The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun,

The higher he's a getting,

The sooner will his race be run,

And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best, which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse and worst
Times still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.

THE BLEEDING HAND; OR THE SPRIG OF EGLANTINE GIVEN TO A MAID.

FROM this bleeding hand of mine,

Take this sprig of Eglantine,

Which, though sweet unto your smell,

Yet the fretful briar will tell,

He who plucks the sweets, shall prove

Many thorns to be in love.

TO THE WILLOW-TREE.

THOU art to all lost love the best,
The only true plant found,
Wherewith young men and maids distrest,
And left off love, are crown'd.

When once the lover's rose is dead,

Or laid aside forlorn,

Then willow-garlands, 'bout the head,
Bedew'd with tears are worn.

When with neglect, the lover's bane,
Poor maids rewarded be,

For their lost love, their only gain

Is but a wreath from thee.

And underneath thy cooling shade,

When weary of the light,

The love-spent youth, and love-sick maid,

Come to weep out the night.

THE KISS.-A DIALOGUE.

1. AMONG thy fancies tell me this,
What is the thing we call a kiss?
2. I shall resolve ye what it is.

It is a creature born and bred
Between the lips, all cherry-red,
By love and warm desires fed,

Chor. And makes more soft the bridal bed.

2. It is an active flame, that flies,

First to the babies of the eyes,

And charms them there with lullabies,

Chor. And stills the bride too when she cries.

2. Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,

It frisks and flies, now here, now there; 'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near, Chor. And here, and there, and every where.

1. Has it a speaking virtue? 2. Yes. 1. How speaks it, say? 2. Do you but this, Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss; Chor. And this Love's sweetest language is.

1. Has it a body? 2. Aye, and wings, With thousand rare encolourings;

And as it flies, it gently sings,

Chor. Love honey yields, but never stings.

FROM "WIT RESTORED,"

1658.

THE PRINCIPAL WRITERS IN "WIT RESTORED

WERE,

SIR JOHN MEMNIS, born 1598, died 1670; and
DR. JAMES SMITH, born 1604, died 1667.

TO B. R., IN RETURN FOR HER BRACELET.
'Tis not, dear love, that amber twist,
Which circles round my captive wrist,
Can have the power to make me more
Your pris'ner than I was before;
Though I that bracelet dearer hold
Than misers would a chain of gold;
Yet this but ties my outward part,—
Heart-strings alone can tie my heart.

"Tis not that soft and silken wreath,
Your hands did unto mine bequeath,
Can bind with half so powerful charms
As the embraces of your arms;
Although not iron bands, my fair,
Can bind more fiercely than your hair :
Yet what will chain me most will be,
Your heart in true-love's knot to me.

'Tis not those beams, your hairs, nor all
Your glorious outside doth me thrall,—
Although your looks have force enow,
To make the stateliest tyrants bow,

Nor any angel could deny
Your person his idolatry,—

Yet I do not so much adore

The temple, but the goddess more.

If, then, my soul you would confine
To prison, tie your heart to mine;
Your noble virtues, constant love,
The only powerful chains will prove
To bind me ever: such as those

The hands of death shall ne'er unloose.
Until I such a pris'ner be,
No liberty can make me free.

EDMUND WALLER,

Born 1605, died 1687.

TO AMORET.

AMORET, the milky way,

Framed of many nameless stars! The smooth stream, where none can say He this drop to that prefers!

Amoret, my lovely foe!

Tell me where thy strength does lie? Where the power that charms us so ? In thy soul, or in thy eye?

H