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 COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
 
BEN JONSON. 
 
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SONGS FROM THE 
 DRAMATISTS 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 ROBERT BELL 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 BRANDER MATTHEWS 
 
 AND 
 
 AN APPENDIX CONTAINING LATER SONGS 
 
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 NEW YORK 
 
 THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 
 
 PUBLISHERS 
 
LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two CoDles Received 
 
 JUL 13 1904 
 
 Cooyrlffht Entrv 
 LAS^hfl XXc. No. 
 
 R / L ^ 3 
 
 COPY B 
 
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 Copyright, 1904, 
 By THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 
 
:^. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 For half a century now the collection of Songs 
 fj'om the Dramatists^ ecTited by Robert Bell, has 
 been a favourite book with all lovers of the English 
 lyric. It has been reprinted in the United States 
 twice at least, — once with exquisite illustrations by 
 Mr. John La Farge. It contains a careful selection 
 of the best songs, scattered here and there in the 
 plays of the British dramatists, from the Ralph 
 Roister Doister of Nicholas Udall to the School 
 for Scandal of Richard Brinsley Sheridan. As the 
 editor said in his Advertisement, " the want of such 
 a collection has long been felt, and that it has never 
 been supplied before must occasion surprise to all 
 readers who are acquainted with the riches we 
 possess in this branch of poetry." 
 
 The richness of English literature in this branch 
 of poetr}' is indeed indisputable ; and one may even 
 go further and declare that it is incomparable. In 
 no other literature, not even in Greek, is there the 
 wealth of lyric which we find in profusion in the 
 poetry of our own tongue. In fact, this lyrical 
 abundance is evidence in behalf of the assertion 
 
 iii 
 
IV INTR OD UCTION. 
 
 that we who speak English belong to a race highly 
 endowed with emotion, with energy, with imagina- 
 tion, and that it is in poetry we have done best 
 rather than in prose. In spite of the fact that we 
 are generally held to be a practical and hard-headed 
 people, English prose as a whole is emphatically 
 inferior to English poetry as a whole, — just as 
 French poetry as a whole is emphatically inferior 
 to French prose as a whole. 
 
 This possession of the poetic temperament is one 
 reason why there are so many songs besprinkled 
 through the pages of the English drama ; but there 
 is also another reason quite commonplace, and per- 
 haps on that account not mentioned by Bell. In 
 Tudor times the companies of actors were often 
 recruited from choir-boys, who brought to the aid of 
 the theatre their acquaintance with the art of song. 
 Now, a writer of plays is prompt to utilize every 
 advantage at his command ; and the Elizabethan 
 dramatist had not only the lyric gift of his race, he 
 had also ready to his service actors trained to sing. 
 No wonder is it, therefore, that the playwrights de- 
 lighted to drop into song whenever the occasion 
 came, certain that full justice would be done to 
 their lilting lines. Thus they established a tradi- 
 tion which has endured almost down to the dawn of 
 the twentieth century, — a tradition which had au- 
 thority even for the writers of the closet-drama, 
 Browning and Tennyson and Swinburne. In the 
 
INTR OD UC TION. V 
 
 French drama we find nothing of the sort, partly 
 because the French poets are not so naturally lyric, 
 and partly because a musical training had not been 
 given to the French actors in the remote beginnings 
 when Hardy was setting the pattern for the later 
 and more literary drama. Even when a French 
 dramatist is obviously lyrical, as Corneille is seen 
 to be sometimes and Victor Hugo often, his lyricism 
 takes the form not of the song, but of the set speech, 
 the tirade. 
 
 Ralph Roister Doister and Ga7?tmer Gurton^s 
 Needle, the first fruits of English comedy in which 
 we see the grafting of the classic tradition upon 
 the hardy native stock, were written by scholars to 
 be acted by students. Ralph Roister Doister may, 
 indeed, be considered as the earliest college play ; 
 and it has many points of likeness to the rollicking 
 college plays of our own time, with their robust and 
 boisterous humour, their bold horse-play, their frank 
 practical joking, and their jingling lyrics lending 
 themselves to the vigorous singing of youthful, high 
 spirits. Lyly's comedies were written, most of them 
 at least, to be performed by the "children of Paul's," 
 choir-boys trained already in the vocal art. 
 
 Shakespeare's Midsummer Nighfs Dream, al- 
 though styled a comedy, is in fact a comic opera, 
 of a rather modern type, in that it commingles a 
 sentimental and semi-romantic upper-plot with the 
 riotous fun-making of Bottom and his fellows. In 
 
vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 this play, as in so many others, Shakespeare reveals 
 his versatility, his mastery of many forms of the 
 drama, — a versatility in which his only rival is 
 Moliere, who has also left us more than one speci- 
 men of comic opera. In Othello Shakespeare gives 
 us the purest type of tragedy, sweeping forward 
 massively to its inevitable doom. In Henry V. he 
 has preferred the looser form of the history, the 
 mere chronicle-play of a single hero's achieve- 
 ments, a splendid panorama of one man's career. 
 In the Comedy of Er7'ors he wrought the ingenious 
 imbroglio of farce, dependent for its effect, not 
 on character, but solely on the artfully contrived 
 situations. In the Merchant of Venice and in Much 
 Ado about Nothing he presents us with romantic 
 comedies, in which the humorous theme, which is 
 here his main concern, is sustained by an underplot 
 of almost tragic import. And in the later scenes 
 of the Merry Wives of Windsor, as in the Mid- 
 sum^ner Nighfs Drea7n, he descends with ease to 
 the lower level of comic opera, with its fantastic 
 plot and its graceful lyrics. His songs are to be 
 found also in his graver plays, not introduced by 
 chance or for their own sake only, but with a subtle 
 understanding of dramaturgic effect. The appeal- 
 ing pathos of the pale figures of Ophelia and Desde- 
 mona is heightened by the simple songs we hear 
 them sing. 
 
 It is unfortunate for the English drama that the 
 
INTR OD UC TION. Vll 
 
 chief English poets of the nineteenth century sought 
 to model their pla3's upon Shakespeare's, not under- 
 standing that the circumstances of theatrical per- 
 formance had greatly changed since the spacious 
 days of Elizabeth, and that, therefore, the structure 
 of Shakespeare's dramas, adroitly adjusted to the 
 semi-mediaeval conditions of the Elizabethan play- 
 house, was no longer a satisfactory model for the 
 playwrights of the Victorian period. The plays 
 they wrote were not fitted for the stage of their own 
 time, — however well they might have been per- 
 formed at the Fortune or the Globe two centuries 
 before they were written. It is this initial mistake 
 which has helped to deprive the modern theatre of 
 the services of the chief poets of our tongue, — this, 
 and the added fact that these poets were essentially 
 lyrists and not dramatists. Browning alone was of 
 the stuff out of which dramatists are made. Ten- 
 nyson and Swinburne and Longfellow, each in his 
 own degree, was rather a singer of songs than a 
 portrayer of conflicting passions. 
 
