Disdainfully delivering thus her words,
No small displeasure to my soul affords.

I yet a novice in my new learn'd art,
Admir'd so quick a change from joy to woe;
Doubted myself even if it was my heart,

My tears which trickling from mine eyes did go;
But, ah! in vain, for yet my wound did bleed;
No spates of tears could quench the boiling lead.

I flamed, I froze, in love, in cold disdain;
Died in despair, in hope again I lived:
All pleasures past aggrieved my present pain,

Her frown did kill, her smile again revived.

While death I wish'd, life then refused to leave me; Live while I would, death they propon'd to reave me.

While in this weak estate, all means I sought

To be avenged on him, whose shafts did grieve me; Alas! a faint pursuit-I further'd nought,

For he, now Cupid, now a sprite, did leave me;— Thus metamorphos'd, fled away for aid

In beauty's lips, where I durst naught invade.

Then favour begg'd; pity moved her consent,-
Render the fortress and his surest shield;
Great search I made to make the wretch repent

His bold attempts, entreating him to yield:
But neither prayers could prevail, nor wishes,
Then I resolved to kill him-even with kisses.

ROWALLAN S POEMS.

Afraid, he fled then in her eyes to hide him;
Out of her eyes into her lips again.

Stay, fond wretch, stay; thus I begun to chide him;
Or choose her heart-thou changest oft in vain:

So, as by thee our lips else are united,

Our hearts, also, to join may be invited.

But nothing could the cruel spider move,
To leave his hold, delighting in my woe;
She likewise, whom I served, but scorn'd my love,
Laughing to see my trickling tears down go:

The more she did perceive increase my pain,
The more she match'd my love with cold disdain.

What then, shall I leave off my hope to speed,

And live no more cross'd with consuming care?
No! let her frown and flyte, there's no remead,-
I live resolved never to despair:

Content I am, and so my faith deservest,
My spring be toilsome, with a pleasant harvest.

115

W. MUIRE-1611.

TO THE MOST HOPEFUL AND HIGH-BORN PRINCE, CHARLES, PRINCE OF WALES. [CHARLES I.]

MATCHLESS Montgomery in his native tongue,
In former times to thy great SIRE hath sung;
And often ravish'd his harmonious ear,
With strains fit only for a prince to hear.

LIBRARY

OF THE

UNIVERSITY

OF

My muse, which nought doth challenge worthy fame,
Save from MONTGOMERY she her birth doth claim
(Although his Phoenix' ashes have sent forth,
Pan for Apollo, if compared in worth),
Pretendeth title to supply his place,

By right hereditar to serve thy grace:
Though the puny issues of my weak engine,
Can add small lustre to thy glories shine,
Which like the boundless ocean swells no more,
Though springs and founts infuse their liquid store.
And though the gift be mean I may bestow,
Yet, gracious prince, my mite to thee I owe,
Which I with zeal present. Oh deign to view
These artless measures, to thee only due.

When thy ancestors' passions I have shown,
If but1 offence, great Charles, I'll sing thine own.

The most unworthy of your Highnesses vassals-S. W. M.

SIX LINES UPON THE FALL OF SOMERSET.

EACH man with silence stops his mouth, and hears
Sad news with wonder; but my barren muse
Fain would burst forth, but yet to write forbears:
Fear to offend must be my best excuse.

Since malice thirsts for brave Ephestion's blood,
I'll write no ill, nor dare I write no good.

1616.

1 i. e. without: we have invariably retained the word, where it occurs in this sense.

ROWALLAN'S POEMS.

117

SIX LINES SENT TO ME BY MY COUSIN,

MR. W. MUIR.

ARE lofty Parnassus' sacred shades disdain'd,
Though Hymen, Sir, hath clipp'd your wanton wings?
Ah! hearken how your proud Apollo plain'd-
That now no Orpheus strains his golden strings.
Shall saffron shirt, for his most glorious bay,
In willow boughs, make you, so cease your lay?

A REPROACH TO THE PRATTLER.

ENVIOUS wretch! on earth the most ingrate,
In Venus' court thy liberty is losed,
Deserving punishment as Momus' mait,
Misconstruing ladies merrily disposed!
If proud Ixion, in the hells inclosed,

Doth suffer torture on the restless wheel

Justly from all felicity deposed,

Juno's discredit who did not conceal.

And if Acteon Cynthia's ire did feel,

Turn'd in a hart-thus for a view revenged-
Much more thou, then, who ladies did reveal,
In worse than he demerits to be changed:
Form'd in a dog, to bark at such most meet,
As chamber-talk divulges on the street!

Finis-1614.

"CHAUNSOUNE."

CALLING to mind the heavenly feature,
The bashful blinks and comely grace,
The form of her angelic face,
Deck'd with the quintessence of nature;
To none inferior in place:

Oft am I forced,

Although divorced

From presence of my dearest's eyes,

The too slow day,

To steal away

Admiring her, my smart who sees.

Although she, ruthless she, doth know
The secret burden of my woes,

The tears which from mine eyes down
Regretting Fortune, now my foe,
In whom much once I did repose:

Yet she, alace!

Cares not my case;

goes

No

spates

of tears her heart can move:

She knows my pain,

Yet doth disdain;

But, woe's me, I must still her love.

Though by mine eyes I should distil

And quite dissolve in tears my heart,
To satisfy her causeless smart;
Yet, rather she delights to kill,

Than any joy to me impart.