,0 o. ^^' -^^ v^^ .0 0^ c* ^^^^'V c'^ ' ,0 o. 5. ^\#' -^^ -?p .^^^' oo^ ' '^. v^. C^V > ' >-S^ ' ^.. -i' -, ^ " \ ' ' -^ // ' > ,.♦* OO' f^ •^^. \^' J >i>^ c^ <^^^ia'"^^/)» ■>:^' %. ^^>^\- ,.SJ>' ^^ ,^'^' . . » „ <'^. ""' ^ "* ,A^ ^ V ., '^. ^^TVss ' ^0^ * . -fi. ,^y V " ^ '■ « ^"^^^ ^ -^^ -^ ■ N-^ 0^ > -A -fo '^c^. * 'V .x^- "'^:: oo ft. ,0o .0' i"^ ^OO^ o^ -/^ . •%<^^ ■^^ OyV^^ ■'./> .^v^" \ - '^^->, C- /. "C.- \0o^ ?\t %-.x^ ..'^^ oo^x^ LOVE SONGS OF ENGLISH POETS BEWARE From the picture bv /Ingelica Kauffmau. .03 Authorized Edition. 7 INTRODUCTION Is it not a little singular that, amid the many treasuries of poetry which have been published with so much acceptance during the last five-and- twenty years, there have been so few devoted to the poetry of love? This is the consideration which emboldens me in putting forth the present volume. Its scope is limited, and even within its limits its possibilities are circumscribed. A body of English love-poetry from the earliest times to the present has appeared to me too great for representation within the space of a single volume. I have therefore contented myself with the fullest selection possible, down to the beginning of the present century. With the public favour for what I now present, it may, at some other moment, be my pleasure to offer a supplementary anthology, devoted exclusively to the nineteenth century — a period embracing a body of work 5ntro&uctfon which, both from considerations of its extent and character, ought, I think, to stand alone. The volumes of English Verse edited by W. J. Linton and R. H. Stoddard have proved of service to me ; and I should express my especial indebtedness to Mr. Linton, who is at once a poet and critic of distinction, to say nothing of his other claims to remembrance. I owe much also to Mr. Frederick Locker-Lampson, whose Lottdon Lyrics are surely destined to live as long as humour can provoke a smile. His compilation of occasional verse, published under the title of Lyra Elegantiarum, is all that a compilation should be, — a model of taste and discretion, well deserving the tribute of praise it has won from Mr. Swinburne. I have not hesitated in certain in- stances to follow the lead of Mr. Locker-Lampson, and many poems in his collection naturally take their places in these pages. I must also add my humble testimony to the services rendered to poetry by that indefatigable seeker after the good things contained in our old song-books, Mr. A, H. Bullen. Every lover of erotic verse is under a debt of gratitude to a compiler and critic so faith- ful and so earnest. ^ntro^uctfon The curious may attempt an estimate of the claims to a first place among the English laureates of love. In my judgment, the palm lies with Shakespeare, Jonson, and Herrick. Together they occupy a considerable portion of this collec- tion, and had I consulted my own fancy only I might have quoted so much more as to cause the disappearance of some minor writers who were fairly entitled to their place. To me no such limited selection from Herrick as I am able to offer seems wholly satisfactory, for, as he was the latest in the golden age of lyric poetry, so he was, as a laureate of love, perhaps quite the best ; and to know him in every mood and temper his work must be read as a whole. Marlowe commanded hosts of imitators ; but if, as Mr. Swinburne says, Herrick took the author of ' The Passionate Shep- herd to his Love ' as his first master and first model in lyric poetry, he abandoned his early discipleship in favour of Shakespeare, and his own mellowed companion, Ben Jonson, who took such pleasure in Herrick's verses as to number their author among his ' sons.' But it is not easy to frame any appreciation of the laureates of love without regard to their other 3ntroC»uctiou lyric work. Shakespeare's eminence as a song- writer was only less than his eminence as a dramatic poet. Ben Jonson gave a finish to his songs which commands enthusiastic admiration, and surely the play of quick and subtle fancy is the only quality proper to the best songs which even the hypercritical mind could suggest as to some extent wanting. Of the songs found in the plays associated with the names of Beaumont and Fletcher, it may be said in a word that they are full of grace and charm, and, like Shakespeare's, have always an exquisite dramatic setting. The bridal song from Two Noble Kinsmen — a play attributed in the edition of 1643 to Fletcher and Shakespeare — appears here under the name of the former writer, together with other songs contributed by him to the plays written in con- junction with Beaumont. The song may be Shakespeare's, but if it was not Avritten by Fletcher, he can least afford to lose it, and it adds little to the reputation of the other genius with whose name it is associated. 'Take, oh ! take those lips away ' occurs in Measure for Measure, and, with an additional stanza, in Beaumont and Fletcher's play, Rollo, Duke of Norma?idy. Whether Shakespeare introduction wrote the whole of the song, or only the first stanza, or accepted only what he wanted of what was already made for him, is perhaps not clear. In order of time, the joyous note of Herrick was next heard. Mr, Swinburne has lately ex- pressed his admiration of Herrick in an edition of The Muses' Library. He says : — *As a creative and inventive singer, he surpasses all his rivals in quantity of good work ; in quality of spontaneous instinct and melodious inspiration he reminds us, by frequent and flawless evidence, who, above all others, must beyond all doubt have been his first master and his first model in lyric poetry — the author of 'The Passionate Shepherd to his Love.' ' The last of his line, he is and will probably be always the first in rank and station of English song- writers.' Following the humanity of Herrick, there come the elegance of Waller, the wit of Suckling, the intensity of Lovelace, the pretty imaginings of Cowley, and the humour of Sedley. After that the great song-birds of English love become for a time extinct. Some of these poets may be inadequately repre- sented in this collection. The reader's favourite may be missing. It is natural to an anthology 3ntro5uction like this that the eminence of many writers is but faintly indicated in its pages. Milton, for example, can be represented in a collection of love-poetry only by a translation of one of his Italian sonnets ; and 'glorious John Dryden' is seen in songs which, though admirable in themselves, are by no means on the level of his best work. Such poets are scantily quoted, for no worse reason than that they devoted little or no attention to the making of such butterflies in poetry as take wing in this little book. In the cases of other poets, certain poems that are of great poetical merit have had to be omitted, because too highly flavoured, too boisterous in movement, or too direct in senti- ment. Also, as curtailment was necessary for reasons of space, many of the minor poets of the Restoration, and of the period following, have been cut out to make way for the more important body of writers who flourished early this century, though born prior to iSoi. Of these I may name William Habington, Sir William Killigrew, Thomas Randolph, Owen Feltham, William Cart- wright, Henry Glapthorne, Richard Crashaw, Sir Edward Sherburne, Andrew Marvell, Thomas Stanley, Aphra Behn, Thomas Flatman, Richard introduction Duke, Sir John Vanbrugh, Nicholas Rowe, Dr. Isaac Watts, William Somerville, Sir Charles Han- bury Williams, Edward Moore, William Shen- stone, James Hammond, William Thompson, Edward Lovibond, Mark Akenside, and Nathaniel Cotton. The same reason that has prevented the appearance of these authors has caused the curtailment of others, notably Waller, Suckling, Lovelace, Cowley, Browne, Dryden, Etherege, Sedley, and Prior, Indeed, it would not wrong the truth to say that not without pain I have been compelled to hold my hand at nearly every section of this anthology, but especially in that part of it which lies between Herrick and Cowper. This is urged only as a plea addressed to the bibliographer and the lover of erotic verse, for I can well believe that the sacrifices which have cost me so much will not bring many pangs to the general lover of love- poetry. There once were days in England when it was an indispensable accomplishment of every man of blood and breeding to write tolerable and reput- able love-songs. So numerous are the fugitive pieces, that I have been compelled to leave out S^ntro&uction altogether those to which no name could be attached. They are the waifs and strays of Utera- ture, and, put together, their unknown authors would make a crowded nest of singing-birds. They should not on any account be consigned in a body to oblivion. Many of them are well worthy of preservation. It is interesting to observe the different moods in which the poets have approached the theme of love. They sing their love-songs with energy and persistency, brooking rebuff and even rejection, and still in one sense they come up smiling. Only actual disdain or contempt of love is, in their loyalty to Love their King, a capital and unpar- donable offence. Of lovers of every mood and variety, examples will be found in these pages. There is the true lover and the false lover, the constant lover and the jealous lover, the quiet lover and the boister- ous lover, the merry lover and the mournful lover, the humble lover and the conceited lover, the admiring lover and the pressing lover. We have the lover before marriage and the lover after mar- riage. Before marriage he passes through all the stages of passionate feeling. After marriage he introduction has comparatively little to say. Is the silence of his second state ominous ? Or is it the silence of a contented mind ? Thomas Rymer, a learned critic and a poet to boot, wrote (perhaps feelingly) — ' 'Tis unwise to make it rattle, When we cannot break the chain.' The advice appears to have been thought good, for it has found general acceptance. Poets, nevertheless, there have been who have sung the joys of wedded love. Edward Moore, author of Fables for the Female Sex, and, with Garrick, of the tragedy The Gamester, says — ' How blest has my time been ! what joys have I known, Since wedlock's soft bondage made Jessy my own* So joyful my heart is, so easy my chain, That freedom is tasteless, and roving a pain.' Bishop King is no less fervent, and Dr. Cotton no less faithful : — * Dear Chloe, while the busy crowd. The vain, the wealthy, and the proud. In folly's maze advance ; Though singularity and pride Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside, Nor join the giddy dance. introduction From the gay world we'll oft retire To our own family and fire, Where love our hours employs ; No noisy neighbour enters here, No intermeddling stranger near To spoil our heartfelt joys.' But the poets may be left to themselves. If they seem to live alternately in cold and heat, with adulation giving place to backbiting, they are at least always in most deadly earnest. And excessively impatient as the poet-lover is, he never fails to remind the lady who is dilatory in accept- ing his love, that time is on the wing. As Marvell has it — ' The grave 's a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace. ' R. H. C. CONTENTS JOHN SKELTON PAGE Mistress Margaret ...... i SIR THOMAS WYATT A Riddle of a Gift given by a Lady ... 4 Of the Pains and Sorrows caused by Love . . 4 The Complaint of a Deserted Lover ... 6 A Description of such a One as He would Love . . 8 To his Love, whom he had kissed against her will . 8 HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY Description and Praise of his Love Geraldine . . 10 A Praise of his Love ...... 10 NICHOLAS GRIMALD A True Love ....... iz JOHN HARRINGTON Whence comes my Love . . . . .14 EDWARD VERE, EARL OF OXFORD A Renunciation ...... 15 GEORGE GASCOIGNE A Riddle -16 The Arraignment of a Lover .... 17 BARNABY GOOGE The Lover's Appeal ...... 20 GEORGE PEELE Cupid's Curse . .... .23 Contents EDMUND SPENSER PAGE Steadfast Love — Sonnet lix. . . . . 25 Love in Absence — Sonnet lxxxviii. , . . z6 SIR WALTER RALEIGH The Silent Lover ...... 27 JOHN LYLY Song of Apelles ...... 29 O Cupid I ....... 30 SIR PHILIP SYDNEY Sonnet to Stella ... ... 31 The Serenade ...... 32 KULKE GREVILLE, LORD BROOKE Love for Love ...... 33 HUMPHREY GIFFORD A Woman's Face ...... 35 NICHOLAS BRETON Phillida and Corydon ..... 36 Her Eyes ....... 37 HENRY CONSTABLE A Pastoral Song ... . . .39 Diaphenia ....... 42 THOMAS LODGE Rosalind's Madrigal ...... 43 Phillis ....... 45 Love, Love, Love ...... 46 THOMAS WATSON The Kiss ....... 47 ROBERT GREENE The Shepherd's Wife's Song .... 48 The Praise of Fawnia . . . . .50 Samela ....... 51 Contents SAMUEL DANIEL To Delia ..... Love is a Sickness .... CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE The Passionate Shepherd to his Love The Nymph's Reply (by Sir Walter Raleigh) JOSHUA SYLVESTER Abiding Love , • . . PAGE 53 MICHAEL DRAYTON Since there's no Help To his Coy Love WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE Men were Deceivers Ever . Love's Springtime Take, O take those Lips away Love like a Shadow Sweet-and-Twenty The Choice Love, whose Month is ever May Queen of Queens Silvia . Sonnet cxvi. . THOMAS CAMPION Return again .... Let us Live and Love Young Men's Vows .... Shall I come when the Evening Beams are set? Come, you Pretty False-eyed Wanton FRANCIS DAVISON Love ! if a God thou art . . , Dispraise of Love and Lovers' Follies A Comparison .... SIR HENRY WOTTON On his Mistress, the Queen of Bohemia 2 xvii 69 78 Contents THOMAS MIDDLETON The Welshwoman's Song (after a Kiss) What Love is like JOHN DONNE The Bait .... The Lovers' Request ,, ,, (another Version) BEN JONSON Song to Celia .... The Kiss Begging another Kiss Charis, her Triumph . O do not Wanton with those Eyes . A Nymph' s Passion . That Women are but Men's Shadows Come, let us Enjoy the Shade Love and Death The Grace of Simplicity The Lover's Ideal . THOMAS HEYWOOD Go, pretty Birds ... Good Morrow BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER Take, oh ! take those Lips away Constancy The Student awakened by Love Speak, Love ! Hear what mighty Love can do A Bridal Song At Cupid's Shrine Swift-winged Love . Cupid 1 turn thy Bow The Lover's Legacy to his Cruel Mistres; To his Mistress JOHN FORD Since first I saw your Face . No more .... PAGE 80 81 82 84 85 87 87 88 90 90 92 52 93 94 95 99 100 100 lOI lOI 102 103 104 105 105 107 loS Contents SIR FRANCIS KYNASTON To Cynthia, on Concealment of her Beauty GILES FLETCHER Panglorie's Wooing Song . , . GEORGE WITHER PAGE log A stolen Kiss ...... "5 A Love Sonnet ....,• ii6 The Shepherd's Resolution . . . . . I20 A Madrigal , .... 121 THOMAS CAREW To Celia ...... 122 Mediocrity in Love rejected 123 Loves Eternity ..... 124 The Primrose ..... 125 Disdain returned ..... 125 WILLIAM BROWNE The Syren's Song ..... 127 Welcome, Welcome . . . 128 HENRY KING, BISHOP OF CHICHESTER Dry those Fair Eyes .... 130 Tell rne no more ..... 131 ROBERT HERRICK Cherrie-Ripe ...... 133 Delight in Disorder ..... '34 The Mad Maid's Song 134 The Primrose ..... 136 The Maiden-Blush ..... 136 The Headache a ..... , 137 A Ring presented to Julia .... 137 A Kiss 138 The Bracelet ....... 139 Love me Little, Love me Long . . . . 139 The Night Piece to Julia . . . . . 140 To the Virgins, to make much of Tim 141 Love palpable .... . . 141 To Electra — Leva looks for Love . . . . 142 To Dianeme ....... ^« Contents ROBERT HERRICK — cotlthiued To Anthea, who may Command him anything To his Mistress .... To Electra — I dare not ask a Kiss . His Covenant , or Protestation to Julia To Julia — When thy Herrick dies . PAGE 143 144 144 14s 14s WILLIAM STRODE Kisses 146 EDMUND WALLER Lines to a Girdle .... Lines to a Rose .... SIR WILLIAM D'AVENANT Who Look for Day before his Mistress wakes JOHN MILTON Charles, must I say .... SIR JOHN SUCKLING A Toast .... Why so Pale, fond Lover . SAMUEL BUTLER All Love, at first, like generous Wine Love is too great a Happiness . To his Mistress To the Same .... 152 IS3 154 154 155 155 RICHARD LOVELACE To Althea, from Prison ABRAHAM COWLEY Love m her sunny Eyes 156 158 ALEXANDER BROME Why I Love her THOMAS d'uRFEY Still Water . 1S9 160 Contents CHARLES COTTON page Thou Fool . . . . . . . i6i JOHN DRYDEN Concealed Love ...... 162 To Matilda, on the Anniversary of our Marriage . . 163 A Pair well matched . ..... 164 The Fair Stranger ...... 164 SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE Beauty no Armour against Love .... 166 CHARLES SACKVILLE, EARL OF DORSET Song : written at Sea in the first Dutch War, 1665, the night before an Engagement . . . .167 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY We '11 all the world excel ..... 171 Phillis is my only Joy ..... 172 JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER My Dear Mistress . . . . • -173 Love and Life ...... 174 JOHN SHEFFIELD, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAMSHIRE Come, Celia, let 's agree at last . . . • 175 THOMAS OTWAY The Enchantment ...... 177 ANNE FINCH, COUNTESS OF WINCHILSEA To my Husband ...... 178 FRANCIS ATTERBURY, BISHOP OF ROCHESTER Written on a White Fan ..... 179 WILLIAM WALSH The Despairing Lover . . . . .180 An Epistle to a Lady who had resolved against Marriage 181 MATTHEW PRIOR The Question to Lisetta ..... 183 Lisetta's Reply ...... 184 Contents JOHN POMFRET Lines to a Friend wishful to be Married . GEORGE GRANVILLE, LORD LANSDOWNE Loving at first Sight .... WILLIAM CONGREVE The Petition ..... False though she be . JOHN OLDMIXON I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste • HENRY CAREY Love 's a Riddle .... JOHN HUGHES To a beautiful Lady, playing on the Organ ELIJAH FENTON The Rose ..... JOHN GAY Go, Rose, my Chloe's Bosom Grace . LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU Dear Colin, prevent .... Colin's Answer .... RICHARD SAVAGE Verses to a Young Lady ROBERT DODSLEY The Parting Kiss .... The Borrowed Kiss .... SOAME JENYNS Cupid relieved HENRY FIELDING On a Halfpenny Contents GEORGE, LORD LYTTELTON To him that in an Hour must Die SAMUEL JOHNSON An Ode to Stella PAGE 203 RICHARD JAGO Absence . . . • WILLIAM WHITEHEAD The Double Conquest SAMUEL BISHOP To his Wife .... WILLIAM COWPER What is half so Delightful as a Wife If John marries Mary A Comparison . Delia ..... CHARLES DIBDIN If 'tis Love to wish you near WILLIAM BLAKE Cupid . • . . WILLIAM WORDSWORTH She was a Phantom of Delight She dwelt among Untrodden Ways I travelled among Unknown Men THOMAS DIBDIN The Lover's Promise SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE Names Love's Burial-place Glycine Not at Home Farewell to Love To a Lady Love . Love is a Sword 206 207 208 210 210 211 211 21S 216 216 2l3 219 220 221 221 222 222 223 227 Contents MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS I never could Love till now . ROBERT SOUTHEY Love's Immortality , . CHARLES LAMB PAGE 228 lo Hester bavory . 231 A Sonnet on Christian Names .... 232 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR Dreams ....... 234 Her Lips 234 Rose Aylmer. 235 Feathers 23s The Maid's Lament . 236 To a Fair Maiden . 237 I held her hand 237 Tears . 237 Twenty years hence 238 While thou wert by 238 The Shortest Day . 239 Sympathy in Sorrow 239 The Grateful Heart . 239 Margaret 240 LEIGH HUNT Jenny kissed me ...... 241 Silent Kisses ....... 242 A Nun ....... 242 To his Wife . . . . 243 HENRY KIRKE WHITE Why should I blush to own I love ? THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK Oh ! say not Woman's heart is bought ' BARRY CORNWALL ' Love me if I live Is my Lover on the Sea I love him .... 246 247 248 248 Contents LORD BYRON Maid of Athens, ere we part To Woman . She walks in Beauty . To Thyrza On Parting . The Girl of Cadiz PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY Love's Philosophy . Lines to an Indian Air Good-night .... FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS O ! if thou wilt not give thine heart JOHN KEATS On a Picture of Leander The Day is gone Keats' Last Sonnet . HARTLEY COLERIDGE She is not Fair to outward view JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS Go where the Water glideth gently ever THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY Do you r member The Vows of Men . THOMAS HOOD I love thee .... Love, I am jealous of a Worthless Man Let us make a Leap . See thy Lover humbled at thy Feet CHARLES JEREMIAH WELLS Kiss no more the Vintages . PAGE 250 252 253 253 256 257 260 261 262 263 264 265 265 2S7 263 269 270 271 272 273 273 Love Songs of English Poets 1500-1800 5obn Sfielton must have been born towards the latter end of the fifteenth century, for we find him early in the sixteenth century rector of Diss in Norfolk. His scholarship was highly esteemed by Erasmus, and Henry vil. made him tutor of the royal children. In the succeeding reign Skelton was much at Court. He made spirited attacks upon Cardinal Wolsey. His fearless speech placed him in danger, and for his protection from the minister he sought the right of sanctuary in Westminster Abbey. Sheltered by the Abbot Islip, he died in June 1529. Skelton's claims to poetical distinction have been a good deal contested. Gifford is at a loss to understand why Warton and other commentators should rail at him so vehemently. ' He was perhaps the best scholar of his day, and displays on many occasions strong powers of description, and a vein of poetry that shines through all the rubbish which ignorance has spread over it.' Southey says : ' The power, the strangeness, the volu- bility of his language, the intrepidity of his satire, and the perfect originality of his manner, render Skelton one of the most extraordinary poets of any age or country.' Campbell, on the other hand, finds Skelton's attempts at humour at once vulgar and flippant, and his style almost a texture of slang phrases, patched with shreds of French and Latin. So much for the critics. The canzonet quoted is in quite a different vein from his more serious and ambitious work. Mistress Margaret Merry Margaret, As midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon, Or hawk of the tower ; With solace and gladness, I Xove Songs Much mirth and no madness, All good and no badness ; So joyously, So maidenly, So womanly. Her demeaning In everything, Far, far passing That I can indite, Or suffice to write Of merry Margaret, As midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon. Or hawk of the tower ! As patient and as still, And as full of good will, As fair Isiphil, Coliander, Sweet Pomander, Good Cassander ; Steadfast of thought, Well made, well wrought, Far may be sought. Ere you can find So courteous, so kind. As merry Margaret This midsummer flower. Gentle as falcon, Or hawk of the tower. 2 Sir 'C:bomas M^att won great distinction in his day. He was born at Allington Castle in Kent in 1503, and all that is known of his youth is that at the age of twelve years he entered St. John's College, Cambridge, that he took his degree of bachelor three years later, and that of master in 1520. About this time he married Elizabeth, daughter of Lord Cobham. There was some question as to whether he travelled on the Continent immediately he left college. The distinct balance of testimony is that he did. A matter of greater concern was his introduction at Court about 1524, and his reception into the King's household. He attracted great attention, partly by his handsome person and partly by his wit. One day the King (Henry viii.) feigned some conscientious scruples as to his separation from Queen Catharine, whereupon Wyatt exclaimed, ' Lord ! that a man cannot repent him of his sin without the Pope's leave.' Established in the favour of the King, Wyatt rendered his master service abroad, undertaking various important missions. At home, even a man of Wyatt's integrity did not escape the breath of suspicion, and it is said that Anne Boleyn was the inspiration of various poems. But the more serious allegation implied is discountenanced by the fact that not more than a month or two after the condemnation, in January 1536, of Anne Boleyn for high treason, Wyatt was knighted, in July appointed to a command under the Duke of Norfolk in the army sent to suppress the rebellion in Yorkshire, and in still the same year selected to accomplish the delicate task of appeasing the suscepti- bilities of the Emperor Charles v., who had manifested some resentment at the treatment of Queen Catharine and the marriage with the ill-fated Boleyn. Lands and honours were conferred on Wyatt, who in his later years was constantly seeking to exchange the vitiated atmosphere of the Court for the quiet and repose of his own country home. In 1542 he received his last summons from the King. This time he was directed to repair to Falmouth and welcome an ambassador from the Spanish Court, whose mission was an alliance against France. Wyatt hastened to obey, but the weather was cold and the roads bad. Overheating himself, he was seized with fever at Sherborne, and died within a few days. The verses of Sir Thomas Wyatt and the Earl of Surrey have been often likened, to the disadvantage however of Wyatt, who Xove Song0 though of higher Intellectual attainment, had not Surrey's exacting taste, wealth of passionate feeling, or keen sensibility. Wyatt moulded many of his pieces on French and Italian models, which were being received in England with increasing favour. Here is one of the earliest riddles introduced into our language on the never-failing theme of which a close imitation by Gascoigne will be found on a later page. A Riddle of a Gift given by a Lady A LADY gave me a gift she had not ; And I received her gift which I took not ; She gave it me willingly, and yet she would not And I received it, albeit I could not. If she give it me, I force not ; And if she take it again, she cares not. Construe what this is, and tell not ; For I am fast sworn, I may not. Of the Pains and Sorrows caused by Love What meaneth this ! when I lie alone I toss, I turn, I sigh, I groan ; My bed meseems as hard as stone : What means this ? I sigh, I plain continually ; The clothes that on my bed do lie, Alwavs methink they lie awry ; What means this ? 4 Sft Cbomas TKHgatt In slumbers oft for fear I quake ; For heat and cold I burn and shake ; For lack of sleep my head doth ake ; What means this ? A mornings then when I do rise, I turn unto my wonted guise, All day after muse and devise ; What means this ? And if perchance by me there pass She unto whom I sue for grace, The cold blood forsaketh my face ; What means this ? But if I sit near her by, With loud voice my heart doth cry, And yet my mouth is dumb and dry ; What means this ? To ask for help no heart I have ; My tongue doth fail what I should crave ; Yet inwardly I rage and rave ; What means this ? Thus have I passed many a year, And many a day, though nought appear. But most of that that most I fear ; What means this ? 