By THOMAS CAREW, written before 1638. In Addit. MSS. No. 11,811, fol. 10; No. 22,118, fol. 43; also in _Wits Recreations_ (Repr., p. 19); Roxb. Libr. Carew, p. 6, &c. Page 81. _Blacke Eyes, in your dark Orbs doe lye._ By JAMES HOWELL, Historiographer to Charles II., and author of the celebrated _Epistolæ Ho-Elianæ_, 1645, 1647, 1650, and 1655. He died in November, 1666; according to Anthony à Wood, (whose account of him in the _Athenæ Oxonienses_, iii. 744, edit. 1817, is given by Edward Arber in his excellent _English Reprints_, vol. viii, 1869, with a welcome promise of editing the said _Epistolæ_). This poem of “Black eyes,” &c., occurs among Howell’s poems collected by Sergeant-Major Peter Fisher, p. 68, 1663; again re-issued (the same sheets) as _Mr. Howell’s Poems upon divers Emergent Occasions_; Printed by James Cottrel, and dated 1664.” It is also found in C. F.’s “_Wit at a Venture; or, ~Clio’s~ Privy Garden_, containing Songs and Poems on Several Occasions, Never before in Print” (which statement is incorrect, as usual). Our text is the earliest we know in type. The only variations, in _Howell’s Poems_, are: 1st line, _doth_ lie; 4th verse, And by _those spells I am_ possest. Page 83. _We read of Kings, and Gods, &c._ This is another of the charming poems by THOMAS CAREW, always a favourite with his own generation (few MS. or printed Collections being without many of them), and deserving of far more affectionate perusal in our own time than he generally meets. It is in Addit. MS. No. 11, 811, fol. 6b., entitled there “His Love Neglected.” Elsewhere, as “A Cruel Mistress.” Page 84. _What ill luck had I, Silly Maid_, &c. Although closely resembling the Catch “_What Fortune had I, poor Maid as I am_,” of 1661 _Antidote ag. Melancholy_, p, 74, and _Merry Drollery_ ii. 152 (equal to p. 341 of editions 1670 and 1691), this song is virtually distinct, and probably was the earlier version in date. One has been evidently borrowed or adapted from the other. Page 85. _I never did hold all that glisters_, &c. This vigorous expression of opinion from a robust nature, uncorrupted amid a conventionalized, treacherous, and selfishly-cruel community, is a valuable record of the true Cavalier “all of the olden time.” We have never met it elsewhere. He has no half-likings, no undefined suspicions, and admits of no paltering with the truth, or shirking of one’s duty. As we read we behold the honest man before us, and remember that it was such as he who made our England what she is:— _Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,_ _I see the Lords of human kind pass by._ The contemplation of such brave spirits may help to nerve fresh readers to emulate their virtues, despite the sickly fancies or grovelling politics and social theories of degenerate days. The singer may be somewhat overbearing in announcement of his preferences: ——_Just this_ _Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,_ _Or there exceed the mark_,—