A MOCK SONG.

OW Whitehall's in the grave,

And our head is our slave,

The bright pearl in his close shell of oyster;
Now the mitre is lost,

The proud prelates, too, cross'd,

And all Rome's confined to a cloister.
He, that Tarquin was styled,

Our white land's exiled,
Yea, undefiled;

Not a court ape's left to confute us;
Then let your voices rise high,
As your colours did fly,

And flourishing cry:

Long live the brave Oliver Brutus.

Now the sun is unarm'd,

And the moon by us charm'd,
All the stars dissolved to a jelly;
Now the thighs of the Crown
And the arms are lopp'd down,
And the body is all but a belly.
Let the Commons go on,

The town is our own,

We'll rule alone:

For the knights have yielded their spent-gorge;
And an order is ta'en

With Honi Soit profane,

Shout forth amain:

For our Dragon hath vanquish'd the St. George.

Richard Lovelace.

CAVALIER AND PURITAN SONG.

PART II.

WITH THE COMMONS.

K

A crown,

Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns,

Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights,

To him who wears the regal diadem,

When on his shoulders each man's burden lies;

For therein stands the office of

a

King,

His honour, virtue, merit, and chief praise,
That for the Publick all this weight he bears.
Yet he, who reigns within himself, and rules
Passions, desires, and fears, is more a king;
Which every wise and virtuous man attains;
And who attains not, ill aspires to rule
Cities of men, or headstrong multitudes.

JOHN MILTON.

OURAGE, my soul! now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal shield.
Close on thy head thy helmet bright;
Balance thy sword against the fight;

See where an army, strong as fair,
With silken banners spread the air.
Now, if thou be'st that thing divine,
In this day's combat let it shine,
And show that nature wants an art
To conquer one resolved heart.

PLEASURE.

Welcome, the creation's guest,
Lord of earth, and heaven's heir;
Lay aside that warlike crest,
And of nature's banquet share:

Where the souls of fruits and flowers,
Stand prepared to heighten yours.

SOUL.

I sup above, and cannot stay,
To bait so long upon the way.

PLEASURE.

On these downy pillows lie,
Whose soft plumes will thither fly :
On these roses, strewed so plain
Lest one leaf thy side should strain.

SOUL

My gentler rest is on a thought,
Conscious of doing what I ought.

PLEASURE.

If thou be'st with perfumes pleased, Such as oft the gods appeased, Thou in fragrant clouds shalt show, Like another god below.

SOUL.

A soul that knows not to presume, Is heaven's, and its own, perfume.

PLEASURE,

Every thing doth seem to vie
Which should first attract thine eye:
But since none deserves that grace,
In this crystal view thy face.

SOUL.

When the Creator's skill is prized,
The rest is all but earth disguised.

PLEASURE.

Hark, how music then prepares
For thy stay these charming airs ;
Which the posting winds recall,
And suspend the river's fall.