5 Xove Songs The Complaint of a Deserted Lover How should I Be so pleasant, In my semblant, As my fellows be ? Not long ago It chanced so, As I did walk alone, I heard a man, That now and than Himself did thus bemoan : 'Alas ! ' he said, ' I am betrayed. And utterly undone ; Whom I did trust, And think so just. Another man hath won. ' My service due. And heart so true. On her I did bestow ; I never meant For to repent, In wealth, nor yet in woe. ' Each western wind Hath turned her mind, 6 Sir tTbomas imigatt And blown it clean away : Thereby my wealth, My mirth, and health, Are driven to great decay. ' Fortune did smile A right short while. And never said me nay ; With pleasant plays, And joyful days. My time to pass away. ' Alas ! alas ! The time so was. So never shall it be. Since she is gone. And I alone Am left as you may see. * Where is the oath, Where is the troth, That she to me did give ? Such feigned words. With sely bourds. Let no wise man believe. ' For even as I, Thus wofully, Unto myself complain : If ye then trust, Needs learn ye must, To sing my song in vain. 7 %ox>c Songs ' How should I Be so pleasant, In my semblant As my fellows be ? ' A Description of such a One as He would Love A FACE that should content me wondrous well, Should not be fair, but lovely to behold ; Of gladsome chere, all grief for to expel ; With sober looks so would I that it should Speak without words, such words as none can tell : Her tress also should be of crisped gold. With wit, and these, perchance I might be tied. And knit again the knot that should not slide. To his Love whom he had kissed against her will. Alas ! Madam, for stealing of a kiss. Have I so much your mind therein offended ? Or have I done so grievously amiss. That by no means it may not be amended ? Revenge you then : the readiest way is this ; Another kiss, my life it shall have ended ; For to my mouth the first my heart did suck ; The next shall clean out of my breast it pluck. lbenr^ 1&owat& Earl of Surrey, exerted a greater influence on the current of English poetrj^ than can be estimated by the extent of his own work. His early years are shrouded in obscurity. He was born about 1517, and as he speaks of having spent his childish years with a king's son, there is a pre- sumption that this is a reference to his education at Windsor with the Duke of Richmond, who afterwards, by virtue of a dispensation obtained for the purpose (as it was supposed he came within the forbidden degrees of consanguinity), married his sister. Lady Mary Howard. Too strict an interpretation, however, has been placed on the phrase, as internal evidence would show. It is clear that he was a cup-bearer to Henry viii. in 1526, and that he and the Duke of Richmond, his firm and close friend, were in attendance upon the King on his visit to Boulogne in 1532, and were present at the meeting of English and French sove- reigns. Brought thus early into Court life, he fell in with the prevailing custom and celebrated the graces of beautiful Geraldine in becoming verse. Coming under the influence of Petrarch, Surrey seems to have directed his genius in reproducing the form of his Italian model. When only fifteen years of age he was contracted in marriage to Lady Frances Vere, daughter of John, Earl of Oxford, the marriage itself taking place in 1535- The circumstance is of importance, as it was asserted later that he was a suitor for the hand of the Princess l\Iar>-, though, as a fact, Surrey was survived by his wife nearly twenty years. Another charge was that he had quartered on 'his escutcheon the arms of Edward the Confessor. He was entitled to this distinction, though his father, the Duke of Norfolk, had ceased to recognise it since falling into royal dis- pleasure. Bitter enemies were at Court, and they triumphed. Neither distinguished military service nor popular esteem served to befriend him in this hour of need, and on January 21st, 1547, he fell a victim of the English Nero, whilst his father escaped. Of the poem, 'A Praise of his Love,' Warton singles it out for especial commendation for the correctness of its versification, the polish of its language, and its musical modulation. Hove Songs Description and Praise of his Love Geraldine From Tuscane came my lady's worthy race ; Fair Florence was sometime their ancient seat. The western isle whose pleasant shore doth face Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat. Fostered she was with milk of Irish breast : Her sire an earl ; her dame of Prince's blood. From tender years, in Britain doth she rest, With kinges child ; where she tasteth costly food. Hunsdon did first present her to mine eyen : Bright is her hue, and Geraldine she hight. Hampton me taught to wish her first for mine ; And Windsor, alas ! doth chase me from her sight. Her beauty of kind ; her virtues from above ; Happy is he that can obtain her love ! A Praise of his Love WHEREIN ME REPROVETH THEM THAT COMPARE THEIR LADIES WITH HIS Give place, ye lovers, here before Than spent your boasts and brags in vain ; My lady's beauty passeth more The best of yours, I dare well sayen. Than doth the sun the candle light, Or brightest day the darkest night. Ibenrg "ffijowacJ) And thereto hath a troth as just As had Penelope the fair ; For what she saith, ye may it trust, As it by writing sealed were : And virtues hath she many mo' Than I with pen have skill to show. I could rehearse, if that I would, The whole effect of Nature's plaint. When she had lost the perfect mould, The like to whom she could not paint : With wringing hands, how she did cry, And what she said, I know it, aye. I know she swore with raging mind. Her kingdom only set apart, There was no loss by law of kind That could have gone so near her heart ; And this was chiefly all her pain ; ' She could not make the like again. ' Sith Nature thus gave her the praise. To be the chiefest work she wrought ; In faith, methink! some better ways On your behalf might well be sought, Than to compare, as ye have done. To match the candle with the sun. IWicbolas 6rimal& There is some reason to believe that Nicholas Grimald (Grimoald or Grimaold) was the editor of the miscellany published by Tottel {Songes and Sontiettes, ■W7-itten by the ryght ho7i07-able Lorde Henry H award, late Earle of Surrey, and other. Apud Richardum Tottel, 1557. Cum privilegio) in which the poems of Surrey and Wyatt were first printed. He contributed to the collection, and two of his pieces were in blank verse. The dates of his birth and death are given as 1519 and 1563, but there is no proof of the accuracy of either. He was a Huntingdonshire man, a Fellow of Merton, and a lecturer on rhetoric at Christ Church. A True Love What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see, What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true Love is to me ; As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed. As morning bright with scarlet sky doth pass the evening's weed, As mellow pears above the crabs esteemed be, So doth my Love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see. The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray. The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay. Or I my Love let slip out of mine entire heart : So deep reposed in my breast is She for her desert. For many blessed gifts, O happy, happy land ! IRfcbolas (5rimal& Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand ; Yet, land ! more is thy bliss that in this cruel age A Venus imp thou hast brought forth, so steadfast and so sage. Among the Muses nine a tenth if Jove would make, And to the Graces three a fourth, Her would Apollo take. Let some for honour hunt, or hoard the massy gold : With Her so I may live and die, my weal can not be told. '3 5obn Ibarrinaton was held in favour by Queen Elizabeth on account of his early attach- ment to her cause. The following poem, which has often been attributed to his son, Sir John, was written 'on Isabella Markham, when I first thought her Fair ; as she stood at the Princess's Window, in goodly Attire, and talked to Divers in the Courtyard.' He died in 1582. Whence comes my Love Whence comes my love ? O heart ! disclose : 'Twas from her cheeks that shame the rose, From lips that spoil the ruby's praise, From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze. Whence comes my woe ? as freely own : Ah me ! 'twas from a heart like stone. The blushing cheek speaks modest mind. The lips befitting words most kind ; The eye does tempt to love's desire, And seems to say — 'tis Cupid's fire : Yet all so fair but speak my moan, Sith nought doth say the heart of stone. Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek ; Yet not a heart to save my pain ? O Venus ! take thy gifts again : Make not so fair, to cause our moan, Or make a heart that 's like our own. 14 B&war& Dere Earl of Oxford, was one of the many courtier poets in Elizabeth's time. He held the office of Lord High Chamberlain, and had command of a ship in the fleet sent out to resist the Spanish Armada. He was born in 1534, and died in 1604. A Renunciation If women could be fair, and yet not fond, Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, I would not marvel that they make men bond By service long to purchase their good will ; But when I see how frail those creatures are, I muse that men forget themselves so far. To mark the choice they make, and how they change, How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan ! Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range, These gentle birds that fly from man to man ! Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list ? Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both. To pass the time when nothing else can please, And train them to our lure, with subtle oath, Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease ? And then we say when we their fancy try. To play with fools, O what a fool was I ! IS George Oascoiane was the son of Sir John Gascoigne of Walthamstow, Essex, and it is said that he was disinherited by his father. He was born 1535 (7?), and was educated at Cambridge. He removed to Gray's Inn, but soon left for a military life in Holland under the Prince of Orange. As a result of a quarrel he resigned, and, returning to England, became attached to the Court of Eli:;abeth. He wrote masques for the Queen's entertain- ment. Also he was the author of several dramas, and, beside shorter poems. The Steele Glas, a satire, dedicated to Lord Grey of Wilton, a Puritan, to whom a year or two later Spenser acted as secretary in Ireland. Gascoigne translated a comedy from Ariosto, and a tragedy from Euripides. He died 1577. A Riddle A LADY once did ask of me This pretty thing in privity : 'Good sir,' quoth she, ' fain would I crave One thing which you yourself not have : Nor never had yet in times past, Nor never shall while life doth last. And if you seek to find it out, You lose your labour out of doubt. Yet if you love me as you say, Then give it me, for sure you may.' 16 (Beorge ©ascoigne The Arraignment of a Lover At Beauty's Bar as I did stand, When False Suspect accused me, George ! quoth the Judge, hold up thy hand Thou art arraigned of Flattery : Tell therefore how thou wilt be tried ! "Whose judgment here wilt thou abide ? My Lord ! quoth I, this Lady here, Whom I esteem above the rest. Doth know my guilt, if any were : Wherefore her doom shall please me best. Let her be judge and juror both To try me, guiltless by mine oath. Quoth Beauty : No ! it fitteth not A Prince herself to judge the cause : Will is our Justice, well you wot. Appointed to discuss our laws. If you will guiltless seem to go, God and your country quit you so ! Then Craft, the crier, called a quest. Of whom was Falsehood foremost fere ; A pack of pickthanks were the rest. Which came false witness for to bear : The jury such, the Judge unjust, Sentence was said I should be trussed. 17 %ox>e Songs Jealous, the gaoler, bound me fast To hear the verdict of the bill : George ! quoth the Judge, now thou art cast, Thou must go hence to Heavy Hill And there be hanged all by the head : God rest thy soul when thou art dead ! Down fell I then upon my knee, All flat before Dame Beauty's face. And cried : Good Lady ! pardon me, Which here appeal unto your grace : You know, if I appear untrue. It was in too much praising you. And though this Judge do make such haste To shed with shame my guiltless blood. Yet let your pity first be placed To save the man that meant you good ! So shall you show yourself a Queen, And I may be your servant seen. Quoth Beauty : Well ! because I guess What thou dost mean henceforth to be, Although thy faults deserve no less Than Justice here hath judged thee, Wilt thou be bound to stint all strife. And be true prisoner all thy life ? iS (Beorge (Snscoignc Yes, Madam ! quoth I, that I shall : Lo, Faith and Truth my sureties ! Why then, quoth she, come when I call ; I ask no better warranties. Thus am I Beauty's bounden thrall, At her command when she doth call. 19 Barnab^ Gooqc the son of the Recorder of Lincoln, was born at Alvingham about 1538 (the date sometimes given is 1540) and died in 1594. The author was travelling in Spain (1562-3) when a friend at home published Eglogs, Epitaphes, and Somiettes. Upon his return to England he married, but continued to develop his poetic faculty nevertheless. The Lover's Appeal The rushing rivers that do run, The valleys sweet adorned new That lean their sides against the sun, With flowers fresh of sundry hue, Both ash and elm, and oak so high, Do all lament my woeful cry. While winter black with hideous storms Doth spoil the ground of summer's green. While spring-time sweet the leaf returns That late on tree could not be seen, While summer burns, while harvest reigns, Still, still do rage my restless pains. No end I find in all my smart. But endless torment I sustain, 20 Since first, alas ! my woeful heart By sight of thee was forced to plain, — Since that I lost my liberty. Since that thou madest a slave of me. My heart, that once abroad was free, Thy beauty hath in durance brought ; Once reason ruled and guided me, And now is wit consumed with thought ; Once I rejoiced above the sky. And now for thee, alas ! I die. Once I rejoiced in company. And now my chief and whole delight Is from my friends away to fly And keep alone my wearied sprite. Thy face divine and my desire From flesh have me transformed to fire. O Nature ! thou that first didst frame My lady's hair of purest gold. Her eyes of crystal to the same. Her lips of precious rubies' mould. Her neck of alabaster white, — Surmounting far each other wight : Why didst thou not that time devise. Why didst thou not foresee, before 21 Xove Songs The mischief that thereof doth rise And grief on grief doth heap with store, To make her heart of wax alone And not of flint and marble stone ? O Lady ! show thy favour yet : Let not thy servant die for thee ! Where Rigour ruled let Mercy sit ! Let Pity conquer Cruelty ! Let not Disdain, a fiend of hell, Possess the place where Grace should dwell ! 22 (5C0VQC ipeele was born about 1552, and died some time prior to 1598. He was a Devonshire man. Marlowe and Greene were among his friends, and he was known to both Shakespeare and Ben Jonson. T/ie Arraignvient 0/ Paris, from which the following song is taken, was played before Queen Elizabeth in 1584. Cupid's Curse y^none. Fair and fair, and twice so fair, As fair as any may be ; The fairest shepherd on our green, A love for any lady. Paris, Fair and fair and twice so fair, As fair as any may be : Thy love is fair for thee alone, And for no other lady. ^n. My love is fair, my love is gay. As fresh as bin the flowers in May, And of my love my roundelay, My merry, merry, merry roundelay, Concludes with Cupid's curse, They that do change old love for new, Pray gods, they change for worse ! Anibo, simul. They that do change, etc. j^7t. Fair and fair, etc. Par. Fair and fair, etc. 4 23 Xove Songs y^n. My love can pipe, my love can sing, My love can many a pretty thing. And of his lovely praises ring My merry, merry roundelays. Amen to Cupid's curse, They that do change old love for new. Pray gods, they change for worse ! 24 i£&munt> Spenser The poetic distinction of Edmund Spenser can only be very inade- quately represented in a volume of this character. He was born in London in 1552, and was educated at Cambridge. In 1580 he became secretary to Arthur Lord Grey of Wilton, Viceroy of Ireland, and, later, Queen Elizabeth, in recognition of his services to the Crown, bestowed upon him 3000 acres in the county of Cork. Residence was imposed upon him, and it was here he wrote a considerable portion of his Faerie Quecne. He was regarded with fierce jealousy in Ireland, and ultimately the murmurings of the people gave place to action, and he had to leave his home with such precipitancy that it was said one of his children was lost in the firing of the old castle at Kilcolman. Broken in health and spirit when he reached London, he died there in 1599. Steadfast Love SONNET LIX. Thrice happy she ! that is so well assured Unto herself, and settled so in heart, That neither will for better be allured, Ne feared with worse to any chance to start ; But, like a steady ship, doth strongly part The raging waves, and keeps her course aright ; Ne aught for tempest doth from it depart, Ne aught for fairer weather's false delight. Such self-assurance need not fear the spite Of grudging foes, ne favour seek of friends ; 25 %ovc Songs But, in the stay of her own steadfast might, Neither to one herself nor other bends. Most happy she, that so assured doth rest ; But he most happy, whom such one loves best. Love in Absence SONNET LXXXVIII. Like as the Culver on the bared bough Sits mourning for the absence of her mate ; And, in her songs, sends many a wishful vow For his return that seems to linger late : So I alone, now left disconsolate. Mourn to myself the absence of my love ; And, wandering here and there all desolate. Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove. Ne joy of aught that under heaven doth hove Can comfort me, but her own joyous sight : Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move, In her unspotted pleasance to delight. Dark is my day, whiles her fair light I miss. And dreading life that wants such lively bliss. 26 Sir Maltet IRaletcb won distinction as a statesman, scholar, and warrior. He was born in Devonshire in 1552, and was educated at Oxford. His soldier-Iilce qualities brought hiin into the favour of Queen Elizabeth, who knighted him, and made him a grant of lands. He engaged in various expedi- tions to America, and from his maiden sovereign Virginia received its name. Suspicion attached to him, and at the hands of the Queen he suffered various indignities, but it remained for her successor, James, to avail himself of a Court conspiracy to extinguish him. Raleigh was first found guilty of treason, then sentenced to death, reprieved, im- prisoned in the Tower, released, set to command another expedition ; he returned from it, was recharged, and in 1618 suffered dei:th. He wrote The History of the World during his twelve years' detention in jail, and was the author of various minor works. There is considerable doubt as to the authorship of many poems attributed to him. He has the reputation of having first introduced tobacco and potatoes into Europe. The Silent Lover Wrong not, sweet empress of my heart, The merit of true passion, With thinking that he feels no smart, That sues for no compassion ; Since, if my plaints serve not to approve The conquest of thy beauty, It comes not from defect of love, But from excess of duty. 21 Xove Songs For knowing that I sue to serve A saint of such perfection, As all desire, but none deserve, A place in her affection, I rather choose to want relief Than venture the revealing ; Where glory recommends the grief, Despair distrusts the healing. Thus those desires that aim too high For any mortal lover. When reason cannot make them die, Discretion doth them cover. Yet, when discretion doth bereave The plaints that they should utter, Then thy discretion may perceive That silence is a suitor. Silence in love bewrays more woe Than words tho' ne'er so witty ; A beggar that is dumb, you know. May challenge double pity. Then wrong not, dearest to my heart. My true, tho' secret passion ; He smarteth most that hides his smart. And sues for no compassion. 28 5obn %^l^ was born in Kent in 1553 or 1554 — earlier according to some authorities — and studied at both Universities. He attached himself to the Court of Elizabeth, and it is said that he was 'heard, graced, and rewarded ' by the Queen. The reward, whatever it was, came tardily, for after much seeking for the post of Master of the Revels, he had at last to ask ' for some little grant to support him in his old age.' He died about 1600. Lyly obtained much fame in his day by his Ejtphues, the Anatomy of Wit, and Euphues and his England. ' All our ladies were his scholars, and that beauty at court who could not parley Euphuism, that is to say, who was unable to converse in that pure and reformed English, which he had formed his work to be the standard of, was as little regarded as she who now there speaks not French' (Sir Henry Blount). Drayton speaks of Lyly's writing as 'Talking of stones, stars, plants, of fishes, flies Playing with words and idle similes.' Lyly has also been accused of promoting a ' fantastic style of false wit, bombastic metaphor, and pedantic allusion' (Campbell). Lyly was, however, the author of plays of merit and renown ; among them Alexander and Campaspe (is^i,), and Mother Bombie(,is')'S),UQ\n which the subjoined two songs are respectively taken. Song of Apelles Cupid and my Campaspe played At cards for kisses ; Cupid paid : He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, Jtlis mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; 29 %ove Songs Loses them, too ; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how), With these the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin ; All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes, She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love ! has she done this to thee ? What shall, alas ! become of me? O Cupid! O Cupid ! monarch over kings. Wherefore hast thou feet and wings ? Is it to show how swift thou art. When thou woundest a tender heart ? Thy wings being clipped, and feet held still. Thy bow so many could not kill. It is all one in Venus' wanton school. Who highest sits, the wise man or the fool Fools in love's college Have far more knowledge To read a woman over, Than a neat prating lover : Nay, 'tis confessed, That fools please women best. 30 Sir HMMlip Si^&ne^ a soldier, a poel, and the friend of poets, was born at Penshurst Castle in Kent in 1554. Queen Elizabeth, it is said, exerted her influence to prevent Sydney from being elected King of Poland, ' refusing to further his advancement, out of fear that she should lose the jewel of her times." He received his death-wound in 1586 before Zutphen. Thirsty with loss of blood, he called for water, and he was putting the bottle to his mouth when he beheld the wistful glances of a dying soldier. He delivered the bottle of water to the poor man, saying, ' Thy necessity is yet greater than mine.' The stories indicate his eminence and generous character. His body was interred in St. Paul's Cathedral. He was the author of The Defence of Poesy and numerous sonnets. Sonnet to Stella My true Love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one for the other given : I hold his dear, and mine he can not miss ; There never was a bargain better driven. His heart in me keeps me and him in one ; My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides ; He loves my heart, for once it was his own ; I cherish his, because in me it bides. His heart his wound received from my sight ; My heart was wounded with his wounded heart For, as from me on him his hurt did light, So still methought in me his heart did smart. Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss My true Love hath my heart, and I have his. 31 %ove Songs The Serenade * Who is it that this dark night Underneath my window plainelh?' — It is one who from thy sight Being (ah !) exiled, disdaineth Every other vulgar light. ' Why, alas ! and are you he ? Are not yet these fancies changed ? ' — Dear, when you find change in me, Though from me you be estranged, Let my change to ruin be. ' What if you new beauties see ? Will not they stir new affection ? ' — I will think they pictures be (Image-like of saint perfection) Poorly counterfeiting thee. * Peace ! I think that some give ear. Come, no more, lest I get anger.' — Bliss ! I will my bliss forbear. Fearing, sweet, you to endanger ; But my soul shall harbour there. ' Well, begone : begone, I say. Lest that Argus' eyes perceive you.' — O ! unjust is Fortune's sway. Which can make me thus to leave you, And from louts to run away I 32 jfull^e Gvcvillc ' servant to Queen Elizabeth, counsellor to King James, and friend to Sir Philip Sydney,' was the inscription he desired should be placed on his tomb. Queen Elizabeth held him in great favour, and James i. granted him Warwick Castle, and later raised him to the peerage as Baron Brooke. He was born in 1554, and died in 1628 from a stab wound inflicted by a revengeful servant. Love for Love Away with these self-loving lads, Whom Cupid's arrow never glads ! Away poor souls that sigh and weep, In love of those that lie asleep I For Cupid is a meadow god, And forceth none to kiss the rod. Sweep Cupid's shafts, like destiny. Do causeless good or ill decree ; Desert is borne out of his bow. Reward upon his wing doth go ! What fools are they that have not known That Love likes no laws but his own. 33 Xove Songs My songs tliey be of Cynthia's praise, I wear her rings on holy-days, In every tree I write her name. And every day I read the same. Where Honour Cupid's rival is. There miracles are seen of his. If Cynthia crave her ring of me, I blot her name out of the tree ; If doubt do darken things held dear. Then well-fare nothing, once a year ; For many run, but one must win. Fools only hedge the cuckoo in. The worth that worthiness should move. Is love, that is the bow of Love ; And love as well the foster can, As can the mighty noble-man : — Sweet saint, 'tis true, you worthy be. Yet, without love, nought worth to me. 34 Ibumpbre^ 6iftot:b was a Devonshire man. In 1580 there appeared Posic of Gillojiowcrs, eche differing from other in colour and odour, yet all sweete. By Hwnfrey Gifford, Gent. A Woman's Face A woman's face is full of wiles, Her tears are like the crocodil : With outward cheer on thee she smiles, When in her heart she thinks thee ill. Her tongue still chats of this and that, Than aspine leaf it wags more fast ; And as she talks she knows not what. There issues many a truthless blast. Thou far dost take thy mark amiss. If thou think faith in them to find ; The weather-cock more constant is, Which turns about with every wind. I know some pepper-nosed dame Will term me fool and saucy jack, That dare their credit so defame, And lay such slanders on their back : Wliat though on me they pour their spite I may not use the gloser's trade, I cannot say the crow is white, But needs must call a spade a spade. 35 IRfcbolas Breton was a pastoral poet in the time of Queen Elizabeth. He was born about 1555, and died in 1624. ' Phillida and Corydon,' says Percy, was one of the songs in ' The Honourable Entertainment gieven to the Queenes Majestie in Progresse at Elvetham in Hampshire, by the R.H. the Earle of Hertford, 1591.' In this pamphlet there is the following : — ' The thirde daies Entertainment. On Wednesday morning about g o'clock, as her Majestie opened a casement of her gallerie window, ther were 3 excellent musicians, who being disguised in auncient country attire, did greet her with a pleasant song of Corj'don and Phillida, made in 3 parts of purpose. The song, as well for the worth of the dittie, as the aptnesse of the note thereto applied, it pleased her Highnesse after it had been once sung to command it againe, and highly to grace it with her cheerefuU acceptance and commendation.' The poem also appears, EnglattcCs Helicon (1600). The textual variations to be observed in different editions are very many. Phillida and Corydon In the merry month of May, In a morn by break of day, With a troop of damsels playing Forth I rode, forsooth, a-maying, When anon by a woodside, Where as May was in his pride, I espied, all alone, Phillida and Corydon. 36 iRfcbolas :«Srcton Much ado there was, God wot ! He would love and she would not. She said, never man was true ; He says, none was false to you. He said, he had loved her long ; She says. Love should have no wrong. Corydon would kiss her then ; She says, maids must kiss no men Till they did for good and all ; Then she made the shepherd call All the heavens to witness, truth Never loved a truer youth. Thus, with many a pretty oath, Yea and nay, and faith and troth, Such as silly shepherds use When they will not love abuse, Love, which had been long deluded. Was with kisses sweet concluded ; And Piiillida, with garlands gay. Was made the Lady of the May. Her Eyes Pretty twinkling starry eyes ! How did Nature first devise Such a sparkling in your sight As to give Love such delight. 37 %ovc Qoms As to make him like a fly Play with looks until he die ? Sure ye were not made at first For such mischief to be cursed As to kill affection's care. That doth only truth declare : Where worth's wonders never wither, Love and Beauty live together. Blessed eyes ! then give your blessing, That in passion's best expressing Love, that only lives to grace ye, May not suffer pride deface ye ; But in gentle thoughts' directions Show the praise of your perfections ! 3S •ffDcnr^ Constable found favour in the eyes of Ben Jonson, who speaks of Constable's ani- brosiac muse. Constable was a notable sonneteer, and in 1592 published Diana, the Praises of his Mistress, in certain szueet Sonnets, He was born about 1555, and died about 1615. A Pastoral Song between Phyllis and Amaryllis, Two Nymphs, each answering other Line for Line Fie on the slights that men devise, Heigh-ho, silly slights ; When simple maids they would entice. Maids are young men's chief delights. AMARYLLIS Nay, women they witch with their eyes. Eyes like beams of burning sun : And men once caught, they soon despise ; So are shepherds oft undone. PHYLLIS If any young man win a maid, Happy man is he ; 5 39 Xove Songs By trusting him she is betrayed ; Fie upon such treachery. AMARYLLIS If maids win young men with their guiles Heigh-ho, guileful grief : They deal like weeping crocodiles That murder men without relief. I know a simple country hind Heigh-ho, silly swain : To whom fair Daphne proved kind, Was he not kind to her again? He vowed by Pan with many an oath, Heigh-ho, Shepherds' God is he : Yet since hath changed, and broke his troth. Troth-plight broke will plagued be. AMARYLLIS She had deceived many a swain. Fie on false deceit : And plighted troth to them in vain, There can be no grief more great. Her measure was with measure paid, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, equal need : She was beguiled that had betrayed, So shall all deceivers speed. 40 fbcm^ constable PHYLLIS If every maid were like to me, Heigh-ho, hard of heart : Both love and lovers scorned should be, Scorners shall be sure of smart. AMARYLLIS If every maid were of my mind, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, lovely sweet : They to their lovers should prove kind, Kindness is for maidens meet. Methinks love is an idle toy, Heigh-ho, busy pain : Both wit and sense it doth annoy. Both sense and wit thereby we gain. AMARYLLIS Tush ! Phyllis, cease, be not so coy, Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, coy disdain : I know you love a shepherd's boy, Fie ! that maidens so should fain ! Well, Amaryllis, now I yield, Shepherds, pipe aloud : Love conquers both in town and field, Like a tyrant fierce and proud. 41 %ovc Songs The evening star is up, ye see ; Vesper shines ; we must away ; Would every lover might agree, So we end our roundelay. Diaphenia DiAPHENiA, like the daffadowndilly, White as the sun, fair as the lily ! Heigh-ho ! how I do love thee : I do love thee as my Iambs Are beloved of their dams. How bless'd were I if thou wouldst prove me. Diaphenia, like the spreading roses, That in thy sweet all sweet encloses. Fair Sweet ! how I do love thee : I do love thee as each flower Loves the sun's life-giving power : For dead, thy breath to life might move me. Diaphenia, like all things blessed When all thy praises are expressed, Dear Joy ! how I do love thee : As the birds do love the Spring, Or the bees their careful king : Then in requite, sweet Virgin ! love me ! 42 tTbomas %o^qc belonged to a Lincolnshire family, and was born about 1556. For a time he was an actor and dramatist, and was associated with Robert Greene in several productions. At one period of his career he was a student at Lincoln's Inn, but he relinquished law for medicine, and, taking warning by the fate of his co-worker, developed into a prosperous physician. He was the author of numerous poetical pieces, and translated Josephus. He is supposed to have died of the plague in 1625. Rosalind's Madrigal Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet : Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet : Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast, My kisses are his daily feast : And yet he robs me of my rest. Ah, wanton ! will ye ? And if I sleep, then percheth he With pretty flight, And makes his pillow on my knee The live-long night : 43 %o\>e Songs Strike I my lute he tunes the string, He music plays if so I sing, He lends me every lovely thing, Yet cruel he my heart doth sting. Whist, wanton ! still ye ! Else I with roses every day Will whip you hence ; And bind you when you long to play, For your offence : I '11 shut my eyes to keep you in, I '11 make you fast it for your sin, I '11 count your power not worth a pin ; Alas ! what hereby shall I win, If he gainsay me ? What if I beat the wanton boy With many a rod ? He will repay me with annoy. Because a god. Then sit thou softly on my knee. And let thy bower my bosom be ! Look in my eyes ! I like of thee : O Cupid ! so thou pity me, Spare not, but play thee ! 