He's soft and tender, pray take heed,

With bands of cowslips bind him,
And bring him home ;--but 'tis decreed

That I shall never find him !

THE KISS, A DIALOGUE. 1. Among thy fancies, tell me this :

What is the thing we call a kiss ? 2. I shall resolve ye what it is :

It is a creature born, and bred
Between the lips, all cherry red;
By love, and warm desires fed ;

Chor.–And makes more soft the bridal bed :

2. It is an active flame, that flies

First to the babies of the eyes,
And charms them there with lullabies ;
Chor.–And stills the bride too when she

cries :

2. Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear,

It frisks, and flies ; now here, now there ; 'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near ; Chor.-And here, and there, and every

where.

1. Has it a speaking virtue ? 2. Yes.1. How speaks it, say?-2. Do you but this. Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss ; Chor.- And this love's sweetest language

is.

1. Has it a body ?-2. Ay, and wings,

With thousand rare encolourings;
And, as it flies, it gently sings,

Chor.-Love honey yields, but never stings.

TO ANTHEA.

Bid me to live, and I will live

Thy protestant to be;
Or bid me love, and I will give

A loving heart to thee.

A heart as soft, a heart as kind,

A heart as sound and free,
As in the whole world thou can'st find,

That heart I'll give to thee,

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay

To honour thy decree ;
Or bid it languish quite away,

And 't shall do so for thee.

Bid me to weep, and I will weep,

While I have eyes to see ;
And having none, yet I will keep

A heart to weep for thee.

Bid me despair, and I'll despair

Under that cypress tree ;
Or bid me die, and I will dare

E'en death, to die for thee.

Thou art my life, my love, my heart,

The very eyes of me ;
And hast command of every part,

To live and die for thee.

CAREW, who was descended of an ancient and respectable

family in Gloucestershire, was, on his return from his travels, appointed by Charles the First a gentleman of the privy-chamber, and sewer in ordinary: Mr Campbell has given him praise fully as high as his poetical abilities merit in saying, that he unites the point and polish of later times with many of the genial and warm tints of the elder Muse. The“ point and polish” are, however, often deformed with trivial conceits; and the “ genial tints" blended with indelicacy which could scarce be expected in an accomplished gentleman of the privy-chamber of the First Charles, however appropriate to one who held the same office with the second of the name. Lord Clarendon has given the history and drawn the literary portrait of Carew in a few words. Of his poems, Clarendon says, that, “ for the sharpness of the fancy, and the elegance of the language in which that fancy was spread, they were at least equal, if not superior, to any of the time. But his glory was, that, after fifty years spent with less exactness and severity than they ought to have been, he died with the greatest remorse for that license; and with the greatest manifestations of Christianity that his friends could desire."

DISDAIN RETURNED.
He that loves a rosy cheek,

Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek

Fuel to maintain his fires ;
As old time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,

Gentle thoughts, and calm desires, Hearts with equal love combin'd,

Kindle never-dying fires. Where these are not, I despise Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.

BOLDNESS IN LOVE. MARK how the bashful morn in vain

Courts the amorous marigold With sighing blasts, and weeping rain,

Yet she refuses to unfold. But, when the planet of the day Approacheth with his powerful ray, Then she spreads, then she receives His warmer beams into her virgin leaves.

So shalt thou thrive in love, fond boy!

If thy tears and sighs discover Thy grief, thou never shalt enjoy

The just reward of a bold lover :

But, when with moving accents, thou
Shalt constant faith and service vow,
Thy Celia shall receive those charms
With open ears, and with unfolded arms.

SONG.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose ;
For, in your beauty's orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day ;
For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more, whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past ;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

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
The phenix builds her spicy nest ;
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.