That fair Syrian fhepherdess, There with thee, new welcome Saint, SONG. IX. On MAY MORNING. 65 70 NOW the bright morning star, day's harbinger, 5 Comes dancing from the eaft, and leads with her The flow'ry May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowflip, and the pale primrose. Hail bounteous May that doft inspire Mirth and youth and warm defire; Woods and groves are of thy dreffing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we falute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wifh thee long. ΤΟ On X. On SHAKESPEAR. 1630. WHA HAT needs my Shakespear for his honor'd Or that his hallow'd reliques should be hid Dear fon of memory, great heir of fame, 5 What need'ft thou such weak witness of thy name? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Haft built thyself a live-long monument. For whilst to th' fhame of flow-endevoring art XI. ΙΟ 15 On the University Carrier, who ficken'd in the time of his vacancy, being forbid to go to London, by reafon of the plague. ERE lies old Hobson; Death hath broke his girt, HER And here alas, hath laid him in the dirt, Or else the ways being foul, twenty to one, He's here stuck in a flough, and overthrown. 'Twas 'Twas such a shifter, that if truth were known, 5 Death was half glad when he had got him down; For he had any time this ten years full, Dodg'd with him, betwixt Cambridge and the Bull. In the kind office of a chamberlin 14 Show'd him his room where he must lodge that night, Pull'd off his boots, and took away the light: If any ask for him, it shall be said, Hobson has supt and's newly gone to bed. H XII. Another on the fame. ERE lieth one, who did most truly prove That he could never die while he could move; So hung his destiny, never to rot While he might still jogg on and keep his trot, Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime Bb 5 ΙΟ Reft Reft that gives all men life, gave him his death, And too much breathing put him out of breath; Nor were it contradiction to affirm 15 Too long vacation haften'd on his term. That ev'n to his last breath (there be that say't) 25 Only remains this fuperfcription. 30 L'A L H' XIII. L'ALLEGRO. ENCE loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn (unholy, 'Mongft horrid fhapes, and fhrieks, and fights Find out fome uncouth cell, 5 Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous And the night-raven sings; (wings, There under ebon fhades, and low-brow'd rocks, As ragged as thy locks, In dark Cimmerian defert ever dwell. 10 But come thou Goddess fair and free, The frolic wind that breathes the spring, 15 20 There on beds of violets blue, And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew, |