44 Q;boinas XoJjge Phillis Love guards the roses of thy lips, And flies about them like a bee : If I approach he forward skips, And if I kiss he stingeth me. Love in thine eyes doth build his bower. And sleeps within their pretty shrine ; And if I look the Boy will lour, And from their orbs shoot shafts divine. Love works thy heart within his fire, And in my tears doth firm the same ; And if I tempt it will retire. And of my plaints doth make a game. Love ! let me cull her choicest flowers. And pity me, and calm her eye ! Make soft her heart ! dissolve her lours ! Then will I praise thy deity. But if thou do not, Love ! I '11 truly serve her In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her. 45 Xove Qoms Love, Love, Love Turn I my looks unto the skies, Love with his arrows wounds my eyes ; If so I gaze upon the ground, Love then in every flower is found ; Search I the shade to fly my pain. Love meets me in the shade again ; Want I to walk in secret grove. E'en there I meet with sacred love ; If so I bathe me in the spring. E'en on the brink I hear him sing ; If so I meditate alone. He will be partner of my moan ; If so I mourn, he weeps with me, And where I am there will he be ! 46 XTbomas Matson was bom in London about 1557 and died about 1592. His most im- portant work was A Passionate Centurie of Loz'e, a series of so-called 'sonnets' of eighteen lines each, preceded in every case by a short explanatory note. The Kiss In time long past, when in Diana's chace A bramble bush pricked Venus in the foot, Old ^sculapius helped her heavy case Before the hurt had taken any root : Where hence, although his beard were crisping hard, She yielded him a kiss for his reward. My luck was like to his, this other day. When She whom I on earth do worship most For kissing me vouchsafed thus to say — 'Take this for once, and make thereof no boast !' Forthwith my heart gave signs of joy by skips. As though our souls had joined by kissing lips. And since that time I thought it not amiss To judge which were the best of all these three, — Her breath, her speech, or that her dainty kiss : And (sure) of all the kiss best liked me. For that it was which did revive my heart, Oppressed and almost dead with daily smart. 47 IRobert 6reene was born in Norwich in 1550 or 1560. He was educated at Cambridge, and it is said took orders. He certainly studied medicine, and equally certainly neither became a full-fledged clergyman nor physician. His life in London was that of the man of genius who loved pleasure and loathed restraint. Towards the end he was sustained by charity, and at the house of a poor shoemaker he died in 1592. The Shepherd's Wife's Song Ah, what is love ? It is a pretty thing, As sweet unto a shepherd as a king ; And sweeter too. For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, And cares can make the sweetest love to frown : Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? His flocks are folded, he comes home at night, As merry as a king in his delight ; And merrier too, For kings bethink them what the state require. Where shepherds careless carol by the fire : Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet desires do gain, What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? IRobert ©reenc lie kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat His cream and curds, as doth the king his meat ; And blither too. For kings have often fears when they do sup. Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup Ah, then, ah then. If country loves such sweet desires do gain. What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound As doth the king upon his beds of down; More sounder too. For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill When weary shepherds lie and snort their fill : Ah then, ah then. If country loves such sweet desires do gain. What lady would not love a shepherd swain? Thus with his wife he spends the year, as blithe As doth the king at every tide or sith; And blither too, For kings have wars and broils to take in hand. When shepherds laugh and love upon the land : Ah then, ah then. If country loves such sweet desires do gain. What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 49 Xove Songs The Praise of Fawnia Ah, were she pitiful as she is fair, Or but as mild as she is seeming so, Then were my hopes greater than my despair, Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe Ah, were her heart relenting as her hand. That seems to melt even with the mildest touch Then knew I where to seat me in a land Under wide heavens, but yet (I know) not such. So as she shows, she seems the budding rose. Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower. Sovereign of beauty, like the spray she grows. Compassed she is with thorns and cankered flower Yet were she willing to be plucked and worn. She would be gathered, though she grew on thorn. Ah, when she sings, all music else be still, For none must be compared to her note ; Ne'er breathed such glee from Philomela's bill. Nor from the morning-singer's swelling throat, Ah, when she riseth from her blissful bed, She comforts all the world, as doth the sun. And at her sight the night's foul vapour's fled ; When she is set, the gladsome day is done. O glorious sun, imagine me the west, Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast ! 50 IRobcrt (Breeiic Samela Like to Diana in her summer weed, Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, Goes fair Samela ; Whiter than be the ilocks that straggling feed, When washed by Arethusa faint they lie, Is fair Samela ; As fair Aurora in her morning grey, Decked with the ruddy glister of her love. Is fair Samela ; Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day, Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move, Shines fair Samela ; Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory Of fair Samela ; Her cheeks, like rose and lily yield forth gleams, Her brows' bright arches framed of ebony ; Thus fair Samela. SI Samuel Daniel a native of Devonshire, was born in 1563. He wrote a number of love poems entitled Delia, containiitg certain Sonnets, with the Complaint of Rosamond (1592), and besides some plays was the author of The Civil Wars between York and Lancaster, a poem in eight books (1595, 1599, 1609). He died in 1619. To Delia Look, Delia, how we esteem the half-blown rose, The image of thy blush, and Summer's honour ! Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose That full of beauty Time bestows upon her. No sooner spreads her glory in the air But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to decline ; She then is scorned, that late adorned the fair : So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine ! No April can revive thy withered flowers, Whose springing grace adorns the glory now, Swift speedy Time, feathered with flying hours, Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow : Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain ; But love now, whilst thou mayst be loved again. 52 Samuel Daniel Love Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing ; A plant that most with cutting grows, Most barren with best using. Why so ? More we enjoy it, more it dies, If not enjoyed, it sighing cries Heigh-ho ! Love is a torment of the mind, A tempest everlasting ; And Jove hath made it of a kind Not well, nor full, nor fasting. Why so ? More we enjoy it, more it dies ; If not enjoyed, it sighing cries Heigh-ho! 53 Cbristopber /IBaiiowe ' Kit Marlowe,' the son of a shoemaker at Canterbury, was born in 1563-4. He was educated in that city at the King's School, and after- wards passed through Cambridge with credit. He soon became con- nected with the theatres, and it is said ' rose from an actor to be a maker of plays,' but there is no record to show that Marlowe was an actor before he was a playwright. He wrote several tragedies in blank verse, laying the foundation of English dramatic poetry. The circum- stances attending his death in 1593 are in question. A story of scandal is told, but it is wanting in contemporary proof. ' The Passionate Shepherd to his Love ' first appeared in The Passionate Pilgrime, and Sonnets to Sundry Notes of Rlusicke. By Mr. William Shakespeare. Lond., Printed for W. Jaggard, 1599. The fourth, sixth, and seventh stanzas were then wanting. There are other instances of work being falsely attributed to Shakespeare, ' for it is well known, that as he took no care of his own compositions, so was he utterly regardless of what spurious things were fathered upon him ' (Bishop Percy's Reliques of Ancient E7iglish Poetry, 1765). It is true that three or four lines appear in Merry Wives of Windsor^ iii. i, but Marlowe himself quoted a verse in one of his own plays. In that miscellaneous collection of poems, England's Helicon (1600), ' The Passionate Shepherd ' is given with Marlowe's name attached. Isaac Walton in his Contpleat Angler 1653), it would seem, gives Marlowe credit for another verse beginning ' Thy silver dishes for thy meat.' 'The Nymph's Reply' was also attributed to Shakespeare. It is said that in the earliest copies of England's Helicon the verses were initialed ' W. R.,' but that the common signature ' Ignoto' was afterwards pasted over. Every line almost in ' The Passionate Shepherd ' has undergone variations, and there have been numberless imitations and parodies. A reasonable explanation of the whole question of authorship would seem to be that Marlowe's lines displaced some less polished version of the theme. A memorial to Marlowe in the market-place of Canterbury was unveiled in September 1891 by Mr. Henry Irving, who bore eloquent testimony to the genius of the poet, and his influence upon the current of dramatic poetry. 54 Cbristopbcc /iftarlowe The Passionate Shepherd to his Love Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool. Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold. A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move. Come live with me and be my love. 55 Xovc Songs Thy silver dishes for thy meat, As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning : If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love. The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd (by sir WALTER RALEIGH) If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move, To live with thee and be thy love. But time drives flocks from field to fold When rivers rage and rocks grow cold ; And Philomel becometh dumb ; The rest complain of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields ; A honeyed tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 56 Cbdstopber /iRarlowe Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move. To come to thee, and be thy love. What should we talk of dainties, then, — Of better meats than 's fit for men ? These are but vain : that 's only good Which God hath blest, and sent for food. But could youth last, and love still breed. Had joys no date, nor age no need ; Then those delights my mind might move To live with thee and be thy love. 57 5oBbua S^lvestet was a London merchant who spent his leisure in producing some quaint poetical effusions, and a satire against tobacco entitled Tobacco battered and the pipe shattered. He also translated the chief work of Guillaume Saluste du Bartas, the French Protestant poet. Born 1563, died 1618. Abiding Love Were I as base as is the lowly plain, And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love. Were I as high as heaven above the plain, And you, my Love, as humble and as low As are the deepest bottoms of the main, Wheresoe'er you were, with you my love should go. Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies. My love should shine on you like to the sun, And look upon you with ten thousand eyes Till heaven waxed blind, and till the world were done. Wheresoe'er I am, below, or else above you, Wheresoe'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. 58 /iDicbael Drai^ton enjoyed the friendship of Shakespeare, and was himself a poet of great repute. He was born in Warwickshire in 1563, and died in 1631. He wrote a large body of poetry, notably Polyollion, 1612-18, a topo- graphical poem describing England and Wales, county by county, and introducing historical events. There are some thirty books in twelve- syllable verse — 30,000 lines. Mr. Hall Caine, in a note to Sonnets of Three Centuries, 1882, points out that there are many English sonnets treating of love-parting, and certain of the most notable of them are by Elizabethan and Victorian poets of great name, but by a general agreement of catholic opinion, this one, ' Since there 's no help,' is amongst all similar sonnets quite incomparable. As a piece of self-portrayal it is matchless. Sonnet Since there 's no help, come let us kiss and part, — Nay I have done, you get no more of me ; And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; Shake hands for ever — cancel all our vows — And when we meet at any time again. Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes, — Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him over. From death to life thou might'st him yet recover ! 59 %ovc Songs To his coy Love I PRAY thee, love, love me no more. Call home the heart you gave me, I but in vain that saint adore. That can, but will not save me : These poor half kisses kill me quite ; Was ever man thus served ? Amidst an ocean of delight. For pleasure to be starved. Show me no more those snowy breasts, With azure rivers branched, Where whilst mine eye with plenty feasts. Yet is my thirst not staunched. O Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell ! By me thou art prevented ; 'Tis nothing to be plagued in Hell, But thus in Heaven tormented. Clip me no more in those dear arms. Nor thy life's comfort call me ; O, these are but too powerful charms. And do but more enthral me. But see how patient I am grown. In all this coil about thee ; Come, nice thing, let thy heart alone, I cannot live without thee. 60 MilUam Sbaftespeate Uniformity alone requires the well-known dates to be given here. Shakespeare was born at Stratford-on-Avon, on April 22nd, 1564, and in his eighteenth year he married Anne Hathaway. He removed to London, and after a period of great intellectual activity there, he returned to his native town, where he died April 23rd, i6i6. Men were Deceivers Ever {Much Ado about Nothing;) Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more ; Men were deceivers ever ; One foot in sea, and one on shore, To one thing constant never. Then sigh not so. But let them go. And be you blithe and bonny. Converting all your sounds of woe Into, Hey nonny, nonny. Sing no more ditties, sing no mo, Of dumps so dull and heavy ; 61 %ove Song0 The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leavy. Then sigh not so, But let them go. And be you blithe and bonny. Converting all your sounds of woe Into, Hey nonny, nonny. Love's Springtime (As You Like It) It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. That o'er the green corn-field did pass, In the spring time, the only pretty ring time. When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; Sweet lovers love the spring. Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. These pretty country folks would lie In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; Sweet lovers love the spring. This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 62 William Sbakcspcare How that a life was but a flower In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; Sweet lovers love the spring. And therefore take the present time. With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino ; For love is crowned with the prime In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; Sweet lovers love the spring. Take, O take those Lips away {Measure ybr Measure) Take, O take those lips away. That so sweetly were forsworn ; And those eyes, the break of day. Lights that do mislead the morn : But my kisses bring again, bring again. Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, seal'd in vain. 63 Xove Songs Love like a Shadow (The Merry Wives of Windsor) Love like a shadow flies When substance love pursues ; Pursuing that that flies, And flying what pursues. Sweet-and-Twenty (Tivelfth Night) O MISTRESS mine ! where are you roaming ? O ! stay and hear ; your true love 's coming, That can sing both high and low. Trip no further, pretty sweeting ; Journeys end in lovers' meeting, Every wise man's son doth know. What is love ? 'tis not hereafter ; Present mirth hath present laughter ; What 's to come is still unsure : In delay there lies no plenty ; Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty. Youth 's a stuff will not endure. 64 TKHilliam Sbakespeare The Choice {Merchant of Venice) The Caskets The first, of gold, who this inscription bears: Who chooseth me shall gain what many ynen desire. The second, silver, which this promise carries : Who chooseth me shall get as much as he deserves. This third, dull lead, with warning all as blunt : Who chooseth me jutist give and hazard all he hath. All that glisters is not gold ; Often have you heard that told : Many a man his life hath sold But my outside to behold : Gilded tombs do worms infold. Had you been as wise as bold, Young in limbs, in judgment old. Your answer had not been inscroll'd Fare you well ; your suit is cold. SILVER The fire seven times tried this : Seven times tried that judgment is That did never choose amiss. 65 %ovc Songs Some there be that shadows kiss ; Such have but a shadow's bliss : There be fools alive, I wis, Silvered o'er ; and so was this. Take what wife you will to bed, I will ever be your head : So be gone, sir : you are sped. A song, whilst Bass an lo comments on the caskets to h wis elf. Tell me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart, or in the head ? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engender'd in the eyes. With gazing fed ; and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies : Let us ring fancy's knell : I '11 begin it — Ding, dong, belL LEAD You that choose not by the view. Chance as fair, and choose as true Since this fortune falls to you, Be content and seek no new. If you be well pleas'd with this And hold your fortune for your bliss, Turn you where your lady is. And claim her with a loving kiss. 66 IClilUam Sbaftcspcare Love, whose Month is ever May {^Love's Labour 's Lost) On a day, alack the day ! Love ! whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air : Through the velvet leaves the wind. All unseen, 'gan passage find ; That the lover, sick to death, Wished himself the heaven's breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow ; Air, would I might triumph so ! But alack ! my hand is sworn Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : Vow, alack ! for youth unmeet, Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me. That I am forsworn for thee ; Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiop were ; And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. 67 Xovc Songs Queen of Queens (Loz'e's Labour's Lost) So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thine eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows : Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright Through the transparent bosom of the deep. As doth thy face through tears of mine give light, Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep : No drop but as a coach doth carry thee ; So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. Do but behold the tears that swell in me, And they thy glory through my grief will show : But do not love thyself ; then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. O queen of queens ! how far dost thou excel. No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. Silvia (Two Gentlemen of Verona) Who is Silvia ? What is she, That all our swains commend her ? Holy, fair, and wise is she. The heavens such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. 68 •Qiauilam Sbaftespeare Is she kind as she is fair ? For beauty lives with kindness : Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness ; And, being help'd, inhabits there Then to Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling ; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling ; To her let us garlands bring. Sonnet (No. cxvi.) Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove : O, no 1 it is an ever-fixed mark, That looks on tempests and is never shaken ; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth 's unknown, although his height be taken. Love 's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come : Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be en^or and upon me prov'd, I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 69 XTbomas Campion was a physician, a poet, and a musician. Mr. A. H. BuUen has been the means of bringing the poet's work forward again, and securing for it the public recognition it so well deserves. Mr. BuUen claims for Campion a place as an eminent composer and a lyric poet of the first rank. Campion wrote a volume of Latin verse. In 1601 he published A Book of Airs, both poetry and music, save such of the latter as was contributed by Philip Rosseter, coming from his pen. Other volumes appeared about 1613 and 1617. The subjoined poems are from these books. Whether or not they are all the work of Dr. Campion — the probabilities favour the idea that they must be — they are well worthy of being rescued from the forgotten song-books in which th.y were published. Campion died in 1619. Return again Sweet, come again ! Your happy sight, so much desired Since you from hence are now retired, I seek in vain : Still I must mourn, And pine in longing pain, Till you, my life's delight, again Vouchsafe your wished return ! If true desire. Or faithful vow of endless love. Thy heart inflamed may kindly move With equal fire ; 70 ^bonias Canipton O then my joys, So long distraught, shall rest, Reposed soft in thy chaste breast, Exempt from all annoys. You had the power My wand'ring thoughts first to restrain, You first did hear my love speak plain ; A child before, Now is it grown Confirmed, do you it keep ! And let 't safe in your bosom sleep. There ever made your own ! And till we meet, Teach absence inward art to find, Both to disturb and please the mind. Such thoughts are sweet : And such remain In hearts whose flames are true ; Then such will I retain, till you To me return again. Let us Live and Love Vivainus, inea Lesbia, atquc avtemus (Catullus). My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love, And though the sager sort our deeds reprove Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive Into their west, and straight again revive ; 7 71 Xove Songs But, soon as once set is our little light, Then must we sleep one ever-during night. If all would lead their lives in love like me, Then bloody swords and armour should not be ; No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move, Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love : But fools do live and waste their little light, And seek with pain their ever-during night. When timely death my life and fortunes ends, Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends ; But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come And with sweet pastimes gri ' Two Noble Kinsmen^ given in the first quarto edition of 1634 to be the joint work 0/ Shakespeare and Fletcher.) Roses, their sharp spines being gone, Not royal in their smells alone. But in their hue ; Maiden-pinks, of odour faint, Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true ; 102 aseaumont m\b ^Ictcbct Primrose, first-born child of Ver, Merry spring-time's harbinger, With her bells dim ; Oxlips in their cradles growing, Marigolds on death-beds blowing, Lark-heels trim. All, dear Nature's children sweet. Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, Blessing their sense ! Not an angel of the air. Bird melodious, or bird fair, Be absent hence ! The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor The boding raven, nor chough hoar. Nor chattering pie. May on our bride-house perch or sing. Or with them any discord bring, But from it fly ! At Cupid's Shrine Come, my children, let your feet In an even measure meet, And your cheerful voices rise. To present this sacrifice To great Cupid, in whose name, I his priest begin the same 103 %OK>c Songs Young men, take your loves and kiss ; Thus our Cupid honoured is ; Kiss again, and in your kissing Let no promises be missing ; Nor let any maiden here Dare to turn away her ear Unto the whisper of her love, But give bracelet, ring, or glove, As a token to her sweeting. Of an after secret meeting. Now, boy, sing, to stick our hearts Fuller of great Cupid's darts. Swift-winged Love Thou deity, swift-winged Love, Sometimes below, sometimes above. Little in shape, but great in power; Thou that makest a heart thy tower, And thy loop-holes ladies' eyes, From whence thou strikest the fond and wise ; Did all the shafts in thy fair quiver Stick fast in my ambitious liver, Yet thy power would I adore, And call upon thee to shoot more, Shoot more, shoot more ! 104 JSeaumont an^ jfletcber Cupid ! turn thy Bow Oh, turn thy bow ! Thy power we feel and know ; Fair Cupid, turn away thy bow I They be those golden arrows, Bring ladies all their sorrows ; And, till there be more truth in men, Never shoot at maid again ! The Lover's Legacy to his Cruel Mistress Go, happy heart ! for thou shalt lie Intombed in her for whom I die, Example of her cruelty. Tell her, if she chance to chide Me for slowness, in her pride. That it was for her I died. If a tear escape her eye, 'Tis not for my memory, But thy rights of obsequy. The altar was my loving breast. My heart the sacrificed beast, And I was myself the priest. 105 %ovc Songs Your body was the sacred shrine, Your cruel mind the power divine, Pleased with the hearts of men, not kine. To his Mistress {This song, usually regarded as the ixtork of Francis Beazuttont, is sometimes attributed to Care^v.) Let fools great Cupid's yoke disdain, Loving their own wild freedom better, While proud of my triumphant chain I sit and court my beauteous fetter. Her murd'ring glances, snaring hairs. And her bewitching smiles, so please me, As he brings ruin that repairs The sweet afflictions that displease me. Hide not those panting balls of snow With envious veils from my beholding ; Unlock those lips their pearly row In a sweet smile of love unfolding. And let those eyes, whose motion wheels The restless fate of every lover, Survey the pains my sick-heart feels And wounds themselves have made discover. 1 06 Jobn jfor^ was bom at Ilsington in Devonshire in 1586. The law or the drama, or both, served him well for securing an independence. He is said to have returned to his native place and to have spent his later years in domestic comfort. He died about 1640. ' Ford,' says Charles Lamb, 'was of the first order of poets. He sought for sublimity, not by parcels, in metaphors or visible images, but directly where she has her full residence, in the heart of men, in the actions and sufferings of the greatest minds.' Since first I saw your Face Since first I saw your face I resolved To honour and renown you ; If now I be disdained I wish My heart had never known you. ^Vhat ! I that loved, and you that liked, Shall we begin to wrangle ? No, no, no, my heart is fast And cannot disentangle. The sun whose beams most glorious are Rejecteth no beholder. And your sweet beauty past compare. Made my poor eyes the bolder. 107 %ove Songs Where beauty moves, and wit delights And signs of kindness bind me, There, oh ! there, where'er I go I leave my heart behind me. If I admire or praise you too much, That fault you may forgive me, Or if my hands had strayed but a touch, Then justly might you leave me. I asked you leave, you bade me love ; Is't now a time to chide me? No, no, no, I '11 love you still, What fortune e'er betide me. No More Oh, no more, no more ! too late Sighs are spent : the burning tapers Of a life as chaste as fate, Pure as are unwritten papers, Are burn'd out : no heat, no light Now remains ; 'tis ever night. Love is dead : let lovers' eyes, Lock'd in endless dreams. The extremes of all extremes, Ope no more ! for now Love dies : Now love dies, — implying Love's martyrs must be ever ever dying. 1 08 Sir jfrancis IF^i^naston or Kinaston, was born at Otley in Shropshire ia 1587. He translated Chaucer's Troilus and Cressida into Latin, became regent of a literary institute called 'The Musaeum Minervse,' and was himself an English poet of some distinction in his day. He was knighted by Charles I. He died in 1642. To Cynthia, on Concealment of her Beauty- Do not conceal thy radiant eyes, The star-light of serenest skies ; Lest, wanting of their heavenly light, They turn to chaos' endless night ! Do not conceal those tresses fair. The silken snares of thy curl'd hair ; Lest, finding neither gold nor ore, The curious silk-worm work no more ! Do not conceal those breasts of thine, More snow-white than the Apennine ; Lest, if there be like cold and frost. The lily be for ever lost ! 109 Xove Songs Do not conceal that fragrant scent, Thy breath, which to all flowers hath lent Perfumes ; lest, it being suppresl. No spices grow in all the East ! Do not conceal thy heavenly voice. Which makes the hearts of Gods rejoice ; Lest, music hearing no such thing, The nightingale forget to sing ! Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse, Thy pearly teeth with coral lips ; Lest, that the seas cease to bring forth Gems which from thee have all their worth ! Do not conceal no beauty, grace That 's either in thy mind or face ; Lest Virtue overcome by Vice Make men believe no Paradise. Oiles iFletcber — the son of Giles Fletcher, who was sent ambassador to Russia in 1388, and brother of Phineas, the author of a long poem called The Purple Island, an allegorical description of Man in Spenserian verse, — was born about 1588 (earlier maybe) and died in 1623. Hischief work was a poem called Christ's Victory and Triutnph in Heaven and Earth, over and after Death (1610), and Panglorie (World-glory) in her bower of vain Delight 'sings this wooing-song to welcome Him withal.' Grosart edited his works (1876). Panglorie's Wooing Song Love is the blossom where there blows Everything that lives or grows : Love doth make the heavens to move, And the sun doth burn in love ; Love the strong and weak doth yoke, And makes the ivy climb the oak ; Under whose shadows lions wild, Soften'd by Love, grow tame and mild ; Love no medicine can appease ; He burns the fishes in the seas ; Not all the skill his wounds can stanch ; Not all the sea his thirst can quench ; III %ovc Songs Love did make the bloody spear Once a leafy coat to wear. Whilst in his leaves there shrouded lay Sweet birds for love that sing and play ; And of all Love's joyful frame I the bud and blossom am. Only lend thy knee to me ! Thy wooing shall thy winning be. See ! see the flowers that below Now as fresh as the morning blow ! And, of all, the virgin Rose, That as bright Aurora shows : How they all unleafed die, Losing their virginity, Like unto a summer shade, — But now born, and now they fade. Everything doth pass away : There is danger in delay. Come ! come gather then the Rose I Gather it, or it you lose ! All the sand of Tagus' shore In my bosom casts its ore ; All the valleys' swimming corn To my house is yearly borne ; Every grape of every vine Is gladly bruised to make me wine ; While ten thousand kings as proud To carry up my train, have bow'd, 112 0flc0 jfletcber And a world of ladies send me In my chamber to attend me : All the stars in heaven that shine And ten thousand more are mine. Only bend thy knee to me ! Thy wooing shall thy winning be. "3 (Beorge Mttber was born at Bentworth in Hampshire in 1588, and was educated at Magdalen College, Oxford. After managing his father's farm for some time he came to London. His fearless satires brought him into trouble, and he was imprisoned for his work Abuses Stript and IVhipt {idi-^. Another publication resulted in his incarceration after the Restoration. Sir Egerton Brydges published an edition of his works, but gave this poem to Raleigh, admitting, however, that he had considerable doubt as to its authorship : — Love admits no Rival Shall I, like a hermit, dwell On a rock or in a cell, Calling Iiome the smallest part That is missing of my heart, To bestow it, where I may Meet a rival every day t If she undervalue me. What care I how fair she bet Were her tresses angel-gold, If a stranger may be bold, Unrebuked, unafraid, I'o convert them to a braid ; And with little more ado Work them into bracelets, too 1 If the mine be grown so free. What care I how rich it be 1 Were her hands as rich a prize As her hairs or precious eyes ; If she lay them out to take Kisses, for good-manners sake ; And let every lover skip From her hand unto her lip ; If she seem not chaste to me What care I how chaste she be ? 