He's a foole, that basely dallies,

Where each peasant mates with him: Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe? No, no, though clownes

Are scar'd with frownes,

I know the best can but disdaine:
And those Ile prove :

So will thy love

Be all bestowed on me in vaine.

I doe scorne to vow a dutie,

Where each lustfull lad may wooe:
Give me her, whose sun-like beautie
Buzzards dare not soare unto:
Shee, shee it is

Affords that blisse

For which I would refuse no paine :
But such as you,

Fond fooles, adieu;

You seeke to captive me in vaine.

Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me ;

Seeke no more to worke my harmes : Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,

Who am proofe against your charmes : You labour may

To lead astray

The heart, that constant shall remaine:
And I the while

Will sit and smile

To see you spend your time in vaine.

THOMAS CAREW, the descendant of an ancient family of Devonshire, was born, it is conjectured, in Gloucestershire, but the year of his birth has not been correctly ascertained. Mr. Ellis gives it as 1577, but Lord Clarendon, a contemporary, states him to have lived "fifty years;" he must therefore have been born in 1589. He was educated at Corpus Christi, Oxford, but never matriculated. Having, according to Wood, "improved his parts by travelling, and conversation with ingenious men in the metropolis," his talents attracted the notice of Charles the First, by whom he was appointed gentleman of the Privy Chamber, and sewer in ordinary. His after years seem to have been passed in ease and affluence; but unhappily with "less severity or exactness then they ought to have been." Clarendon, who makes this remark, adds, that "he died with the greatest remorse for that license, and with the greatest manifestation of Christianity that his best friends could desire." There is little doubt that his death took place in 1639;-a short time previous to the bursting of the storm that had been long gathering. Carew was greatly esteemed by all his contemporaries: his accomplishments were of the rarest order, and his manners must have been in the highest degree conciliating. Jonson, Davenant, Donne, and Suckling, were among his most "loving friends." Davenant in celebrating his wit,

and the chief sources of its inspiration, has these lines:

"Thy wit's chief virtue is become its vice;

For every beauty thou hast rais'd so high,
That now coarse faces carry such a price
As must undo a lover that would buy."

Pope, who classes Carew among "the mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease," has not done justice to his merits. "For the sharpness of his fancy and the elegancy of the language in which that fancy was spread," says Lord Clarendon, "his poems are at least equal if not superior to any of his time." They were first published in 8vo, and have been several times reprinted. "The songs," as Wood expresses it, "were wedded to the charming notes of Mr. Henry Lawes," gentleman of the King's Chapel, and the most eminent musical composer of his age. Carew is deservedly placed high in the list of writers who first bestowed grace and polish on lyrical poetry. In these qualities he surpassed Waller, whose "smoothness" has been so much lauded by critics who have omitted to notice it in his predecessors. His poems consist of minor pieces; all bearing upon those topics which seem in his age to have been thought alone worthy of verse-Love that existed without sentiment or esteem, occasional elegies, with now and then a laudatory line or two upon royalty. Nature was seldom resorted to for more ennobling themes; the poets of that day seem to have satisfied themselves with circulating from hand to hand a few pointed and glowing stanzas to commemorate either the kindness or the disdain of some mistress, whose love or hatred, after all, was little worth, and valued accordingly. Such are the chief themes of Carew-with whom, as with most others, the passion was like "snow that falls upon a river," gone almost as soon as seen; but, unlike the snow, leaving a prejudicial taint to work mischief after it has vanished. The masque, Cœlum Britannicum, which he wrote by express command of Charles the First, and in which his Majesty and several lords of his household sustained parts, when it was enacted at Whitehall on the 18th February, 1633, is of a higher character than any of his verses. It is a mixture of prose and poetry, in blank verse and rhyme, in which Mercury, Momus, Poverty, Pleasure, and a vast concourse of attendants, appear—and after having "spoken their speeches," are succeeded by Druids, Rivers, and Kingdoms, summoned by the Genius of Britain, to do homage to Royalty. Religion, Truth and Wisdom, and a host of virtues follow,-and then pass, "leaving nothing but a serene sky." We have given among our specimens a passage from this masque.

