UPID abroad was 'lated in the night, His wings were wet with ranging in the rain;

Harbour he sought to me he took his flight

To dry his plumes. I heard the boy complain;

I oped the door, and granted his desire;

I rose myself, and made the wag a fire.

Looking more narrow, by the fire's flame,
I spied his quiver hanging by his back;
Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame,
I would have gone, for fear of further
wrack;

But what I dread, did me, poor wretch,

betide,

For forth he drew an arrow from his side.

"Cupid abroad was 'lated in the night"

He pierced the quick, and I began to start:

A pleasing wound, but that it was too high; His shaft procured a sharp, yet sugared smart. Away he flew, for why, his wings were dry; And left the arrow sticking in my breast, That sore I grieved I welcomed such a guest.

Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,

Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do

miss.

The homely house that harbours quiet rest, The cottage that affords nor pride nor care, The mean that 'grees with country music best, The sweet consort of mirth and modest fare,Obscured life sets down a type of bliss:

A mind content both crown and kingdom is.

Eidola

ARE they shadows that we see?
And can shadows pleasure give?
Pleasures only shadows be,
Cast by bodies we conceive,
And are made the things we deem
In those figures which they seem.

But these pleasures vanish fast
Which by shadows are exprest;
Pleasures are not if they last,
In their passage is their best:
Glory is most bright and gay
In a flash and so away.