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NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still ; Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love; 0, if Jove's will

Have link'd that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretel my hopeless doom in some grove nigh;

As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why:

Whether the Muse, or Love, call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.



On his being arrived at the age of 23.

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,

Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth year! My hasting days fly on with full career,

But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,

That I to manhood am arriv'd so near;
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,

That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still in strictest measure even

To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the Will of

All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.

When the assault was intended to the CITY.

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CAPTAIN, or Colonel, or Knight in arms,
Whose chance on these defenceless doors may

If deed of honour did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms! He can requite thee, for he knows the charms

That call fame on such gentle acts as these,
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas,

Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.
Lift not thy spear against the Muse's bower :

The great Emathian conquerour bid spare

The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower Went to the ground : And the repeated air

Of sad Electra's poét had the power
To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare.




LADY, that in the prime of earliest youth

Wisely hast shunn'd the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour


the hill of heavenly truth: The better part with Mary and with Ruth

Chosen thou hast; and they that overween,
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen,

No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
Thy care is fix'd, and zealously attends

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light,
And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be


Thou, when the bridegroom with his feastful friend

Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
Hast gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.

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DAUGHTER to that good Earl, once President

Of England's Council and her Treasury,
Who liv'd in both, anstain’d with gold or fee,

And left them both, more in himself content, Till sad the breaking of that Parliament

Broke him, as that dishonest victory
At Chæronea, fatal to liberty,

Kill'd with report that old man eloquent. Though later born than to have known the days

Wherein your father flourish'd, yet by you,

Madam, methinks I see him living yet; So well your words his noble virtues praise,

That all both judge you to relate them true, And to possess them, honour'd Margaret.

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