 That we find lyrics besprinkled through the closet- 
 drama of the nineteenth century is due probably to 
 the native lyric gift of the poets who borrowed the 
 external trappings of a form unsuited to their genius, 
 and probably also in part to an intentional imitation 
 of the Shakespearian practice. 
 
 The professional playwrights have tended of late 
 to drop into song only infrequently ; and perhaps 
 
Vlil INTR OD UCTION. 
 
 this is just as well, since they have rarely possessed 
 an abundance of the lyric faculty. The specimens 
 it is possible to extract from O'Keefe and Dion 
 Boucicault are not really worthy of comparison with 
 the average lyric of the minor playwrights of an 
 earlier era ; and yet they have a certain interest of 
 their own. Perhaps the lyrical gift of the latter-day 
 playwrights of our language might have been pre- 
 sented more advantageously if a choice had been 
 possible from the more comic verses of Planche and 
 Mr. W. S. Gilbert ; but these seemed to be excluded 
 by the scheme of the earlier collection. 
 
 BRANDER MATTHEWS. 
 
 Columbia University, 
 IN THE City of New York. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 This volume contains a collection of Songs from 
 the English Dramatists, beginning with the writer 
 of the first regular comedy, and ending with Sheri- 
 dan. The want of such a collection has long been 
 felt, and that it has never been supplied before must 
 occasion surprise to all readers who are acquainted 
 with the riches we possess in this branch of lyrical 
 poetry. 
 
 The plan upon which the work is arranged fur- 
 nishes the means of following the course of the 
 drama historically, and tracing in its progress the 
 revolutions of style, manners, and morals that 
 marked successive periods. The songs of each 
 dramatist are distributed under the titles of the 
 plays from which they are taken ; and the plays are 
 given in the order of their production. Short bio- 
 graphical notices, and explanatory notes, have been 
 introduced wherever they appeared necessary or 
 desirable ; but all superfluous annotation has been 
 carefully avoided. 
 
 The orthography of the early songs has been 
 modernized, in no instance, however, to the loss or 
 
 ix 
 
X AD VER TISEMENT. 
 
 injury of a phrase essential to the colouring of the 
 age, or the structure of the verse. The old spelling 
 is not sacred ; nor can it be always fixed with cer- 
 tainty. It was generally left to the printers, who 
 not only differed from each other, but sometimes 
 from themselves. By adopting a uniform and famil- 
 iar orthography, the enjoyment of the beauties of 
 these poems, the most perfect of their class in any 
 language, is materially facilitated. 
 
 In the preparation of this volume, all known acces- 
 sible sources have been explored and exhausted. 
 The research bestowed upon it cannot be adequately 
 estimated by its bulk. The labour which is not 
 represented in the ensuing pages considerably ex- 
 ceeded the labour which has borne the fruit and 
 flowers gathered into this little book. Many hun- 
 dreds of plays have been examined without yielding 
 any results, or such only as in their nature were 
 unavailable. Some names will be missed from the 
 catalogue of dramatic writers, and others will be 
 found to contribute less than might be looked for 
 from their celebrity ; but in all such cases a satis- 
 factory explanation can be given. Marlowe's plays, 
 for example, do not contain a single song, and 
 Greene's only one. Southerne abounds in songs, 
 but they are furnished chiefly by other writers, and 
 are of the most commonplace character. Etherege 
 has several broken snatches of drinking rhymes and 
 choruses dancing through his comedies, full of riotous 
 
AD VER TI SEMEN T. XI 
 
 animal spirits soaring to the height of all manner 
 of extravagance, and admirably suited to ventilate 
 the profligacy of the day ; but for the most part they 
 are either unfit for extract from their coarseness, or 
 have not substance enough to stand alone. Wycher- 
 ley's songs are simply gross, and Tom Killigrew's 
 crude and artificial. 
 
 On the other hand, some things will be found here 
 that might not have been anticipated. A few plays 
 with nothing else in them worth preservation have 
 supplied an excellent song ; and others that had 
 long been consigned to oblivion by their dulness or 
 depravity, have unexpectedly thrown up an occa- 
 sional stanza of permanent value. 
 
 The superiority in all qualities of sweetness, 
 thoughtfulness, and purity of the writers of the six- 
 teenth and the beginning of the seventeenth century 
 over their successors is strikingly exhibited in these 
 productions. The dramatic songs of the age of 
 Elizabeth and James I. are distinguished as much 
 by their delicacy and chastity of feeling, as by their 
 vigour and beauty. The change that took place 
 under Charles II. was sudden and complete. With 
 the Restoration, love disappears, and sensuousness 
 takes its place. Voluptuous without taste or senti- 
 ment, the songs of that period may be said to dis- 
 sect in broad daylight the life of the town, laying 
 .bare with revolting shamelessness the tissues of its 
 most secret vices. But as this species of morbid 
 
Xll ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 anatomy required some variation to relieve its same- 
 ness, the song sometimes transported the libertinism 
 into the country, and through the medium of a sort 
 of Covent-garden pastoral exhibited the fashionable 
 delinquencies in a masquerade of Strephons and 
 Chlorises, no better than the Courtalls and Loveits 
 of the comedies. The costume of innocence gave 
 increased zest to the dissolute wit, and the audiences 
 seem to have been delighted with the representation 
 of their own licentiousness in the transparent dis- 
 guise of verdant images, and the affectation of rural 
 simplicity. It helped them to a spurious ideal, 
 which rarely, however, lasted out to the end of the 
 verse. The subsequent decline of the drama is 
 sensibly felt in the degeneracy of its lyrics. The 
 interval, from the end of the seventeenth century to 
 the close of the eighteenth, presents a multitude of 
 songs, chiefly, however, in operas which do not come 
 strictly within the plan of this volume ; but, with a 
 few solitary exceptions, they are trivial, monotonous, 
 and conventional. The brilliant genius of Sheridan 
 alone shines out with conspicuous lustre, and termi- 
 nates the series with a gaiety and freshness that 
 may be regarded as a revival of the spirit with 
 which it opens. 
 