Although Carew excels his contemporaries in the grace and harmony of his verse, and is less disfigured than most of them, by cold and frivolous conceits, it is rarely that he excites the feelings, interests the imagination, or touches the heart. Sprightly, polished and perspicuous, he certainly is-a gallant gentleman alwaysand "the chiefest of his time for delicacy of wit and poetic fancy"-but he neglected the means he undoubtedly possessed, of ascending the heights of Parnassus, and was content to trifle with the shining pebbles he discovered at its base.

You, that behold how yond sad Lady blends
Those ashes with her tears, lest, as she spends
Her tributary sighs, the frequent gust
Might scatter up and down the noble dust;
Know, when that heap of atomes was with blood
Kneaded to solid flesh, and firmly stood

On stately pillars, the rare form might move
The froward Ino's, or chaste Cynthia's love.
In motion, active grace; in rest, a calm;

Attractive sweetness brought both wound and balm
To every heart; he was compos'd of all
The wishes of ripe virgins, when they call
For Hymen's rites, and in their fancies wed
A shape of studied beauties to their bed.

Within this curious palace dwelt a Soul
Gave lustre to each part, and to the whole:
This drest his face in courteous smiles; and so
From comely gestures sweeter manners flow.
This courage joyn'd to strength; so the hand, bent,
Was Valor's; open'd, Bounty's instrument;
Which did the scale and sword of Justice hold,
Knew how to brandish steel and scatter gold.
This taught him not t'engage his modest tongue
In suits of private gain, though publick wrong;
Nor misemploy (as is the great man's use)
His credit with his Master, to traduce,
Deprave, maligne, and ruine Innocence,
In proud revenge of some mis-judg'd offence:
But all his actions had the noble end

T'advance desert, or grace some worthy friend.
He chose not in the active stream to swim,
Nor hunted Honour, which yet hunted him;
But like a quiet eddy that hath found

Some hollow creek, there turns his waters round,
And in continual circles dances, free

From the impetuous torrent; so did he
Give others leave to turn the wheel of state,
(Whose steerless motion spins the subjects fate)
Whilst he, retir'd from the tumultuous noise
Of court, and sutors press, apart enjoys

Freedom, and mirth, himself, his time and friends,
And with sweet relish tastes each hour he spends.
I could remember how his noble heart

First kindled at your beauties; with what art
He chas'd his game through all opposing fears,
When I his sighs to you, and back your tears
Convey'd to him; how loyal then, and how
Constant he prov'd since to his marriage vow,
So as his wand'ring eyes never drew in
One lustful thought to tempt his soul to sin;
But that I fear such mention rather may
Kindle new grief, than blow the old away.

Seek him no more in dust, but call again
Your scatter'd beauties home; and so the pen,

Which now I take from this sad Elegy,

Shall sing the trophies of your conq'ring eye.

DISDAIN RETURNED.

HE that loves a rosie cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,

Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;

As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and stedfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,
Hearts with equal love combin'd,
Kindle never-dying fires.
Where these are not, I despise,
Lovely cheeks, or lips or eyes.

No tears, Celia, now shall win

My resolv'd heart to return; I have search'd thy soul within,

And find nought but pride and scorn ;
I have learn'd thy arts, and now
Can disdain as much as thou.

Some Pow'r, in my revenge, convey
That love to her I cast away.

INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED.

KNOW, Celia, since thou art so proud, 'Twas I that gave thee thy renown: Thou hadst, in the forgotten crowd

Of common beauties, liv'd unknown, Had not my verse exhal'd thy name, And with it impt the wings of Fame.

That killing power is none of thine,
I gave it to thy voice and eyes:
Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine;

Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies; Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere Lightning on him that fixt thee there.

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