Passion o' me! how I run on!

There's that that would be thought upon,

I trow, besides the bride;

The business of the kitchen 's great,

For it is fit that men should eat,

Nor was it there denied.

Just in the nick, the cook knock'd thrice,

And all the waiters in a trice

His summons did obey:

Each serving man, with dish in hand,

March'd boldly up, like our train'd band,
Presented, and away.

When all the meat was on the table,

What man of knife or teeth was able

To stay to be intreated?

And this the very reason was,

Before the parson could say grace,

The company was seated.

Now hats fly off, and youths carouse,
Healths first go round, and then the house
The bride's came thick and thick ;
And when 'twas nam'd another's health,
Perhaps he made it hers by stealth;

(And who could help it, Dick?)

* The house seems to turn round as the "youths" get tipsy.

O' th' sudden up they rise and dance;
Then sit again, and sigh, and glance;

Then dance again and kiss :

Thus several ways the time did pass,
Till every woman wish'd her place,
And every man wish'd his.

By this time all were stol'n aside
To counsel and undress the bride:-
But that he must not know :-

But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her mind,
And did not mean to stay behind

Above an hour or so.

When in he came, Dick, there she lay,
Like new-fall'n snow melting away :

('Twas time, I trow, to part.)

Kisses were now the only stay,

Which soon she gave, as who would say, "Good bye! with all my heart."

But just as heavens would have, to cross it, In came the bride-maids with the posset; The bridegroom ate in spite;

For had he left the women to 't,

It would havé cost two hours to do 't,

Which were too much that night.

RICHARD LOVELACE,

Born 1618, died 1658.

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.

WHEN Love, with unconfined wings,
Hovers within my gates,

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fetter'd to her eye,—

The birds, that wanton in the air,
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round,
With no allaying Thames,

Our careless heads with roses bound,
Our hearts with loyal flames;

When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,—

Fishes, that tipple in the deep,

Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I

With shriller throat shall sing

The sweetness, mercy, majesty,
And glories of my king;

When I shall voice aloud how good
He is, how great should be,-
Enlarged winds, that curl the flood,
Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make,

Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage.

If I have freedom in my love,
And in my soul am free,—
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.

ABRAHAM COWLEY,

Born 1618, died 1667.

THE CHANGE.

LOVE in her sunny eyes does basking play;
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair;
Love does on both her lips for ever stay,
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there :
In all her outward parts Love's always seen;
But, oh! he never went within.

Within, Love's foes, his greatest foes, abide,

Malice, Inconstancy, and Pride :

So the earth's face trees, herbs, and flowers, do dress,

With other beauties numberless;

But at the centre darkness is, and hell;

There wicked spirits, and there the damned, dwell.

With me, alas! quite contrary it fares;
Darkness and death lie in my weeping eyes,
Despair, and paleness, in my face appears,
And grief, and fear, Love's greatest enemies;
But, like the Persian tyrant, Love within

Keeps his proud court, and ne'er is seen.

Oh! take my heart, and by that means you'll prove
Within too stored enough of love :

Give me but yours, I'll by that change so thrive,
That love in all my parts shall live.

So powerful is this change, it render can
My outside Woman, and your inside Man.