 R. B. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Introduction by Brander Maithews . . . iii 
 Advertisement by the Editor .... 
 
 NICHOLAS UDALL. 
 Ralph Roister Doister 
 
 JOHN HEYWOOD. 
 The Play of Love .12 
 
 JOHN STILL. 
 Gammer Gurton's Needle ....... 26 
 
 JOHN REDFORD. 
 The Play of Wit and Science . . . . . • 3^ 
 
 THOMAS INGELEND. 
 The Disobedient Child . 34 
 
 ANTHONY MUNDAY. 
 John a Kent and John a Cumber ..... 37 
 
 LEWIS WAGER. 
 
 The Life and Repentance of Mary Magdalen . . 39 
 
 WILLIAM WAGER. 
 
 The Longer thou livest the more Fool thou art . '41 
 
 xiii 
 
XIV 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 JOHN LYLY. 
 
 Alexander and Campaspe 
 
 Sappho and Phaon . 
 
 Endymion 
 
 Galathea . 
 
 Midas 
 
 Mother Bombie 
 
 GEORGE PEELE. 
 The Arraignment of Paris 
 Polyhymnia ...... 
 
 The Hunting of Cupid . . . . 
 
 The Old Wives' Tale . , . . 
 
 David and Bethsabe . . . . 
 
 45 
 46 
 
 47 
 49 
 50 
 52 
 
 55 
 57 
 58 
 60 
 61 
 
 ROBERT GREENE. 
 Looking Glass for London and England . 
 
 THO^L\S NASH. 
 Summer's Last Will and Testament .... 
 
 SAMUEL DANIEL. 
 Cleopatra 73 
 
 64 
 67 
 
 DABRIDGECOURT BELCHIER. 
 Hans Beer-pot, his Invisible Comedy of See Me and See 
 Me Not 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona 
 Love's Labour Lost . 
 All 's Well that Ends Well 
 A Midsummer Night's Dream 
 Merchant of Venice 
 
 76 
 
 78 
 79 
 83 
 84 
 
CONTENTS. XV 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing 89 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor ....... 91 
 
 Twelfth Night 91 
 
 As You Like It 94 
 
 Measure for Measure ....... ICX) 
 
 A Winter's Tale loi 
 
 The Tempest 103 
 
 King Henry IV. Part II 106 
 
 King Henry V ........ . 107 
 
 King Henry VIII 107 
 
 Hamlet 108 
 
 Cymbeline . . . . . . . . .111 
 
 Othello 112 
 
 King Lear . . . . . . . . -113 
 
 Macbeth .114 
 
 Timon of Athens 116 
 
 Troilus and Cressida . . . . . . .116 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra . . . . . . • n? 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 Cynthia's Revels ilS 
 
 The Poetaster . . . . . . . . .120 
 
 Volpone; or, The Fox . . . . . . .123 
 
 The Queen's Masque . . . . . . .124 
 
 Epicoene; or, The Silent Woman . . . . .125 
 
 Bartholomevi^ Fair . . . . . . . .126 
 
 The New Inn; or. The Light Heart . . . .130 
 
 The Sad Shepherd; or, A Tale of Robin Hood . -130 
 The Forest 131 
 
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER. 
 
 The Maid's Tragedy 133 
 
 The Elder Brother 133 
 
 The Spanish Curate 134 
 
XVI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Wit without Money . 
 
 Beggar's Bush . 
 
 The Humorous Lieutenant 
 
 The Faithful Shepherdess 
 
 The Mad Lover 
 
 The Loyal Subject . 
 
 The False One . 
 
 The Little French Lawyer 
 
 The Tragedy of Valentinian 
 
 Monsieur Thomas 
 
 The Chances 
 
 The Bloody Brother; or, Rollo, Duke of Normandy 
 
 A Wife for a Month . 
 
 The Lovers' Progress 
 
 The Pilgrim 
 
 The Captain 
 
 The Queen of Corinth 
 
 The Knight of the Burning Pestle 
 
 The Maid in the Mill 
 
 Women Pleased 
 
 Cupid's Revenge 
 
 The Two Noble Kinsmen 
 
 The Woman-hater . 
 
 The Nice Valour; or, The Passionate Madman 
 
 THOMAS MIDDLETON. 
 
 Blurt, Master Constable; or, The Spaniard's Night-walk 
 
 A Mad World, my Masters 
 
 The Witch 
 
 More Dissemblers besides Women .... 
 A Chaste Maid in Cheapside ..... 
 
 PAGE 
 
 136 
 136 
 
 m 
 138 
 151 
 154 
 154 
 157 
 157 
 159 
 159 
 161 
 165 
 166 
 166 
 167 
 169 
 170 
 174 
 
 175 
 176 
 
 178. 
 
 180 
 
 180 
 
 185 
 187 
 188 
 191 
 192 
 
 THOMAS MIDDLETON AND WILLIAM ROWLEY. 
 The Spanish Gipsy . . . . . . . -193 
 
CONTENTS. XVll 
 
 BEN JONSON, FLETCHER, AND MIDDLETON. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Widow 198 
 
 THOMAS DEKKER. 
 Old Fortunatus 199 
 
 T. DEKKER AND R. WILSON. 
 The Shoemaker's Holiday; or, The Gentle Craft . . 201 
 
 THOMAS DEKKER, HENRY CHETTLE, AND 
 WILLIAM HAUGHTON. 
 
 The Pleasant Comedy of Patient Grissell .... 203 
 
 JOHN WEBSTER. 
 
 The White Devil; or, Vittoria Corombona . . . 206 
 The Duchess of Malfy ....... 207 
 
 JOHN WEBSTER AND WILLIAM ROWLEY. 
 The Thracian Wonder 208 
 
 SAMUEL ROWLEY. 
 The Noble Spanish Soldier 214 
 
 THOMAS GOFFE. 
 Orestes 215 
 
 The Careless Shepherdess 217 
 
 CHETTLE AND MUNDAY. 
 The Death of Robert, Earl of Huntingdon . . .218 
 
 THOMAS HEYWOOD. 
 
 The Rape of Lucrece 222 
 
 Love's Mistress; or, The Queen's Masque . . . 223 
 
 First Part of King Edward IV 225 
 
xviii CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Silver Age 225 
 
 The Fair Maid of the Exchange ..... 226 
 
 A Challenge for Beauty ....... 227 
 
 The Golden Age 229 
 
 PHILIP MASSINGER. 
 
