WHEREVER I am, and whatever I do,
My Phyllis is still in my mind;
When angry, I mean not to Phyllis to go,
My feet of themselves, the way find:
Unknown to myself I am just at her door,
And, when I would rail, I can bring out no
Than, Phyllis too fair and unkind! [more,
When Phyllis I see, my heart bounds in my
And the love I would stifle is shown; [breast,
But asleep, or awake, I am never at rest,

When from my eyes Phyllis is gone. [mind; Sometimes a sad dream does delude my sad But, alas! when I wake, and no Phyllis I find, How I sigh to myself all alone!

Should a king be my rival in her I adore,

He should offer his treasure in vain :
O, let me alone to be happy and poor,
And give me my Phyllis again!

Let Phyllis be mine, and but ever be kind,
I could to a desert with her be confin'd,
And envy no monarch his reign.
Alas! I discover too much of my love,
And she too well knows her own power![prove,
She makes me each day a new martyrdom
And makes me grow jealous each hour:
But let her each minute torment my poor mind,
I had rather love Phyllis, both false and unkind,
Than ever be freed from her power.

II.

HE. How unhappy a lover am I,

While I sigh for my Phyllis in vain;

All my hopes of delight

Are another man's right,

Who is happy, while I am in pain! SHE. Since her honour allows no relief,

HE.

But to pity the pains which you bear, "T is the best of your fate,

In a hopeless estate

To give o'er, and betimes to despair.
I have tried the false med'cine in vain ;
For I wish what I hope not to win:
From without, my desire

Has no food to its fire;

But it burns and consumes me within.

SHE. Yet, at least, 't is a pleasure to know
That you are not unhappy alone:

For the nymph you adore

Is as wretched, and more;

And counts all your sufferings her own.

HE. O ye gods, let me suffer for both;
At the feet of my Phyllis I'll lie:
I'll resign up my breath,
And take pleasure in death,

To be pitied by her when I die.
SHE. What her honour denied you in life,
In her death she will give to your
Such a flame as is true
[love.
After fate will renew,

For the souls to meet closer above.

SONG OF THE SEA-FIGHT, IN AMBOYNA.

WHO ever saw a noble sight,

That never view'd a brave sea-fight!
Hang up your bloody colours in the air
Up with your fights, and your nettings prepare;
Your merry mates cheer, with a lusty bold

spright,

[fight.

Now each man his brindice, and then to the St. George, St. George, we cry,

The shouting Turks reply

Ply it with culverin and with small shot; [roar,
Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot,
Hark, does it not thunder? no, 't is the guns
Now each man must resolve to die,
The neighbouring billows are turn'd into gore;
For here the coward cannot fly.
Drums and trumpets toll the knell,
And culverins the passing bell.
Now, now they grapple, and now board
Blow up the hatches, they're off all again :
Give them a broadside, the dice run at all,
Down comes the mast and yard, and tacklings

fall;

[amain,

II.

MAN SINGS.

On sight, the mother of desires,
What charming objects dost thou yield!

'T is sweet, when tedious night expires,

To see the rosy morning gild

The mountain-tops, and paint the field! But when Clarinda comes in sight, She makes the summer's day more bright; And when she goes away, 't is night.

CHORUS.

FAIREST isle, all isle excelling, Seat of pleasures and of love; Venus here will choose her dwelling, And forsake her Cyprian groves. Cupid from his favourite nation Care and envy will remove; Jealousy, that poisons passion, And despair, that dies for love. Gentle murmurs, sweet complaining, Sighs, that blow the fire of love; Soft repulses, kind disdaining,

Shall be all the pains you prove. Every swain shall pay his duty, Grateful every nymph shall prove, And as these excel in beauty,

Those shall be renown'd for love.

EPILOGUE TO THE INDIAN

QUEEN.

SPOKEN BY MONTEZUMA.

You see what shifts we are enforc'd to try,
To help out wit with some variety;

Shows may be found that never yet were seen,
"T is hard to find such wit as ne'er has been:
You have seen all that this old world can do,
We, therefore, try the fortune of the new,
And hope it is below your aim to hit

here.

At untaught nature with your practis'd wit: Our naked Indians, then, when wits appear, Would as soon choose to have the Spaniards [show, 'Tis true you have marks enough, the plot, the The poet's scenes, nay, more, the painters too; If all this fail, considering the cost, 'T is a true voyage to the Indies lost : But if you smile on all, then these designs, Like the imperfect treasure of our minds, Will pass for current wheresoe'er they go, When to your bounteous hands their stamps they owe.

EPILOGUE TO THE INDIAN EMPEROR.

BY A MERCURY.

To all and singular in this full meeting, Ladies and gallants, Phoebus send ye greeting. To all his sons, by whate'er title known, Whether of court, or coffee house, or town; From his most mighty sons, whose confidence Is plac'd in lofty sound, and humble sense, Even to his little infants of the time, [rhyme; Who write new songs, and trust in tune and Be't known, that Phoebus (being daily grieved To see good plays condemn'd, and bad received)

Ordains your judgment upon every cause,
Henceforth, be limited by wholesome laws.
He first thinks fit no sonnetteer advance
His censure farther than the song or dance.
Your wit burlesque may one step higher climb,
And in his sphere may judge all doggerel rhyme;
All proves, and inoves, and loves, and honours

too;

All that appears high sense, and scarce is low.
As for the coffee wits, he says not much;
Their proper business is to damn the Dutch:
For the great dons of wit-

Phoebus gives them full privilege alone,
To damn all others, and cry up their own.

Last, for the ladies, 't is Apollo's will,
They should have power to save, but not to kill;
For love and he long since have thought it fit,
Wit live by beauty, beauty reign by wit.

PROLOGUE TO SIR MARTIN MARRALL.

FOOLS, which each man meets in his diso each day,

Are yet the great regalios of a play; In which to poets you but just appear, To prize that highest, which cost them so dear: Fops in the town more easily will pass; One story makes a statutable ass : But such in plays must be much thicker sown, Like yolks of eggs, a dozen beat to one. Observing poets all their walks invade, [glade: As men watch woodcocks gliding through a And when they have enough for comedy, They stow their several bodies in a pie : The poet's but the cook to fashion it, For, gallants, you yourselves have found the To bid you welcome, would your bounty wrong; None welcome those who bring their cheer along.

[wit.