OFT A FAREWEL. T have I mus'd, but now at length I find, Why thofe that Die, men say, They do Depart: Depart! a word fo gentle to my mind, Weakly did feem to paint death's ugly dart. But now the stars, with their ftrange courfe, do bind That parting thus, my chiefeft Part I part. Part of my life, the loathed part to me, Lives to impart my weary clay fome breath; But that good part, wherein all comforts be, Now dead, doth fhew departure is a death: Yea, worse than death, death's part both woe and joy, From joy I part, ftill living in annoy. FINDING thofe beams, which I muft ever love, To mar my mind, and with my hurt to please, I deem'd it beft, fome absence for to prove, My eyes thence drawn, where lived all their light, In abfence blind, and wearied with that woe, Pleas'd with the light, that his fmall coarfe doth burn: Fair choice I have, either to live or dye. The SEVEN WONDERS of England. 1. NEAR Wilton fweet, huge heaps of ftones are found,* But fo confus'd, that neither any eye Can count them juft, nor reafon reafon try, To ftranger weights my mind's wafte foil is bound, Stone-henge on Salsbury-Plain, II. The II. The Bruertons have a lake, which, when the fun My lake is fenfe, whose still ftreams never run III. We have a fifh, by ftrangers much admir'd, A ftranger fish, myself, not yet expir'd, Instead of gall, leaving to her my heart: Yet live with thoughts clos'd up, 'till that she will, By conqueft's right, instead of searching, kill. IV. Peak hath a cave, whofe narrow entries find Mine eyes the ftreight, the roomy cave, my mind; V. A field there is, where, if a stake be prest The earth her ears; the stake is my request; VI. Of fhips, by fhipwreck caft on Albion coast, Which rotting on the rocks, their death do die: From wooden bones, and blood of pitch, doth fly A bird, which gets more life, than ship had loft. My fhip, defire, with wind of luft long tost, But of this death flies up the purest love, VII, Thefe VII. These Wonders England breeds; the laft remains On whom all love, in whom no love is plac'd, An humble pride, a scorn that favour fains; A heav'n on earth, or earth that heav'n contains: Now thus this wonder to myself I frame; She is the caufe that all the rest I am. To the Tune of Wilhelmus van Naffau, &c. HO hath his fancy pleased, WHO With fruits of happy fight? Let here his eyes be raised. She never dies, but lafteth He ever dies that wasteth Thus |