WILLIAM DRUMMOND

And thou yet in that frost

Which flower and fruit hath lost, As if all here immortal were, dost stay.

For shame ! thy powers awake,

Look to that Heaven which never night makes black, And there at that immortal sun's bright rays, Deck thee with flowers which fear not rage of days !

��232. Saint John Baptist

'"THE last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King, Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, Which he than man more harmless found and mild. His food was locusts, and what young doth spring With honey that from virgin hives distill'd ; ParchM body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. There burst he forth : ' All ye, whose hopes rely On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn ; Repent, repent, and from old errors turn ! ' Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry ? Only the echoes, which he made relent, Rung from their marble caves ' Repent ! Repent J"

GILES FLETCHER

2 33- Wooing Song

OVE is the blossom where there blows

Every thing that lives or grows : Love doth make the Heav'ns to move, And the Sun doth burn in love :

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