114 (Jeorgc Mitbcc No ; she must be perfect snow. In effect as well as show. Warming but as snow-balls do. Not like fire, by burning too ; But when she by change hath got To her heart a second lot ; Then, if others share with me, Farewell her, whate'er she be ! It certainly has a remarkable likeness to Wither's hand, but it may be the poem upon which The Shepherd s Resolution was designed. He was a prolific author, and in the autumn of life wrote Hymns and Songs for the Church. He died in 1667. Wither has been long in disrepute, and no less eminent a critic than Mr. Edmund Gosse, in his Gossip in a Library (1892), tells us, what is only too true, that Wither by his 'precautions,' 'personal contributions to the national humiliation," etc., 'really became the greatest bore in Christendom.' Mr. Gosse and other critics have, however, all admired Wither's early work. A Stolen Kiss Now gentle sleep hath closed up those eyes Which, waking, kept my boldest thoughts in awe And free access unto that sweet lip lies, From whence I long the rosy breath to draw. Methinks no wrong it were, if I should steal From those two melting rubies one poor kiss ; None sees the theft that would the theft reveal, Nor rob I her of aught that she can miss ; Nay, should I twenty kisses take away. There would be little sign I would do so ; Why then should I this robbery delay ? O, she may wake, and therewith angry grow ! Well, if she do, I '11 back restore that one, And twenty hundred thousand more for loan. 115 %OK>e Songs A Love Sonnet I LOVED a lass, a fair one. As fair as e'er was seen. She was indeed a rare one. Another Sheba Queene ; But foole as then I was, I thought she lov'd me too, But now, alas ! sh'as left me, Falero, lero, loo. Her hair like gold did glister, Each eye was like a star, She did surpass her sister Which past all others farre ; She would me honey call — She 'd oh — she 'd kiss me too. But now, alas ! sh'as left me, Falero, lero, loo. In summer time to Medley My love and I would go — The boatmen there stood ready My love and I to row ; For cream there would we call, For cakes, and for prunes too. But now, alas ! sh'as left me, Falero, lero, loo. ii6 (Bcorge llOitbci; Many a merry meeting My love and I have had ; She vi^as my only sweeting, She made my heart full glad ; The tears stood in her eyes, Like to the morning dew, But now, alas ! sh'as left me, Falero, lero, loo. And as abroad we walked As lover's fashion is, Oft as we sweetly talked. The sun would steal a kiss ; The wind upon her lips Likewise most sweetly blew. But now, alas ! sh'as left me, Falero, lero, loo. Her cheeks were like the cherry, Her skin as white as snow, "When she was blythe and merry. She angel-like did show : Her waist exceeding small. The fives did fit her shoe. But now, alas ! sh'as left me, Falero, lero, loo. In summer time or winter. She had her heart's desire, I still did scorn to stint her, From sugar, sack, or fire. 117 %ove Songs The world went round about, No cares we ever knew, But now, alas ! sh'as left me, Falero, lero, loo. As we walk'd home together At midnight through the town. To keep away the weather — O'er her I 'd east my gown ; No cold my love should feel, Whate'er the heavens could do, But now, alas ! sh'as left me, Falero, lero, loo. Like doves we would be billing, And clip and kiss so fast, Yet she would be unwilling That I should kiss the last ; They 're Judas kisses now. Since that they prov'd untrue. For now, alas ! sh'as left me, Falero, lero, loo. To maiden's vows and swearing, Henceforth no credit give, You may give them the hearing — But never them believe ; They are as false as fair, Unconstant, frail, untrue ; Ii8 eeotQC imitbct For mine, alas ! hath left me, Falero, lero, loo. 'Twas I that paid for all things, 'Twas other drank the wine, I cannot now recall things, Live but a fool to pine : 'Twas I that beat the bush. The bird to others flew, For she, alas ! hath left me, Falero, lero, loo. If ever that Dame Nature, For this false lover's sake Another pleasing creature Like unto her would make. Let her remember this, To make the other true. For this, alas ! hath left me, Falero, lero, loo. No riches now can raise me, No want makes me despair. No misery amaze me, Nor yet for want I care : I have lost a world itself, My earthly heaven, adieu ! Since she, alas ! hath left me, Falero, lero, loo. lo 119 %ovc Songs The Shepherd's Resolution Shall I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman 's fair ? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are ; Be she fairer than the day, Or the flowery meads in May, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be? Shall my foolish heart be pin'd 'Cause I see a woman kind ? Or a well-disposed Nature Joined with a lovely feature ? Be she meeker, kinder than The turtle-dove or pelican. If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be ? Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love ? Or her well-deservings known Make me quite forget mine own ? Be she with that goodness blest. Which may gain her name of Best, If she be not such to me. What care I how good she be ? 120 George imitber 'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die ? Those that bear a noble mind Where they want of riches find, Think what with them they would do, That without them dare to woo : And unless that mind I see What care I how great she be ? Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair : If she love me, this believe, I will die, ere she shall grieve. If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go : If she be not fit for me. What care I for whom she be ? A Madrigal Amaryllis I did woo. And I courted Phillis too ; Daphne for her love I chose, Chloris, for that damask rose In her cheek, I held so dear. Yea, a thousand liked well near ; And, in love with all together. Feared the enjoying either : 'Cause to be of one possess'd, Barr'd the hope of all the rest. 121 Ubomas Catew was probably born in Gloucestershire in 1589. Shortly after his death, in 1639, there appeared the volume Poems by Thomas Carew, Esq., one of the Gentlemen of the Privie Chamber and Sewer in Ordinary to His Majesty {Charles /.), London (1640). Burns, meeting with the song 'The Primrose,' 'altered it a little (as he wrote to George Thomson), with a view to its publication in a collection. This is his version: — The Primrose Dost ask me why I send thee here This firstling of the infant year — Dost ask me what this Primrose shews, Bepearl'd thus with morning dews ? I must whisper to thy ears, The sweets of love are wash'd with tears,— This lovely native of the dale Thou seest, how languid, pensive, pale. Thou seest this bending stalk so weak. That each way yielding doth not break, I must tell thee, these reveal The doubts and fears that lovers feel." An interesting comparison may be made with the versions of the same theme by Carew (p. 125), and Herrick (p. 136). To Celia Ask me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose ; For in your beauties' orient deep These flow'rs, as in their causes, sleep. 122 Qlbomae Carew Ask me no more whither do stray The golden atoms of the day ; For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more whither doth haste The nightingale when May is past ; For in your sweet dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note. Ask me no more where those stars light, That downwards fall in dead of night ; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become as in their sphere. Ask me no more if east or west The phoenix builds her spicy nest ; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies. Mediocrity in Love rejected Give me more love, or more disdain ; The torrid or the frozen zone Brings equal ease unto my pain ; The temperate affords me none ! Either extreme of love or hate Is sweeter than a calm estate. 123 Xovc Songs Give me a storm ; if it be love, Like Danae in a golden shower I swim in pleasure ; if it prove Disdain, that torrent will devour My vulture hopes : and he 's possess'd Of Heaven, that 's but from hell releas'd Then crown my joys, or cure my pain ; Give me more love or more disdain. Love's Eternity How ill doth he deserve a Lover's name Whose pale weak flame Can not retain His heat in spite of absence or disdain, But doth at once, like paper set on fire, Burn and expire ! True Love can never change his seat ; Nor did he ever love that could retreat. That noble flame which my breast keeps alive Shall still survive When my soul 's fled ; Nor shall my love die when my body 's dead : That shall wait on me to the lower shade, And never fade ; My very ashes in their urn Shall, like a hallow'd lamp, for ever burn. 124 C^bomas Carevv The Primrose Ask me why I send you here This firstling of the infant year ; Ask me why I send to you This primrose all bepearl'd with dew ; I straight will whisper in your ears, The sweets of love are wash'd with tears ! Ask me why this flow'r doth show So yellow, green, and sickly too ; Ask me why the stalk is weak, And bending, yet it doth not break ; I must tell you, these discover What doubts and fears are in a lover. Disdain returned He that loves a rosy 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 steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts, and calm desires. Hearts with equal love combined. Kindle never-dying fires. 125 %ox>c Songs 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 power in my revenge convey That love to her I cast away. Of this song Carew certainly wrote the first two verses (printed under the title ' Outer Beauty '), but there is great doubt as to the authorship of the last stanza. Where this is included it is given under the altered heading. 126 Milliam Browne was bom at Tavistock in 1590. He was educated at Oxford, and proceeded thence to the Inner Temple. He was the author of Britannia s Pastorals, of which the first part was published in 1613, the second in 1616, whilst the third remained till 1851, when it was published from a manuscript copy in the Cathedral Library at Salisbury. Browne was tutor to Robert Dormer, Earl of Carnarvon, and afterwards enjoyed the patronage of the Earl of Pembroke. He died at Ottery St. Mary in 1645. 'Welcome, Welcome ! ' was first published about sixty years ago by Sir Egerton Brydges, who had obtained the verses from a manuscript copy in the Lansdowne Collection. ' The Syren's Song' forms the opening of a masque presented in 1614. The Syren's Song Steer, hither steer your winged pines. All beaten Mariners ! Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines A prey to passengers ; Perfumes far sweeter than the best Which make the Phoenix' urn and nest : Fear not your ships, Nor any to oppose you save our lips ; But come on shore, Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more ! 127 %ove Songs For swelling waves our panting breasts, Where never storms arise, Exchange, and be awhile our guests ! For stars gaze on our eyes ! The compass Love shall hourly sing ; And as he goes about the ring We will not miss To tell each point he nameth, with a kiss. Then come on shore, Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more ! Welcome, Welcome ! Welcome, welcome, do I sing. Far more welcome than the spring ; He that parteth from you never, Shall enjoy a spring for ever. Love that to the voice is near, Breaking from your ivory pale. Need not walk abroad to hear The delightful nightingale. Welcome, welcome, then I sing, Far more welcome than the spring ; He that parteth from you never. Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 128 TKHUlfani :«3rowne Love, that looks still on your eyes, Though the winter have begun To benumb our arteries, Shall not want the summer's sun. Welcome, welcome, then I sing. Love, that still may see your cheeks. Where all rareness still reposes, Is a fool, if e'er he seeks Other lilies, other roses. Welcome, welcome, then I sing. Love, to whom your soft lip yields, And perceives your breath in kissing, All the odours of the fields Never, never, shall be missing. Welcome, welcome, then I sing. Love that question would anew What fair Eden was of old, Let him rightly study you. And a brief of that behold. Welcome, welcome, then I sing, Far more welcome than the spring, He that parteth from you never, Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 129 1benr^ Iking Chaplain to James i., and Bishop of Chichester, was remembered chiefly as a religious poet, though his lighter verse has distinct qualities. He was bom in 1591, and died in 1669. Dry those Fair Eyes Dry those fair, those crystal eyes, Which, like growing fountains, rise, To drown their banks ; griefs sullen brooks Would better flow in furrow'd looks ; Thy lovely face was never meant To be the shore of discontent. Then clear those waterish stars again, Which else portend a lasting rain ; Lest the clouds which settle there Prolong my winter all the year. And thy example others make In love with sorrow for thy sake. 130 Ibenrg Iking Tell me no more Tell me no more how fair she is, I have no mind to hear The story of that distant bliss I never shall come near : By sad experience I have found That her perfection is my wound. And tell me not how fond I am To tempt my daring fate, From whence no triumph ever came, But to repent too late : There is some hope ere long I may In silence doat myself away. I ask no pity, Love, from thee. Nor will thy justice blame, So that thou wilt not envy me The glory of my flame ; Which crowns my heart whene'er it dies, In that it falls her sacrifice. 131 IRobett Ibetrtcft who takes rank among the first of English song-writers, was the son of a London goldsmith. He was born in 1591, and in 1607 (his father having died in 1592) he was apprenticed to his uncle, Sir William Herrick, just knighted in recognition of his services as goldsmith, jeweller, and money-lender to James i. He went to Cambridge about 1614, and studied law. He took his degree as bachelor in 1617, and that of master three years later. Returning to London, he became something of a general favourite, and as a promising young poet was numbered among Ben Jonson's ' sons.' Then he took holy orders, and in 1629 obtained from the King the Vicarage of Dean Prior, worth ;{^5o, a sum which must be multiplied by five to give corresponding value in our day. Though he seems sometimes to have had his doubts of kingly wisdom, Herrick was attached to the Royal cause. As a consequence he was ejected from his living at the advent of the Commonwealth, but was reinstated at the Restoration. Herrick re- mained a bachelor, but his life in Devonshire was not without interest, as may be judged from this extract from Mr. Alfred Pollard's beautiful edition of the poet recently issued : ' His conception of religion was mediaeval in its sensuousness, and he probably repeated the stages of sin, repentance, and renewed assurance with some facility. He lived with an old servant. Prudence Baldwin, the "Prew" of many of his poems ; kept a spaniel named Tracy, and, so says tradition, a tame pig. When his parishioners annoyed him he seems to have com- forted himself with epigrams on them ; when they slumbered during one of his sermons the manuscript was suddenly hurled at them with a curse for their inattention.' Herrick died in 1674. Hesperides (West of England fruits), or the Works both Humane and Divine of Robert Herrick, Esq., appeared in 1648. An inquiry into Herrick's indebtedness to classical sources may be Interesting, but it is rather valueless. There is the instance of the song ' To the Maidens to make much of Time.' It is regarded as probable that Herrick obtained the Idea from Spenser : — ' Gather therefore the rose whilst yet is prime ; For soon comes age that will her pride deflower ; Gather the rose of love while yet is time, Whilst loving, thou may'st loved be with equal crime.' Faerie Queene, Book ii. Canto 12, verse 75. 132 IRobert Iberriclft In Tasso's Jerusalem (transl. by Fairfax, and published afew years prior to the Faerie Queene) is the following passage (Book xvi. verse 15) : — 'Oh, gather then the rose, while time thou hast; Short is the day, done when it scant began ; Gather the rose of love, while yet thou may'st Loving be lov'd, embracing be embrac'd.' Spenser is known to have been acquainted with the work of most of the Italian poets. Herrick was the author of the following popular poem : — Cherrie-Ripe Cherrie-Ripe, Ripe, Ripe, I cry. Full and fair ones ; come and buy If so be, you ask me where They doe grow? I answer, There, Where my Julia's lips doe smile ; There 's the Land, of Cherry-Ile : Whose plantations fully show All the year, where Cherries grow. In the opinion of Charles Mackay {One Thousand and One Gems of Song), Herrick probably obtained the idea from the following song, in- cluded m An Houre's Recreation ?'«iI/2«zV:/t(? (Richard Allison, 1606): — ' There is a garden in her face. Where roses and white lilies blow ; A heavenly paradise is that place. Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; There cherries grow that none may buy Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row. Which, when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rosebuds filled with snow ; Yet them no peer nor prince may buy Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. Her eyes, like angels, watch them still. Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threatening with piercing frowns to kill All that approach with eye or hand These sacred cherries to come nigh. Till cherry ripe themselves do cry. Charles Home altered Herrick's lines to some extent, and wedding his version to a very pleasing melody, the song attained a popularity which more than half a century has done little to diminish. Xove Songs Delight in Disorder A SWEET disorder in the dress Kindles in clothes a wantonness : A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction : An erring lace which here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher : A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribbons to flow confusedly : A winning wave, deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat : A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility : Do more bewitch me than when art Is too precise in every part. The Mad Maid's Song Good-morrow to the day so fair, Good-morning, sir, to you ; Good-morrow to mine own torn hair, Bedabbled with the dew. Good-morning to this primrose too, Good-morrow to each maid That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein my love is laid. 134 IRobert IberrlcR Ah ! woe is me, woe, woe is me, Alack and well-a-day ! For pity, sir, find out that bee Which bore my love away. I '11 seek him in your bonnet brave, I '11 seek him in your eyes ; Nay, now I think, they've made his grave I' th' bed of strawberries. I '11 seek him there ; I know ere this The cold, cold earth doth shelter him ; But I will go or send a kiss By you, sir, to awake him. Pray, hurt him not though he be dead. He knows well who do love him, And who with green turfs rear his head. And who do rudely move him. He 's soft and tender (pray take heed) ; With bands of cowslips bind him, And bring him home ; but 'tis decreed That I shall never find him 135 %ove Songs The Primrose Ask me why I send you here This sweet Infanta of the year ? Ask me why I send to you This primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew? I will whisper to your ears : The sweets of love are mix'd with tears. Ask me why this flower does show So yellow-green, and sickly too ? Ask me why the stalk is weak And bending (yet it doth not break) ? I will answer : These discover What fainting hopes are in a lover. The Maiden-Blush So look the mornings when the sun Paints them with fresh vermilion : So cherries blush, and Kathern pears, And apricots in youthful years : So corals look more lovely red, And rubies lately polished : So purest diaper doth shine, Stain'd by the beams of claret wine : As Julia looks when she doth dress Her either cheek with bashfulness. 136 IRobert Iberrfcft The Headache My head doth ache, O Sappho ! take Thy fillet, And bind the pain, Or bring some bane To kill it. But less that part Than my poor heart Now is sick ; One kiss from thee Will counsel be And physic. A Ring presented to Julia Julia, I bring To thee this ring, Made for thy finger fit ; To show by this That our love is (Or should be) like to it. Close though it be The joint is free ; 137 %ove Songs So, when love's yoke is on, It must not gall. Or fret at all With hard oppression. But it must play Still either way, And be, too, such a yoke As not too wide To overslide, Or be so straight to choke. So we who bear This beam must rear Ourselves to such a height As that the stay Of either may Create the burden light. And as this round Is no where found To flaw, or else to sever : So let our love As endless prove, And pure as gold for ever. A Kiss What is a kiss ? Why this, as some approve : The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love. 138 IRobert Iberricft The Bracelet "When I tie about thy wrist, Julia, this my silken twist, For what other reason is 't But to show thee how, in part, Thou my pretty captive art ? — But thy bond-slave is my heart. 'Tis but silk that bindeth thee, Snap the thread, and thou art free But 'tis otherwise with me : I am bound, and fast bound, so That from thee I cannot go : If I could I would not so ! Love me little, love me long You say, to me-wards your affection 's strong ; Pray love me little, so you love me long. Slowly goes far : the mean is best : desire, Grown violent, does either die or lire. 139 Xove Songs The Night Piece, to Julia Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee ; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. No \Vill-o'-th'-Wisp mislight thee, Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee ; But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there 's none to affright thee. Let not the dark thee cumber : What though the moon does slumber ? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light Like tapers clear without number. Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me j And when I shall meet Thy silv'ry feet My soul I '11 pour into thee. 140 IRobert fbcxvick To the Virgins, to make much of Time Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, Old time is still a-flying ; And this same flower that smiles to-day To-morrow will be dying. The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, The higher he 's a-getting The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he 's to setting. That age is best, which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer ; But being spent, the worse, and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time. And while ye may, go marry : For having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry. Love palpable I press'd my Julia's lips, and in the kiss Her soul and love were palpable in this. 141 %ox>e Songs To Electra LOVE LOOKS FOR LOVE Love love begets, then never be Unsoft to him who 's smooth to thee. Tigers and bears, I 've heard some say, For proffer'd love will love repay : None are so harsh, but if they find Softness in others, will be kind ; Affection will affection move, Then you must like because I love. To Dianeme Give me one kiss And no more : If, so be, this Makes you poor, To enrich you, I '11 restore For that one two Thousand score. 142 TRobert Ibcrrlch To Anthea, who may command him anything Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be, Or bid me love, and I will give A loving heart to thee. A heart as soft, a heart as kind, A heart as sound and free As in the whole world thou canst find, That heart I '11 give to thee. Bid that heart stay, and it will stay To honour thy decree : Or bid it languish quite away, And 't shall do so for thee. Bid me to weep, and I will weep While I have eyes to see : And, having none, yet I will keep A heart to weep for thee. Bid me despair, and I '11 despair Under that cypress-tree : Or bid me die, and I will dare E'en death to die for thee. 143 %ovc Songs Thou art my life, my love, my heart. The very eyes of me : And hast command of every part To live and die for thee. To his Mistress Choose me your Valentine, Next let us marry — Love to the death will pine If we long tarry. Promise, and keep your vows, Or vow ye never — Love's doctrine disallows Troth-breakers ever. You have broke promise twice. Dear, to undo me. If you prove faithless thrice, None then will woo ye. To Electra I DARE not ask a kiss, I dare not beg a smile ; Lest having that, or this, I might grow proud the while. 144 IRobert Iberricft No, no, the utmost share Of my desire shall be Only to kiss that air That late kissed thee. His Covenant; or Protestation to Julia Why dost thou wound and break my heart, As if we should for ever part ? Hast thou not heard an oath from me, After a day, or two, or three, I would come back and live with thee ? Take, if thou dost distrust that vow, This second protestation now. Upon thy cheek that spangled tear, Which sits as dew of roses there, That tear shall scarce be dried before I '11 kiss the threshold of thy door. Then weep not, Sweet ; but this much know, I 'm half return 'd before I go. To Julia Julia, when thy Herrick dies, Close thou up thy poet's eyes : And his last breath, let it be Taken in by none but thee. 145 milliam Strobe was born in Devonshire in 1600. He was educated at Westminster and Oxford, and in 1638 he became Canon of Christ Church. He was an eloquent preacher, and a poet of some eminence. He died in 1644. Kisses My love and I for kisses play'd ; She would keep stakes, I was content ; But when I won she would be paid, This made me ask her what she meant ; Nay, since I see (quoth she) you wrangle in vain, Take your own kisses, give me mine again. 146 Bbmun^ Mallet was born at Coleshill in Warwickshire in 1605, and, whilst still a youth, inherited a large fortune. He was educated at Eton and Cambridge, and was but a youth of seventeen when elected to represent Agmon- desham in ParHament. At the age of twenty- three he married a rich heiress, who died a year or so afterwards. At twenty-five he was singing the praises of Lady Dorothy Sydney, who, though appreciating the verses addressed to her as Sacharissa, neglected the poet, and married the Earl of Sunderland. After this, Waller married a lady named Bresse, and was blessed with a family of thirteen children. Differences arising between the Parliament and the King, Waller was one of the commissioners appointed to treat with his Majesty. Later, Waller was arrested for treason, and made a speech in the House of Commons which is said to have saved his life, but he is also recorded to have spent ;i3o,ooo in bribes. He suffered a year's imprisonment, and had to pay a fine of ;{^io,ooo. Obtaining his liberty, he removed to France, but, a poor man now, funds failed him. He obtained leave from Cromwell to return, and it would seem that the Protector took pleasure in his company, but had no reliance in hini as a partisan. Waller recognised the generosity extended him in suitable verse, but the poet's praises were none the less lavishly bestowed upon Charles II., when the Restoration was accomplished. He died in 1687. In his later years he wrote certain Dhiine Poems, but his fame rests upon his lighter verse. His amorous poems, usually produced with great labour, are the most esteemed. Lines to a Girdle That which her slender waist confined, Shall now my joyful temples bind ; No monarch but would give his crown His arms might do what this has done. 147 %ove Songs It was my heaven's extremest sphere, The pale which held that lovely deer ; My joy, my grief, my hope, my love Did all within this circle move. A narrow compass ! and yet there Dwelt all that 's good, and all that 's fair ; Give me but what this riband bound. Take all the rest the sun goes round. Lines to a Rose Go, lovely rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her, that 's young. And shuns to have her graces spied, That, had'st thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide. Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired : Bid her come forth. Suffer herself to be desired. And not blush so to be admired. 148 B&munJ> mailer Then die ! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair. [Kirke White added this verse.] Yet, though thou fade, From thy dead leaves let fragrance rise ; And teach the maid That goodness Time's rude hand defies,— That virtue lives when beauty dies. 149 Sir miUiam B'Hvenant the son of a vintner, was born in Oxford in 1605. He was first a page in the service of the first Duchess of Richmond, and afterwards was employed by Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke. After his master's murder he wrote for the stage, and produced in 1629 his first dramatic piece. Coming under the suspicion of the Parliament, he made off, but later seems to have acted in the field with courage. For this service he was knighted. He was leaving France with the intention of proceed ing to Virginia, when captured and brought back to London. The influence of Milton with the Protector served him in good stead in the moment of danger. He died 1668. Who look for Day before his Mistress wakes The lark now leaves his wat'ry nest And, climbing, shakes his dewy wings ; He takes this window for the east, And to implore your light he sings : Awake, awake ! the morn will never rise Till she can dress her beauty at your eyes. The merchant bows unto the seaman's star. The ploughman from the sun his season takes ; But still the lover wonders what they are Who look for day before his mistress wakes. Awake, awake ! break through your veils of lawn, Then draw your curtains and begin the dawn. 150 5obn /llMlton was born In London in 1608, and was educated at Cambridge. Upon his return from Continental travel he took up the Parliamentary cause, and later was appointed Latin Secretary to the Council of State and the Protector. At the Restoration, Sir Wm. D'Avenant befriended him, and his pardon was obtained. When the plague broke out he removed into Buckinghamshire, and completed his Paradise Lost (1667), for which he received £\$ by instalments. It is said he was indebted for the idea of Paradise Regained to his amanuensis. He was blind during his later years, due to a natural weakness of the eyes and ex- cessive application. He was thrice married. He died in 1674. The poem quoted is a translation by Langhorn from the Italian, a language in which Milton acquired great fluency. Charles, must I say Charles, must I say, what strange it seems to say. This rebel heart that love hath held as naught, Or, haply, in his cunning mazes caught. Would laugh, and let his captive steal away ; This simple heart hath now become his prey. Yet hath no golden tress this lesson taught, Nor vermeil cheek that shames the rising day : O no ! — 'twas beauty's most celestial ray. With charms divine of sovereign sweetness fraught ! The noble voice, the soul-dissolving air, The bright arch bending o'er the lucid eye, The voice that, breathing melody so rare. Might lead the toil'd moon from the middle sky ! Charles, when such mischief armed this foreign fair. Small chance had I to hope this simple heart should fly. 12 151 Sit 3obn Sucftlinc was the son of a Secretary of State and Comptroller of the Royal House- hold, and was born at Whitton in Middlesex about i6og. At his father's death in 1627 he inherited considerable wealth, and leaving Trinity College, Cambridge, served a campaign in the army of Gustavus Adolphus. Upon his return he acquired, at the Court of Charles i., a reputation as a wit. With an attempt which was made to effect the escape of the Earl of Strafford, who was lying in the Tower, under articles of impeachment from the House of Commons, he was so seriously implicated as to render it advisable for him to quit the country. His death occurred in 1641. He was the author of several plays, and the well-known song, ' Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? ' occurs in a piece entitled Aglanra, His fame rests upon his light and short productions, where grace an elegance are everywhere apparent. A Toast She 's pretty to walk with : And witty to talk with : And pleasant too to think on. But the best use of all Is, her health is a stale, And helps us to make us drink on. 152 Sfr jobn Sucftllng Why so pale, fond Lover Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? Prithee, why so pale ? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail ? Prithee why so pale ? Why so dull and mute, young sinner, Prithee why so mute ? Will, when speaking well can't win her. Saying nothing do 't ? Prithee why so mute ? Quit, quit, for shame ; this will not move, This cannot take her ; If of herself she will not love. Nothing can make her — The devil take her. 153 Samuel iButler the author of Hudibras, was born in 1612, and died in 1680. Tlie short pieces here given deserve quotation, mainly, if not entirely, from the interest attaching to the great writer. Among his ' miscellaneous thoughts are these : — All Love, at first, like generous wine, Ferments and frets until 'tis fine ; But when 'tis settled on the lee, And from the impurer matter free, Becomes the richer still the older, And proves the pleasanter the colder. Love is too great a happiness For wretched mortals to possess ; For, could it hold inviolate Against those cruelties of Fate Which all felicities below By rigid laws are subject to, It would become a bliss too high For perishing mortality, Translate to earth the joys above — For nothing goes to heaven but Love. 154 Samuel :JSutler To his Mistress Do not unjustly blame My guiltless breast. For venturing to disclose a flame It had so long supprest. In its own ashes it designed For ever to have lain ; But that my sighs, like blasts of wind. Made it break out again. To the Same Do not mine affection slight, 'Cause my locks with age are white ; Your breasts have snow without, and snow within. Whilst flames of fire in your bright eyes are seen. 155 IRicbart) %ovclncc the eldest son of Sir William Lovelace, of Woolwich, was born in 1618, and was educated at Charterhouse School and Gloucester Hall, Oxford. It is related that Lovelace, when only eighteen years of age, was made M.A. by Charles I., at the request of a great lady, who was much charmed with the beauty of the youth. Lovelace went to Court, and entering the King's army attained the rank of Colonel. In April 1642 he was committed to the Gate House, at Westminster, for presenting a petition ' from the whole of the County of Kent to the House of Commons, for restoring the King to his rights.' In prison he wrote the song ' To Althea, ' which, in the opinion of Southey, ' will live as long as the English language.' Released on heavy bail, Lovelace spent his fortune in the Royal cause, and in aiding poorer friends. In 1648 he was again in prison. Then he prepared for the press, Litcasia: Epodes^ Odes, Sonnets, Songs, etc. (1649). Lovelace made his amours to a gentlewoman of great beauty and fortune, named Lucy Sacheverel, whom he usually addressed as Lucasta {lux casta, pure light), but ' she, upon a strong report that he was dead, of his wound received at Dunkirk (where he had brought a regiment for the service of the French king), soon after married.' Under Cromwell, Lovelace was released from prison, but, fortune and friends deserting him, he died in acute poverty, in a mean lodging in Gunpowder Alley, near Shoe Lane, in 1658. To Althea, from Prison When Love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at my grates ; "When I lie tangled in her hair And fetter'd to her eye, 156 IRlcbarD Xovelace The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames ; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts go free- Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty. When, like committed linnets, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty And glories of my King ; When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be. Enlarged winds, that curl the flood. Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage ; Minds, innocent and quiet, take That for an hermitage ; If I have freedom in my love And in my soul am free, Angels alone that soar above Enjoy such liberty. 157 Hbrabam Cowlep was the posthumous son of a London grocer. He was born in 1618, and at the age of thirteen published his Poetical Blossoms. In 1647 a collection of his love-verses was published under the title of The Mistress. The love was purely imaginary. He never married, and, worse still, it is said that he only once fell in love, and that then he was too shy to declare his passion. Neglected by royalty after the Restoration, he retired into the country, and died at Chertsey in 1667. Love Love in her sunny eyes does basking play ; Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair ; Love does on both her lips for ever stray, And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there ; In all her outward parts Love 's always seen ; But oh ! he never went within. 158 Hlejan&er JSrome a lawyer, whose lively Royalist rhymes were in great request, was born in 1620 and died in i656. Why I love her 'Tis not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure, Nor do I covet her for sensual pleasure, Nor for that old morality Do I love her, 'cause she loves me. Sure he that loves his lady 'cause she 's fair. Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her. Something there is moves me to love, and I Do know I love, but know not how, nor why. 159 XTbomas H)"Clrte^ or Tom D'Urfey, as he was more generally known, was descended from a family of French Huguenot refugees, and born at Exeter. The date is variously given as 1628, 1630, 1649, 1650, and 1653. The pro- babilities are in favour of the last date being the correct one. He was the author of many comedies and a large body of songs and party lyrics. He was a large contributor to the miscellany called Laugh and be Fat, or Pills to Purge Melancholy, He died in 1723. Still Water Damon, let a friend advise ye, Follow Clores though she flies ye, Though her tongue your suit is slighting, Her kind eyes you '11 find inviting : Woman's rage, like shallow water. Does but show their hurtless nature ; When the stream seems rough and frowning, There is still least fear of drowning. Let me tell the adventurous stranger, In our calmness lies our danger ; Like a river's silent running, Stillness shows our depth and cunning : She that rails ye into trembling Only shows her fine dissembling ; But the fawner, to abuse ye. Thinks ye fools, and so will use ye. 160 Cbarles Cotton was the author of a supplement to Walton's Complete Angler^ and by this work his name has almost certainly achieved immortality. He was the author of a volume of poems, and translated the Horace of Corneille, and the Essays of Montaigne. He was born in 1630 and died in 16S7. The rondeau appended is not the usual passionless vein of Charles Cotton. His second wife was Mary, Countess Dowager of Ardglass, the widow of Lord Cornwall. She had a jointure of £,\yx> a year, made secure upon her from the poet's financial imprudence. Thou Fool Thou fool ! if madness be so rife That, spite of wit, thou'lt have a wife, I '11 tell thee what thou must expect, — After the honey-moon, neglect, All the sad days of thy whole life ! To that a world of woe and strife. Which is of marriage the effect ; And thou thy own woe's architect, Thou fool ! Thou'lt nothing find but disrespect, 111 words i' th' scolding dialect. For she '11 all tabor be or fife. Then prithee go and whet thy knife. And from this fate thyself protect. Thou fool ! 161 5obn Dr^ben was born in Northamptonshire in 1631, and was educated at West- minster and Cambridge. He settled in London in 1657, and acted for a while as secretary to a relation who was a member of Cromwell's Council. He mourned the death of the Protector, and greeted the accession of Charles 11. He was the author of many plays, written at the suggestion of the King, but some of his best work was produced in a suc- ceeding reign, when he was no longer the recipient of royal bounty. To his later years belong his translation of Virgil and his Fables. The com- manding genius of Dryden does not come out fully in his songs, and it seems that whilst entertaining the poorest opinion of his audience he yet wrote for their pleasure. He died in 1700. Concealed Love I FEED a flame within, which so torments me, That it both pains my heart and yet contents me ; 'Tis such a pleasing smart, and I so love it. That I had rather die, than once remove it. Yet he, for whom I grieve, shall never know it ; My tongue does not betray, nor my eyes show it. Not a sigh, nor a tear, my pain discloses, But they fall silently, like dew on roses. Thus, to prevent my love from being cruel. My heart 's the sacrifice, as 'tis the fuel : 162 5obn ®cfi^en And while I suffer this to give him quiet, My faith rewards my love, though he deny it. On his eyes will I gaze, and there delight me ; While I conceal my love no frown can fright me To be more happy, I dare not aspire ; Nor can I fall more low, mounting no higher. To Matilda on the Anniversary of our Marriage When first, in all thy youthful charms, And dazzling beauty's pride. Heightened by infant Love's alarms The nuptial knot was tied. Which gave thee to my longing arms A blooming, blushing bride, — Entranced in Hymen's blissful bowers, We hail'd each rising sun. While wing'd with joys the rosy hours In ecstasy flew on ; And still we blest the heavenly powers, Who join'd our hearts in one. Now, as with fairy-footed tread, Time steals our years away, 163 Xore Songs Thy mildly beaming virtues spread Soft influence o'er life's way ; Insuring to our peaceful shed Love's bliss without decay. A Pair well matched Fair Iris I love, and hourly I die, But not for a lip, nor a languishing eye ; She 's fickle and false, and there we agree, For I am as false and as fickle as she ; We neither believe what either can say, And neither believing, we neither betray. 'Tis civil to swear, and to say things of course ; We mean not the taking for better or worse : When present we love ; and when absent agree I think not of Iris, nor Iris of me : The legend of Love no couple can find, So easy to part, or so equally join'd. The Fair Stranger Happy and free, securely blest, No beauty could disturb my rest ; My amorous heart was in despair To find a new victorious fair. 164 5obn Drg5en Till you, descending on our plains, With foreign force renew my chains ; Where now you reign without control. The mighty sovereign of my soul. Your smiles have more of conquering charms Than all your native country's arms : Their troops we can expel with ease, Who vanquish only when we please. But in your eyes, O! there 's the spell ! Who can see them, and not rebel? You make us captives by your stay, Yet kill us if you go away. :65 Sir George Btberege born in 1634, was one of the wits at the Court of Charles II. He was the author of various dramatic pieces, including Tlie Coviical Revenge, or LoTe in a Tub ; SJie would if She could ; The Man 0/ Mode, or Sir Fopling Flutter, comedies by which his name is still remembered. Reduced to sad straits by various indiscretions, he sought to marry a rich elderly widow, who, it is said, made the honour of knighthood for her spouse a condition of her acceptance. The honour was obtained from James 11., by whom Etherege was appointed envoy to Ratisbon, where, from some uncertain cause, he is said to have died, 1683. Beauty no Armour against Love Ladies, though to your conquering eyes Love owes his chiefest victories, And borrows those bright arms from you With which he does the world subdue, Yet you yourselves are not above The empire nor the griefs of love. Then wrack not lovers with disdain, Lest love on you revenge their pain ; You are not free because y 're fair ; The boy did not his mother spare. Beauty 's but an offensive dart ; It is no armour for the heart. 166 Cbarles SacPjvflle Earl of Dorset, was born in 1637, and at the Restoration became one of the first favourites of the King. In 1665, Lord Buckhurst, as he was then known, was engaged in the Dutch war, and on the eve of the great battle of June 3 he is said to have written the celebrated song, 'To all you Ladies now at Land' with equal tranquillity of mind and promptitude of wit. But Johnson adds to this narrative, 'Seldom any splendid story is wholly true. I have heard from the late Earl of Orrery, who was likely to have good hereditary intelligence, that Lord Buckhurst had been a week employed upon it, and only retouched or finished it on the memorable evening.' He died in 1706. Song WRITTEN AT SEA IN THE FIRST DUTCH WAR, 1665, THE NIGHT BEFORE AN ENGAGEMENT To all you ladies now at land, We men at sea indite ; But first would have ye understand How hard it is to write : The Muses now and Neptune, too, We must implore to write to you. For tho' the Muses should prove kind, And fill our empty brain, Yet, if rough Neptune call the wind To rouse the azure main, Our paper, pen, and ink, and we Roll up and down our ships at sea. 13 167 %0K>c Songs Then, if we write not by each post, Think not we are unkind. Nor yet conclude our ships are lost By Dutchmen or by wind : Our tears we '11 send a speedier way. The tide shall bring them twice a day. The King, with wonder and surprise, Will swear the seas grow bold, Because the tides will higher rise. Than e'er they used of old : But let him know it is our tears Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs. Should foggy Opdam chance to know Our sad and dismal story, The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, And say they 've gained no glory ; For what resistance can they find From men who 've left their hearts behind ? Let wind and weather do its worst, Be you to us but kind ; Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, No sorrow we shall find : 'Tis then no matter how things go. Or who 's our friend, or who 's our foe. 1 68 Cbarles SacftvUle To pass our tedious hours away, We throw a merry main, Or else at serious ombre play ; But why should we in vain Each other's ruin thus pursue ? We were undone when we left you. But now our fears tempestuous grow And cast our hopes away, Whilst you, regardless of our woe, Sit careless at a play ; Perhaps permit some happier man To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan. When any mournful tune you hear, That dies in every note, As if it sighed with each man's care For being so remote ; Think then how often love we 've made To you, when all those tunes were played. In justice you cannot refuse To think of our distress. When we for hopes of honour lose Our certain happiness ; All those designs are but to prove Ourselves more worthy of your love. 169 Xove Songs And now we 've told you all our loves, And likewise all our fears, In hopes this declaration moves Some pity for our tears ; Let 's hear of no inconstancy. We have too much of that at sea. 170 Sit Cbarles SeMe^ was one of the best writers of light verse in the reign of Charles ii., at whose Court he was a great wit. His daughter was held in high favour by James li. , and Sedley was sorely displeased. He used his influence against James in promoting the Revolution, and willingly explained his reason : — ' From principles of gratitude, for, since his Majesty has made my daughter a Countess, it is fit I should do all I can to make his daughter a Queen.' Sedley was born in 1639, and died in 1701. We'll all the World excel Phillis, let 's shun the common fate, And let our love ne'er turn to hate ; I '11 dote no longer than I can, Without being called a faithless man. When we begin to want discourse, And kindness seems to taste of force, As freely as we met we '11 part, Each one possessed of their own heart. Thus, whilst rash fools themselves undo, We '11 game and give off savers too ; So equally the match we '11 make Both shall be glad to draw the stake. A smile of thine shall make my bliss, I will enjoy thee in a kiss : If from this height our kindness fall. We '11 bravely scorn to love at all : 171 Xove Songs If thy affection first decay, I will the blame on Nature lay. Alas, what cordial can remove The hasty fate of dying Love ? Thus we will all the world excel In loving and in parting well. Phillis is my only Joy Phillis is my only joy. Faithless as the winds or seas ; Sometimes coming, sometimes coy. Yet she never fails to please : If with a frown I am cast down, Phillis smiling, And beguiling. Makes me happier than before. Tho', alas ! too late I find Nothing can her fancy fix. Yet the moment she is kind I forgive her all her tricks : Which tho' I see, I can't get free : She deceiving, I believing : What need lovers wish for more ? 172 5obn Milmot Lord Wllmot, afterwards the Earl of Rochester, was born at Ditchley 'in Oxfordshire in 1647. His very companionable qualities made him a favourite with the King. He set about a short life and a merry one. By the time he had attained his thirtieth year he had exhausted the fund of life. About this time he came under the influence of Dr. Burnet, who afterwards wrote, Some Passages of the Life and Death of John, Earl of Rochester. A lingering illness terminated in his death in i68o. He was a man of considerable attainments, and wrote a poem. Upon Nothing, revealing, strangely enough, his highest genius upon this threadbare subject. His songs, in the opinion of Johnson, are smooth and easy, but have little nature and little sentiment. My Dear Mistress My dear mistress has a heart Soft as those kind looks she gave me, When, with love's resistless art, And her eyes, she did enslave me : But her constancy 's so weak, She 's so wild and apt to wander, That my jealous heart would break Should we live one day asunder. Melting joys about her move, Killing pleasures, wounding blisses ; 173 %ove Sonfls She can dress her eyes in love, And her lips can warm with kisses. Angels listen when she speaks ; She 's my delight, all mankind's wonder, But my jealous heart would break, Should we live one day asunder. Love and Life All my past life is mine no more, The flying hours are gone : Like transitory dreams given o'er, Whose images are kept in store By memory alone. The time that is to come is not ; How can it then be mine ? The present moment 's all my lot ; And that, as fast as it is got, Phillis, is only thine. Then talk not of inconstancy, False hearts, and broken vows ; If I, by miracle, can be This life-long minute true to thee, 'Tis all that heaven allows. 174 5obn SbettielD Duke of Buckinghamshire, son of the Earl of Mulgrave, was born in 1649 s"d died in 1720. Buckingham House, in St. James's Park, since converted into a royal palace, was originally erected for him. The poem quoted is sometimes found attributed to George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham (1627-1688), a man of a sadly diflferent type. Come, Celia, let's agree at last Come, Celia, let 's agree at last To love and live in quiet ; Let 's tie the knot so very fast That time shall ne'er untie it. Love's dearest joys they never prove, Who free from quarrels live ; 'Tis sure a godlike part of love Each other to forgive. When least I seemed concerned I took No pleasure, nor had rest ; And when I feigned an angry look, Alas ! I loved you best. Say but the same to me, you '11 find How blest will be our fate ; Sure to be grateful, to be kind. Can never be too late. 175 'C:t)omas ®twai[? the distinguished dramatist, son of the rector of Woebeding, was born at Trotton in Sussex in 1651. He commenced his career in London by attempting the part of the King in Mrs. Behn's piece, Forced Marriage, or the Jealous Bridegroom (1671), but meeting with failure as player he turned playwright. Then he spent time and substance in noble circles, where his companionship was tolerated for his wit and social qualities. But, having helped to rid him of his money, the men of rank deserted him, saving the Earl of Plymouth, who obtained for him a cornet's commission in some troops then sent into Flanders. On the death of the King's son at Tangier, in his twenty-second year, the poet lost his influential friend. Back again in London, Otway produced various pieces. Poverty seemed habitu- ally to pursue him, and towards the end he sought escape from his creditors by secreting himself in a public-house on Tower Hill. His death, which quickly followed, has been variously attributed to fever, and in the rage of hunger to choking by the first mouthful of a roll bought by him with money he had just begged. ' Sunk to the cold earth Otway's famished form, says Coleridge, in his musings upon ' mighty poets in their misery dead.' Certain it is he was sadly neglected through life, and that, neglected, he died in 1685. The oft quoted lines — O woman 1 lovely woman I Nature made thee To temper man : we had been brutes without you ; Angels are painted fair, to loolc lilie you : There 's in you all that we believe of Heaven, Amazing brightness, purity, and truth. Eternal joy, and everlasting love — occur in Otway's play, Venice Preserved; or a Plot Discovered {t.()Z2). 176 ^bomas ©tway The Enchantment I DID but look and love a-while, 'Twas but for one half-hour ; Then to resist I had no will. And now I have no power. To sigh and wish is all my ease ; Sighs, which do best impart. Enough to melt the coldest ice. Yet cannot warm your heart. O would your pity give my heart One corner of your breast, 'T would learn of yours the winning art And quickly steal the rest. 177 Hnne finely Countess of Winchilsea, the daughter of a Hampshire baronet, was born about 1660. Mr. Edmund Gosse, in his delightfully entertaining volume, Gossip in a Library (1891), mentions the acquisition by him of a folio volume of old manuscript poetry, which turned out to be a vast collection of Lady Winchilsea's poems. She was Maid of Honour to Mary of Modena, Duchess of York, and at Court met Heneage Finch, who was Gentleman of the Bedchamber to the Duke. They married in 1685, and at the trouble in 16S8, retired into the country, where they remained the rest of their lives. In 1712 her husband became fourth Earl of Winchilsea, and about a year later, Lady Winchilsea was induced to publish a selection of her poems. In 1720 she died. The appended poem, written in 1685, was never printed till Mr. Gosse transcribed it from the manuscript, and with his permission it is here inserted, chiefly for the much virtue contained in the sixth line. To my Husband This, to the crown and blessing of my life, The much-loved husband of a happy wife ; To him whose constant passion found the art To win a stubborn and ungrateful heart ; And to the world by tenderest proof discovers They err who say that husbands can't be lovers. With such return by passion as is due, Daphnis I love, Daphnis my thoughts pursue, Daphnis, my hopes, my joys are bounded all in you ! 178 J'rancis Htterbut^ was born in 1662, and was educated at Westminster and Oxford. His eloquent preaching obtained distinction for him, and after engaging in a church dispute his position advanced rapidly. He was appointed to the Bishopric of Rochester in 1713. Exerting himself on behalf of the Pretender, he rendered himself obnoxious to George I., and was banished. He died an exile in Paris, 1731. Written on a White Fan BORROWED FROM MISS OSBORNE, AFTERWARDS HIS WIFE Flavia the least and slightest toy Can with resistless art employ ! This Fan in meaner hands would prove An engine of small force in love : Yet she with graceful air and mien. Not to be told, or safely seen. Directs its wanton motions so That it wounds more than Cupid's bow ; Gives coolness to the matchless dame. To every other breast — z. flame ! 179 MiUtam maiBb was afriend of Dryden and the patron of Pope. He held a place in Queen Anne's household. Born 1663, died 1708. The Despairing Lover Distracted with care For Phillis the fair, Since nothing could move her. Poor Damon, her lover, Resolves in despair No longer to languish Nor bear so much anguish ; But, mad with his love. To a precipice goes, Where a leap from above Would soon finish his woes. When in rage he came there, Beholding how steep The sides did appear. And the bottom how deep ; His torments projecting, And sadly reflecting 180 milllam malBb That a lover forsaken A new love may get, But a neck when once broken Isn't easily set ; And that he could die Whenever he would, But that he could live But as long as he could : How grievous soever The torment might grow, He scorned to endeavour To finish it so ; And bold, unconcerned At thoughts of the pain, He calmly returned To his cottage again. An Epistle to a Lady who had resolved against Marriage Madam, I cannot but congratulate Your resolution for a single state ; Ladies, who would live undisturbed and free. Must never put on Hymen's livery ; Perhaps its outside seems to promise fair, But underneath is nothing else but care. If once you let the Gordian knot be ty'd, Which turns the name of virgin into bride, l8l Xove Songs That one fond act your life's best scene foregoes, And leads you into a labyrinth of woes, Whose strange meanders you may search about, But never find the clue to let you out. The married life affords you little ease, The best of husbands is so hard to please : This in wives' careful faces you may spell. Though they dissemble their misfortunes well. No plague 's so great as an ill-ruling head. Yet 'tis a fate which few young ladies dread : For Love's insinuating fire they fan With sweet ideas of a god-like man. Chloris and Phyllis glory'd in their swains, And sung their praises on the neighbouring plains ; Oh ! they were brave, accomplished, charming men. Angels till marry'd, but proud devils then. Sure some resistless power with Cupid sides. Or we should have more virgins, fewer brides ; For single lives afford the most content, Secure and happy, as they 're innocent : Bright as Olympus, crown'd with endless ease, And calm as Neptune on the Halcyon seas : Your sleep is broke with no domestic cares. No bawling children to disturb your prayers ; No parting sorrows to extort your tears. No blustering husband to renew your fears ! Therefore, dear madam, let a friend advise, Love and its idle deity despise. Suppress wild Nature, if it dares rebel ; There 's no such thing as ' leading apes in hell.' 182 /Iftattbew ipriot was born, according to his own account, in Middlesex in 1664, and was educated at the expense of his uncle, a butcher, in business near Char- ing Cross. His scholarship attracting the attention of the Earl of Dorset, he was sent to St. John's College, Cambridge, and in part was supported out of the generosity of his patron. He took the degree of Bachelor of Arts in 1686, and was not long afterwards chosen Fellow. He wrote in conjunction with Charles Montagu, afterwards Earl of Halifax, a travesty of Dryden's The Hind and Pattther. For many years he was engaged in various diplomatic missions. It is related of him that he was in Paris when Le Brun's pictures of the victories of Louis XIV. were exhibited to him. Asked whether the King of Eng- land's Palace had the like to show. Prior replied, ' The monuments of my master's actions are to be seen everywhere but in his own house.' With the fall of his own party, Prior's political career ceased. The income from his Fellowship was now of great service to him. In his retirement he collected his poems, and these, published in handsome folio, at two guineas, produced ;£4ooo. He had in his mind a history of his own times, a task for which few were better qualified, being acquainted with many State secrets, but a lingering fever carried him off in 1721, before anything was written. Johnson suggests a certain comparison of Prior's passionless amorous effusions to Cowley's purely imaginative sorrows. In the lives of the two men there was this wide difference — Prior had some coarse experience of the tender sentiment of which he wrote, whilst Cowley had none — coarse or refined. The Question to Lisetta What nymph should I admire or trust, But Chloe beauteous, Chloe just ? What nymph should I desire to see, But her who leaves the plain for me ? 