'Twas pity Nature brought you forth
Merely to show your worth
And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we
May read how soon things have
Their end, though ne'er so brave :
And after they have shown their pride
Like you awhile, they glide
Into the grave.

TO MEADOWS

YE have been fresh and green,

Ye have been filled with flowers,

And ye the walks have been

R. HERRICK

Where maids have spent their hours.

You have beheld how they
With wicker arks did come

To kiss and bear away

The richer cowslips home.

You've heard them sweetly sing,
And seen them in a round:
Each virgin like a spring,
With honeysuckles crowned.

But now we see none here
Whose silvery feet did tread
And with dishevelled hair

Adorned this smoother mead.

Like unthrifts, having spent
Your stock and needy grown,
You're left here to lament
Your poor estates, alone.

A

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY

MORTALITY, behold and fear!

F. BEAUMONT

What a change of flesh is here!
Think how many royal bones
Sleep beneath this heap of stones!
Here they lie, had realms and lands,

Who now want strength to stir their hands :
Here from their pulpits sealed with dust
They preach, "In greatness is no trust."
Here is an acre sown indeed

With the richest, royallest seed

That the earth did e'er suck in

Since the first man died for sin :

Here the bones of birth have cried,

"Though gods they were, as men they died!"

Here are sands, ignoble things,

Dropt from the ruined sides of kings;

Here's a world of pomp and state,

Buried in dust, once dead by fate.

THE NYMPH DESCRIBES HER FAWN

WITH Sweetest milk and sugar first

I it at my own fingers nursed;
And as it grew, so every day

A. MARVELL

It waxed more white and sweet than they-
It had so sweet a breath! and oft

I blushed to see its foot more soft

And white,-shall I say,-than my hand?
Nay, any lady's of the land!

It is a wondrous thing how fleet
'Twas on those little silver feet:
With what a pretty skipping grace
It oft would challenge me the race :—
And when 't had left me far away
'Twould stay, and run again, and stay:
For it was nimbler much than hinds,
And trod as if on the four winds.

I have a garden of my own,
But so with roses overgrown
And lilies, that you would it guess
To be a little wilderness :

And all the spring-time of the year
It only loved to be there.

Among the beds of lilies I

Have sought it oft, where it should lie;
Yet could not, till itself would rise
Find it, although before mine eyes :—

For in the flaxen lilies' shade

It like a bank of lilies laid.

Upon the roses it would feed,
Until its lips e'en seem'd to bleed :
And then to me 'twould boldly trip,
And print those roses on my lip.
But all its chief delight was still
On roses thus itself to fill,
And its pure virgin limbs to fold
In whitest sheets of lilies cold :

Had it lived long, it would have been
Lilies without-roses within.

1

A LOVER'S LULLABY

SING lullaby, as women do,

G. GASCOIGNE

Wherewith they bring their babes to rest; And lullaby can I sing too,

As womanly as can the best. With lullaby they still the child; And if I be not much beguiled, Full many a wanton babe have I, Which must be stilled with lullaby.

First lullaby my youthful years,
It is now time to go to bed:
For crooked age and hoary hairs

Have won the haven within my head.
With lullaby, then, youth be still;
With lullaby content thy will;
Since courage quails and comes behind,
Go sleep, and so beguile thy mind!

Next lullaby my gazing eyes,

Which wonted were to glance apace;
For every glass may now suffice
To show the furrows in thy face.
With lullaby then wink awhile;
With lullaby your looks beguile;
Let no fair face, nor beauty bright,
Entice you oft with vain delight.

And lullaby my wanton will;

Let reason's rule now reign thy thought;

Since all too late I find by skill

How dear I have thy fancies bought;