I LOV'D a lass, a fair one,
As fair as e'er was seen,
She was indeed a rare one,
Another Sheba Queen;
But fool as then I was,
I thought she lov'd me too:
But now, alas! she's left me!

Her hair like gold did glister,
Each eye was like a star,
She did surpass her sister,
Which past all others far;
She would me Honey call;
She'd, ô she'd kiss me too!
But now, alas! she's left me.

Many a merry meeting
My love and I have had;
She was my only Sweeting,
She made my heart full glad :
The tears stood in her eyes,
Like to the morning dew;
But now, alas! she's left me!

And as abroad we walk'd,
As lovers' fashion is,
Oft as we sweetly talk'd,
The sun would steal a kiss;
The wind upon her lips
Likewise most sweetly blew;
But now, alas! she's left me!

As we walk'd home together,
At midnight through the town,
To keep away the weather,
O'er her I'd cast my gown;
No cold my Love should feel,
Whate'er the heavens could do:
But now, alas! she's left me!

Like doves we would be billing,
And clip and kiss so fast,
Yet she would be unwilling
That I should kiss the last!
They are Judas-kisses now,
Since that they prov'd untrue;
For now, alas! she's left me!

HENCE away, thou Syren, leave me,
Pish! unclasp those wanton arms;
Sugar'd wounds can ne'er deceive me,
(Though thou prove a thousand charms.)
Fie, fie, forbear;

No common snare
Can ever my affection chain :

Thy painted baits,

And poor deceits,

Are all bestow'd on me in vain.

I'm no slave to such, as you be;

Neither shall that snowy breast,

Rolling eye, and lip of ruby,

Ever rob me of my rest:

Go, go, display

Thy beauties'

ray

To some more soon enamour'd swain: .: Those common wiles

Of sighs and smiles

Are all bestow'd on me in vain.

I have elsewhere vow'd a duty;
Turn away thy tempting eye,
Shew not me a painted beauty;
These impostures I defy:
My spirit loaths

Where gaudy clothes

And feigned oaths may

I love her so,

love obtain:

Whose looks swear No,

:. That all your labours will be vain.

Can he prize the tainted posies
Which on every breast are worn,
That may pluck the virgin roses
From their never-touched thorn?
I can go rest

On her sweet breast,
That is the pride of Cynthia's train:
Then stay thy tongue;

Thy mermaid song

Is all bestow'd on me in vain.

He's a fool that basely dallies,

Where each peasant mates with him

Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, Whilst there's nobler hills to climb ? No, no, though clowns

Are scar'd with frowns,

I know the best can but disdain ;

And those I'll prove :

So will thy love

Be all bestow'd on me in vain.

:

I do scorn to vow a duty,

Where each lustful lad may woo:
Give me her, whose sun-like beauty
Buzzards dare not soar unto;
She, she it is

Affords that bliss

For which I would refuse no pain!
But such as you,

Fond fools, adieu;

You seek to captive me in vain.

Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me;

Seek no more to work my harms; Crafty wiles cannot deceive me,

Who am proof against your charms: You labour may

To lead astray

The heart, that constant shall remain ;

And I the while

Will sit and smile

To see you spend your time in vain.

ROBERT HERRICK.

1626.

Contemporary with Carew, to whose genius his own appears greatly to have assimilated, Herrick, though his productions have not till lately received the attention they merit, was once highly and deservedly applauded. He was born in London, August 24, 1591; and having taken the degree of M. A. in 1629, he was afterwards promoted to the vicarage of Dean Prior, Devonshire. Being ejected from this preferment under the protectorate, he experienced all the inconveniences of penury till his restoration to the living, in 1660. He is believed to have died Vicar of Dean Prior, against the inhabitants of which, in the early part of his life, he had notwithstanding vented many peevish and splenetic accusations. He was intimate with most of the popular characters of his times; and many of his poems being set to music by the celebrated Lawes, they were extensively sung. JULIA was, perhaps, the Mrs. Wheeler whom he somewhere styles his "beloved Mistress!" Be this as it may, Herrick was no platonist in his amours, as the tender reproach of his favourite Fair-" Herrick, thou art too coarse for love!"-unequivocally demonstrates. There is a freedom and sweetness in his more finished productions, which must forcibly recommend them to every reader of taste.

AS JULIA once a slumbering lay,
It chanc'd a Bee did fly that way,
After a dew, or dew-like shower,
To tipple freely in a flower.

For some rich flower, he took the lip
Of JULIA, and began to sip;

But when he felt he suck'd from thence

Honey, and in the quintessence,