE. No more, no more of this, I vow There was a time when I begun, |