 The Picture ......... 231 
 
 The Emperor of the East . . . . . .231 
 
 The Guardian ......... 232 
 
 JOHN FORD. 
 
 The Sun's Darling 235 
 
 The Lover's Melancholy 239 
 
 The Broken Heart ........ 239 
 
 The Lady's Trial 241 
 
 SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 
 
 Aglaura 242 
 
 Brennoralt ......... 244 
 
 The Goblins ......... 245 
 
 The Sad One 245 
 
 WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. 
 
 The Ordinary 246 
 
 PHINEAS FLETCHER. 
 
 The Sicelides 248 
 
 WILLIAM HABINGTON. 
 
 The Queen of Arragon ....... 249 
 
 BARTEN HOLIDAY. 
 Texnotamia; or, The Marriage of the Arts . . .251 
 
CONTENTS. XIX 
 JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Love Tricks ......... 254 
 
 The Witty Fair One 255 
 
 The Bird in a Cage ........ 256 
 
 The Triumph of Peace ....... 257 
 
 St. Patrick for Ireland ....... 258 
 
 The Arcadia 258 
 
 Cupid and Death ........ 259 
 
 The Contention of Ajax and Ulysses .... 260 
 
 SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. 
 
 The Siege of Rhodes 262 
 
 The Unfortunate Lovers ....... 263 
 
 The Law against Lovers ....... 265 
 
 The Man 's the Master . . . . . . . 266 
 
 The Cruel Brother ........ 268 
 
 GERVASE MARKHAM AND WILLIAM SAMPSON. 
 
 Herod and Antipater ....... 268 
 
 JASPER MAYNE. 
 
 The City Match 270 
 
 SIR SAMUEL TUKE. 
 The Adventures of Two Hours . . . . .271 
 
 SIR WILLIAM KILLIGREW. 
 
 Selindra 272 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 The Indian Queen ........ 274 
 
 The Indian Emperor ....... 276 
 
 Secret Love; or. The Maiden Queen .... 276 
 
XX 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Sir Martin Mar-all; or, The Feigned Innocence 
 Tyrannic Love; or, The Royal Martyr 
 Amboyna ...... 
 
 Albion and Albanus .... 
 
 King Arthur; or, The British Worthy 
 Cleomenes; or, The Spartan Hero . 
 Love Triumphant; or, Nature will prevail 
 The Secular Masque .... 
 
 SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE 
 
 Love in a Tub . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 277 
 278 
 280 
 
 28 T 
 281 
 282 
 283 
 284 
 
 285 
 
 THOMAS SHADWELL. 
 
 The Woman Captain 286 
 
 The Amorous Bigot 286 
 
 Timon of Athens 287 
 
 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 
 
 The Mulberry Garden 288 
 
 TOM D'URFEY. 
 
 The Comical History of Don Quixote .... 289 
 
 The Modern Prophets; or, New Wit for a Husband . 290 
 
 SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. 
 
 The Relapse; or, Virtue in Danger ..... 291 
 
 The Provoked Wife 292 
 
 ^sop 292 
 
 • WILLIAM CONGREVE. 
 
 Love for Love ......... 293 
 
 The Way of the World 294 
 
CONTENTS. Xxi 
 
 GEORGE FARQUIIAR. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Love and a Bottle ........ 296 
 
 The Twins . 297 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 
 
 The Duenna ......... 297 
 
 The School for Scandal ....... 300 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 JOHN O'KEEFE. 
 The Highland Reel 301 
 
 HENRY WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 The Spanish Student ....... 303 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 Queen Mary 304 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 A Blot in the 'Scutcheon ....... 305 
 
 Pippa Passes ......... 306 
 
 DION BOUCICAULT. 
 Arrah-na-Pogue ........ 307 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 
 Chastelard ......... 309 
 
SONGS FROM THE DRAMATISTS. 
 
 NICHOLAS UDALL. 
 
 1505-1556. 
 
 [Nicholas Udall, descended from Peter Lord Uve- 
 dale and Nicholas Udall, constable of Winchester Castle 
 in the reign of Edward Ul.,^ was born in Hampshire in 
 1505 or 1506. admitted scholar of Corpus Christ! College, 
 Oxford, 1520, and became probationary fellow 1524, but 
 did not obtain his master's degree for ten years afterwards, 
 in consequence of his known attachment to the doctrines 
 of Luther. His first literary work was a pageant in Latin 
 and English, exhibited by the mayor and citizens of Lon- 
 don, to celebrate the entrance of Anne Bullen into the 
 city after her marriage. This was written in 1532, in con- 
 junction with Leland, the antiquary, with whom he had 
 formed a friendship at Oxford. In 1534, having acquired 
 a high reputation for scholarship, he was appointed head 
 master of Eton. His severity in this capacity rendered 
 him odious to the pupils, and has been specially recorded 
 by Tusser, who says that Udall inflicted fifty-three stripes 
 upon him 'for fault but small, or none at all.'' ^ Udall 
 
 1 Communicated to the Gentleman' s Magazine, v. Ixxx. p. 2, by 
 Robert Uvedale, in reply to the inquiries of Dr. Mavor, then making 
 collections for his edition of Tusser. 
 
 ^ See the poetical life added by Tusser to his poems. 
 
 I 
 
2 NICHOLAS UDALL. 
 
 continued at Eton till 1541, when he was brought before 
 the council at Westminster, on a charge of having been 
 concerned with two of the scholars and a servant of his 
 own in a robbery of silver images and plate which had 
 taken place at the college. There seems to be little doubt 
 of his guilty knowledge of the transaction, if not of actual 
 complicity in the theft, for he was dismissed from the 
 mastership, and applied in vain to be restored. No further 
 proceedings, however, were taken against him. From this 
 time he devoted himself to literature, and took a leading 
 part in the discussions against Popery. His great learn- 
 ing, and the services he rendered to religion by his con- 
 troversial writings and his eloquence in the pulpit, were 
 rewarded by his presentation to a stall at Windsor in 155 1, 
 and his nomination to the parsonage of Calborne, in the 
 Isle of Wight, two years afterwards. These preferments 
 in the church were not considered inconsistent with the 
 encouragement of his skill as a dramatic writer ; and in 
 1553 and 1554 he was ordered to prepare an entertainment 
 for the feast of the coronation of Queen Mary, — Dialogues 
 and Interludes to be performed at court. About this time 
 he was appointed head master of Westminster school, 
 which he held till 1556, when the monastery was re- 
 established in the November of that year. He died in 
 the following month, and was buried at St. Margaret's.^ 
 
 It had long been supposed that Gammer Gurton's 
 Needle was the first regular English comedy. This sup- 
 position rested on the authority of Wright, the author of 
 the Historia Histrio7iica. But the discovery, in 181 8, of 
 a copy of Ralph Roister Bolster , printed in 1566 (curi- 
 
 1 These particulars are chiefly derived from Mr. W. Durrant 
 Cooper's careful memoir prefixed to the edition of Ralph Roister 
 Doister, reprinted by the Shakespeare Society, from the unique copy 
 in Eton College. The memoir may be consulted for a further account 
 pf Udall's works. 
 
