SELECTIONS FROM DAVENANT.

TO THE QUEEN.

FAIR as unshaded light, or as the day
In its first birth, when all the year was May;
Sweet as the altar's smoke, or as the new
Unfolded bud, swell'd by the early dew;
Smooth as the face of waters first appear'd,
Ere tides began to strive or winds were heard ;
Kind as the willing saints, or calmer far

Than in their sleeps forgiven hermits are.
You that are more than our discreeter fear

Dares praise, with such full art, what make you here?
Here, where the summer is so little seen,

That leaves, her cheapest wealth, scarce reach at green
You came, as if the silver planet were

Misled awhile from her much-injured sphere;
And t' ease the travels of her beams to-night,
In this small lanthorn would contract her light.

SONG.

THE lark now leaves his watery nest,
And, climbing, shakes his dewy wings;
He takes this window for the east ;

And to implore your light, he sings,
Awake, awake! the morn will never rise,
Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes.

The merchant bows unto the seaman's star,
The ploughman from the sun his season takes;
But still the lover wonders what they are,

Who look for day before his mistress wakes.
Awake, awake! break through your veils of lawn,
Then draw your curtains and begin the dawn.

N

PRAYER AND PRAISE.

FOR Prayer the ocean is, where diversely
Men steer their course, each to a different coast,
Where oft our interests so discordant be,
That half beg winds by which the rest are lost.

Praise is devotion fit for mighty minds,
The diff'ring World's agreeing sacrifice.

ON A SOLDIER GOING TO THE WARS.

PRESERVE thy sighs, unthrifty girl,
To purify the air;

Thy tears to thread instead of pearl,
Ön bracelets of thy hair.

The trumpet makes the echo hoarse,
And wakes the louder drum;
Expense of grief gains no remorse
When sorrow should be dumb.

For I must go where lazy Peace
Will hide her drowsy head;
And, for the sport of kings, increase
The number of the dead.

But first I'll chide thy cruel theft :
Can I in war delight,

Who, being of my heart bereft,
Can have no heart to fight?

Thou knows't the sacred laws of old
Ordained a thief should pay,
To quit him of his theft, sevenfold
What he had stol'n away.

Thy payment shall but double be,
Ó then with speed resign
My own seducèd heart to me,
Accompany'd with thine.

WEEP NO MORE FOR WHAT IS PAST.

(From "The Cruel Brothers.")

WEEP no more for what is past,

For Time in motion makes such haste
He hath no leisure to descry

Those errors which he passeth by.

If we consider accident,

And how repugnant unto sense
It pays desert with bad event,
We shall disparage Providence.

CURSED JEALOUSY.

THIS cursed jealousy, what is't?
'Tis Love that has lost itself in a mist;
'Tis Love being frighted out of his wits;
"Tis Love that has a fever got;

Love that is violently hot,

But troubled with cold and trembling fits.
'Tis yet a more unnatural evil,

'Tis the god of Love, 'tis the god of Love,
Possessed with a devil.

ON THE CAPTIVITY OF THE COUNTESS OF ANGLESEY.

O WHITHER Will you lead the fair

And spicy daughter of the morn?

Those manacles of her soft hair,

Princes, though free, would fain have worn.

What is her crime? what has she done?
Did she, by breaking beauty, stay,

Or from his course mislead the sun,
So robbed your harvest of a day?

Or did her voice, divinely clear,
Since lately in your forest bred,
Make all the trees dance after her,
And so your woods disforested?