SONNETS.

RESTORE thy tresses to the Golden ore;
To Cytherea's son those arks of love;
Bequeath the Heavens the stars that I adore ;
And to the Orient do thy pearls remove:
Yield thy hands' pride unto the Ivory white;
To' Arabian odours give thy breathing sweet;
Restore thy blush unto Aurora bright;
To Thetis give the honour of thy feet:
Let Venus have thy graces her resign'd;

And thy sweet voice give back unto the Spheres ;
But then restore thy fierce and cruel mind
To Hyrcan tigers, and to ruthless bears:
Yield to the marble thy hard heart again;
So shalt thou cease to plague, and I to plain.

I MUST not grieve my Love! whose eyes would read
Lines of delight whereon her youth might smile;
Flowers have time, before they come to seed;
And she is young, and now must sport the while.
Ah! sport, sweet Maid, in season of these years;
And learn to gather flowers before they wither;
And where the sweetest blossom first appears,
Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither :
Lighten forth smiles, to clear the clouded air;
And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise;
Pity and smiles do best become the Fair,
Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise.
Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone,
Happy the heart that sigh'd for such a one!

SONNETS.

WHY should I sing in verse; why should I frame
These sad neglected notes, for her dear sake?
Why should I offer up unto her name

The sweetest sacrifice my youth can make?
Why should I strive to make her live for ever,
That never deigns to give me joy to live?
Why should my' afflicted Muse so much endeavour
Such honour unto cruelty to give?

If her defects have purchas'd her this fame,

What should her virtues do, her smiles, her love? If this her worst, how should her best inflame? What passions would her milder favours move? Favours, I think, would sense quite overcome; And that makes happy lovers ever dumb.

AND whither, poor Forsaken! wilt thou go,
To go from sorrow, and thine own distress;
When ev'ry place presents like face of woe,
And no remove can make thy sorrows less?
Yet go, Forsaken! leave these woods, these plains;
Leave her and all, and all for her that leaves
Thee and thy love forlorn, and both disdains;
And of both wrongful deems, and ill conceives.
Seek out some place; and see if any place
Can give the least release unto thy grief;
Convey thee from the thought of thy disgrace,
Steal from thyself, and be thy care's own thief.
But yet what comfort shall I hereby gain?
Bearing the wound, I needs must feel the pain!

GREVILLE, LORD BROOK.

1592.

Fulk Greville, afterwards created Knight of the Bath, and Lord Brook of Beauchamp's Court, was born in 1554, the same year as Sir Philip Sidney, with whom he lived, studied, fought; and in memory of whose friendship, he ordered the following inscription to be fixed on his own grave

Servant to Queen Elizabeth,
Counsellor to King James,
And Friend to Sir Philip Sidney!

His Lordship, though he lived and died unmarried, was a sincere and fervent admirer of the ladies. Perhaps, indeed, the specimen of his poetical talents, which is here presented to the reader, might authorise the supposition of his having been disappointed in the object of his affection; a supposition, that would sufficiently explain the cause of his leading a life of celibacy. The piece is valuable, if it be only that it exhibits the simplicity of antient courtship, even among the higher orders of society in this country.

I, WITH whose colours MYRA drest her head,
I, that wore posies of her own hand-making;
I, that mine own name in the chimnies read,
By MYRA finely wrought e'er I was waking;

Must I look on-in hope time-coming may,
With change, bring back my turn again to play?

SIR FULK GREVILLE, LORD BROOK.

I, that on Sunday at the church-stile found
A garland sweet, with true-love knots in flowers;
Which I to wear about mine arm was bound,
That each of us might know that all was our's:
Must I now lead an idle life in wishes,
And follow Cupid for his loaves and fishes?

I, that did wear the ring her Mother left;
I, for whose love she gloried to be blamed ;

I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft;

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I, who did make her blush when I was named; Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft, and go naked, Watching with sighs till dead love be awaked?

I, that when drowsy Argus fell asleep,
Like Jealousy o'erwatched with Desire,
Was even warned modesty to keep,

While her breath, speaking, kindled nature's fire;
Must I look on a-cold, while others warm them?
Do Vulcan's brothers in such fine nets arm them?

Was it for this, that I might MYRA See
Washing the water with her beauties white?
Yet could she never write her love to me!

Thinks wit of change, while thoughts are in delight?
Mad girls may safely love, as they may leave:
No man can print a kiss, lines may deceive.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

1594.

This distinguished character, whose fate constitutes an indelible reproach to the country that his services had adorned, was born in 1552, at the village of Hayes in Devonshire. No less an admirer of genius, than a valiant warrior, and enlightened statesman, RALEIGH has the credit of having strenuously befriended Spenser, by introducing his works more particularly to the notice of Queen Elizabeth. There is an anecdote respecting Sir Walter, which, while it explains the origin of her favour towards him, affords no inconsiderable evidence of his general gallautry to the sex. The circumstance is thus recited by William King, in his poem of the "Art of Love."

Oh, think it not a too officious care,

With eagerness to run and help the Fair!
So, when Eliza (whose propitious days
Revolving Heaven does seem again to raise,
Whose ruling genius shew'd a master-stroke
In every thing she did, and all she spoke,)
Was stepping o'er a passage, which the rain
Had fill'd, but seem'd as stepping back again;
Young RALEIGH Scorn'd to see his Queen retreat,
And threw his velvet cloke beneath her feet.

The Queen approv'd the thought, and made him great!

Perhaps this predilection on her Majesty's part induced

her afterwards to oppose his passion for Mrs. Throckmorton, one of her ladies in waiting; on which occasion, RALEIGH was commanded to withdraw from court, in order that distance might cool the fervour of his attachment! Having, at length, the misfortune to survive his royal mistress, he was sacrificed by her successor, James I. to the malignant jealousy of his enemies; being beheaded in Old Palace Yard, October 29, 1618. Those who could not vanquish him in the field, were contented to triumph on a scaffold.