Nor grieve this crystal stream so soon did fall
Into the ocean; since she perfum'd all

The banks she past, so that each neighbour field
Did sweet flowers cherish'd by her watering yield,
Which now adorn her hearse. The violet there
On her pale cheek doth the sad livery wear,
Which Heaven's compassion gave her and since she
'Cause clothed in purple, can no mourner be,
As incense to the tomb she gives her breath,
And fading on her lady waits in death:
Such office the Ægyptian handmaids did
Great Cleopatra, when she dying chid

The asp's slow venom, trembling she should be
By fate robb'd even of that black victory.

The flowers instruct our sorrows. Come, then, all

Ye beauties, to true beauty's funeral,

And with her to increase death's pomp, decay.
Since the supporting fabric of your clay

Is fallen, how can ye stand? How can the night
Show stars, when Fate puts out the day's great light?

AGAINST THEM WHO LAY UNCHASTITY TO THE
SEX OF WOMEN.

They meet but with unwholesome springs,
And summers which infectious are;
They hear but when the mermaid sings,
And only see the falling star,
Who ever dare

Affirm no woman chaste and fair.

Go, cure your fevers; and you'll say

The dog-days scorch not all the year:

In copper mines no longer stay,
But travel to the west, and there
The right ones see,

And grant all gold's not alchemy.

What madman, 'cause the glow-worm's flame
Is cold, swears there's no warmth in fire?
'Cause some make forfeit of their name,
And slave themselves to man's desire,
Shall the sex, free

From guilt, damn'd to the bondage be?

Nor grieve, Castara, though t' were frail;
Thy virtue then would brighter shine,
When thy example should prevail,
And every woman's faith be thine:
And were there none,

'Tis majesty to rule alone.

TO CASTARA. OF TRUE delight.

Why doth the ear so tempt the voice
That cunningly divides the air?
Why doth the palate buy the choice
Delights o' th' sea, to enrich her fare?

As soon as I my ear obey,

The echo's lost even with the breath;
And when the sewer takes away,

I'm left with no more taste than death.

Be curious in pursuit of eyes
To procreate new loves with thine;
Satiety makes sense despise
What superstition thought divine.

Quick fancy! how it mocks delight!
As we conceive, things are not such;
The glowworm is as warm as bright,
Till the deceitful flame we touch.

When I have sold my heart to lust,
And bought repentance with a kiss;
I find the malice of my dust,
That told me hell contained a bliss.

The rose yields her sweet blandishment
Lost in the fold of lovers' wreaths;
The violet enchants the scent,

When early in the spring she breathes.

But winter comes, and makes each flower
Shrink from the pillow where it grows;
Or an intruding cold hath power
To scorn the perfume of the rose.

Our senses, like false glasses, show
Smooth beauty, where brows wrinkled are,
And makes the cozen'd fancy glow;
Chaste virtue's only true and fair.

NOX NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM.

When I survey the bright

Celestial sphere :

So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear:

My soul her wings doth spread
And heaven-ward flies,

The Almighty's mysteries to read
In the large volumes of the skies.

For the bright firmament

Shoots forth no flame

So silent, but is eloquent

In speaking the Creator's name.

No unregarded star

Contracts its light,

Into so small a character,

Remov'd far from our human sight,

But if we steadfast look

We shall discern

In it as in some holy book,

How man may heavenly knowledge learn.

It tells the conqueror,

That far-stretched power,

Which his proud dangers traffic for, Is but the triumph of an hour.

That from the farthest north

Some nation may

Yet undiscovered issue forth,

And o'er his new got conquest sway.

Some nation yet shut in

With hills of ice,

May be let out to scourge his sin,
Till they shall equal him in vice.

And then they likewise shall
Their ruin have;

For as yourselves your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.

Thus those celestial fires,

Though seeming mute,

The fallacy of our desires

And all the pride of life, confute.

For they have watched since first
The world had birth:

And found sin in itself accursed,
And nothing permanent on earth.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING.

[SUCKLING was born at Twickenham in 1608-9, and committed suicide in Paris in 1642. He published during his life-time the drama of Aglaura in 1638 and the Ballad of a Wedding in 1640. His other works were first collected posthumously in 1648, under the title of Fragmenta Aurea.]

It is impossible to consider the poems of Suckling without regard to his career. No English poet has lived a life so public, so adventurous and so full of vicissitude as his. Nothing short of an irresistible bias towards the art of poetry could have induced so busy and so fortunate a man to write in verse at all. Beautiful and vigorous in body, educated in all the accomplishments that grace a gentleman, endowed from earliest youth with the prestige of a soldier and a popular courtier, his enormous wealth enabled him to indulge every whim that a fondness for what was splendid or eccentric in dress, architecture and pageantry could devise. Such a life could present no void which literary ambition could fill, and Suckling's scorn for poetic fame was well known to his contemporaries. At the age of nineteen he went away to the continent, and wandered through France, Italy, Germany and Spain for four years, seeking adventure. He offered his sword to the King of Sweden, fought in command of a troop in front of Glogau and of Magdeburg, performed astounding feats of prowess in Silesia, and returned before the battle of Lützen simply because his imperious fancy began to find the great war a tedious pastime. He proceeded to London, and lived for six years in a style of such gorgeous profusion that at last he contrived to cripple one of the amplest fortunes of that age. He retired for a while, ostentatiously enough, into a literary seclusion at Bath, taking the obsequious Davenant with him as a sort of amanuensis. During this brief time, no doubt, his tragedies were composed. The King, however,