She letteth fall some luring baits

For fools to gather up;

Too sweet, too sour, to every taste
She tempereth her cup.

Soft souls she binds in tender twist,
Small flies in spinner's web;
She sets afloat some luring streams,
But makes them soon to ebb.

Her wat'ry eyes have burning force*;
Her floods and flames conspire:
Tears kindle sparks, sobs fuel are,
And sighs do blow her fire.

May never was the month of love,
For May is full of flowers;
But rather April, wet by kind,
For love is full of showers.

Like tyrant, cruel wound she gives,
Like surgeon, salve she lends;
But salve and sore have equal force,
For death is both their ends.

With soothing words enthralled souls
She chains in servile bands;
Her eye in silence hath a speech
Which eye best understands +.

* Her wat❜ry eyes have burning force.] Anacreon, in his directions to the painter, orders him to give his mistress the moist, watery eye:

Τὸ δὲ βλέμμα νῦν ἀληθῶς

̓Απὸ τῶ πυρὸς ποίησον,
"Αμα γλαυκὸν, ως ̓Αθήνής,

"Αμα δ' ὑγρὸν, ὡς Κυθήρής.

Her eye in silence hath a speech

In Amicam Suam.

Which eye best understands.] The expression of silence was

Her little sweet hath many sours,

Short hap immortal harms;

Her loving looks are murd'ring darts,
Her songs bewitching charms.

Like winter rose and summer ice
Her joys are still untimely ;
Before her Hope, behind Remorse :
Fair first, in fine unseemly.

Modes, passions, fancies, jealous fits,
Attend upon her train:

She yieldeth rest without repose,
And heaven in hellish pain.

Her house is Sloth, her door Deceit,
And slippery Hope her stairs;
Unbashful Boldness bids her guests,
And every vice repairs.

Her diet is of such delights

As please till they be past;

But then the poison kills the heart

That did entice the taste.

never more poetically introduced, or applied with greater truth, than by Mr. Sheridan, in his noble verses to the memory of Garrick:

Th' expressive glance, whose subtil comment draws
Entranc'd affection, and a mute applause;

Gesture that marks, with force and feeling fraught;

A sense in silence, and a will in thought.

G. Fletcher has, in his description of Justice, with great sublimity, attributed to her the power of interpreting the silence of thought:

for she each wish could find

Within the solid heart; and with her ears

The silence of the thought, loud speaking hears.

Part I. St. 10.

Her sleep in sin doth end in wrath,
Remorse rings her awake;

Death calls her up, Shame drives her out,
Despairs her upshot make.

Plough not the seas, sow not the sands,

Leave off your idle pain;

Seek other mistress for your minds,

Love's service is in vain.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL.

DESCRIPTION OF SPRING,

WHEREIN EACH THING RENEWS, SAVE ONLY THE LOVER.

THE

HE soote season that bud and bloom forth brings
With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale;
The nightingale with feathers new she sings;
The turtle to her mate hath told her tale:
Summer is come, for every spray now springs;
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale,
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings:
The fishes fleet with new repaired scale;
The adder all her slough away she flings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale,
The busy bee her honey now she mynges ;
Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale;
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.

EARL OF SURREY,

VERSES,

BY QUEEN ELIZABETH.

I

GRIEVE, and dare not show my

discontent,
I love, and yet am forc'd to seem to hate;
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant,
I seem stark mute, but inwardly do prate:

I am, and not, I freeze, and yet am burn'd,
Since from myself my other self I turn'd.

My care is like my shadow in the sun,
Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it;
Stands and lies by me, does what I have done,
This too familiar care does make me rue it.

No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be suppress'd.

Some gentler passions slide into my mind,
For I am soft, and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, Love, and so be kind,
Let me or float or sink, be high or low,

Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die, and so forget what love e'er meant.

Signed, "Finis, Eliza. Regina, upon
Moun-s departure,” Ashmol. Mus.
MSS. 6969, (781) p. 142 *.

* If these lines are genuine, they are extremely curious, as presenting us with a lively picture of the workings of a great mind on an interesting occasion; and they serve to ascertain a fact which does not appear to have been much noticed by historians, that an habitual in