But, if I seem to fall in war,

T'excuse the murder you commit,
Be to my memory just, so far,

As in thy heart t' acknowledge it:

That's all I ask; which thou must give
To him, that dying, takes a pride

It is for thee; and would not live

Sole prince of all the world beside.

ESTRENNES.

TO CALISTA.

I reckon the first day I saw those eyes,
Which in a moment made my heart their prize,
To all my whole futurity,

The first day of my first new year:
Since then I first began to be,

And knew why Heaven placed me here;
For till we love, and love discreetly too,
We nothing are, nor know we what we do.

Love is the soul of life, though that I know
Is called soul too, but yet it is not so.

Not rational at least, until

Beauty, with her diviner light,

Illuminates the groping will,

And shows us how to choose aright; And that's first proved by th' objects it refuses, And by being constant then to that it chooses.

Days, weeks, months, years, and lustres take
So small time up i' th' lover's almanac,

And can so little love assuage,

That we (in truth) can hardly say,

When we have lived at least an age,

A long one, we have loved a day. This day to me, so slowly does time move, Seems but the noon unto my morning love.

Love by swift time, which sickly passions dread, Is no more measured than 't is limitéd :

That passion, where all others cease,

And with the fuel lose the flame,

Is evermore in its increase,

And yet being love, is still the same; They err call liking love; true lovers know He never loved who does not always so.

You, who my last love have, my first love had, To whom my all of love was, and is paid,

Are only worthy to receive

The richest new year's gift I have,
My love, which I this morning give,
A nobler never monarch gave,

Which each new year I will present anew,
And you'll take care, I hope, it shall be due.

JOHN DRYDEN.

1631-1701.

[“Miscellany Poems." (?) 1693.]

SONG.

FAIR, Sweet, and young, receive a prize
Reserved for your victorious eyes:
From crowds, whom at your feet you see,
O pity, and distinguish me!

As I from thousand beauties more
Distinguish you, and only you adore.

Your face for conquest was designed,
Your every motion charms my mind;
Angels, when you your silence break,
Forget their hymns, to hear you speak;
But when at once they hear and view,
Are loath to mount, and long to stay with you.

No graces can your form improve,
But all are lost, unless you love;
While that sweet passion you disdain,
Your veil and beauty are in vain:
In pity then prevent my fate,
For after dying all reprieve's too late.

SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY,

GOING OUT OF THE TOWN IN THE SPRING.

Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring

So long delays her flowers to bear;
Why warbling birds forget to sing,

And winter storms invert the year.
Chloris is gone, and fate provides
To make it Spring where she resides.

Chloris is gone, the cruel fair;

She cast not back a pitying eye;
But left her lover in despair,

To sigh, to languish, and to die:
Ah, how can those fair eyes endure
To give the wounds they will not cure!

Great god of Love, why hast thou made

A face that can all hearts command, That all religions can invade,

And change the laws of every land? Where thou hadst placed such power before, Thou shouldst have made her mercy more.

When Chloris to the temple comes,
Adoring crowds before her fall:
She can restore the dead from tombs,
And every life but mine recall:

I only am by love designed
To be the victim for mankind.

JOHN NORRIS.

1657-1711.

["Poems and Miscellanies." (?) 1717.]

SUPERSTITION.

I CARE not, though it be

By the preciser sort thought popery;
We poets can a license show

For everything we do.

Hear, then, my little saint! I'll pray to thee.

If now thy happy mind,

Amidst its various joys, can leisure find

To attend to anything so low

As what I say or do,

Regard, and be what thou wast ever-kind.

Let not the blessed above

Engross thee quite, but sometimes hither rove;

Fain would I thy sweet image see,

And sit and talk with thee;

Nor is it curiosity, but love.

Ah! what delight 't would be,

Wouldst thou sometimes, by stealth, converse with me.