Some set their hearts on winged wealth, There is no fence against our fate, Eve's daughters all are born to sorrow; Vicissitudes upon us wait That laugh to-day, and lour to-morrow. Why should we then, with wrinkled care, Deface what nature made so fair? UNCERTAIN AUTHORS. SONNET. [From Sam. Pecke's "Festum Voluptatis, or Banquet of Pleasure," 1639, 4to.] YOUNG men fly, when beauty darts THE BAG OF THE BEE. From "Wit a sporting in a pleasant Grove of new Fancies," collected by H. B. 1657. [This is also to be found in Herrick's poems, and ought to have been inserted amongst the extracts from that author.] ABOUT the sweet bag of a bee Two Cupids fell at odds: And whose the pretty prize should be Which Venus hearing, thither came, Which done, to still the wantons' cries, TO HIS MISTRESS. [From "Wit restored," a poetical miscellany, 1658, 12mo.] I'LL tell you whence the rose did first grow red, The lilly nought but paleness did contain. PHILLADA FLOUTS ME. [From the same Collection.] OH! what a pain is love; She so torments my mind, That my strength faileth, As a ship that saileth; Please her the best I may, She looks another way; Alack and well-a-day! Phillada flouts me! All the fair yesterday Fair maid! be not so coy, Do not disdain me; I am my mother's joy, Sweet! entertain me! She'll give me, when she dies, All that is fitting; Her poultry, and her bees, And her geese sitting; |