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My love is full of noble pride;
Nor can it e'er submit,

To let that fop, Discretion, ride
In triumph over it.

False friends I have, as well as you,

Who daily counsel me

Fame and ambition to pursue,
And leave off loving thee.

But when the least regard I show
To fools who thus advise,
May I be dull enough to grow
Most miserably wise!

MAY the ambitious ever find

Success in crowds and noise, While gentle love doth fill my mind With silent real joys!

Let knaves and fools grow rich and great,
And the world think them wise;
Whilst I lie dying at her feet,
And all the world despise !

Let conquering kings new triumphs raise, And melt in court delights:

Her eyes can give much brighter days! Her arms, much softer nights!

SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.

1670.

This gentleman held too distinguished a rank in the witty though dissipated court of Charles II. to be forgotten in a work dedicated to elegance and beauty. Sedley was born about 1639, of a very respectable family. His abilities, which were not only shining but solid, might, with proper application, have rendered him an eminent statesman. He died in 1701.

Sedley seems hardly to have merited, as a man of genius, the eulogium of his friend Rochester

"SEDLEY has that prevailing, gentle art,
That can with a resistless power impart
The loosest wishes to the chastest heart!"

PHILLIS, let's shun the common fate,
And let our love ne'er turn to hate.
I'll doat no longer than I can,
Without being call'd a faithless man.
When we begin to want discourse,
And kindness seems to taste of force,
As freely as we met we'll part;
Each one possess'd of their own heart.
Thus whilst rash fools themselves undo,
We'll game, and give off savers too :
So equally the match we'll make,
Both shall be glad to draw the stake.
A smile of thine shall make my bliss,
I will enjoy thee in a kiss!

If from this height our kindness fall,
We'll bravely scorn to love at all.
If thy affection first decay,
I will the blame on nature lay.
Alas! what cordial can remove
The hasty fate of dying Love?
Thus we will all the world excel,
In loving and in parting well.

JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER.

1674.

It is not too much to assert, that the character of this nobleman has never been fairly appreciated. Originally a man of virtue as well as talents, he appears to have degenerated from this rank principally by too early an association with the witty, the dissolute, and the profligate; a circumstance that he deeply deplored in his dying moments, when the pleasures to which he had once abandoned himself could no longer seduce his reflection. The following lines, addressed by him to Charles II. from Wadham College in Oxford, when he was only thirteen years old, would be honourable to the head and heart of any writer.

"Whilst England grows one Camp

And loyal Kent renews her arts again,

Fencing her ways with moving groves of men ;
Forgive this distant homage, which doth meet
Your bless'd approach-with sedentary feet;
And though my youth, not patient yet to bear
The weight of arms, denies me to appear
In steel before you; yet, Great Sir! approve
My manly wishes, and more vigorous love:
In whom a cold respect were treason, to
A Father's ashes, greater than to you;
Whose one ambition 'tis for to be known,
By daring loyalty, your WILMOT'S SON !"

These verses do credit not only to the loyalty of the writer, they speak the virtuous affection with which he reflected on the memory of his illustrious father, who had engaged with zeal in the cause of Charles I. and to whom the son of that unfortunate monarch was indebted for the preservation of his life, and the subsequent enjoyment of the throne. Rochester died on July 26, 1680, before he had completed his thirty-fourth year, having by that time entirely destroyed a constitution naturally excellent. His Lordship was born at Ditchley, near Woodstock, Oxfordshire, April 10, 1647.

My dear Mistress has a heart

- Soft as those kind looks she gave me, When with love's resistless dart,

And her eyes, she did enslave me : But her constancy's so weak,

She's so wild and apt to wander, That my jealous heart would break, Should we live one day asunder. Melting joys about her move,

Killing pleasures, wounding blisses; She can dress her eyes in love,

And her lips can warm with kisses. Angels listen if she speak,

She's my delight, all mankind's wonder: But my jealous heart would break, Should we live one day asunder.

ALL my past life is mine no more,
The flying hours are gone:
Like transitory dreams given o'er,
Whose images are kept in store
By memory alone.

The time that is to come, is not;
How can it then be mine?
The present moment's all my lot;
And that, as fast as it is got,
PHILLIS! is only thine.

Then talk not of inconstancy,
False hearts, and broken vows;

If I, by miracle, can be

This live-long minute true to thee, 'Tis all that heaven allows.

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