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THE WILLING PRISONER TO HIS MISTRESS.
LET fools great Cupid's yoke disdain, Loving their own wild freedom better; Whilst, proud of my triumphant chain,
I sit and court my beauteous fetter.
Her murdering glances, snaring hairs,
The sweet afflictions that disease me.
Hide not those panting balls of snow
In a sweet smile of love unfolding.
And let those eyes, whose motion wheels
And wounds, themselves have made, discover.
A PASTORAL DIALOGUE.
SHEPHERD, NYMPH, CHORUS.
Shep. THIS mossy bank they prest. Nym. That Did canopy the happy pair [aged oak
All night from the damp air. Cho. Here let us sit, and sing the words they spoke, Till the day-breaking their embraces broke. Shep. See, love, the blushes of the morn appear: And now she hangs her pearly store (Robb'd from the eastern shore) I' th' cowslip's bell and rose's ear: Sweet, I must stay no longer here.
Shep. Hark! Nym. Ah me, stay! Shep. For ever. Nym. No, arise;
We must be gone. Shep. My nest of spice. Nym. My soul. Shep. My paradise. [eyes Cho. Neither could say farewell, but through their Grief interrupted speech with tears supplies.
IN what esteem did the gods hold
Fair innocence and the chaste bed, When scandal'd virtue might be bold,
Bare-foot upon sharp culters, spread O'er burning coals, to march; yet feel Nor scorching fire nor piercing steel!
Why, when the hard-edged iron did turn Soft as a bed of roses blown,
When cruel flames forgot to burn
Their chaste, pure limbs, should man alone 'Gainst female innocence conspire, Harder than steel, fiercer than fire?
Oh hapless sex ! unequal sway
Of partial honour! who may know Rebels from subjects that obey,
When malice can on vestals throw Disgrace, and fame fix high repute On the loose shameless prostitute? Vain Honour thou art but disguise,
A cheating voice, a juggling art; No judge of Virtue, whose pure eyes
Court her own image in the heart, More pleased with her true figure there, Than her false echo in the ear.
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
Ask me no more, whither do stray
Ask me no more, whither doth haste
Ask me no more, where those stars light, That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere.
Ask me no more, if east or west,
WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STERLINE.
[Born, 1580. Died, 1640.]
WILLIAM ALEXANDER, of Menstrie, travelled | Having repaired to the court of James the First, on the Continent as tutor to the Earl of Argyll; and after his return to his native country (Scotland), having in vain solicited a mistress, whom he celebrates in his poetry by the name of Aurora, he married the daughter of Sir William Erskine.
he obtained the notice of the monarch, was appointed gentleman usher to Prince Charles, and was knighted by James. Both of those sovereigns patronized his scheme for colonizing Nova Scotia, of which the latter made him lord lieutenant
Charles the First created him Earl of Sterline in 1633, and for ten years he held the office of secretary of state for Scotland, with the praise of moderation, in times that were rendered pecu
SOME men delight huge buildings to behold,
Some monuments of monarchs, and such things
As Phoebe chaste, than Venus far more fair;
I CHANCED, my dear, to come upon a day
liarly trying by the struggles of Laud against the Scottish presbyterians.-He wrote some very heavy tragedies; but there is elegance of expression in a few of his shorter pieces*.
RISE, lady! mistress, rise!
[* "Lord Sterline is rather monotonous, as sonneteers usually are, and he addresses his mistress by the appellation, Fair tygress.' Campbell observes that there is elegance of expression in a few of his shorter pieces."— HALLAM, Lit. Hist., vol. iii. p. 505.]
[Died about 1638]
NATHANIEL FIELD had the honour of being | Chapel, Field played a part in Jonson's Poetaster, connected with Massinger in the Fatal Dowry, the play from which Rowe stole the plot of his Fair Penitent. [As one of the Children of the
1601; and Mr. Collier has conjectured that he could have hardly begun to write before 1609 or 1610. In 1612 he was an author in print.]
FROM "AMENDS FOR LADIES." 1618.
Rise, madam! rise, and give me light,
Till thou smile on thy lover: