SONNETS.

SWEET Spring! thou turn'st, with all thy goodly train;
Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow'rs;
The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain;
The clouds, for joy, in pearls weep down their show'rs.
Turn'st thou, sweet Youth! but; ah! my pleasant hours,
And happy days, with thee come not again!
The sad memorials only of my pain

Do with thee turn, which turn my sweets to sours.
Thou art the same which still thou wert before,
Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair;

But she whose breath embalm'd thy wholesome air,
Is gone! nor gold, nor gems, can her restore.
Neglected Virtue! seasons go and come;
While thine, forgot, lie closed in a tomb!

SWEET SOUL! which in the April of thy years,
For to enrich the Heaven, mad'st poor this round;
And now, with flaming rays of glory crown'd,
Most blest abid'st above the sphere of spheres!
If heavenly laws, alas! have not thee bound
From looking to this globe, that all upbears;
If ruth and pity there above be found;
O! deign to lend a look unto these tears,
Do not disdain, dear Ghost! this sacrifice.
And though I raise not pillars to thy praise,
My offerings take; let this for me suffice,
My heart a living pyramid I raise !

And whilst kings' tombs with laurels flourish green,
Thine shall with myrtles and these flowers be seen.

BENJAMIN JONSON.

1616.

It cannot be objected to Jonson, that his life was undiversified by change, or unproductive of incident. He was born in Westminster, June 11, 1574; and was for some time instructed at the school of that name, then under the mastership of Camden. Finding the progress of his education embarrassed by the contractedness of his pecuniary resources, he repaired to the continent, where he engaged himself in a military capacity, till, relinquishing the profession of arins, he resolved to return to London; and commenced actor. Unsuccessfulness in this department, at length, induced him to turn his attention to dramatic composition. He was now fortunate enough to become the favourite writer for the stage; a reputation that he maintained, nearly to the close of his career, with very little abatement. On the death of Daniel, he was also nominated poet laureat, by which his intercourse with the great became more extended, and his celebrity, among the literati of the times, proportionably augmented. That he was married, and had several children, is all that biography has related of his domestic connections. He died, at his house in Aldersgate Street, August 6, 1637: his remains were interred in Westminster Abbey. There are reasons for concluding that CELIA, to whom so many of his lesser poems are dedicated, was not an ideal mistress; but a lady, though united to another, who was by no means indifferent to the advances of the poet. All the effusions to which she appears to have given birth, abundantly support this opinion. Sometimes she is reminded how easy it is to "delude the eyes of a few poor household spies ;" that, indeed, her "wary lover can her favours keep and cover :" then, she is admonished to "drink to him only with her eyes!" What became of CELIA, it would be vain to enquire: but the bard encoun

tred a second love, when on the verge of fifty years, iu the beauties of his CHARIS, on whose charms he expatiates with all the vigour and enthusiasm of early affection. Alas! the golden days of love were now past! "Grey hairs, a mountain-belly, and a rocky face,”— for such is the representation that Jonson gives of himself at this period,-were not likely to attract youth, and beauty, and rank. He may therefore be credited, when he complains of the inefficacy with which the incense of his vows daily ascended before the fair object of his amorous adoration.

Do not wanton with those eyes,
Lest I be sick with seeing!

Nor cast them down; but let them rise,
Lest shame destroy their being.

O be not angry with those fires,
For then their threats will kill me!
Nor look too kind on my desires,
For then my hopes will spill me.

O do not steep them in thy tears,
For so will sorrow slay me:
Nor spread them, as distract with fears;
Mine own enough betray me!

FOR love's sake, kiss me once again!
I long, and should not beg in vain :
Here's none to spy, or see;

Why do you doubt, or stay?

I'll taste as lightly as the Bee,

That doth but touch his flower, and flies away.

Once more, and (faith) I will be gone;
Can he that loves, ask less than one?
Nay you may err in this,

And all your bounty wrong;

This could be call'd but half a kiss.

What we're but once to do, we should do long,

I will but mend the last; and tell
Where, how it would have relish'd well;

Join lip to lip, and try

Each to suck other's breath;

And, whilst our tongues perplexed lie, Let who will think us dead, or wish our death!

COME, MY CELIA, let us prove,
While we may, the sports of love!
Time will not be ours for ever;
He, at length, our good will sever;
Spend not, then, his gifts in vain,
Suns may set, may rise again;
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night,
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumour are but

toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor houshold spies;
Or his easier ears beguile,
So removed by our wile?
'Tis no sin love's fruit to steal,
But the sweet theft to reveal:

To be taken, to be seen;

These have crimes accounted been.

DRINK to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine!
Or leave a kiss within the cup,
And I'll not look for wine,

The thirst that from the soul doth rise,
Doth ask a drink divine:

But, might I of Jove's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine!

STILL to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast;
Still to be powdred, still perfum'd;
Lady, it is to be presum'd-

Though art's hid causes are not found

All is not sweet, all is not sound!

Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free!
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all the adulteries of art;

That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.