<67.1> A writer in CENSURA LITERARIA, x. 292 (first edit.)--the late E. V. Utterson, Esq.--highly praises this little poem, and says that it is not unworthy of Cowper. I think it highly probable that the translation from Martial (lib. vi. Ep. 15), at the end of the present volume, was executed prior to the composition of these lines; and that the latter were suggested by the former. Compare the beautiful description of the ant in the PROVERBS OF SOLOMON:--"Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways and be wise: which having no guide, overseer, or ruler, provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest.--PROVERBS, vi. 6-8. In the poems of John Cleveland, 1669, is a piece entitled "Fuscara, or the Bee Errant," which is of a somewhat similar character, and is by no means a contemptible production, though spoiled by that LUES ALCHYMISTICA which disfigures so much of the poetry of Cleveland's time. The abilities of Cleveland as a writer seem to have been underrated by posterity, in proportion to the undue praise lavished upon him by his contemporaries. <67.2> The Floralia, games antiently celebrated at Rome in honour of Flora. <67.3> Here used for DEAD OR FADED VEGETATION, but strictly it means DEAD OR FADED LEAF. FILEMORT is another form of the same word. <67.4> Original has HER. <67.5> Original reads ANTS. <67.6> Original reads HAWKS. SONG. I. Strive not, vain lover, to be fine; Thy silk's the silk-worm's, and not thine: You lessen to a fly your mistriss' thought, To think it may be in a cobweb caught. What, though her thin transparent lawn Thy heart in a strong net hath drawn: Not all the arms the god of fire ere made Can the soft bulwarks of nak'd love invade. II. Be truly fine, then, and yourself dress In her fair soul's immac'late glass. Then by reflection you may have the bliss Perhaps to see what a true fineness is; When all your gawderies will fit Those only that are poor in wit. She that a clinquant outside doth adore, Dotes on a gilded statue and no more. IN ALLUSION TO THE FRENCH SONG. N' ENTENDEZ VOUS PAS CE LANGUAGE. CHORUS. THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE) THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE? I. How often have my tears Invaded your soft ears, And dropp'd their silent chimes A thousand thousand times? Whilst echo did your eyes, And sweetly sympathize; But that the wary lid Their sluces did forbid. Cho. THEN UNDERSTAND YOU NOT (FAIR CHOICE) THIS LANGUAGE WITHOUT TONGUE OR VOICE? II. My arms did plead my wound, Each in the other bound; Volleys of sighs did crowd, And ring my griefs alowd; Grones, like a canon-ball, Batter'd the marble wall, That the kind neighb'ring grove Did mutiny for love.