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NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,
First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love; O, if Jove's will Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate
Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh ; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:
Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
On his being arrived at the age of 23.
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth, Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth, That I to manhood am arriv'd so near;
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the Will of Heaven;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.
When the assault was intended to the CITY.
CAPTAIN, or Colonel, or Knight in arms,
Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seise,
If deed of honour did thee ever please,
Guard them, and him within protect from harms! He can requite thee; for he knows the charms That call fame on such gentle acts as these, And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. Lift not thy spear against the Muse's bower:
The great Emathian conquerour bid spare The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground: And the repeated air
Of sad Electra's poet had the power
To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.
VIRTUOUS YOUNG LADY.
LADY, that in the prime of earliest youth
That labour up the hill of heavenly truth:
Chosen thou hast; and they that overween, And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen, No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth. Thy care is fix'd, and zealously attends
To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,
And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be
Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friend
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
Hast gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.
LADY MARGARET LEY.
DAUGHTER to that good Earl, once President
At Charonea, fatal to liberty,
Kill'd with report that old man eloquent.
Though later born than to have known the days Wherein father flourish'd, yet by you,
Madam, methinks I see him living yet; So well your words his noble virtues praise, That all both judge you to relate them true, And to possess them, honour'd Margaret.