But Kind and True have long been tried, And harbor where we may confide,

And safely there at anchor ride:

From change of winds there are we free, And need not fear stormes tyrannie,

Nor pirate, though a prince he bee!

SONG XI.

From "Parnassus Biceps," &c. London, 1656.

WHEN I do love, I would not wish to speed,
To plead fruition rather than desire;
But on sweet lingering expectation feed,

And gently would protract, not feed, my fire. What though my love a martyrdome you name, No salamander ever feels the flame.

That which is obvious I as much esteem
As courtiers doe old cloths; for novelty
Doth rellish pleasures, and in them we deem
The hope is sweeter than the memory.

Injoying breeds a glut; men better tast
Comforts to come, than pleasures that are past.

SONG XII.

From "Wit Restored," London, 1658.

WHETHER men do laugh or weep,
Whether they doe wake or sleep,
Whether they feele heate or cold,
Whether they be young or old,
There is underneath the sun
Nothing in true earnest done.

All our pride is but a jest ;

None are worst, and none are best;
Griefe and joy, and hope and feare,
Play their pageants every where;
Vaine opinion all doth sway,
And the world is but a play.

Powers above in clouds do sit,
Marking our poore apish wit,
That so lamely, without state,
Their high glory imitate.
No ill can be felt but paine,
And that happy men disdaine.

SONG XIII.

From "Wit Restored," London, 1658.

ONCE, I must confesse, I loved,
And expected love againe;
But so often as I proved,

My expectance was in vaine.

Women joy to be attempted,

And do glory when they see Themselves from love's force exempted, And that men captived bee.

If they love, they can conceale it,
And dissemble when they please;
When as men will straight reveal it,

And make known their hearts disease.