NICHOLAS UDALL. 3 
 
 ously enough the year in which Gauuner Gurton's Needle 
 was acted), transferred the precedence to Nicholas Udall. 
 At what time Udall wrote this play is not known. The 
 earliest reference to it occurs in Wilson's Rule of Reason, 
 printed in 1551. From a contemporary allusion in the 
 play to a certain ballad-maker, also alluded to by Skelton, 
 who died in 1533, Mr. Collier conjectures that the comedy 
 was a youthful production. ^ This is extremely probable; 
 although the evidence is not decisive, as the ballad-maker 
 alluded to might have survived, and maintained his noto- 
 riety many years after the death of Skelton. However 
 that may be, the claim of this comedy to be considered 
 the first in our language is indisputable. It must have 
 preceded Gammer GiirtotCs Needle by at least fifteen 
 years ; and, being at that period so well known as to be 
 quoted by Wilson, we may reasonably assign it to a much 
 earlier date. 
 
 The comedy is written in rhyme, and divided into acts 
 and scenes. The action takes place in London, and the 
 plot, constructed with a surprising knowledge of stage art, 
 affords ample opportunity for the development of a variety 
 of characters. The copy discovered in 18 18 wants the 
 title-page, but is presumed to have borne the date of 1566, 
 as in that year Thomas Hackett had a license to print it. 
 In 1 81 8 a limited reprint was made by the Rev. Mr. Briggs, 
 who deposited the original in the library of Eton College. 
 ' There was a singular propriety,' observes Mr. Collier, ' in 
 presenting it to Eton College, as Udall had been master 
 of the school ; ' a circumstance which was entirely fortui- 
 tous, Mr. Briggs not being acquainted even with the name 
 of the author. It was reprinted in 1821 and 1830, and 
 lastly by the Shakespeare Society in 1847.] 
 
 1 His. En. Dra7n. Poetry, ii. 246. 
 
4 NICHOLAS UDALL. 
 
 RALPH ROISTER BOLSTER. 
 THE work-girls' SONG.^ 
 
 Pipe, merry Annot ; 
 
 Trilla, Trilla, Trillarie. 
 Work, Tibet ; work, Annot ; work, Margerie ; 
 Sew, Tibet ; knit, Annot ; spin, Margerie ; 
 Let us see who will win the victory. 
 
 Pipe, merry Annot ; 
 
 Trilla, Trilla, Trillarie. 
 What, Tibet ! what, Annot ! what, Margerie ! 
 Ye sleep, but we do not, that shall we try; 
 Your fingers be numb, our work will not he. 
 
 Pipe, merry Annot ; 
 
 Trilla, Trilla, Trillarie. 
 Now Tibet, now Annot, now Margerie ; 
 Now whippet apace for the maystrie : ^ 
 But it will not be, our mouth is so dry. 
 
 1 To make this lively round intelligible, the reader should be in- 
 formed that it is sung by three sewing girls, who are variously em- 
 ployed, as indicated in the first stanza. The stage directions at the 
 opening of the scene describe their several occupations : ' Madge 
 Murnblecriist spinning on the distaff — Tibet Talkative sewing — 
 Annot Alyface knitting.' After some idle clatter, in which they are 
 joined by the hair-brained Roister Doister, they agree to sing a song, 
 to beguile the time and help them on in their work, 
 
 Annot. Let all these matters pass, and we three sing a song ; 
 So shall we pleasantly both the time beguile now, 
 And eke dispatch all our work, ere we can tell how. 
 Tibet. I shrew them that say nay, and that shall not be I. 
 Aladge. And I am well content. 
 Tibet. Sing on then by and by. 
 
 2 Mastery, superior skill. 
 
THE SEWING-MEN'S SONG. 
 
 Pipe, merry Annot ; 
 
 Trilla, Trilla, Trillarie. 
 When, Tibet? when, Annot? when, Margerie? 
 I will not, — I can not, — no more can I ; 
 Then give we all over, and there let it He ! 
 
 THE sewing-men's SONG. 
 
 A THING very fit 
 
 For them that have wit. 
 
 And are fellows knit, 
 Servants in one house to be ; 
 
 As fast for to sit 
 
 And not oft to flit. 
 
 Nor vary a whit. 
 But lovingly to agree. 
 
 No man complaining, 
 
 Nor other disdaining, 
 
 For loss or for gaining. 
 But fellows or friends to be ; 
 
 No grudge remaining. 
 
 No work refraining, 
 
 Nor help restraining. 
 But lovingly to agree. 
 
 No man for despite, 
 
 By word or by write. 
 
 His fellow to twite, 
 But further in honesty ; 
 
 No good turns entwite,^ 
 
 Nor old sores recite, 
 1 Twite, entwite — to twit, to reproach. 
 
NICHOLAS UDALL. 
 
 But let all go quite, 
 And lovingly to agree. 
 
 After drudgery, 
 
 When they be weary. 
 
 Then to be merry, 
 To laugh and sing they be free ; 
 
 With chip and cherie. 
 
 Heigh derie derie, 
 
 Trill on the berie, 
 And lovingly to agree. 
 
 THE MINION WIFE. 
 
 Who so to marry a minion ^ wife, 
 Hath had good chance and hap, 
 
 Must love her and cherish her all his life, 
 And dandle her in his lap. 
 
 If she will fare well, if she will go gay, 
 
 A good husband ever still. 
 What ever she list to do or to say, 
 
 Must let her have her own will. 
 
 About what affairs so ever he go. 
 He must shew her all his mind. 
 
 None of his counsel she may be kept fro, 
 Else is he a man unkind. 
 
 I MUN BE MARRIED A SUNDAY. 
 
