To the Queen, entertain'd at night by the Countess of Anglesey. 'Aire as unshaded Light; or as the Day as run the May; Sweet, as the Altars smoak, or as the new Smooth, as the face of waters first appear'd, Ere Tides began to strive, or Winds were heard: Kind as the willing Saints, and calmer farre, Than in their sleeps forgiven Hermits are: You that are more, then our discreter feare Dares praise, with such full Art, what make you here? 1Ο Here, where the Summer is so little seen, That leaves (her cheapest wealth) scarce reach at green, You come, as if the silver Planet were Misled a while from her much injur'd Sphere, And t'ease the travailes of her beames to night, In this small Lanthorn would contract her light. Sir William Davenant. For the Lady Olivia Porter; a Present upon a New-years Day. Oe! hunt the whiter Ermine! and present G His wealthy skin, as this dayes Tribute sent To my Endimion's Love; Though she be farre Goe! climbe that Rock! and when thou there hast found Give it Endimion's Love, whose glorious Eyes, Goe! dive into the Southern Sea! and when Sir William Davenant. 10 20 The Grasse-hopper. Το my Noble Friend, Mr. Charles Cotton. ODE. H thou that swing'st upon the waving haire OH Of some well-filled Oaten Beard, Drunke ev'ry night with a Delicious teare Dropt thee from Heav'n, where now th'art reard. The Joyes of Earth and Ayre are thine intire, To thy Carv'd Acron-bed to lye. Up with the Day, the Sun thou welcomst then, But ah the Sickle! Golden Eares are Cropt; Sharpe frosty fingers all your Flowr's have topt, Poore verdant foole! and now green Ice! thy Joys Thou best of Men and Friends! we will create Our sacred harthes shall burne eternally Dropping December shall come weeping in, Bewayle th' usurping of his Raigne; But when in show'rs of old Greeke we beginne, Shall crie, he hath his Crowne againe ! 10 20 30 Night as cleare Hesper shall our Tapers whip Thus richer then untempted Kings are we, Though Lord of all what Seas imbrace, yet he 40 Richard Lovelace. TE ODE. of Wit. Ell me, O tell, what kind of thing is Wit, For the First matter loves Variety less; London that vents of false Ware so much store, For men led by the Colour, and the Shape, Some things do through our Judgment pass And sometimes, if the Object be too far, IO Hence 'tis a Wit that greatest word of Fame And Wits by our Creation they become, All ev'ry where, like Mans, must be the Soul, Such were the Numbers which could call Such Miracles are ceast; and now we see Jewels at Nose and Lips but ill appear; If there be nothing else between. Men doubt, because they stand so thick i'th' skie, 'Tis not when two like words make up one noise; In which who finds out Wit, the same may see Much less can that have any place At which a Virgin hides her face, 20 30 40 |