14 183 %ove Songs To whom should I compose the lay, But her who listens when I play ? To whom in song repeat my cares, But her who in my sorrow shares ? For whom should I the garland make. But her who joys the gift to take, And boasts she wears it for my sake? In love am I not fully blest ? Lisetta, prythee tell the rest. LISETTAS REPLY Sure Chloe just, and Chloe fair, Deserves to be your only care ; But, when she and you to-day Far into the wood did stray. And I happen'd to pass by. Which way did you cast your eye ? But, when your cares to her you sing. You dare not tell her whence they spring ; Does it not more afflict your heart. That in those cares she bears a part ? When you the flowers for Chloe twine. Why do you to her garland join The meanest bud that falls from mine ? Simplest of swains ! the world may see, Whom Chloe loves, and who loves me. 5obn pomftet was born in Bedfordshire in 1667, and entering holy orders became rector of Maiden in his native county. He was the author of a poem called ' The Choice ' (1699), '" which some passages were so misunder- stood, that Dr. Compton, the Bishop of London, hesitated, if he did not actually refuse, to induct him to a more important benefice. The Bishop discovered his error when it was too late. Pomfret came up to London apparently to e.xplain matters, and here he caught the pre- vailing infection, of which he died in 1703. The last paragraph in his preface to Poems upon Several Occasions— \y\e. volume which included 'The Choice' — may be quoted as indicating the nature of his own claims upon public recognition as against those of others : — 'To please every one would be a new thing, and to write so as to please nobody would be as new ; for even Quarles and Wythers have their admirers. The author is not so fond of fame to desire it from the injudicious many ; nor of so mortified a temper not to wish it from the discerning few. 'Tis not the multitude of applauses, but the good sense of the applauders, which establishes a valuable reputation ; and if a Rymer or a Congreve say 'tis well, he will not be at all sollicitous how great the majority may be to the contrary.' Lines to a Friend wishful to be Married I WOULD not have you choose a mate, From too exalted, or too mean a state, For in both these we may expect to find A creeping spirit, or a haughty mind. Who moves within the middle region shares The least disquiets, and the smallest cares, 185 %ovc Songs Let her extraction with true lustre shine ; If something brighter, not too bright for thine Her education liberal, not great ; Neither inferior nor above her state. Let her have wit ; but let that wit be free From affectation, pride, or pedantry : For the effect of woman's wit is such, Too little is as dangerous as too much. But chiefly let her humour close with thine ; Unless when yours does to a fault incline ; The least disparity in this destroys, Like sulphurous blasts, the very buds of joys. Her person amiable, straight, and free From natural, or chance deformity. Let not her years exceed, if equal thine ; For women past their vigour, soon decline : Her fortune competent ; and, if thy sight Can reach so far, take care 'tis gathered right. If thine 's enough, then hers may be the less : Do not aspire to riches in excess. For that which makes our lives delightful prove Is a genteel sufficiency and love. 1 86 (Beorge 6ran\>iUe Lord Lansdowne, was born in 1667. During the reign of William in. he remained in obscurity, but, on the accession of Queen Anne, entered Parliament, and held various public offices. He died in 1735. Loving at First Sight No warning of the approaching flame. Swiftly, like sudden death, it came ; Like travellers, by lightning killed, I burnt the moment I beheld. In whom so many charms are placed Is with a mind as nobly graced ; The case, so shining to behold. Is filled with richest gems, and gold. To what my eyes admired before I add a thousand graces more ; And fancy blows into a flame The spark that from her beauty came. The object thus improved by thought. By my own image I am caught ; Pygmalion so, with fatal art, Polished the form that stung his heart. 1S7 MtUtam (Tongreve was born at Bardsey, near Leeds, in 1670. He was educated first at a school in Kilkenny, and then at Dublin University. Arrived in London, he studied for the law, but the stage claimed his attentions. He wrote various highly successful comedies, including TJie Old Bachelor, Love for Love, and Tlie Way of the World, and a tragedy called The Mourning Bride. He died in 1729. The Petition Grant me, gentle Love, said I, One dear blessing ere I die ; Long I 've borne excess of pain, Let me now some bliss obtain. Thus to almighty Love I cried, When angry thus the god replied : Blessings greater none can have. Art thou not Amynta's slave ? Cease, fond mortal, to implore. For Love, even Love himself s no more. False though she be False though she be to me and love, I '11 ne'er pursue revenge ; 188 Milliant Congrcvc For still the charmer I approve, Though I deplore her change. In hours of bliss we oft have met, They could not always last ; And though the present I regret I 'm grateful for the past. 189 5obn ®lC)miron had an unfortunate disposition, his fighting propensities keeping him constantly on the warpath. He published a collection of his poems in 1696, but it met with scant favour from contemporaries. He was born in 1673, and died in 1742. I lately vow'd, but 'twas in haste I LATELY vow'd, but 'twas in haste, That I no more would court The joys that seem when they are past As dull as they are short. I oft to hate my mistress swear, But soon my weakness find ; I make my oaths when she 's severe. But break them when she 's kind. 190 1benr^ Care^ tLe author of Sally in ojtr Alley, was a highly popular writer and musician, and was the author of several pieces for the stage. He died in 1743. Love 's a Riddle The flame of love assuages, When once it is reveal'd ; But fiercer still it rages, The more it is conceal'd. Consenting makes it colder ; When met it will retreat : Repulses make it bolder, And dangers make it sweet. 191 5obn "Ibuabes was born at Marlborough in 1677, and whilst still engaged in com- mercial pursuits attained a considerable reputation as a poet. He also developed some slight artistic faculty. His knowledge 5f the science of music aided him most as a supplementary accomplishment, and several cantatas of which he was the author were set to music by Handel, Purcell, Pepusch, Galliard, etc. Not neglecting prose, he wrote An £ssay on ike Pleasure of being Deceived, which has the reputation of revealing considerable knowledge of human nature. He died in 1719. Pope sent a copy of Hughes's works to Swift, who said in a letter, ' He is too grave a poet for me ; and I think him among the mediocrists, in prose as well as verse.' Pope replied, ' What he wanted in genius he made up as an honest man ; but he was of the class you think him.' To a beautiful Lady playing on the Organ. When famed Cecilia on the organ played, And filled with moving sounds the tuneful frame, Drawn by the charm, to hear the sacred maid, From heaven, 'tis said, a listening angel came. Thus ancient legends would our faith abuse ; In vain — for were the bold tradition true, While your harmonious touch that charm renews. Again the seraph would appear to you. O happy fair ! in whom with purest light Virtue's united beams with beauty shine ! Should heavenly guests descend to bless our sight, What form more lovely could they wear than thine ? 192 BUjab ifenton was born at Shelton, near Newcastle in Staffordshire, in 1683. He was sent to Cambridge, but ' doubting the legahty of the government, and refusing to qualify himself for public employment by the oaths required, left the University without a degree.' In 1707 he published a volume of poems, and became acquainted with the distinguished writers of the period. Fenton, with others, successfully aided Pope in his work of translating the Odyssey. He wrote a tragedy called ' Mariamne,' which Cibber rejected, but it realised for its author nearly ;Ciooo when produced at the theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields (1723). He died in 1730. Pope and Broome seem to have entertained sincere affection for their friend, and, according to Johnson, 'whoever mentioned Fenton mentioned him with honour.' The Rose See, Sylvia, see this new-blown rose. The image of thy blush, Mark how it smiles upon the bush, And triumphs as it grows. ' Oh, pluck it not ! We'll come anon,' Thou sayest. Alas ! 'twill then be gone. Now its purple beauty's spread, Soon it will drop and fall. And soon it will not be at all ; No fine things draw a length of thread. Then tell me, seems it not to say. Come on, ^nd crop me whilst you may ? 193 5obn 6as was born in Barnstaple in Devonshire in 1688, and, obtaining the friend- ship of Pope, succeeded in producing various pieces. His Fables were written in 1726. In this same year Swift visited Pope at Twickenham, and made suggestions to Gay which resulted in the latter producing The Beggars Opera. The work attained extraordinary popularity, and to this success is traced the rise of English light opera. His most popular song was ' Sweet William's Farewell to Black- Eyed Susan.' Gay died in 1732, Go, Rose, my Chloe's Bosom Grace Go, rose, my Chloe's bosom grace. How happy should I prove, Might I supply that envied place With never-fading love ! There, Phoenix-like, beneath her eye, Involved in fragrance, burn and die. Know, hapless flower, that thou shall find More fragrant roses there, I see thy withering head inclined With envy and despair ; One common fate we both must prove : You die with envy, I with love. 194 Xa&^ /iDat^ Mortle^ /IDontagu was the eldest daughter of Evelyn, Duke of Kingston, and was born about i6go at Thoresby in Nottinghamshire. In 1712 she married Edward Wortley Montagu, some time ambassador at Constantinople. Whilst in the East, she wrote many of her celebrated letters describing the manners and customs of the people with whom she was brought into contact. A life marked by variety of incident was closed in 1762. Dear Colin, Prevent Dear Colin, prevent my warm blushes, Since how can I speak without pain ? My eyes have oft told you my wishes, O ! can't you their meaning explain ? My passion would lose by expression, And you too might cruelly blame ; Then don't you expect a confession, Of what is too tender to name. Since yours is the province of speaking, Why should you expect it from me ? Our wishes should be in our keeping, 'Till you tell us what they should be. '95 Xove SonflS Then quickly why don't you discover ? Did your heart feel such tortures as mine, I need not tell over and over What I in my bosom confine. Colin's Answer Good Madam, when ladies are willing, A man must needs look like a fool ; For me, I would not give a shilling For one that can love without rule. At least you should wait for our offers. Nor snatch like old maids in despair ; If you've lived to those years without proffers, Your sighs are now lost in the air. You should leave us to guess at your blushing And not speak the matter too plain ; 'Tis ours to be forward and pushing ; 'Tis yours to affect a disdain. That you're in a terrible taking From all your fond oglings I see ! But the fruit that will fall without shaking Indeed is too mellow for me. 196 IRlcbarb Savaoe was bom in London in 1697, and died a debtor in jail at Bristol in 1743. He devoted too much energy to an effort to be regarded as a son of Earl Rivers. Discarded by his mother, his father dead, poverty dogged his footsteps. He found a generous friend in Sir Richard Steele, and a companion in Johnson, who, too, tasted much of the bitter cup of neglect. In 1744, Johnson wrote his Life of Savage, which of all his Lives oftlie Poets is perhaps the best, in the sense of being the most intensely sympathetic. A life such as that of Savage, full of the strangest vicissitudes, has furnished material to the novelist and the dramatist. Charles Whitehead, an early contemporary of Dickens, wrote a storj\ Whitehead himself was something of a neglected genius, but he too has found a Johnson in Mr. Mackenzie Bell (Charles Whitehead: A Forgotten Genius, 1885), who speaks of Richard Savage : A Romance of Real Life, as having the merit of vivifying in a marvellously realistic manner the historical character of the story. Still more recently a play entitled ' Richard Savage,' by Mr. J. M. Barrie and Mr. H. M. B. Watson, was produced in London. Verses to a Young Lady Polly, from me, though now a love-sick youth, Nay, though a poet, hear the voice of truth ! Polly, you're not a beauty, yet you're pretty ; So grave, yet gay, so silly, yet so witty ; A heart of softness, yet a tongue of satire ; You've cruelty, yet, ev'n with that, good nature : Now you are free, and now reserv'd awhile ; Now a forc'd frown betrays a willing smile. 197 %ove Songs Reproach'd for absence, yet your sight deny'd ; My tongue you silence, yet my silence chide. How would you praise me, should your sex defame ! Yet, should they praise, grow jealous, and exclaim. If I despair, with some kind look you bless ; But if I hope, at once all hope suppress. You scorn ; yet should my passion change, or fail. Too late you'd whimper out a softer tale. You love ; yet from your lover's wish retire ; Doubt, yet discern ; deny, and yet desire. Such, Polly, are your sex — part truth, part fiction. Some thought, much whim, and all a contradiction. 198 IRobert 2)o&6les who was born at Mansfield in Nottinghamshire in 1703 was a footman in the service of the Hon. Mrs. Lowther when his first book, The JSIuse in Livery, was published. He next wrote a dramatic piece entitled 'The Toy Shop,' and. Pope standing as his friend, its production at Covent Garden followed with great success in 1735. In this same year he entered upon a business career, opening a bookseller's shop in Pall Mall, and numbered Chesterfield, Lyttelton, Shenstone, and Johnson among his active friends. He was the author of a moral treatise. The Econoviy of Human Lijc , v/\nc\i was attributed to Chesterfield. He rendered an important service to dramatic literature by the publication of a collection of old English plays. The Annual Register, a work upon which Burke was engaged during many successive years, was started by him in 1 758. He died in 1 764. He was the author of such v erses as these : — Come, my fairest ! learn of me, Learn to give and take the bliss ! Come ! my love, here's none but we . I'll instruct thee how to kiss. Throw thy lovely twining arras Round my neck, or round my waist ; And, whilst I devour thy charms, Let me closely be embraced. To my breast with rapture cling I Look with transport on my face I Kiss me, press me 1 everything To endear the fond embrace. Yet why did a master so accomplished in the art of love remain a bachelor ? The Parting Kiss One kind kiss before we part, Drop a tear, and bid adieu : Though we sever, my fond heart Till we meet shall pant for you. 15 '99 Hove Songs Yet, yet, weep not so, my love. Let me kiss that falling tear. Though my body must remove, All my soul will still be here. All my soul and all my heart. And every wish shall pant for you ; One kind kiss then ere we part, Drop a tear and bid adieu. The Borrowed Kiss Chloe, by that borrow'd kiss, I, alas ! am quite undone ; 'Twas so sweet, so fraught with bliss Thousands will not pay that one. ' Lest the debt should break your heart Roguish Chloe smiling cries, ' Come, a hundred then in part For the present shall suffice.' Soame Jen^ns was the son of Sir Roger Jenyns, and was born in London m 1704. In his political career, he gained some distinction as an upholder of the Ministry for the time being. His reward was a commissionership. He was regarded as something of a wit, was accounted a shrewd man, and acted the part of magistrate and country gentleman with success. Besides a considerable body of poetry, he was the author of Free Enquiry into the Nature and Origin 0/ Evil ; A View of the Internal Evidence of the Christian Religion, political tracts, etc. He died in 1787. Cupid Relieved As once young Cupid went astray, The little god I found ; I took his bow and shafts away, And fast his pinions bound. At Chloe's feet my spoils I cast, My conquest proud to shew ; She saw his godship fetter'd fast. And smil'd to see him so. But ah ! that smile such fresh supplies Of arms resistless gave ! I'm forc'd again to yield my prize, And fall again his slave. 201 Ibenrg ifielbfng was novelist, dramatist, poet, journalist, and lawyer, and in every walk he distinguished himself. As the author of Tom Jones and Joseph A ndreivs, however, he holds his place of eminence, and within recent years a magnificent edition of his works has appeared. He was born in 1707, and died in 1754. The following poem seems to say that a lady's pocket used to be in her bosom. On a Halfpenny WHICH A YOUNG LADY GAVE A BEGGAR, AND WHICH THE AUTHOR REDEEMED FOR HALF-A-CROWN Dear little, pretty, favourite ore, That once increased Gloriana's store ; That lay within her bosom blest, Gods might have envied thee thy rest ! I've read, imperial Jove of old For love transform'd himself to gold ; And why for a more lovely lass May he not now have lurk'd in brass ? O, rather than from her he'd part He'd shut that charitable heart, That heart whose goodness nothing less Than his vast power eould dispossess. From Gloriana's gentle touch Thy mighty value now is such, That thou to me art worth alone More than his medals are to Sloane. (Beor^e, %ox^ X^ttelton was born at Hagley in Worcestershire in 1709. He occupied various high positions in the State, including that of Chancellor of the Exchequer. In 1757 he was raised to the peerage, and a year or two afterwards with- drew himself from public affairs. In early life he entertained sceptical opinions, but his later work shows the re-establishment of his faith. He was the author of a Dissertation on the Conversion 0/ St. Paul ; Dialogues o/the Dead; Histo7y of Henry 11. ; and Poems. He died in 1773. To him that in an hour must die To him that in an hour must die, Not swifter seems that hour to fly, Than slow the minutes seem to me Which keep me from the sight of thee. No more that trembling wretch would give Another day or year to live. Than I to shorten what remains Of that long hour which thee detains. Oh ! come to my impatient arms, Oh ! come with all thy heavenly charms. At once to justify and pay The pain I feel from this delay. 203 Samuel ?obnson The writings of Johnson have been so frequently quoted in this volume, that litttle remains to be said here. He was born in Lichfield in 1709, and completed his education at Oxford. Early in life he drifted to London with his friend David Garrick. He was involved in much literary drudgery, from which release came tardily. For his Dictionary of the English Language, which appeared in 1755, he was paid ;ii57S, a trifling return for the work it entailed and the expense it involved. He remained, therefore, in poor circumstances, but he was happily relieved by a pension of £'ioo. In 1773 he visited Scotland in company with Boswell, and a diary of the tour was published. In 1775 Oxford conferred upon him the degree of LL.D., and in 1779 he composed his Lives o/the Poets. He died in 1784. An Ode to Stella Whether Stella's eyes are found Fix'd on earth or glancing round, If her face with pleasure glow, If she sigh at others' woe, If her easy air express Conscious worth, or soft distress, Stella's eyes, and air, and face. Charm with undiminish'd grace. If on her we see display 'd Pendant gems and rich brocade. If her chintz with less expense Flows in easy negligence ; 204 Samuel ^obnson Still she lights the conscious flame, Still her charms appear the same. If she strikes the vocal strings, If she's silent, speaks, or sings. If she sit, or if she move. Still we love, and still approve. Vain the casual, transient glance, Which alone can please by chance. Beauty, which depends on art. Changing with the changing art, Which demands the toilet's aid. Pendant gems and rich brocade. I those charms alone can prize. Which from constant nature rise, Which nor circumstance, nor dress, E'er can make or more or less. 205 IRicbart) 5a^o was born in Warwickshire in 1715, and in 1771 he was presented to the rectory of Kimcote in Leicestershire. He wrote a poem called Edge Hill. He died in 1781. Absence With leaden foot time creeps along While Delia is away, With her, nor plaintive was the song, Nor tedious was the day. Ah ! envious power 1 reverse my doom, Now double thy career ; Strain every nerve, stretch every plume, And rest them when she's here. 2o6 Milliam MbftebeaO succeeded CoUey Gibber as poet laureate after the post had been declined by Gray. He was the son of a baker in Gambridge, where he was born in 1715. He was the author of several elegant poems as well as some dramatic pieces. He died in 1785. The Double Conquest Of music, and of beauty's power, I doubted much and doubted long ; The fairest face a gaudy flower, An empty sound the sweetest song. But when her voice Clarinda rais'd. And sung so sweet, and smil'd so gay. At once I listen'd, and I gaz'd ; And heard, and look'd my soul away. To her, of all his beauteous train, This wondrous power had Love assign'd, A Double Conquest to obtain, And cure at once the deaf and blind. 207 Samuel Bisbop was the author of some miscellaneous essays and poems, the best of the latter being addressed to his wife. Mr. Locker-Lampson says of him, ' Had he lived in the nineteenth instead of the eighteenth century, he would probably have shown his good sense by being an enthusiastic reader of Mr. Coventry Patmore.' Bishop was a clergyman and master of the Merchant Taylors' School. He was born in 1731, and died in 1795. To his Wife ON THE SIXTEENTH ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING-DAY, WITH A RING 'Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed,' So sixteen years ago I said — Behold another ring ! * for what ? ' To wed thee o'er again — why not ? With the first ring I married youth, Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth ; Taste long admired, sense long revered, And all my Molly then appear'd. If she, by merit since disclosed. Prove twice the woman I supposed, I plead that double merit now. To justify a double vow. Here then to-day, with faith as sure, With ardour as intense and pure, 208 Samuel asisbop As when amidst the rites divine I took thy troth, and plighted mine, To thee, sweet girl, my second ring, A token and a pledge I bring ; With this I wed, till death us part, Thy riper virtues to my heart ; Those virtues which, before untried. The wife has added to the bride — Those virtues, whose progressive claim, Endearing wedlock's very name, My soul enjoys, my song approves, For conscience' sake as well as love's. For why ? They teach me hour by hour Honour's high thought, affection's power, Discretion's deed. Sound judgment's sentence. And teach me all things — but repentance. 209 MilUam Cowpec was born at the rectory of Great Berkhampstead in 1731, and was educated at Westminster School. He studied for the bar, and was called in 1754. He was, however, of too nervous and highly sensitive a temperament to practise, and the prospect of an examination by the House of Lords, as to his fitness for a post to which he had been presented, drove him to madness. When he left the lunatic asylum, he gave up all idea of exercising his profession, and retired upon a small allowance from members of his family. He lived in quietness with the Rev. Mr. Unwin and his wife, and after the death of Mr. Unwin he removed with Mrs. Unwin to Olney in Buckinghamshire. An acquaintanceship sprang up between them and Lady Austen, by whom the story of John Gilpin was told to Cowper. Mrs. Unwin ultimately became jealous of the in- fluence of Lady Austen, and at her request Cowper asked Lady Austen not to return to Olney. Later, Cowper's life was again overshadowed by his old infirmity. His last work was a translation of Homer into blank verse. He died in 1800. Cowper wrote little which could with absolute and perfect suitability be included in a volume of amatorial verse ; but I have ventured to give some varying examples of his treat- ment of love. Here is the introduction to one of his poems : — What is there in the vale of life Half so delightful as a wife, When friendship, love, and peace combine To stamp the marriage-bond divine? The stream of pure and genuine love Derives its current from above ; And earth a second Eden shows, Where'er the healing water flows. But Cowper could deal with the theme in a facetious vein : — If John marries Mary, and Mary alone, 'Tis a very good match between Mary and John. Should John wed a score, oh, the claws and the scratches I It can't be a match— 'tis a bundle of matches. 210 XClUUam Cowpct A Comparison ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY Sweet stream that winds through yonder glade, Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — Silent and chaste she steals along, Far from the world's gay busy throng ; With gentle yet prevailing force, Intent upon her destined course ; Graceful and useful all she does, Blessing and blest where'er she goes. Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass. And heaven reflected in her face. Delia Oh ! to some distant scene, a willing exile From the wild roar of this busy world. Were it my fate with Delia to retire, With her to wander through the sylvan shade, Each morn, or o'er the moss-embrowned turf. Where, blest as the prime parents of mankind In their own Eden, we would envy none, But, greatly pitying whom the world calls happy, Gently spin out the silken thread of life ! Cbatles 2)fb&(n the famous author of some thousand sea songs, was born at Southamp- ton in 1745. He was intended for the church, but took to music and the stage, for which he had strong inclination and great natural talent. He died in 1814. If 'tis Love to wish you near If 'tis love to wish you near, To tremble when the wind I hear, Because at sea you floating rove ; If of you to dream at night, To languish when you're out of sight, — If this be loving, then I love. If, when you're gone, to count each hour. To ask of every tender power That you may kind and faithful prove, If, void of falsehood and deceit, I feel a pleasure when we meet, — If this be loving, then I love. To wish your fortune to partake, Determined never to forsake, Though low in poverty we strove j If, so that me your wife you'd call, I offer you my little all, — If this be loving, then I love. mtlUam Blafte designer, painter, engraver, and poet, was born in London in 1757, and died there in 1827. Cupid Why was Cupid a boy, And why a boy was he ? He should have been a girl, For aught that I can see. For he shoots with his bow, And the girl shoots with her eye ; And they both are merry and glad, And laugh when we do cry. Then to make Cupid a boy Was surely a woman's plan, For a boy never learns so much Till he has become a man : And then he's so pierced with cares, And wounded with arrowy smarts. That the whole business of his life Is to pick out the heads of the darts. 213 MilUam Morbswortb was born at Cockermouth in 1770. Early in life Coleridge and Words- worth became friends, and in 1798 a.ppea.red Lyrical Ballads (o{ which a fac-simile was issued by Professor Dowden, iSgo). Coleridge con- tributed his Ancient Mariner, and Wordsworth a number of shorter poems, the most popular among them being IFe are Seven. The issue of this volume is regarded as an epoch in the history of English literature. Wordsworth freed himself of the influence of previous generations, became a poet of nature, and, attracted, no doubt, by the methods of Burns, or rather his total disregard for all conventional forms, adopted that simplicity of style for which ever afterwards he sought and perhaps sometimes even strained. His career was comparatively uneventful. He lived in the English Lake district, and contented himself with 'plain living and high thinking.' In 1843 he succeeded another ' Lake poet,' Southey, as poet laureate, and died at Rydal in 1850. Some of the ' simple ' poetry of Wordsworth has received a full measure of ridicule. Byron spoke of his ' trash,' Home of many of his poems as ' trivial or puerile' ; but there is no mistaking the admiration his work has evoked from most competent critics. 'I believe,' says Coleridge, 'that mighty voice has not been poured out in vain ; that there are hearts that have received into their inmost depths all its varying tones ; and that even now there are many to whom the name of Wordsworth calls up the recollection of their weakness, and the consciousness of their strength.' A later critic, Matthew Arnold, says, ' I firmly believe that the poetical performance of Wordsworth is, after that of Shakespeare and Milton, of which all the world now recognises the worth, undoubtedly the most considerable in our language from the Elizabethan age to the present time ' ; the critic believing that the work of Wordsworth will finally stand above Spenser, Dryden, Burns, Coleridge, Byron, Shelley, and Keats ; for, ' taking the performance of each as a whole, I say that Wordsworth seems to me to have left a body of poetical work superior in power, interest, in the qualities which give enduring freshness, to that which anyone of the others has left.' 214 •CQKUiam "CdorOswortb She was a Phantom of Deh'ght She was a Phantom of delight When first she gleamed upon my sight ; A lovely Apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament ; Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair ; Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair ; But all things else about her drawn From May-time and the cheerful Dawn ; A dancing Shape, an Image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. I saw her upon nearer view, A Spirit, yet a Woman too ! Her household motions light and free, And steps of virgin liberty ; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet ; A Creature not too bright or good For human nature's daily food ; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. And now I see with eye serene The very pulse of the machine ; A Being breathing thoughtful breath, A Traveller betwixt life and death ; i6 215 3Love Songs The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill, A perfect Woman, nobly planned. To warn, to comfort, and command ; And yet a Spirit still, and bright With something of an angel light. She Dwelt among Untrodden Ways She dwelt among the untrodden ways Beside the springs of Dove, A Maid whom there were none to praise, And very few to love. A Violet by a mossy stone Half-hidden from the eye ! — Fair as a star, when only one Is shining in the sky. She lived unknown, and few could know When Lucy ceased to be ; But she is in her grave, and, oh, The difference to me ! I Travelled among Unknown Men I TRAVELLED among unknown men, In lands beyond the sea ; Nor, England ! did I know till then What love I bore to thee. 216 "HCltUlam imorDswoctb 'Tis past, that melancholy dremi 1 Nor will I quit thy shore A second time ; for still I seem To love thee more and more. Among thy mountains did I feel The joy of my desire ; And she I cherished turned her wheel Beside an English fire. Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed The bowers where Lucy played ; And thine is too the last green field That Lucy's eyes surveyed. 217 Ubomas BibDin In a minor way both Thomas and Charles, sons of the famous author of Tom Bowling, distinguished themselves in the preparation of popular entertainments in London. Thomas, the author of this song,- was born in 1771, and died in 1841. The Lover's Promise The sun its bright rays may withhold, love, Unreflected the moonbeams may be ; But ne'er, till this bosom is cold, love, Shall its pulse throb for any but thee : For thou art the joy of my heart, love, Thy beauties all beauty outvie ; And ere with thine image I'll part, love, Thy lover, thy husband, would die. The spring's lovely verdure may turn, love, To autumn's sad colourless hue ; The winter like summer may burn, love. Ere my ardour it lessens for you : For thou art the joy, etc. 218 Samuel Ua^lor Colerlb^e poet, philosopher and metaphysician, the greatest genius, it may be, since Shakespeare, certainly the largest, deepest, and most ineffectual genius of this century, was born at Ottery St. Mary in Devonshire in 1772. His career opened with great wealth of promise, and when its eventful course closed in London in 1834, only a small measure of his life-work was done. Coleridge was conscious of this, and li'ork ■without Hope, and Youth and Age are poems touchingly expressive of his sense of lost opportunities. ' He is,' said De Quincey, ' the largest and most spacious intellect, the subtlest and most comprehensive that has yet existed among men." Landor said, 'Impiety to Shake- speare! treason to Milton I I give up all the rest, even Bacon. Certainly, since their day we have had nothing comparable with him. Byron and Scott were but as gun-flints to a granite mountain.' But Coleridge had no popular sympathies. He himself wrote : ' I expect neither profit nor general fame by my writings ; and I consider myself as having been amply repaid without either. Poetry has been to me its own "exceeding great reward " ; it has soothed my affliction, it has multiplied and refined my enjoyments, it has endeared solitude, and it has given me the habit of wishing to discover the good and beautiful in all that meets and surrounds me." Names I ASKED my fair one happy day, What I should call her in my lay ; By what sweet name from Rome or Greece ; Lalage, Ne3era, Chloris, Sappho, Lesbia, or Doris, Arelhusa or Lucrece. 219 Xove Songs 'Ah !' replied my gentle fair, 'Beloved, what are names but air? Choose thou whatever suits the line ; Call me Sappho, call me Chloris, Call me Lalage or Doris, Only, only call me thine.' Love's Burial Place Lady. — If love be dead — Poet. — And I aver it ! Lady. — Tell me, Bard, where love lies buried. Poet. — Love lies buried where 'twas born : Oh, gentle dame ! think it no scorn If, in my fancy, I presume To call thy bosom poor love's tomb, And on that tomb to read the line, — ' Here lies a love that once seem'd mine, But took a chill, as I divine, And died at length of a decline.' L^Envoy In vain we supplicate the Powers above ; There is no resurrection for the love That, nursed in tenderest care, yet fades away In the chill'd heart by gradual self-decay. Samuel tlagloc ColertDge Glycine A SUNNY shaft did I behold, From sky to earth it slanted, And pois'd therein a Bird so bold — Sweet bird ! thou wert enchanted I He sank, he rose, he twinkled, troU'd, Within that shaft of sunny mist : His eyes of Fire, his beak of Gold, All else of Amethyst ! And thus he sang : Adieu ! Adieu ! Love's dreams prove seldom true. Sweet month of May ! we must away Far, far away ! To-day ! to-day ! Not at Home That Jealousy may rule a mind Where Love could never be, I know ; but ne'er expect to find Love without Jealousy. She has a strange cast in her e'e, A swart sour-visaged maid, — But yet Love's own twin-sister she, His house-mate and his shade 221 Xove Songs Ask for her and she'll be denied : — What then ? they only mean Their mistress has lain down to sleep, And can't just then be seen. Farewell to Love Farewell, sweet Love ! yet blame you not my truth ; More fondly ne'er did mother eye her child Than I your form : yours were my hopes of youth, And as you shaped my thoughts, I sighed or smiled. "While most were wooing wealth, or gaily swerving To pleasure's secret haunt, and some apart Stood strong in pride, self conscious of deserving, To you I gave my whole weak wishing heart ; And when I met the maid that realised Your fair creations, and had won her kindness, Say but for her if aught on earth I prized ! Your dreams alone I dreamt, and caught your blindness. O grief — but farewell, Love ! I will go play me With thoughts that please me less, and less betray me. To a Lady 'Tis not the lily brow I prize, Nor roseate cheeks, nor sunny eyes, — Enough of lilies and of roses ! A thousand fold more dear to me The look that gentle love discloses, — That look which Love alone can see. 222 Samuel ^ra^Ior Coleri&ge Love All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, Are all but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I Live o'er again that happy hour. When midway on the mount I lay, Beside the ruined tower. The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene, Had blended with the lights of eve ; And she was there, my hope, my joy, My own dear Genevieve ! She leaned against the armed man. The statue of the armed knight ; She stood and listened to my lay, Amid the lingering light. Few sorrows hath she of her own. My hope ! my joy ! my Genevieve ; She loves me best whene'er I sing The songs that make her grieve. I played a soft and doleful air, I sang an old and moving story — An old rude song, that suited well That ruin wild and hoary. 223 Xove Songs She listened with a flitting blush, With downcast eyes and modest grace For well she knew I could not choose But gaze upon her face. I told her of the Knight that wore Upon his shield a burning brand ; And that for ten long years he wooed The Lady of the Land. I told her how he pined : and ah ! The deep, the low, the pleading tone With which I sang another's love Interpreted my own. She listened with a flitting blush. With downcast eyes, and modest grace ; And she forgave me, that I gazed Too fondly on her face ! But when I told the cruel scorn That crazed that bold and lovely Knight, And that he crossed the mountain- woods. Nor rested day nor night ; That sometimes from the savage den, And sometimes from the darksome shade, And sometimes starting up at once In green and sunny glade, — 224 Samuel ^aglor Colerioge There came and looked him in the face An angel beautiful and bright ; And that he knew it was a Fiend, This miserable Knight ! And that, unknowing what he did, He leaped amid a murderous band, And saved from outrage worse than death The Lady of the Land ; — And how she wept, and clasped his knees ; And how she tended him in vain — And ever strove to expiate The scorn that crazed his brain ; — And that she nursed him in a cave ; And how his madness went away, When on the yellow forest-leaves A dying man he lay ; — His dying words — but when I reached That tenderest strain of all the ditty. My faltering voice and pausing harp Disturbed her soul with pity ! All impulses of soul and sense Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve ; The music and the doleful tale. The rich and balmy eve ; 225 Xove Songe And hopes, and fears that kindle hope, An undistinguishable throng, And gentle wishes long subdued, Subdued and cherished long I She wept with pity and delight. She blushed with love, and virgin shame ; And, like the murmur of a dream, I heard her breathe my name. Her bosom heaved — she stepped aside. As conscious of my look she stept — Then suddenly, with timorous eye, She fled to me and wept. She half inclosed me with her arms, She pressed me with a meek embrace ; And, bending back her head, looked up. And gazed upon my face. 'Twas partly love, and partly fear. And partly 'twas a bashful art. That I might rather feel, than see. The swelling of her heart. I calmed her fears, and she was calm. And told her love with virgin pride ; And so I won my Genevieve, My bright and beauteous Bride. 226 Samuel Q;a^Ior ColeclDfic Love is a Sword Tho' veiled in spires of myrtle wreath, Love is a sword that cuts its sheath, And thro' the clefts itself has made We spy the flashes of the blade ! But thro' the clefts itself had made We likewise see Love's flashing blade By rust consumed or snapt in twain : And only hilt and stump remain. 225? /Iftattbew (Bregor^ Xewls was the author of a novel called Ainhrosio ; or, the Monk (1795)) which was so full of the horrible and weird that it had to be expurgated before it could be generally circulated. ' Monk ' Lewis, as he was called, was born in 1775 and died in 1818. I never could love till now When I gazed on a beautiful face, Or a form which my fancy approved, I was pleased with its sweetness and grace, And falsely believed that I loved. But my heart, though I strove to deceive, The imposture it would not allow ; I could look, I could like, I could leave, But I never could love — till now. Yet though I from others could rove. Now harbour no doubt of my truth. Those flames were not lighted by love. They were kindled by folly and youth. But no longer of reason bereft. On your hand, that pure altar, I vow, Though I've looked, and I've liked, and have left — That I never have loved — till now. 228 IRobert Soutbe^ was born in Bristol in 1774, and was educated first at various schools near home, and then at Westminster, entering Balliol College, Oxford, in 1792. He became acquainted with Coleridge, and out of their com- bined republicanisms came Pantisocracy, the scheme being the establish- ment of a state of society that should be free from the inequality and artificiality of existing conditions. In 1804 Southey resolved upon the profession of letters, and took up his residence on the banks of the Greta, at Keswick. In 1813 he became poet laureate, in 1821 Oxford conferred on him the degree of D.C.L. He declined a baronetcy, but in 1835 accepted a pension of £2°°- He died in 1843. A long list of works includes poetrj', biography and historj'. Southey had rather an exalted notion of his place as a poet. Love's Immortality They sin who tell us Love can die ! With life all other passions fly ; All others are but vanity. In heaven ambition cannot dwell, Nor avarice in the vaults of hell ; Earthly these passions, as of earth, They perish where they have their birth ; But Love is indestructible, Its holy flame for ever burneth, From heaven it came, to heaven returneth : For oft on earth a troubled guest. At times deceived, at times oppressed, It here is tried and purified, And hath in heaven ils perfect rest. 229 Xove Songs It soweth here with toil and care, But the harvest-time of Love is there. Oh ! when a mother meets on high The babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then, for pains and fears, The day of woe, the anxious night. For all her sorrows, all her tears, An overpayment of delight ? 230 Cbarlcs Xamb the most sincerely beloved of all English writers, was born in London in 1775. In 1796 his sister in a fit of madness killed her mother. Lamb's own reason had been unsettled, but, recovering, he renounced a youthful affection, and nobly devoted his life to the care of his sister. In the whole range of biography there is not an incident more deeply pathetic. Mary identified herself with some of her brother's work, notably Tales frovt Shakespeare. Lamb died in 1834, from the results of a slight fall. To Hester Savory When maidens such as Hester die, Their place we may not well supply, Though we among a thousand try With vain endeavour. A month or more hath she been dead, Yet cannot I by force be led To think upon the wormy bed And her together. A springy motion in her gait, A rising step, did indicate Of pride and joy no common rate That flushed her spirit : I know not by what name beside I shall it call ; if 'twas not pride. It was a joy to that allied She did inherit. 17 231 Xove Songs Her parents held the Quaker rule Which doth the human feeling cool ; But she was train'd in Nature's school, Nature had blest her. A waking eye, a prying mind, A heart that stirs, is hard to bind ; A hawk's keen sight ye cannot blind, Ye could not Hester. My sprightly neighbour ! gone before To that unknown and silent shore, Shall we not meet, as heretofore, Some summer morning — When from thy cheerful eyes a ray Hath struck a bliss upon the day, A bliss that would not go away, A sweet fore- warning? A Sonnet on Christian Names : Written in the Album of Miss Edith Southey In Christian world Mary the garland wears ! Rebecca sweetens on a Hebrew's ear ; Quakers for pure Priscilla are more clear ; And the light Gaul by amorous Ninon swears. Among the lesser lights how Lucy shines ! What air of fragrance Rosamond throws around ! How like a hymn doth sweet Cecilia sound ! Of Marthas, and of Abigails, few lines 232 Cbarles Xamb Have bragged in verse. Of coarsest household stufif Should homely Joan be fashioned. But can You Barbara resist, or Marian ? And is not Clare for love excuse enough ? Yet, by my faith in numbers, I profess, These all, than Saxon Edith, please me less. 233 TMIlalter Savage Xan&or belonged to a Warwickshire family, and was born in 1775. He devoted his literary talent first to poetry, and addressed a lady under the name of ' lanthe.' He wrote one or two plays, but his Imaginary Conversa- tions first assured his position as a man of genius. Landor had no popular sympathies, but this knowledge did not weigh with him, for he declared, ' Ten accomplished men are esteemed by me a sufficient audience.' He was self-willed and impetuous. Meeting a young lady at a ball in 1811, on the instant he determined to marry her, and he did it. He had leisure to repent and write, ' Death itself to the reflective mind is less serious than marriage.' He died in 1864. Dreams It often comes into my head That we may dream when we are dead, But I am far from sure we do. O that it were so ! then my rest Would be indeed among the blest ; I should for ever dream of you. Her Lips Often I have heard it said That her lips are ruby-red. Little heed I what they say, I have seen as red as they. Ere she smiled on other men Real rubies were they then. 234 "CQlaltcr Savage OLan&or When she kiss'd me once in play, Rubies were less bright than they, And less bright were those that shone In the palace of the Sun. Will they be as bright again ? Not if kiss'd by other men. Rose Aylmer Ah ! what avails the sceptred race ? Ah ! what the form divine ? What every virtue, every grace ? Rose Aylmer, all were thine. Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes May weep, but never see, A night of memories and of sighs I consecrate to thee. Feathers There falls with every wedding chime A feather from the wing of Time. You pick it up, and say, * How fair To look upon its colours are ! ' Another drops, day after day, Unheeded ; not one word you say : When bright and dusky are blown past, Upon the hearse there nods the last. 235 Xove Songs The Maid's Lament I LOVED him not ; and yet, now he is gone, I feel I am alone. I check'd him while he spoke ; yet could he speak, Alas ! I would not check. For reasons not to love him once I sought. And wearied all my thought To vex myself and him ; I now would give My love, could he but live Who lately lived for me, and, when he found 'Twas vain, in holy ground He hid his face amid the shades of death. I waste for him my breath Who wasted his for me ; but mine returns, And this lorn bosom burns With stifling heat, heaving it up in sleep, And waking me to weep Tears that had melted his soft heart : for years Wept he as bitter tears. ' Merciful God ! ' — such was his latest prayer — ' These may she never share ! ' Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold Than daisies in the mould, Where children spell athwart the churchyard -gate His name and life's brief date. Pray for him, gentle souls ! whoe'er you be ; And O, pray too for me 236 Walter Savage ILanDor To a Fair Maiden Fair maiden ! when I look at thee, I wish I could be young and free ; But both at once, ah ! who could be ? I held her hand I HELD her hand, the pledge of bliss, Her hand that trembled and withdrew ; She bent her head before my kiss, My heart was sure that hers was true. Now I have told her I must part, She shakes my hand, she bids adieu, Nor shuns the kiss. Alas, my heart ! Hers never was the heart for you. Tears Mine fall, and yet a tear of hers Would swell, not soothe their pain ; Ah, if she look but at these tears. They do not fall in vain. 237 %ovc Songs Twenty years hence Twenty years hence my eyes may grow, If not quite dim, yet rather so, Yet yours from others they shall know Twenty years hence. Twenty years hence, tho' it may hap That I be call'd to take a nap In a cool cell where thunder-clap Was never heard — There breathe but o'er my arch of grass A not too-sadly sigh'd Alas, And I shall catch, ere you can pass, That winged word. While thou vvert by While thou wert by With laughing eye, I felt the glow and song of spring ; Now thou art gone I sit alone, Nor heed who smile nor hear who sing. 238 Maltcr Savage XanDor The Shortest Day The day of brightest dawn (day soonest flown !) Is that when we have met and you have gone. Sympathy in Sorrow The maid I love ne'er thought of me Amid the scenes of gaiety ; But when her heart or mine sank low, Ah, then it was no longer so. From the slant palm she raised her head, And kiss'd the cheek whence youth had fled. Angels I some future day for this, Give her as sweet and pure a kiss. The Grateful Heart The grateful heart for all things blesses ; Not only joy, but grief endears : I love you for your few caresses, I love you for your many tears. 239 Xove Songs Margaret Mother ! I cannot mind my wheel ; My fingers ache, my lips are dry. O, if you felt that pain I feel — But O, who ever felt as I ? No longer could I doubt him true : All other men may use deceit, — He always said my eyes were blue, And often swore my lips were sweet. 240 Xelob Ibunt James Henry Leigh Hunt -was born at Southgate in Middlesex in 1784. At the age of sixteen appeared Juvenalia; or, A Collection 0/ Poems written bctweeti the Ages 0/ Tweh'e and Sixteen. In 1808 he left his place at the War Office to edit The Exatniner. For an attack upon the Prince Regent he was committed to prison for two years and fined ;{Jiooo. He went to Italy in 1821 to aid Shelley and Byron in the starting of The Liberal, but Shelley died and Byron removed to Greece, and so the enterprise collapsed. Hunt remained abroad for some years, and to this period belongs his best work. In 1842 he secured a pension, in 1S50 his Autobiography ^■p-^&zxe.A, and in 1859 he died. Byron said of Hunt, ' He is an honest charlatan who has persuaded himself into a belief of his own impostures, and talks Punch in pure simplicity of heart.' Further, he says, ' Hunt is an extraordinary character, and not exactly of the present age. He reminds me much of Pym and Hampden times — much talent, great independence of spirit, and an austere, yet not repulsive, aspect.' Shelley in a dedicatory letter is much more appreci- ative. 'One more gentle, honourable, innocent, and brave ; one of more exalted toleration for all who do and think evil, and yet himself more free from evil ; one who knows better how to receive and how to confer a benefit, though he must ever confer far more than he can receive ; one of simpler, and, in the highest sense of the word, of purer life and manners, I never knew.' Jenny Kissed Me Jenny kissed me when we met. Jumping from the chair she sat in ; Time, you thief, who love to get Sweets into your list, put that in : Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, Say that health and wealth have missed me, Say I'm growing old, but add, Jenny kissed me. 241 %ove Songs Silent Kisses We'll breathe not a kiss to the tell-tale air, Nor proclaim the fond triumph for others to share, For the rose never speaks while it opes to the dew, And lovers say little whose feelings are true ; The soul-speaking eyes are the language of blisses, And we'll talk with our eyes amidst silent kisses. 'Tis silence gives soul to the beauty of night ; 'Tis silence keeps secrets, the lover's delight : The stream moves in stillness, when soft on its breast The willows' fond leaves lie in kisses at rest : The heart throbs in stillness, and we in our blisses Will honour its feeling by sweet silent kisses. Yes ; when our lips move, yet have nothing to say. And our eyes in each other's warm beam fade away, 'Tis then my heart springs up and trembles to thee, As the arrow still trembles when fix'd in the tree ; Oh, never let ear rob a part of our blisses ! Oh, all for the heart be our sweet silent kisses. A Nun If you become a nun, dear, A friar I will be ; In any cell you run, dear, Pray look behind for me. 242 Xelgb Ibunt The roses all turn pale, too ; The doves all take the veil, too ; The blind will see the show : What ! you become a nun, my dear ! I'll not believe it, no. If you become a nun, dear, The bishop Love will be ; The Cupids every one, dear. Will chaunt ' We trust in thee * : The incense will go sighing, The candles fall a dying. The water turn to wine : W' hat ! you go take the vows, my dear ! You may — but they'll be mine. To his Wife WHILE SHE WAS MODELLING THE POET'S BUST Ah, Marian mine ! the face you look on now Is not exactly like my wedding day's : Sunk is its cheek, deeper retired its gaze, Less white and smooth its temple-flatten'd brow. Sorrow has been there with his silent plough And strait stern hand. No matter ! if it raise Aught that affection fancies it may praise, Or makes me worthier of Apollo's bough. 243 %ovc Songs Loss after all, such loss especially, Is transfer, change, but not extinction. No Part in our children's apple-cheeks I see ; And for the rest, — while you look at me so, Take care you do not smile it back to me, And miss the copied furrows as you go ! 244 Ibenr^ Tkfrl^e Mbfte was the son of a Nottingham butcher, and was born In 1785. At the age of fifteen he entered the ofiSce of a solicitor. In 1802 a little volume of verse appeared, and a cruel review led to a friendship with Southey. Leaving the lawyer's office, the youth commenced a systematic study, and he was actually preparing for examination at Cambridge in 1805, when his delicate constitution sank under the strain. Why should I blush to own I love? Why should I blush to own I love ? 'Tis love that rules the realms above ; Why should I blush to say to all That Virtue holds my heart in thrall ? Why should I seek the thickest shade. Lest Love's dear secret be betrayed ? Why the stern brow deceitful move, When I am languishing with love ? Is it weakness thus to dwell On passion that I dare not tell ? Such weakness I would ever prove — 'Tis painful, though 'tis sweet to love. 245 Ubomas %ovc peacocPi was born at Weymouth in 1785. His first noteworthy literary efforts were volumes of verse, one of which introduced him to the notice of Shelley. As a novelist he worked on rather unique lines. He had hardly any plot, and there was little attempt at character-drawing, but he largely atoned for these deficiencies by sparkling wit and good sense. He was in the East India Company's Service for many years. He died in i856. Charles Mackay says this song is sometimes erroneously attributed to Howard Payne. Oh ! say not woman's heart is bought Oh ! say not woman's heart is bought With vain and empty treasure. Oh ! say not woman's heart is caught By every idle pleasure. When first her gentle bosom knows Love's flame, it wanders never ; Deep in her heart the passion glows, She loves, and loves for ever. Oh ! say not woman's false as fair, That like the bee she ranges ! Still seeking flowers more sweet and rare, As fickle fancy changes. Ah ! no, the love that first can warm Will leave her bosom never ; No second passion e'er can charm. She loves, and loves for ever. 246 Mavv^ Cornwall This was the pseudonym of Bryan Walter Procter, who was born in London in 1787, and educated at Harrow, where Byron was his school- fellow. He is chiefly remembered as the author of a considerable body of songs (notable for the most part for their simplicity and pathos), and a memoir of Charles Lamb, published in 1866. Latterly he had troops of friends, attracted partly by the generous and unenvious disposition of the aged poet. His later life was further cheered by the fame achieved by his daughter, Adelaide Anne Procter (1825-1B64), whose songs aroused the interest of Dickens. He died in 1874. Love me if I live Love me if I live ; Love me if I die ; What to me is life or death, So that thou be nigh ? Once I loved thee rich, Now I love thee poor ; Ah ! what is there I could not For thy sake endure ? Kiss me for my love ! Pay me for my pain ! Come ! and murmur in my ear How thou lov'st again. 18 247 %ovc BonQS Is my lover on the sea ? Is my lover on the sea, Sailing east or sailing west? Nightly ocean, gentle be, Rock him into rest ! Let no angry wind arise, Nor a wave with whitened crest ; All be gentle as his eyes When he is caressed ! Bear him (as the breeze above Bears the bird unto its nest) Here, — unto his home of love. And there bid him rest ! I love him I LOVE him, I dream of him, I sing of him by day ; And all the night I hear him talk, — And yet he's far away. There's beauty in the morning, There's sweetness in the May, There's music in the running stream ; And yet he's far away. 248 asarre Cornwall I love him, I trust in him ; He trusteth me alway : And so the time flies hopefully, Although he's far away. 249 Xort) Bi^ton George Noel Gordon Byron was born in London in 1788. The dissolute conduct of his father brought about the separation of his parents, the poet living with his mother in Aberdeen. In 1798 Byron's grand-uncle, Lord Byron, died at Newstead Abbey, and the boy of ten succeeded to the title. Various efforts were made for the boy's early education but the mother, quick-tempered and self-willed, upset the plans of his guardian, Lord Carlisle. Byron then went to Harrow, and proceeded to Cambridge in 1805. His first speech in the House of Lords was delivered in 1812, and the reception it obtained was most encouraging. Two days later Childe Harold {C3.nX.0i i. and ii.) appeared. Moore says, ' The effect was electric,' and Byron himself tersely de- scribed it : ' I awoke one morning and found myself famous.' Thereafter he was the idol of society. In 1815 he married, but within a year Lady Byron separated from him. Here is a picture of Byron {Memoir o/John Murray, 1891, i. 267): 'Lord Byron appeared to me rather a short man, with a handsome countenance, remarkable for the fine blue veins which ran over his pale, marble temples. He wore many rings on his fingers, and a brooch in his shirt front, which was embroidered. . . . Lord BjTon's deformity in his foot was very evident, especially as he walked down-stairs. He carried a stick. After Scott and he had ended their conversation in the drawing-room, it was a curious sight to see the two greatest poets of the age — both lame — stumping down-stairs side by side.' Byron lived much abroad, and died in 1824. Maid of Athens, ere we part Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh, give me back my heart ! Or, since that has left my breast. Keep it now, and take the rest ! Hear my vow before I go, Zain fioZ, ffsis aya'Sai. * * ' Romaic expressions of tenderness : If I translate it, I shall affront the gentlemen, as it may seem that I supposed they could not ; and if I 250 XorO 33^von By those tresses unconfined, Wooed by each ^^gean wind ; By those Uds whose jetty fringe Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge ; By those wild eyes like the roe, Zuti f^ov, (ras ayaTu, By that lip I long to taste ; By that zone-encircled waist ; By all the token-flowers * that tell What words can never speak so well ; By love's alternate joy and woe, Xuvt fn-ou^ ras ci.ya.-jru. Maid of Athens ! I am gone : Think of me, sweet ! when alone. Though I fly to Istambol,t Athens holds my heart and soul : Can I cease to love thee ? No ! 'Zuin /*af, ffSf kyccww, do not, I may affront the ladies. For fear of any misconstruction on the part of the latter, I shall do so, begging pardon of the learned. It means, " My life, I love you ! ' which sounds very pretty in all languages, and is as much in fashion in Greece at this day, as, Juvenal tells us, the two first words were amongst the Roman ladies, whose erotic expressions were all Hellenized.' * ' In the East, (where ladies are not taught to write, lest they should scribble assignations), flowers, cinders, pebbles, etc., convey the senti- ments of the parties, by that universal deputy of Mercury— an old woman. A cinder says, "I burn for thee"; a bunch of flowers tied with hair, " Take me and fly " ; but a pebble declares— what nothing else can.' t Constantinople. 251 %ox>c songs To Woman Woman ! experience might have told me That all must love thee who behold thee ; Surely experience might have taught, Thy firmest promises are naught ; But, placed in all thy charms before me. All I forget, but to adore thee. Oh, Memory ! thou choicest blessing, When join'd with hope, when still possessing ; But how much cursed by every lover, When hope is fled, and passion's over ! Woman, that fair and fond deceiver, How prompt are striplings to believe her I How throbs the pulse when first we view The eye that rolls in glossy blue. Or sparkles black, or mildly throws A beam from under hazel brows ! How quick we credit every oath, And hear her plight the willing troth i Fondly we hope 'twill last for aye, When, lo ! she changes in a day. This record will for ever stand, Woman ! thy vows are traced in sand.' * * The last line is almost a literal translation from a Spanish proverb. 252 XorD JSgron She walks in Beauty She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress Or softly lightens o'er her face, Where thoughts serenely sweet express How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow. But tell of days in goodness spent, — A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent. To Thyrza And thou art dead ! as young and fair As aught of mortal birth ; And form so soft, and charms so rare. Too soon return'd to Earth. 