4 But what assurance can I take,

When thou, foreknowing this abuse,
For some more worthy lover's sake,
Mayst leave me with so just excuse?

5 For thou mayst say, 'twas not thy fault That thou didst thus inconstant prove; Being by my example taught

To break thy oath, to mend thy love.

6 No, Chloris! no: I will return,

And raise thy story to that height, That strangers shall at distance burn, And she distrust me reprobate.

7 Then shall my love this doubt displace,
And gain such trust, that I may come
And banquet sometimes on thy face,
But make my constant meals at home.

TO FLAVIA.

1 'Tis not your beauty can engage
My wary heart;

The sun, in all his pride and rage,
Has not that art;

And yet he shines as bright as you,
If brightness could our souls subdue.

2 'Tis not the pretty things you say,
Nor those you write,

Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey;
For that delight,

L

The graces of a well-taught mind,
In some of our own sex we find.

3 No, Flavia! 'tis your love I fear;
Love's surest darts,

Those which so seldom fail him, are
Headed with hearts;

Their very shadows make us yield;
Dissemble well, and win the field.

BEHOLD THE BRAND OF BEAUTY TOSS'D!

1 BEHOLD the brand of beauty toss'd!

See how the motion does dilate the flame! Delighted Love his spoils does boast,

And triumph in this game.

Fire, to no place confined,

Is both our wonder and our fear;

Moving the mind,

As lightning hurled through the air.

2 High heaven the glory does increase
Of all her shining lamps, this artful way;
The sun in figures, such as these,

Joys with the moon to play;

To the sweet strains they advance,

Which do result from their own spheres,
As this nymph's dance

Moves with the numbers which she hears.

WHILE I LISTEN TO THY VOICE.

1 WHILE I listen to thy voice,

Chloris! I feel my life decay;
That powerful noise

Calls my fleeting soul away.
Oh! suppress that magic sound,
Which destroys without a wound.

2 Peace, Chloris! peace! or singing die,
That together you and I

To heaven may go;

For all we know

Of what the blessed do above,

Is, that they sing, and that they love.

GO, LOVELY ROSE!

1 Go, lovely Rose!

Tell her that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

2 Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,

That hadst thou sprung

In deserts, where no men abide,
Thou must have uncommended died.

3 Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

4 Then die! that she

The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee;

How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

SUNG BY MRS KNIGHT TO HER MAJESTY, ON HER BIRTHDAY.

THIS happy day two lights are seen,
A glorious saint, a matchless queen;1
Both named alike, both crown'd appear,
The saint above, th' Infanta here.
May all those years which Catherine
The martyr did for heaven resign,
Be added to the line

Of

your bless'd life among us here!
For all the pains that she did feel,
And all the torments of her wheel,
May you as many pleasures share!
May heaven itself content
With Catherine the Saint!
Without appearing old,

An hundred times may you,
With eyes as bright as now,
This welcome day behold!

1 'Matchless queen': Queen Catherine was born on the day set apart in the calendar for the commemoration of the martyrdom of St Catherine.

SONG.

1 SAY, lovely dream! where couldst thou find Shades to counterfeit that face? Colours of this glorious kind

Come not from any mortal place.

2 In heaven itself thou sure wert dress'd With that angel-like disguise:

Thus deluded am I bless'd,

And see my joy with closed eyes.

3 But, ah! this image is too kind To be other than a dream; Cruel Saccharissa's mind

Never put on that sweet extreme!

4 Fair dream! if thou intend'st me grace, Change that heavenly face of thine;

Paint despised love in thy face,

And make it to appear like mine.

5 Pale, wan, and meagre let it look, With a pity-moving shape,

Such as wander by the brook

Of Lethe, or from graves escape.

6 Then to that matchless nymph appear, In whose shape thou shinest so; Softly in her sleeping ear,

With humble words, express my woe.

7 Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride, Thus surprised she may fall;

Sleep does disproportion hide,

And, death resembling, equals all.