I'le turn a Traiteur? may these Roses here
To palenesse shred,

And Lilies stand disguised in new Red,
If that I lay

A snare, wherein thou wouldst not gladly stay;
See see the Sunne

Does slowly to his azure Lodging run,
Come sit but here

And presently hee'l quit our Hemisphere,
So still among

Lovers, time is too short or else too long;
Here will we spin

Legends for them that have Love Martyrs been,
Here on this plain

Wee'l talk Narcissus to a flour again;
Come here and chose

On which of these proud plats thou would repose,
Here maiest thou shame

The rusty Violets, with the crimson flame
Of either cheek,

And Primroses white as thy fingers seek,
Nay, thou maiest prove

That mans most Noble Passion is to Love.

JOHN HALL.

HOME TRAVELL

WHAT need I travell, since I may
More choiser wonders here survay?
What need I Tire for purple seek
When I may find it in a cheek?
Or sack the Eastern shores, there lies
More precious Diamonds in her eyes?

What need I dig Peru for Oare

When every hair of her yields more?

Or toile for Gummes in India

Since she can breath more rich then they?
Or ransack Africk, there will be
On either hand more Ivory?
But look within, all Vertues that
Each nation would appropriate,
And with the glory of them rest,
Are in this map at large exprest;
That who would travell here might know
The little world in Folio.

JOHN HALL.

DEATH

I

How weak a Star doth rule Mankind,
Which owes its ruine to the same
Causes which Nature had design'd
To cherish and preserve the frame!

2

As Commonwealths may be secure,
And no remote Invasion dread;
Yet may a sadder fall endure

From Traitors in their bosom bred:

3

So while we feel no violence,

And on our active Health do trust, A secret hand doth snatch us hence, And tumbles us into the dust.

4

Yet carelesly we run our race,

As if we could Death's summons wave;
And think not on the narrow space
Between a Table and a Grave.

5

But since we cannot Death reprieve,
Our Souls and Fame we ought to mind,
For they our Bodies will survive;
That goes beyond, this stays behind.

6

If I be sure my Soul is safe,

And that my Actions will provide
My Tomb a nobler Epitaph,
Then that I onely liv'd and dy'd.

7

So that in various accidents

I Conscience may and Honour keep;
I with that ease and innocence

Shall die, as Infants go to sleep.

KATHERINE PHILIPS (Orinda).

SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY GOING
OUT OF THE TOWN IN THE SPRING

ASK not the Cause, why sullen Spring
So long delays her flow'rs to bear;

Why warbling Birds forget to sing,

And Winter Storms invert the Year?

Chloris is gone; and Fate provides
To make it Spring, where she resides.

Chloris is gone, the Cruel Fair;
She cast not back a pitying Eye:
But left her Lover in Despair,

To sigh, to languish, and to die:
Ah, how can those fair Eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!

Great God of Love, why hast thou made
A Face that can all Hearts command,
That all Religions can invade,

And change the Laws of ev'ry Land? Where thou hadst plac'd such Pow'r before, Thou shou'dst have made her Mercy more.

When Chloris to the Temple comes,
Adoring Crowds before her Fall;
She can restore the Dead from Tombs,
And every Life but mine recall.

I only am by Love design'd

To be the Victim for Mankind.

JOHN DRYDEN.

THE DEFIANCE

Be not too proud imperious Dame,
Your charms are transitory things,
May melt, while you at Heaven aim,
Like Icarus's waxen wings;

And you a part in his misfortunes bear,
Drown'd in a briny Ocean of despair.

You think your beauties are above

The Poet's Brain, the Painter's Hand, As if upon the throne of Love

You only should the world command:

Yet know though you presume your title true,
There are pretenders that will rival you.

There's an experienc't Rebel, Time,
And in his Squadrons Poverty;

There's Age that bring's along with him
A terrible Artillery:

And if against all these thou keep'st thy Crown, Th' Usurper Death will make thee lay it down. THOMAS FLATMAN.

ON OLD ROME

HERE was old Rome that stretch'd her Empire far,
In Peace was fear'd, triumphant was in War:
Here 'twas, for now its place is only found,
All that was Rome lyes buried under Ground.

These Ruines hid in Weeds, on which Man treads, Were Structures which to Heav'n rais'd their proud Heads:

Rome that subdu'd the World, to Time now yields, With Rubbish swells the Plains, and strews the Fields.

Think not to see what so Renown'd has been,
Nothing of Rome, in Rome is to be seen;
Vulcan and Mars, those wasting Gods, have come,
And ta'en Romes Greatness utterly from Rome.