253 Xove SorxQs Though Earth received them in her bed, And o'er the spot the crowd may tread In carelessness of mirth, There is an eye which could not brook A moment on that grave to look. I will not ask where thou liest low, Nor gaze upon the spot ; There flowers or weeds at will may grow, So I behold them not : It is enough for me to prove That what I loved, and long must love, Like common earth can rot. To me there needs no stone to tell 'Tis Nothing that I loved so well. Yet did I love thee to the last, As fervently as thou. Who didst not change through all the past. And canst not alter now. The love where Death has set his seal. Nor age can chill, nor rival steal. Nor falsehood disavow ; And, what were worse, thou canst not see Or wrong, or change, or fault in me. The better days of life were ours, The worst can be but mine ; The sun that cheers, the storm that lours Shall never more be thine : 254 XorO JBsron The silence of that dreamless sleep I envy now too much to weep ; Nor need I to repine That all those charms have pass'd away, I might have watch'd through long decay. The flower in ripen'd bloom unmatch'd Must fall the earliest prey ; Though by no hand untimely snatch'd, The leaves must drop away : And yet it were a greater grief To watch it withering leaf by leaf, Than see it plucked to-day, — Since earthly eye but ill can bear To trace the change to foul from fair. I wot not if I could have borne To see thy beauties fade : The night that follow'd such a morn Had worn a deeper shade. Thy day without a cloud hath pass'd, And thou wert lovely to the last, Extinguished, not decay'd ; As stars that shoot along the sky Shine brightest as they fall from high. As once I wept — if I could weep, My tears might well be shed. To think I was not near to keep One vigil o'er thy bed ; 255 Xove Songs To gaze, how fondly ! on thy face, To fold thee in a faint embrace. Uphold thy drooping head, And show that love, however vain, Nor thou nor I can feel again. Yet how much less it were to gain (Though thou hast left me free) The loveliest things that still remain. Than thus remember thee : The all of thine that cannot die Through dark and dread Eternity Returns again to me ; And more thy buried love endears Than aught, except its living years. On Parting The kiss, dear maid 1 thy lip has left Shall never part from mine. Till happier hours restore the gift Untainted back to thine. Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, An equal love may see : The tear that from thine eyelid streams Can weep no change in me. 256 XorD JBsron I ask no pledge to make me blest In gazing when alone ; Nor one memorial for a breast Whose thoughts are all thine own. Nor need I write— to tell the tale My pen were doubly weak : Oh ! what can idle words avail, Unless the heart could speak ? By day or night, in weal or woe, That heart, no longer free, Must bear the love it cannot show. And silent ache for thee. The Girl of Cadiz Oh never talk again to me Of northern climes and British ladies ; It has not been your lot to see. Like me, the lovely Girl of Cadiz. Although her eye be not of blue. Nor fair her locks like English lasses, How far its own expressive hue The languid azure eye surpasses ! 257 %ovc Songs Prometheus-like, from heaven she stole The fire, that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll, From eyes that cannot hide their flashes : And as along her bosom steal In lengthen'd flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel. And curl'd to give her neck caresses. Our English maids are long to woo, And frigid even in possession ; And if their charms be fair to view, Their lips are slow at love's confession : But, born beneath a brighter sun. For love ordain'd the Spanish maid is, And who — when fondly, fairly won — Enchants you like the Girl of Cadiz ? The Spanish maid is no coquette, Nor joys to see her lover tremble, And if she love, or if she hate, Alike she knows not to dissemble. Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold — Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely ; And, though it will not bend to gold, 'Twill love you long and love you dearly. 258 The Spanish girl that meets your love Ne'er taunts you with a mock denial, For every thought is bent to prove Her passion in the hour of trial. When thronging foemen menace Spain, She dares the deed and shares the danger ; And should her lover press the plain, She hurls the spear, her love's avenger. And when, beneath the evening star. She mingles in the gay Bolero, Or sings to her attuned guitar Of Christian knight or Moorish hero Or counts her beads with fairy hand Beneath the twinkling rays of Hesper, Or joins devotion's choral band, To chaunt the sweet and hallow'd Vesper In each her charms the heart must move, Of all who venture to behold her ; Then let not maids less fair reprove Because her bosom is not colder : Through many a clime 'tis mine to roam. Where many a soft and melting maid is, But none abroad and few at home May match the dark-eyed Girl of Cadiz. 259 was born at Field Place, near Horsham, in 1792. In his school-days he distinguished himself as an author, but a tract called The Necessity of Atheism led to his expulsion from Oxford in 181 1. Shelley was engaged to his cousin, but the engagement was cancelled. He seems to have been genuinely affected by this event, but within six months he eloped with Harriet Westbrook, the daughter of a retired coffee-house pro- prietor. There was more chivalry than love on the part of Shelley, for Harriet, though a pretty and agreeable girl, seems to have aroused his sympathies in a large degree by a desire to free her from an oppressive home life. They were an ill-matched pair. Harriet had no understanding of the artistic yearnings of the young poet, nor of his notions for the better- ment of mankind. They parted, Shelley finding a congenial and helpful companion in Mary Godwin, a woman of rare powers. Harriet was in despair, and ultimately drowned herself. Then Shelley and Mary married. A life full of incident, brief, but productive of a vast amount of great and enduring work, closed in 1822, when the poet was drowned. Love's Philosophy The fountains mingle with the river. And the river with the ocean, The winds of heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion Nothing in the world is single I All things, by a law divine, In another's being mingle — Why not I with thine ? 260 Ipcrci3 assssbe Sbelleg See the mountains kiss high heaven, And the waves clasp one another ; No sister flower would be forgiven If it disdained its brother : And the sunlight clasps the earth, And the moonbeams kiss the sea ; What are all those kissings worth, If thou kiss not me? Lines to an Indian Air I ARISE from dreams of thee, In the first sweet sleep of night, \Vhen the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright ; I arise from dreams of thee. And a spirit in my feet Has led me — who knows how ? — To thy chamber window, sweet. The wandering airs they faint On the dark and silent stream, The Champak odours fail Like sweet thoughts in a dream. The nightingale's complaint It dies upon her heart. As I must upon thine, O beloved as thou art ! 261 Xove Songa O lift me from the grass ! I die, I faint, I fail ; Let thy love in kisses rain On my lips and eyelids pale. My cheek is cold and white alas ! My heart beats loud and fast ; Oh ! press it close to thine again, Where it will break at last. Good-night Good-night? ah ! no ; the hour is ill Which severs those it should unite ; Let us remain together still, Then it will be Good-night. How can I call the lone night good, Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight ? Be it not said, thought, understood. That it will be Good-night. To hearts which near each other move From evening close to morning light. The night is good ; because, my Love, They never say Good-night. 262 jfelicia Borotbea Ibemans nee Browne, the daughter of a Liverpool merchant, was born in 1793. Her first book appeared when she was only fourteen years of age, and in some quarters it was severely criticised. In 1812 she married Captain Hemans, but the union was not a happy one, and they separated in 1818. Besides a large body of verse, Mrs. Hemans made some translations. Her later works consisted of hymns and sonnets. She suffered from palpitation of the heart, and in 1835 she died. 'That holy spirit, sweet as the spring, as ocean deep,' says Wordsworth ; but Sir Walter Scott is more critical : ' Mrs. Hemans is somewhat too poetical for my taste — too many flowers, I mean, and too little fruit ; but that may be the cynical criticism of an elderly gentleman.' Oh ! if thou wilt not give thine heart Oh ! if thou wilt not give thine heart, Give back mine own to me, Or bid thine image thence depart, And leave me lone, but free. Yet no ! this mournful love of mine I would not from me cast ! Let me but dream 'twill win me thine By its deep truth at last. Can aught so fond, so faithful live Through years without reply ? Oh ! if thine heart thou wilt not give, Give me a thought, a sigh ! 19 263 5obn fteats The promising career of this great poet was curtailed by misfortunes, by sickness, and by early death, and it is said (though the statement is disputed) that the savagery which was the leading feature of the reviews of some of his best work bent his spirit, and, acting on a very delicate constitution, hastened his end. Joseph Severn, the painter, was his faithful friend, and together they lie buried in the Protestant cemetery at Rome. Keats also included among his friends Charles Wells, Leigh Hunt, and Shelley. He was born in 1795, and died in 1821. On a Picture of Leander Come hither, all sweet maidens soberly, Down-looking aye, and with a chasten'd light, Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white, And meekly let your fair hands joined be, As if so gentle that ye could not see, Untouch'd, a victim of your beauty bright. Sinking away to his young spirit's night, Sinking bewilder'd 'mid the dreary sea : 'Tis young Leander toiling to his death ; Nigh swooning, he doth purse his weary lips For Hero's cheek, and smiles against her smile. O horrid dream I see how his body dips Dead heavy ; arms and shoulders gleam awhile. He's gone ; up bubbles all his amorous breath. 264 5obn 'fftcats The Day is Gone The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone ! Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone, Bright eyes, accomplish'd shape and lang'rous waist Faded the flower and all its budded charms, Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes, Faded the shape of beauty from my arms, Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise — Vanish'd unseasonably at shut of eve. When the dusk holiday — or holinight Of fragrant-curtain'd love begins to weave The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight ; But, as I've read love's missal through to-day. He'll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray. Keats's Last Sonnet Written on a blank page of the Poems of Shakespeaj'e, facing * A Lover's Complaint' - Bright star ! would I were steadfast as thou art — Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite, 265 Xove Song0 The moving waters at their priest-like task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask Of snow upon the mountains and the moors.— No — yet still steadfast, still unchangeable, Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell, Awake for ever in a sweet unrest ; Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever — or else swoon to death. 266 Ibartle^ Colettt)ac the son of Samuel Taylor Coleridge, was born in 1796. He was educated first in Cumberland, proceeding to Oxford in 1815. He was elected to a fellowship at Oriel College, but was deprived of the place within a year. He was of a highly sensitive temperament, and his dismissal was the turning-point to failure in his life. He occasionally wrote magazine articles, and in 1832 made for a publisher in Leeds his Worthies of Yorkshire. Appended is one of his best-known songs. She is not fair to outward view She is not fair to outward view, As many maidens be ; Her loveliness I never knew Until she smiled on me ! Oh, then I saw her eye was bright — A well of love, a spring of light. But now her looks are coy and cold, To mine they ne'er reply ; And yet I cease not to behold The love-light in her eye : Her very frowns are sweeter far Than smiles of other maidens are. 267 5obn Ibamllton IRe^nolDs was a brother-in-law of Thomas Hood. Together they wrote Odes and Addresses to Great People (1825). Reynolds was a notable man of letters, wrote for the reviews, and defended Keats against the abuse with which he was assailed. He was born in 1796, and at the time of his death, in 1852, he was clerk of the County Court of the Isle of Wight. Go where the water glideth gently ever Go where the water glideth gently ever, Glideth by meadows that the greenest be ; Go, listen to our beloved river : And think of me ! Wander in forests where the small flower layeth Its fairy gem beside the giant tree ; Listen the dim brook pining while it playeth : And think of me ! Watch when the sky is silver pale at even, And the wind grieveth in the lonely tree ; Go out beneath the solitary heaven ! And think of me ! And when the moon riseth as she were dreaming, And treadeth with white feet the lulled sea, Go, silent as a star beneath her beaming, And think of me ! 268 Xlbomas Iba^nes Ba^l^ was the author of a great body of songs, dramas, and tales. Some of his songs, notably ' I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower,' attained tremendous success, and, in a lesser degree, ' She wore a wreath of Roses,' ' We met : 'twas in a crowd.' Bayly was born at Bath in 1797, and died in 1839. Do you remember Do you remember when you heard My lips breathe love's first faltering word ; You do, sweet — don't you ? When, having wander'd all the day, Link'd arm in arm, I dared to say, ' You'll love me — won't you ? ' And when you blush'd, and could not speak, I fondly kiss'd your glowing cheek ; Did that affront you ? Oh, surely not : your eye exprest No wrath — but said, perhaps in jest, You'll love me — won't you ? I'm sure my eyes replied, ' I will ' ; And you believe that promise still ; You do, sweet — don't you ? Yes, yes ! when age has made our eyes Unfit for questions, or replies, You'll love me — won't you ? 269 %ove 501100 The Vows of Men Write on the sand when the tide is low, Seek the spot when the waters flow ; Whisper a name when the storm is heard, Pause, that echo may breathe the word : If that you wrote on the sand should last, And echo is heard 'mid the tempest blast. Then believe, and not till then. That there's truth in the vows of men. Throw a rose on the stream at morn, Watch at eve for the flower's return ; Drop in the ocean a golden grain : Hope 'twill shine on the shore again ! If the rose you again behold, If you gaze again on your grain of gold, Then believe, and not till then. That there's truth in the vows of men. 270 Ubomas 1boo5 was born in London in 1799, and at the age of fifteen was apprenticed to an engraver. Weak health required him to abandon so confining an occupation. In 1821 he became sub-editor of the London Magazine, and displayed his fund of humour in the answers to correspondents. The first series of IVhhns and Oddities appeared in 1826. In 1844 he started Hood's Magazine, but towards the close of that year his health gave way, and he died in 1845. Mr. W. M. Rossetti — than whom there is no better critic of the poet — considers Hood the finest English poet between the generation of Shelley and the generation of Tennyson. I love thee I LOVE thee — I love thee ! 'Tis all that I can say ; — It is my vision in the night, My dreaming in the day ; The very echo of my heart, The blessing when I pray ; I love thee — I love thee ! Is all that I can say. I love thee — I love thee ! Is ever on my tongue ; In all my proudest poesy That chorus still is sung ; 271 %ove Songs It is the verdict of my eyes, Amidst the gay and young : I love thee — I love thee ! A thousand maids among. I love thee — I love thee ! Thy blight and hazel glance, The mellow lute upon those lips, Whose tender tones entrance ; But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs That still these words enhance, I love thee — I love thee ! Whatever be thy chance. Love, I am jealous of a worthless man Love, I am jealous of a worthless man Whom — for his merits — thou dost hold too dear : No better than myself, he lies as near And precious to thy bosom. He may span Thy sacred waist, and with thy sweet breath fan His happy cheek, and thy most willing ear Invade with words, and call his love sincere And true as mine, and prove it — if he can : — Not that I hate him for such deeds as this — He were a devil to adore thee less, Who wears thy favour, — I am ill a* ease Rather lest he should e'er too coldly press Thy gentle hand : — -This is my jealousy. Making myself suspect, but never thee I 272 Q;boma6 IbooD Let us make a leap Let us make a leap, my dear, In our love, of many a year, And date it very far away. On a bright clear summer day, When the heart was like a sun To itself, and falsehood none ; And the rosy lips apart Of the very loving heart, And the shining of the eye But a sign to know it by ; — When my faults were all forgiven, And my life deserved of Heaven. Dearest, let us reckon so, And love for all that long ago ; Each absence count a year complete. And keep a birthday when we meet. See thy lover humbled at thy feet Love, see thy lover humbled at thy feet. Not in servility, but homage sweet, Gladly inclined : — and with my bended knee Think that my inward spirit bows to thee — More proud indeed than when I stand or climb Elsewhere : — there is no statue so sublime As Love's in all the world, and e'en to kiss The pedestal is still a better bliss 273 %ove Songs Than all ambitions. O ! Love's lowest base Is far above the reaching of disgrace To share this posture. Let me then draw nigh Feet that have fared so nearly to the sky, And when this duteous homage has been given I will rise up and clasp the heart in Heaven. 274 Cbatles 5eremiab mells was born in London in 1800, and Keats and Home were among his early friends. In 1824 appeared Joseph and hts Brethren. It was received with indifference at the time, but has been declared since ' the most Shakespearian drama since Shakespeare's day.' He abandoned a literary life in England, and the profession of the law to which he had been articled had no more hold on him. He lived in retirement in South Wales ; and about 1840 took up his residence on the Continent, settling latterly at Marseilles, where he died in 1879. At the death of his wife he is said to have destroyed a large body of poetry. Dante Gabriel Rossetti, Mr. Swinburne, and Mr. Theodore Watts have done much to foster an interest in Wells, and give him a well-deserved place among the poets of England. Kiss no more the Vintages Kiss no more the Vintages, Thou hot-lipp'd sun ! Flow no more the merry wine From the dark tun ! Above my bed hang dull nightshade, And o'er my brow the willow 1 With maiden flowers from dewy bowers Cover my last pillow ! Away ! away to the green sward ! My young heart breaks : Break the earth, and lay me deep ! Love my breath takes. 275 %ove Songs Angels ! pity, and hear this ditty Breathed from a poor girl's lips : O'er her lover ever hover, Scattering earthly bliss ! Come, thou iron-crowned Death ! Into my stretched arms, Bridegroom to my maiden breast ; End my sad alarms ! Lead on, lead on, thou Love of Bone ! Over the heath wild ; And 'neath the grass secure fast Thy melancholy child ! 276 d is reached by f the Congress I walking in the road known as lalfway to the "ancn leading to ; and Marshall ht branch, the illls, past farms you follow it to jund the Indus- ds at the Home know the way, at a stretch of ,1 Home School s winding path i home. Bmerg- j woods, a good ] Potomac river away, and be- e the buildings the home. The capital E, with »und backward, the nxale wing, le, and the up- idle the dining sun parlors for e short arm of etween the two ation building, ns, the nurses of the female 3S- provides a res- .Imshouse, who )ensary. and is ivlng his quar- '. building. Dr. libent. jf four small l**nts according Ijal number of ,d ten, and Dr. i/ge of twenty led nurses, one n. until 4 p.m. mtil midnight, i Miss Sophia ^e at present. Hct of Colum- (infirm to earn » an inmate of I 1 the board of : has a small , 3 is allowed to the home, and ^n differs fr-^ii tom^c, there Is a backwater into which a creek called Oxon Hill run empties. This winds around near the old 'folks' home, and at one place n«ar there is a clearing in the bushes on the bank, and here several planks have been laid and the spot has been named Pierce's land- ing. Every afternoon several old men sit with their rods and lines and swap remi- niscences while they lie in wait for the elusive eel or the canny catfish. Now that the days have grown cold Pierce's landing lias grown deserted except for a single frequenter. One old man is still faithful, and day after day he may be seen with his old slouch hat pulled down and his line dangling in the streani. The farmers thereabouts call him "The Lone Fisherman of Pierce's L>anding." There are four sun parlors in the home, and in each of the two devoted to women there is a piano. After supper in the evening, when the dusk Is creeping across the bills and the frogs can be heard down on the river bank tuning up, some old lady will steal over to the piano and raise the cover softly. From the yellowed keys come the first notes of "Annie Laurie,'' and as the words of the song seem to form themselves in the m X MISS M The Well Kno Tells hoTv she came to have SloBsy, beautiful hair. Read her "I am a constant usher of Herplcide and can most cordlall mend it as an unsurpassed hair I first came to use it in this ^ hair was originally very long, I glossy, but after a severe sickm gan to fall out terribly and lo: gloss and loveliness. A friend to whom I was telling my trou street car, said, "Why don't Herpiclde? That will save it," a ed laughingly at the "ad" with funny heads. I thought that ha\ nearly everything I might as wel e a i* *f I *} BY SIB £ ♦!■ "She Is dead!" they said to him: "come away; Y Kiss her and leave her — thy love is clay!" Y They smoothed her tresses of. dark brown hair; Y On her forehead of stone they laid It fair. X Over her eyes that gazed too much i A They drew the lids with a gentle touch; ' •? ♦♦« With a tender touch they closed up well Y The sweet thin lips, that had secrets to tell. T Y About her brows and her beautiful face ♦J» They tied her veil and her marriage lace, Y Y And drew on her white feet her white silk shoes; Y Which were the whitest, no eye could choose. *? *t* And over her bosom crossed her hands; A "Come away," they said, "God understands." Y *♦* ♦♦« And there was silence, and nothing there ♦♦« But silence, and scents of eglantere, Y ♦*♦ And jasmine, and roses, and rosemary; X . And tbey said, "As a lady should lie, lies she." „ »*♦ And they held their breath till they left the room f ♦> With a shudder, a glance at its stillness and gloom. Y Y But he, who loved her too well to dread Y The sweet, tlie stately, the beautiful dead, \ t ■■ 't* He lit his lamp and took the key i And turned it — aloire again — lie and she. ?♦ t He and she — but she would not speak, ^ Though he kissed, in the old place, the quiet chee ,*» He and she: yet she would not smile j ,*♦ Though he called her the name she loved erstwhile »!♦ He and she; still she did not move ►> To any passionate whisper of love. f i* Y Then he said, "Cold lips, and breast without brea Y Is there no voice, no language of death, X ,t^ "Dumb tb the ear, and still to the sense t But to heart and soul distinct, intense? ■4 ,. . . , ♦!*♦♦♦♦♦•♦♦♦♦•*♦♦♦ ♦Jh5m{*»J»»J»»J» *J»»Jh{m*«***^m*«***»***J»****** *Jm.*«*J>**«****^*********m***** I I i>fie. ~^^ ♦% >o .SNOIiD. ee now, I will listen with soul, not ear; ♦;♦ ha^ was the secret of dying, dear? i ♦|« E T'as It the infinite wonder of all ♦♦• jg at you ever could l&t life's flower fall? V >2 r was it a greater marvel to feel , j[^ e perfect calm" o'er the agony steal? X Tas the miracle greater to find how deep «*♦ yond all dreams sank downward that sleep? A Id life roll back its record, dear, ♦:«^^ d show, as they say It does, past things clear? ♦> ♦%7S nd was it the innermost heart of th© bliss V i find out so, what a wisdom love is? V ,, perfect dead! O dead most dear! Y lold the breath of my soul to hear. V ^ listen a^ deep as to terrible hell, »*,;5 high as to heaven, and you do not tell. Ao V here must be pleasure in dying, sweet, «J* make you so placid from head to feet! j" '^ *♦* .8 would tell you, darling, if I were dead *»* ^ d your hot tears on my brow were shed. X z would say, tho' the angel of death had laid *1* . 3 sword on my lips to keep it unsaid — •;♦ ou should not ask vainly with streaming eyes V^ lich of all deaths was the chiefest surprise, V ^ he very strangest and suddenest thing *j* all the stirprise that dying must bring." y^ foolish world! O most kind dead, *»*^ Ligh he told me, who will believe it was said. jC' X will believe that he heard her say, ,*♦ 1 the sweet, soft voice, in tlie dear old way, »jt utmost wonder is this — I hear ►!♦ see you, and love you, and kiss you, dear. '»♦ n your ^jigel, who was your bride, "j' know that, though. dead, I have never diet!.' 'f ST -^ Special Correspondence of The Star. ^kJn ATLANTIC CITY, N. J., 4) November 18, 1911. Y The Boardwalk remains thronged J, wltii promenaders. Ho much so, in fact, ♦|i that the stranger within tlie city's Y gates would never be able to tell *l, where the summer season had left off •I and that of fall began. V Tuesday morning broke clear and V cool, and the storm of Sunday was but X a memory along the Boardwalk, ♦? where the sun shone lieartily upon 5* the promenaders and the wliite-capped A sea. Wednesday was even better from ♦3 in atmospherical standpoir^t, and the /i*t, sun brought men, women and children A :o the sea's side. November is making •j« jood her auspicious weatlier opening. y^ To tlae sea-stranger, unacquainted J», .vith the varying moods of old ocean, ♦i* or the vagaries, of tides, a trip across Y the salt marslies is a revelation. One ,J,may cross when the tide Is low, and he great green grassy plain lies Y stretching away before tlie eye for Axiiles. Tne next trip may be made at Alood tide, witli a different prospect, ♦♦♦^ow the vast level stretches of wav- ing green are covered with water, and 1^1 small young ocean lies where before IXia'! been miles of salt marsh swamp, ' |»|«vith nothing above the waterline save »5che .straightaway lines of the railroad ♦zracks. |»j Even in the supposedly dull 'jeason ♦};he dusky station and hotel porters l*jit the different Atlantic City .depots [Vre Itept on a well trained jump to [*l;are for the incoming and outgoing traveler. And althougli the great liag- ^age platforms are not piled mountain I ,iigh with luggage, as in tlie heart of i,)Ummer, yet enough arrive and depart 1 ►o convince the most skeptical that Atlantic City is not forgotten by tlie nland dwellers. Notwithstanding the coolness of the November air the Boardwalk continues ;o be thronged nightly, and save for :lie brisk tang; in the atmospliere one ;ould imagine tlie brilliancy and glit- ter of it all to spell the summer sea- son. The Boardwalk, theaters, piers ind the many cafes are all brilliantly illuminated, and the supper and the- iter throngs merely promenade a :rifle more' quickly in deference to the :;oolness that is felt even _ beneath !■■ mill iiriTIIT' ' The Home f|l riding out to \ Heights car lirj same direction! Turner's plkf. Home it forks^ Fort Foote, i Hall. Followl) road leads up t and orchards, a its termination, trial Home Sch for the Aged, however, leave woods near th^ and plunge bo which is a shor ing in a clear f view is obtain flowing about : tween it -nd t of the Home fo Three buildini main one is sh< the sliort arm The top arm o the bottom arr riglit line has room, and 'on > the respective the E is the kll wings is the which houses and the physic wing is tlie hos The District c ident physiciar holds a daily r at all times wl ters in the ad S. Boyce Pole The hospital wards, segrega to sex and rai patients is bnll Pole sees dJ cases. Therel being on dijt and the of ] Miss AmaTh^e; Haskins anct] Any resii I bia wlio isar his own livj the home b\ charities. If income from {■•• retain this wl in th is respepH^ INDEX TO WRITERS Atterbury, Francis, Bishop of Rochester 179 Bayly, Thomas Haynes Beaumont and Fletcher Bishop, Samuel . Blake, William . Breton, Nicholas Brome, Alexander Browne, William Butler, Samuel . Byron, Lord . . Campion, Thomas Carew, Thomas . Carey, Henry . Coleridge, Hartley Coleridge, Samuel Taylor Congreve, William . . Constable, Henry . . Cornwall, Barry . . Cotton, Charles . . . Cowley, Abraham . . Cowper, William . , Daniel, Samuel . . D'Avenant, Sir William Davison, Francis . . Dibdin, Charles . . . Dibdin, Thomas . . Dodsley, Robert . . Donne, John .... 269 99 208 213 36 159 127 154 250 70 122 191 267 219 188 39 247 161 52 150 75 212 PAGE Drayton, Michael .... 59 Dryden, John 162 D'Urfey, Thomas .... 160 Etherege, Sir George 166 Fenton, Elijah .... 193 Fielding, Henry .... 202 Finch, Anne, Countess of Winchilsea 178 Fletcher, Giles iir Ford, John 107 Gascoignk, George ... 16 Gay, John 194 Gifford, Humphrey ... 35 Googe, Barnaby .... 20 Granville, George, Lord Lansdowne 187 Greene, Robert 48 Greville, Fulke, Lord Brooke 33 Grimald, Nicholas .... 12 Harrington, John ... 14 Hemans, Felicia Dorothea . 263 Herrick, Robert .... 132 Heywood, Thomas ... 96 Hood, Thomas 271 Howard, Henry, Earl of Surrey 9 Hughes, John 192 Hunt, Leigh 241 277 JuDei* to "Wnritets PAGE Jago, Richard 206 Jenyns, Soame 201 Johnson, Samuel .... 204 Jonson, Ben 86 Keats, John 264 King, Henry, Bishop of Chi- chester 130 Kynaston, Sir Francis . . 109 Lamb, Charles 231 Landor, Walter Savage . . 234 Lewis, ' Monk ' 228 Lodge, Thomas 43 Lovelace, Colonel . . . . 156 Lyly, John 29 Lyttelton, George Lord . . 203 Marlowe, Christopher . . 54 Middleton, Thomas ... 80 Milton, John 151 Montagu, Lady Mary Wort- ley 195 Oldmixon, John .... 190 Otway, Thomas 176 Peacock, Thomas Love . . 246 Peele, George 23 Pomfret, John 185 Prior, Matthew 183 PAGE Raleigh, Sir Walter . . • 27 Reynolds, John Hamilton . 268 Sackville, Charles, Earl of Dorset . 167 Savage, Richard . . . • 197 Sedley, Sir Charles . . • 171 Shakespeare, William . . . 61 Sheffield, John, Duke of Buckinghamshire . . • 17s Shelley, Percy Bysshe . 260 Skelton, John .... I Southey, Robert . . . . 229 Spenser, Edmund . . . • 25 Strode, William .... . 146 Suckling, Sir John . . . . 152 Sydney, Sir Philip . . . • 31 Sylvester, Joshua . . . ■ S8 Vere, Edward, Earl of Oxford 15 Waller, Edmund. . . • 147 Walsh, William . . . . . 180 Watson, Thomas . . . • 47 Wells, Charles Jeremiah . • 27s White, Henry Kirke . . • 245 Whitehead, William . . . 207 Wilmot, John, Earl of Rochester • 173 Wither, George .... . 114 Wordsworth, William . . . 214 Wotton, Sir Henry . . . 78 Wyatt, Sir Thomas . . 3 74P ^J- oo^ XVs^-^ ^ '%, ^ -^^^^a^^" ^ 0^^ g7Mtr/-^z_, * .C^ N \ c^ y : -^-^ r %/^y^\...;^^'^:^i^'\^ A \^ ^^ '^ 1^ ^^ ■*■■ '^j^ ,0- ^^ -' ^•% ^*^<^. a\^^' <>.- - -V 1 B i '/-- ^ c;^^' <^ ,0' / >- •^\*^^.'■'. "-' ": -^o' ;: "^ /■' ^ x^"^ V,^ "^^ ',^: »»' /; N -' x^- % ^..^'-^ . .^^'' ^. \ V 'i^ , . S " '>-, '<:'' %;Hlif^,.* '■ '^ ". _^v <- : -^ ^ . -., '-' "=^ ^ ,0c. .^^" v- <0C' 0^ < C^' vOO^ ^^oo ^^^'^