 I MUN be married a Sunday ; 
 I mun be married a Sunday ; 
 
 1 Pet or darling. 
 
/ MUN BE MARRIED A SUNDAY. y 
 
 Who soever shall come that way, 
 I mun be married a Sunday. 
 
 Roister Bolster is my name ; 
 Roister Bolster is my name ; 
 A lusty brute I am the same ; 
 I mun be married a Sunday. 
 
 Christian Custance have I found ; 
 Christian Custance have I found ; 
 A widow worth a thousand pound : 
 I mun be married a Sunday. 
 
 Custance is as sweet as honey ; 
 Custance is as sweet as honey ; 
 I her lamb, and she my coney; 
 I mun be married a Sunday. 
 
 When we shall make our wedding feast, 
 When we shall make our wedding feast, 
 There shall be cheer for man and beast, 
 I mun be married a Sunday. 
 
 I mun be married a Sunday.^ 
 
 1 The following passage occurs in the Taming of the Shrew : — 
 
 We will have rings, and things, and fine array ; 
 And kiss me, Kate, we will be married o' Sunday. 
 
 Act ii. Sc. I. 
 
 The concluding words, probably intended to be sung with a fine 
 air of banter and bravery by Petruchio as he goes off the stage, are 
 evidently taken from the burthen of Ralph Roister Bolster's song, 
 which we may, therefore, infer to have been one of the popular 
 ballads in Shakespeare's time. 
 
8 NICHOLAS UDALL. 
 
 THE PSALMODIE FOR THE REJECTED LOVER. 
 
 Maister Roister Doister will straight go home and 
 
 die, 
 Our Lord Jesus Christ his soul have mercy upon: 
 Thus you see to day a man, to morrow John. 
 
 Yet, saving for a woman's extreme cruelty, 
 He might have lived yet a month, or two, or three ; 
 But, in spite of Custance, which hath him wearied. 
 His mashyp shall be worshipfully buried. 
 And while some piece of his soul is yet him within. 
 Some part of his funeral let us here begin. 
 Dirige. He will go darkling to his grave ; 
 Neque lux^ iieque crux, nisi sohun clink ; 
 Never genman so went toward heaven, I think. 
 Yet, sirs, as ye will the bliss of heaven win, 
 When he cometh to the grave, lay him softly in ; 
 And all men take heed, by this one gentleman. 
 How you set your love upon an unkind woman ; 
 For these women be all such mad peevish elves. 
 They will not be won, except it please themselves. 
 But, in faith, Custance, if ever ye come in hell, 
 Maister Roister Doister shall serve you as well. 
 
 Good night, Roger old knave ; Farewell, Roger old 
 
 knave ; 
 Good night, Roger old knave ; knave knap. 
 Nequando. Audivi vocem. Requiem ceternam. 
 
 \A peal of bells ru?ig by the Parish Clerk 
 and Roister Doister'' s four me?i. 
 
JOHN HEY WOOD. 9 
 
 JOHN HEYWOOD. 
 
 157-. 
 
 [John Heywood's claims to a prominent place amongst 
 the dramatists are not very considerable. His productions 
 in this way are neither numerous nor important. They can 
 scarcely be called plays, in the higher sense of the term, 
 and are more accurately described by the designation usually 
 applied to them of Interludes, having few characters and 
 scarcely any plot, and consisting entirely of an uninterrupted 
 dialogue, without an attempt at action or structural design. 
 They may be said to represent the transition from the Mo- 
 ralities to the regular drama; and in this point of view they 
 possess a special interest. 
 
 The date of Hey wood's birth is not known, nor has the 
 place been ascertained with certainty. According to Bale 
 and Wood, he was born in the city of London, and received 
 his education in the University of Oxford, at the ancient 
 hostel of Broadgate, in St. Aldgate's parish. Other writers 
 assert that he was born at North Mimms, near St. Alban's, 
 Hertfordshire, where the family had some property, and at 
 which place he lived after he left college; while a MS. in 
 the possession of the Earl of Ellesmere describes him as a 
 native of Kent. 
 
 Hey wood had no inclination for the life of a student. His 
 tastes lay in music, good fellowship, and ' mad, merry wit ' ; 
 and, as he tells us in one of his epigrams, he applied himself 
 to ' mirth more than thrift.' That he profited little by his 
 residence at Oxford may be inferred from an observation 
 made by Puttenham, who ascribes the favour in which he 
 stood at Court to his ' mirth and quickness of conceit more 
 than any good learning that was in him.' In Hertfordshire 
 
10 JOHN HEY WOOD. 
 
 he became acquainted with Sir Thomas More, who lived 
 in the neighbourhood, and who was so well pleased with his 
 aptness for jest and repartee, qualities in much request at 
 that period with the reigning monarch, that he not only 
 introduced him to Henry VIII., but is said to have assisted 
 him in the composition of his epigrams. He became a great 
 favourite with the king, who appears, from his Book of Pay- 
 ments, to have taken him into his service as a player on the 
 virginal ; and gratuities from both the princesses are to be 
 found amongst the items of the royal expenditure. In addi- 
 tion to his wit and his music, he appears also to have had 
 some talent as an actor, and to have presented an interlude 
 at court (written no doubt by himself), played, according 
 to the fashion then prevalent, by children. Heywood was a 
 staunch Roman Catholic, a circumstance to which, we may 
 presuine, he was mainly indebted for the particular favours 
 bestowed upon him by the Princess Mary, who admitted him 
 to the most intimate conversation during the time of Henry 
 VIII. and thesucceeding reign, and conferred a distinguished 
 mark of her patronage upon him when she came to the 
 throne, by appointing him to address her in a Latin and 
 English oration on her procession through the city to West- 
 minster the day before her coronation. These were the 
 palmy days of Heywood's career. The queen was so great 
 an admirer of his humorous talents that she constantly sent 
 for him to beguile the hours of illness, and is said to have 
 sought relief from pain in his diverting stories even when 
 she was languishing on her death-bed. ' His stories,' ob- 
 serves Chalmers, ' must have been diverting, indeed, if they 
 soothed the recollections of such a woman.'' 
 
 Upon the death of Queen Mary he suffered the reverse 
 which attended most of her personal adherents. The Prot- 
 estant religion was now in the ascendancy, and Heywood 
 had been so conspicuous a follower of the late sovereign, 
 that he either could not endure to live under the rule of 
 
JOHN HEYWOOD. II 
 
 her successor, or was apprehensive that his safety would 
 be jeopardized if he remained in England. He accordingly 
 left the kingdom, and settled at Mechlin, in Belgium, where 
 Wood informs us he died in 1565. The Ellesmere MS., 
 however, says that he was still living in 1576. He left 
 two sons, Ellis and Jasper, who both became Jesuits, and 
 were eminent for their learning. 
 
