I guiltless past, no helpless man oppressing; And coming now to thee, lift to the skies Unbribed hands, cleans'd heart, and never tainted eyes!" "My dearest Betty, my more loved heart, Yet never full of thy sweet love's enjoying: Thy constant loves, next heav'n, I did refer them, Had not much grace prevail'd, 'fore heav'n I should prefer them. "I leave them now the trumpet calls away; In vain thine eyes beg for some time's reprieving; Yet in my children here immortal stay; In one I die, in many ones am living: In them and for them stay thy too much grieving: Look but on them, in them thou still wilt see Marry'd with thee again, thy twice-two Antony. "And when with little hands they stroke thy face, As in thy lap they sit, all careless, playing, And stammering ask a kiss, give them a brace; Shew thy dear love to him, who lov'd thee ever dear. "And now our falling house leans all on thee; This little nation to thy care commend them: In thee it lies that hence they want not me; Themselves yet cannot, thou the more defend them; And when green age permits, to goodness bend them; A mother were you once, now both you are : Then with this double style double your love and care. "Turn their unwary steps into the way; What first the vessel drinks it long retaineth; There shall they live with me--else shall they see me "My God! oh, in thy fear here let them live! Thy wards they are, take them to thy protection: Thou gav❜st them first, now back to thee I give; Direct them thou, and help her weak direction ; That re-united by thy strong election Thou now in them, they then may live in thee; And doing here thy will, may there thy glory see." After this, we must the more regret that we know no particulars of the private life and domestic history of this interesting poet: the following short Piece is the only one in which he at all alludes to his own "heart's choice." With this, together with part of an epistle to his brother on his choice of a sacred subject, and extracts from two or three addresses to different friends, (among which we learn the name of his " Thomalin") expressive of his love of home and the country, and his attachment to his native Kent, we must close our selections from Dr. Anderson's edition--which, as observed before, however incomplete, and containing many errors, is yet valuable as the only Collection, and from which we could occupy many more pages with choice passages whose rarity would be their least recommendation-but our limits forbid. To my only chosen Valentine and Wife. Anagram {Maystress Elizabeth Vincent } Think not, fair love, that chance my hand directed But heav'n, that ever with chaste true love stands, Lent eyes to see what most my heart respected: Then do not thou resist what heav'n commands; But yield thee his who ever must be thine: My heart thy altar is, my breast thy shrine; Thy name for ever is, "My breast's chaste Valentine.' Upon my Brother, G. F. his Book, entitled "Christ's Victory, &c." Fond lads that spend so fast your posting time To chaunt light lays, or frame some wanton rhyme; But thou, most near, most dear, in this of thine Or thou such grace with Mercy's self hast found, Or stol'n from heav'n, thou brought'st this verse to ground, Which frights the numbed soul with fearful thunder, And soon with honey'd dews thaws it 'twixt joy and wonder! Then do not thou malicious tongues esteem; To Mr. Io. Tomkins. Thomalin, my lief, thy music strains to hear, Or when the sea, if stopt his course he finds, Thy strains to hear, old Chamus from his cell Comes guarded with an hundred nymphs around: An hundred nymphs, that in his rivers dwell, About him flock, with water-lillies crown'd: For thee the Muses leave their silver well, And marvel where thou all their art hast found: And while thy sadder accent sweetly plains, How oft have I, the Muses' bower frequenting, Miss'd them at home, and found them all with thee! Whether thou sing'st sad Eupatha's lamenting, Or tunest notes to sacred harmony, The ravish'd soul with such sweet notes consenting, Transcends the stars, and with the angel's train Ah! couldst thou here thy humble mind content, But, ah! the country bow'rs please me as well: No flattery, hate, or envy lodgeth there; There know no change, nor wanton fortune's wheel: Thousand fresh sports grow in those dainty places; Light fawns and nymphs dance in the woody spaces, And little Love himself plays with the naked Graces. But, seeing Fate my happy wish refuses, Let me alone enjoy my low estate. But, with the muses, welcome poorest fate, |