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*T was Nature taught you this rare art,
In such a little much to shew ;

Who, all the good she did impart
To womankind, epitomiz'd in you..

If, as the ancients did not doubt to sing,
The turning years be well compar'd to' a ring,

We'll write whate'er from you we hear;
For that 's the posy of the year.
This difference only will remain-
That Time his former face does shew,

Winding into himself again ;
But your unweary'd wit is always new.

'Tis said that conjurers have an art found out
To carry spirits confin'd in rings about:

The wonder now will less appear,
When we behold your magic here.
You, by your rings, do prisoners take,
And chain them with your mystic spells,

And, the strong witchcraft full to make,
Love, the great devil, charm’d to those circles, dwells,

They who above do various circles find,
Say, like a ring th’ Equator heaven does bind.

When heaven shall be adorn’d by thee
(Which then more Heaven than 't is will be),
’T is thou must write the posy there;
For it wanteth one as yet,

Though the sun pass through't twice a year; The sun, who is esteem'd the god of wit.

Happy the hands which wear thy sacred rings,
They 'll teach those hands to write mysterious things.

Let other rings, with jewels bright,
Cast around their costly light;
Let them want no noble stone,
By nature rich and art refin’d;

Yet shall thy rings give place to none,
But only that which must thy marriage bind.



WHO says the times do learning disallow?
'Tis false; 't was never honour'd so as now.
When you appear, great Prince ! our night is done;
You are our morning-star, and shall be our sun.
But our scene's London now; and by the rout
We perish, if the Round-heads be about: .
For now no ornament the head must wear,
No bays, no mitre, not so much as hair.
How can a play pass safely, when ye know
Cheapside-cross falls for making but a show?
Our only hope is this, that it may be ..
A play may pass too, made extempore.
Though other arts poor and neglected grow,
They 'll admit Poesy, which was always so.
But we contemn the fury of these days,
And scorn no less their censure than their praise :

Our Muse, blest Prince ! does only' on you rely;
Would gladly live, but not refuse to die.
Accept our hasty zeal! a thing that's play'd
Ere 't is a play, and acted ere 't is made.
Our ignorance, but our duty too, we show;
I would all ignorant people would do so!
At other times expect our wit or art;
This comedy is acted by the heart.


THE play, great Sir! is done ; yet needs must fear,
Though you brought all your father's mercies here,
It may offend your Highness; and we ’ave now
Three hours done treason here, for aught we know,
But power your grace can above Nature give,
It can give power to make abortives live;
In which, if our bold wishes should be crost,
”T is but the life of one poor week’t has lost :
Though it should fall beneath your mortal scorn,
Scarce could it die more quickly than ’t was born,



« Immodicis brevis est ætas, & rara senectus.” MÁRT.

IT was a dismal and a fearful night, (light,

Scarce could the morn drive on th' unwilling When sleep, death's image, left my troubled breast,

By something liker death possest. . My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow,

And on my soul hung the dull weight

Of some intolerable fate.
What bell was that? ah me! too much I know.

My sweet companion, and my gentle peer,
Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here,
Thy end for ever, and my life, to moan?

O, thou hast left me all alone!
Thy soul and body, when Death's agony

Besieg’d around thy noble heart,

Did not with more reluctance part,
Than I, my dearest friend ! do part from thee,

My dearest friend, would I had dy'd for thee!
Life and this world henceforth will tedious be,
Nor shall I know hereafter what to do,

If once my griefs prove tedious too.

Silent and sad I walk about all day,

As sullen ghosts stalk speechless by

Where their hid treasures lie;
Alas! my treasure's gone! why do I stay?

He was my friend, the truest friend on earth;
A strong and mighty influence join'd our birth;
Nor did we envy the most sounding name

By friendship given of old to fame.
None bụt his brethren he and sisters knew, is

Whom the kind youth preferr'd to me;

And ev'n in that we did agree,
For much above myself I lov'd them too.

al rights,

Say, for you saw us, ye immortal lights,
How oft unweary'd have we spent the nights,
Till the Ledæan stars, so fam’d for love,

Wonder'd at us from above! :
We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine;

But search of deep Philosophy,

Wit, Eloquence, and Poetry, Arts which I lov’d, for they, my friend, were thine.

Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say
Have ye not seen us walking every day?
Was there a tree about which did not know

The love betwixt us two ?
Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade;

Or your sad branches thicker join,

And into darkesome shades combine, Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid !

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