 In private life Heywood was a humorist and a jovial com- 
 panion. The same character pervades his writings, which 
 derived their popularity in his own time mainly from his 
 social talents and his position at court. He began to write 
 about 1530; and his interludes, with one exception, were 
 published in 1533.^ His parable upon Queen Mary, called 
 The spider and the Fly, appeared in 1556, and his epi- 
 grams, by which he is best known to modern readers, in 
 
 1576. 
 
 The Play of Love, from which the following song is 
 extracted, affords a fair sample of his dramatic system. 
 The characters are mere abstractions — a Lover loving 
 and not loved, a Woman loved and not loving, and a Vice 
 who neither loves nor is loved. The dialogue draws out 
 these metaphysical entities into a discourse which much 
 more nearly resembles the application of the exhausting 
 process to a very dull argument than the development of 
 a passion. In the song taken from this play, Heywood 
 adopts the vein of Skelton, who died in 1529, and who was 
 not, as has been stated, one of his contemporaries. Hey- 
 wood rarely displayed much tenderness of feeling, or an 
 instinct of the beautiful ; but more of these qualities will 
 be found in this song, and in his verses on the Princess 
 
 1 For an account of these interludes the reader may be referred to 
 Mr. Fairholt's excellent introduction to Haywood's Dialogue on Wit 
 and Folly, printed by the Percy Society, from the original MS. in the 
 British Museum. 
 
12 JOHN HEYWOOD. 
 
 Mary,^ than might be expected from the general character 
 of his writings.] 
 
 THE PLAY OF LOVE. 
 IN PRAISE OF HIS LADY. 
 
 And to begin 
 
 At setting in : 
 
 First was her skin 
 
 White, smooth and thin, 
 
 And every vein 
 
 So blue seen plain ; 
 
 Her golden hair 
 
 To see her wear, 
 
 Her wearing gear, 
 
 Alas ! I fear 
 
 To tell all to you, 
 
 1 Harleian MS,, No. 1703. This poem, intitled A Description of 
 a most Noble Lady, was printed in Park's edition of Walpole's Royal 
 and Noble Authors, and a modernized copy of it is given in Evans's 
 Old Ballads ; another and a different version, in which some stanzas 
 are omitted, and others ahered, was published in To\\.€\!%Miscella7iy, 
 amongst the contributions of ' Uncertain Authors,' and quoted in 
 that form (with the exception of a single verse) in Ellis's Specimens. 
 Tottel's version will be found complete amongst the specimens of 
 minor poets contemporaneous with Surrey, in the volume of Surrey's 
 Poems, Ann. Ed. p. 237. It is there inserted, as it had been pre- 
 viously copied by Ellis, amongst the ' Uncertain Authors,' and a 
 conjecture hazarded from internal evidence that it might have been 
 written by George Boleyn. There is no doubt, however, that the 
 poem in the Harleian MS. was written by Heywood, and that the 
 share which the ' uncertain author,' whoever he may have been, 
 had in Tottel's version, consisted in imparting certain refinements 
 to the original, by which the sweetness and beauty of the expression 
 are much heightened. 
 
IN PRAISE OF HIS LADY. 1 3 
 
 I shall undo you. 
 Her eye so rolling 
 Each heart controlling ; 
 Her nose not long, 
 Her stode not wrong : 
 Her finger tips 
 So clean she clips ; 
 Her rosy lips, 
 Her cheeks gossips 
 So fair, so ruddy, 
 It axeth study 
 The whole to tell ; 
 It did excel. 
 It w^as so made 
 That even the shade 
 At every glade 
 Would hearts invade : 
 The paps small. 
 And round withal ; 
 The waist not mickle, 
 But it was tickle : ^ 
 The thigh, the knee, 
 As they should be ; 
 But such a leg, 
 A lover would beg 
 To set eye on, 
 But it is gone : 
 
 1 In the sense of exciting. Tyckyll also meant unsteady, un- 
 certain, doubtful. A thing was tickle that did not stand tirmly — 
 tickle weather was uncertain weather. Hence the modern phrase 
 ticklish — a ticklish case, a doubtful case. 
 
14 JOHN HEY WOOD. 
 
 Then, sight of the foot 
 Rift hearts to the root. 
 
 [The four songs that follow are derived from another 
 source. There is no evidence to show that they were 
 written for the stage, although it is not improbable that 
 some of them might have been sung in the interludes. 
 Whether such a supposition may be considered sufficient 
 to justify their insertion in this collection, I will not pre- 
 tend to determine ; but the reader who takes an interest 
 in our early ballads will discover an ample reason for their 
 introduction in the broad light they throw upon the lyrical 
 poetry of the sixteenth century, and especially upon the 
 peculiar style and manner of Heywood. 
 
 These four songs, together with many others, are con- 
 tained in the same MS. with Redford's play of Wit atid 
 Science., which belonged to the late Mr. Bright, and was 
 printed in 1848 by the Shakespeare Society, under the 
 discriminating editorship of Mr. Halliwell. ' The collec- 
 tion of songs by John Heywood and others/ observes Mr. 
 Halliwell, ' is of considerable interest to the poetical anti- 
 quary ; some are remarkably curious, and all of them 
 belong to a period at which the reliques of that class of 
 composition are exceedingly rare, and difficult to be met 
 with.' 
 
 The collection contains eight songs by Heywood. The 
 four here selected are intrinsically the best, and the most 
 characteristic of the manner of the writer.] 
 
 THE SONG OF THE GREEN WILLOW.^ 
 
 All a green willow, willow, 
 
 All a green willow is my garland. 
 
 1 The ballad, of which a fragment is sung by Desdemona {^Othello, 
 Act iv. Sc. 3), derives its burthen from this song, which Mr. Halli- 
 
SONG OF THE GREEN WILLOW. 1 5 
 
 Alas ! by what means may I make ye to know 
 The unkindness for kindness that to me doth grow ? 
 That one who most kind love on me should bestow, 
 Most unkind unkindness to me she doth show, 
 For all a green willow is my garland ! 
 
 To have love and hold love, where love is so sped. 
 Oh ! delicate food to the lover so fed ! 
 From love won to love lost where lovers be led, 
 Oh ! desperate dolor, the lover is dead ! 
 
