_Wilson_, Dr. John Wilson, the singer and composer, one of the king's musicians (1594-1673).

_Gotiere_, Jacques Gaultier, a French lutist at the court of Charles I.

112. TO THE EARL OF WESTMORELAND.

When my date's done, and my grey age must die, Nurse up, great lord, this my posterity: Weak though it be, long may it grow and stand, Sh.o.r.ed up by you, brave Earl of Westmoreland.

113. AGAINST LOVE.

Whene'er my heart love's warmth but entertains, Oh frost! oh snow! oh hail! forbid the banes.

One drop now deads a spark, but if the same Once gets a force, floods cannot quench the flame.

Rather than love, let me be ever lost, Or let me 'gender with eternal frost.

114. UPON JULIA'S RIBAND.

As shows the air when with a rainbow grac'd, So smiles that riband 'bout my Julia's waist: Or like--nay 'tis that zonulet of love, Wherein all pleasures of the world are wove.

115. THE FROZEN ZONE; OR, JULIA DISDAINFUL.

Whither? say, whither shall I fly, To slack these flames wherein I fry?

To the treasures, shall I go, Of the rain, frost, hail, and snow?

Shall I search the underground, Where all damps and mists are found?

Shall I seek (for speedy ease) All the floods and frozen seas?

Or descend into the deep, Where eternal cold does keep?

These may cool; but there's a zone Colder yet than anyone: That's my Julia's breast, where dwells Such destructive icicles, As that the congelation will Me sooner starve than those can kill.

116. AN EPITAPH UPON A SOBER MATRON.

With blameless carriage, I lived here To the almost seven and fortieth year.

Stout sons I had, and those twice three One only daughter lent to me: The which was made a happy bride But thrice three moons before she died.

My modest wedlock, that was known Contented with the bed of one.

117. TO THE PATRON OF POETS, M. END. PORTER.

Let there be patrons, patrons like to thee, Brave Porter! poets ne'er will wanting be: Fabius and Cotta, Lentulus, all live In thee, thou man of men! who here do'st give Not only subject-matter for our wit, But likewise oil of maintenance to it: For which, before thy threshold, we'll lay down Our thyrse for sceptre, and our bays for crown.

For, to say truth, all garlands are thy due: The laurel, myrtle, oak, and ivy too.

118. THE SADNESS OF THINGS FOR SAPPHO'S SICKNESS.

Lilies will languish; violets look ill; Sickly the primrose; pale the daffodil; That gallant tulip will hang down his head, Like to a virgin newly ravished; Pansies will weep, and marigolds will wither, And keep a fast and funeral together; Sappho droop, daisies will open never, But bid good-night, and close their lids for ever.

119. LEANDER'S OBSEQUIES.

When as Leander young was drown'd No heart by Love receiv'd a wound, But on a rock himself sat by, There weeping sup'rabundantly.

Sighs numberless he cast about, And, all his tapers thus put out, His head upon his hand he laid, And sobbing deeply, thus he said: "Ah, cruel sea," and, looking on't, Wept as he'd drown the h.e.l.lespont.

And sure his tongue had more express'd But that his tears forbade the rest.

120. HOPE HEARTENS.

None goes to warfare but with this intent-- The gains must dead the fears of detriment.

121. FOUR THINGS MAKE US HAPPY HERE.

Health is the first good lent to men; A gentle disposition then: Next, to be rich by no by-ways; Lastly, with friends t'enjoy our days.

122. HIS PARTING FROM MRS. DOROTHY KENNEDY.

When I did go from thee I felt that smart Which bodies do when souls from them depart.

Thou did'st not mind it; though thou then might'st see Me turn'd to tears; yet did'st not weep for me.

'Tis true, I kiss'd thee; but I could not hear Thee spend a sigh t'accompany my tear.

Methought 'twas strange that thou so hard should'st prove, Whose heart, whose hand, whose every part spake love.

Prithee, lest maids should censure thee, but say Thou shed'st one tear, whenas I went away; And that will please me somewhat: though I know, And Love will swear't, my dearest did not so.

123. THE TEAR SENT TO HER FROM STAINES.

Glide, gentle streams, and bear Along with you my tear To that coy girl Who smiles, yet slays Me with delays, And strings my tears as pearl.

See! see, she's yonder set, Making a carcanet Of maiden-flowers!

There, there present This orient And pendant pearl of ours.

Then say I've sent one more Gem to enrich her store; And that is all Which I can send, Or vainly spend, For tears no more will fall.

Nor will I seek supply Of them, the spring's once dry; But I'll devise, Among the rest, A way that's best How I may save mine eyes.

Yet say--should she condemn Me to surrender them Then say my part Must be to weep Out them, to keep A poor, yet loving heart.

Say too, she would have this; She shall: then my hope is, That when I'm poor And nothing have To send or save, I'm sure she'll ask no more.

_Carcanet_, necklace.

124. UPON ONE LILY, WHO MARRIED WITH A MAID CALLED ROSE.

What times of sweetness this fair day foreshows, Whenas the Lily marries with the Rose!

What next is look'd for? but we all should see To spring from thee a sweet posterity.