Whose cold embraces the sad subject hide Of all love's cruelties, and beauty's pride! No verse, No epicedium bring; Nor peaceful requiem sing, To charm the terrors of my herse: No profane numbers must flow near The sacred silence that dwells here: Vast griefs are dumb: softly, oh softly mourn! Lest you disturb the peace attends my urn. Yet strew Upon my dismal grave Such offerings as you have; Forsaken cypress, and sad yew; For kinder flowers can take no birth Or growth from such unhappy earth. Weep only o'er my dust, and say, "Here lies "To love and fate an equal sacrifice. SONG. WHEN, dearest beauty, thou shalt pay. To some dull soul, that cannot know Thus, whilst the difference thou shalt prove ROBERT HEATH, Of whom I know nothing more than that he was the author of "Clarastella," a collection of poems in one volume, 12mo. printed in 1650. SONG. INVEST my head with fragrant rose, Thus, crown'd with Paphian myrtle, I 'Tis wine and love, and love in wine Life's short, and winged pleasures fly; On down and floods then, swan-like, I "Tis wine and love, and love in wine, To Clarastella saying she would commit herself to a Nunnery. [From 9 stanzas.] STAY, Clarastella, prithee stay! Is it a sin to be belov❜d? If but the cause you could remove, Soon the effect would be remov'd; Where beauty is, there will be love. Nature, that wisely nothing made in vain, Did make you lovely to be lov'd again, And, when such beauty tempts, can love refrain? i When heaven was prodigal to you, To be beheld and then ador'd. Why should the gold then fear to see that sun That form'd it pure? Why should you live a nun, And hide those rays heaven gave to you alone? Thyself a holy temple art, Where love shall teach us both to pray; I'll make an altar of my heart, And incense on thy lips will lay. Thy mouth shall be my oracle, and then Till they, breath'd from our souls, shall cry, Amen. |