Proud of the wound, to it refigns his blood,
And ftains the crystal with a purple flood.
This a more innocent, and happy chase,

Than when of old, but in the self-fame place,
Fair Liberty pursu'd, and meant a prey

325

To lawless power, here turn'd, and food at bay.*
When in that remedy all hope was plac't,
Which was, or fhould have been at least, the last.
Here was that charter feal'd,+ wherein the crown
All marks of arbitrary pow'r lays down: 230
Tyrant and flave, those names of hate and fear,
The happier ftile of king and fubject bear:
Happy, when both to the fame center move,
When kings give liberty, and subjects love.
Therefore not long in force this charter stood;
Wanting that feal, it must be seal'd in blood. 336
The subjects arm'd, the more their princes gave,
Th' advantage only took, the more to crave:
Till kings, by giving, give themselves away,
And even that power, that should deny, betray.
"Who gives constrain'd, but his own fear reviles,
"Not thank'd, but scorn'd; nor are they gifts but
spoils."

Thus kings, by grasping more than they could hold,
First made their subjects, by oppreffion, bold:

Runny Mead, where that great charter was first sealed. + Magna Charta.

And popular sway, by forcing kings to give 345
More than was fit for fubjects to receive,
Ran to the fame extreams; and one excess
Made both, by striving to be greater, less.
When a calm river rais'd with fudden rains,
Or fnows diffolv'd, o'reflows th' adjoyning plains,
The husbandmen with high-rais'd banks fecure
Their greedy hopes, and this he can endure.
But if with bays and dams they strive to force
His channel to a new, or narrow course;
No longer then within his banks he dwells,
First to a torrent, then a deluge fwells:
Stronger and fiercer by restraint he roars,
And knows no bound, but makes his power his
fhores.

355

4M

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON,

BY RICHARD LOVELACE, ESQ.*

WHEN Love with unconfined wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at my grates;

When I lye tangled in her haire,

And fetter'd with' her eye,

The birds' that wanton in the aire

Know no fuch liberty.

When flowing cups run fwiftly round

With no allaying Thames,

Our careleffe heads with rofes crown'd,

Our hearts with loyall flames;

When thirty griefe in wine we steepe,

When healths and draughts go free, Fishes that tipple in the deepe

Know no fuch libertie.

When,

linnet-like, confined' I

With thriller note fhall fing

The sweetness, mercy, majefty,

And glories of my king;

When I shall voyce aloud how good
He is, how great should be,

[Th'] inlarged windes, that curle the flood, Know no fuch libertie,

Stone walls doe not a prison make,

25

Nor iron bars a cage;

Mindes innocent, and quiet, take

That for a hermitage:

If I have freedome in my love,

And in my foule am free; Angels alone, that fore above, Injoy fuch libertie.

30

THE WAITING-MAID.

BY ABRAHAM COWLEY, ESQ.*

THY Maid? Ah, find fome nobler theme,
Whereon thy doubts to place;
Nor, by a low suspect, blafpheme

The glories of thy face.

Alas, the makes thee fhine fo fair,

5

So exquifitely bright,

That her dim lamp must disappear

Before thy potent light.

Three hours each morn in dreffing thee,

Maliciously are spent ;

And make that beauty tyranny,

That's else a civil-government,

Th' adorning thee with fo much art

Is but a barb'rous skill;

"Tis like the pois'ning of a dart,

ΙΟ

15