A LOVER'S CHRONICLE.

ABRAHAM COWLEY.

MARGARITA first possess'd,

If I remember well, my breast,
Margarita first of all;

But when awhile the wanton maid

With my restless heart had play'd,
Martha took the flying ball.

Martha soon did it resign

To the beauteous Catharine.
Beauteous Catharine gave place
(Though loth and angry she to part
With the possession of my heart)
To Eliza's conquering face.

Eliza till this hour might reign,
Had she not evil counsels ta'en.
Fundamental laws she broke,

And still new favourites she chose,
Till up in arms my passions rose,
And cast away her yoke.

Mary then, and gentle Anne,

Both to reign at once began;

Alternately they sway'd;

And sometimes Mary was the fair,

And sometimes Anne the crown did wear,

And sometimes both I obey'd.

Another Mary then arose,
And did rigorous laws impose;
A mighty tyrant she!

Long, alas! should I have been
Under that iron-sceptred queen,

Had not Rebecca set me free.

When fair Rebecca set me free,.
'Twas then a golden time with me :
But soon those pleasures fled;
For the gracious princess died,
In her youth and beauty's pride,
And Judith reignèd in her stead.

One month, three days, and half an hour,
Judith held the sovereign power :
Wondrous beautiful her face!
But so weak and small her wit,
That she to govern was unfit,

And so Susanna took her place.

But when Isabella came,
Arm'd with a resistless flame,
And th' artillery of her eye;
Whilst she proudly march'd about,
Greater conquests to find out,

She beat out Susan by the bye.

But in her place I then obey'd
Black-eyed Bess, her viceroy-maid;
To whom ensued a vacancy :

Thousand worse passions then possess'd The interregnum of my breast;

Bless me from such an anarchy !

Gentle Henrietta then,

And a third Mary, next began ;

Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria ;
And then a pretty Thomasine,
And then another Catharine,

And then a long et cætera.

But should I now to you relate
The strength and riches of their state;
The powder, patches, and the pins,
The ribbons, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things,
That make up all their magazines;

If I should tell the politic arts
To take and keep men's hearts;

The letters, embassies, and spies,
The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries,
The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,
(Numberless, nameless mysteries!)

And all the little lime-twigs laid,
By Machiavel the waiting-maid;

I more voluminous should grow
(Chiefly if I like them should tell
All change of weathers that befell)
Than Holinshed or Stow.

But I will briefer with them be,

Since few of them were long with me.
An higher and a nobler strain
My present Emperess does claim,
Heleonora, first o' th' name;

Whom God grant long to reign!

THE BEST OF WIVES.

A TALE.

A MAN had once a vicious wife
(A most uncommon thing in life);

His days and night were spent in strife

Unceasing.

Her tongue went glibly all day long,
Sweet contradiction still her song,
And all the poor man did was wrong

And ill done.

A truce without doors or within,

From speeches long as statesmen spin,

Or rest from her eternal din,

He found not.

He every soothing art display'd,

Tried of what stuff her skin was made;

Failing in all, to Heav'n he pray'd

To take her.

Once walking by a river's side,

In mournful terms, 'My dear,' he cried, 'No more let feuds our peace divide ;

I'll end them.

'Weary of life, and quite resign'd,
To drown I have made up my mind,
So tie my hands as fast behind

As can be ;

'Or Nature may assert his reign,
My arms assist, my will restrain,
And, swimming, I once more regain

My troubles.'

With eager haste the dame complies,
While joy stands glist'ning in her eyes;
Already in her thoughts he dies

Before her.

'Yet, when I view the rolling tide, Nature revolts,' he said; 'beside,

I would not be a suicide,

And die thus:

It would be better far, I think,
While close I stand upon the brink,
You push me in—nay, never shrink,
But do it!'