 For all a green willow is his garland ! 
 
 She said she did love me, and would love me still, 
 She swore above all men I had her good will ; 
 
 well observes is, perhaps, the oldest in our language with the wil- 
 low burthen. There are many other songs with the same refrain 
 of a later date. The following verse, or canto, is probably the earli- 
 est imitation of Heywood's song extant. It is extracted from an 
 anonymous prose comedy, called Sir Gyles Goosecappe, presented 
 by the children of the chapel, and printed in 1606. The canto winds 
 up the piece, and the allusion to the willow bears upon a boasting 
 Captain who is left without a bride in the end. 
 
 Willow, willow, willow, 
 
 Our captain goes down : 
 Willow, willow, willow. 
 
 His valour doth crown. 
 The rest with rosemary we grace, 
 
 O Hymen, light thy light. 
 With richest rays gild every face, 
 
 And feast hearts with delight. 
 Willow, willow, willow, 
 
 We chaunt to the skies : 
 And with black and yellow, 
 
 Give courtship the prize. 
 
l6 JOHN HEY WOOD. 
 
 She said and she swore she would my will fulfil ; 
 The promise all good, the performance all ill ; 
 For all a green willow is my garland ! 
 
 Now, woe with the willow, and woe with the wight 
 That windeth willow, willow garland to dight ! 
 That dole dealt in allmys ^ is all amiss quite ! 
 Where lovers are beggars for allmys in sight, 
 
 No lover doth beg for this willow garland ! 
 
 Of this willow garland the burden seems small, 
 But my break-neck burden I may it well call ; 
 Like the sow of lead on my head it doth fall ! 
 Breakhead, and break neck, back, bones, brain, heart 
 and all ! 
 
 All parts pressed in pieces ! 
 
 Too ill for her think I best things may be had. 
 Too good for me thinketh she things being most bad, 
 All I do present her that may make her glad. 
 All she doth present me that may make me sad ; 
 
 This equity have I with this willow garland ! 
 
 Could I forget thee, as thou canst forget me. 
 
 That were my sound fault, which cannot nor shall 
 
 be ; 
 Though thou, like the soaring hawk, every way flee, 
 I will be the turtle still steadfast to thee, 
 
 And patiently wear this willow garland ! 
 
 1 The allmys-dish, or alms-dish, was the dish in the old halls and 
 country houses where bread was placed for the poor. 
 
BE MERRY, FRIENDS! 1/ 
 
 All ye that have had love, and have my like wrong, 
 My like truth and patience plant still ye among ; 
 When feminine fancies for new love do long, 
 Old love cannot hold them, new love is so strong, 
 For all. 
 
 . BE MERRY, FRIENDS ! ^ 
 
 Be merry, friends, take ye no thought, 
 For worldly cares care ye right nought ; 
 For whoso doth, when all is sought. 
 Shall find that thought availeth nought ; 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 All such as have all wealth at will, 
 Their wills at will for to fulfil. 
 From grief or grudge or any ill 
 I need not sing this them until. 
 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 But unto such as wish and want 
 Of worldly wealth wrought them so scant, 
 That wealth by work they cannot plant. 
 To them I sing at this instant. 
 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 And such as when the rest seem next, 
 Then they be straight extremely vexed ; 
 
 1 In the collection called A Book of Roxburghe Ballads, edited by 
 Mr. Collier, there is a modernized version of this song, taken from 
 a broadside printed soon after 1600. It contains some additional 
 stanzas, which I have inserted in brackets to distinguish them from 
 the version given by Mr. Halliwell. 
 
1 8 JOHN HEY WOOD. 
 
 And such as be in storms perplexed, 
 To them I sing this short sweet text, 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 To laugh and win each man agrees, 
 But each man cannot laugh and lose, 
 Yet laughing in the last of those 
 Hath been allowed of sage decrees ; 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 Be merry with sorrow, wise men have said. 
 Which saying, being wisely weighed. 
 It seems a lesson truly laid 
 For those whom sorrows still invade, 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 Make ye not two sorrows of one, 
 For of one grief grafted alone 
 To graft a sorrow thereupon, 
 A sourer crab we can graft none ; 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 Taking our sorrows sorrowfully, 
 Sorrow augmenteth our malady ; 
 Taking our sorrows merrily. 
 Mirth salveth sorrows most soundly ; 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 Of griefs to come standing in fray, 
 Provide defence the best we may ; 
 Which done, no more to do or say, 
 Come what come shall, come care away ! 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
BE MERRY, FRIENDS! 1 9 
 
 In such things as we cannot flee, 
 But needs they must endured be, 
 Let wise contentment be decree 
 Make virtue of necessity ; 
 
 Be merry, friends 1 
 
 To lack or lose that we would. win, 
 So that our fault be not therein, 
 What woe or want, end or begin, 
 Take never sorrow but for sin ! 
 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 In loss of friends, in lack of health. 
 In loss of goods, in lack of wealth, 
 Where liberty restraint expelleth, 
 Where all these lack, yet as this telleth. 
 Be merry, friends ! ^ 
 
 Man hardly hath a richer thing 
 Than honest mirth, the which well-spring 
 Watereth the roots of rejoicing, 
 Feeding the flowers of flourishing ; 
 Be merry, friends ! ^ 
 
 [The loss of wealth is loss of dirt, 
 As sages in all times assert ; 
 
 1 In the Roxburghe copy this verse is thus modernized : — 
 
 If friends be lost, then get thee more ; 
 If weahh be lost, thou still hast store — 
 The merry man is never poor, 
 He lives upon the world ; therefore. 
 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 2 This verse is omitted in the Roxburghe copy. 
 
20 JOHN HEY WOOD. 
 
 The happy man's without a shirt, 
 And never comes to maim or hurt. 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 All seasons are to him the spring. 
 In flowers bright and flourishing ; 
 With birds upon the tree or wing, 
 Who in their fashion always sing 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 If that thy doublet has a hole in, 
 Why, it cannot keep the less thy soul in, 
 Which rangeth forth beyond controlling 
 Whilst thou hast nought to do but trolling 
 Be merry, friends !] 
 
 Be merry in God, saint Paul saith plain. 
 And yet, saith he, be merry again ; 
 Since whose advice is not in vain. 
 The fact thereof to entertain. 
 
 Be merry, friends ! 
 
 [Let the world slide, let the world go : 
 A fig for care, and a fig for woe ! 
 If I can't pay, why I can owe. 
 And death makes equal the high and low. 
 Be merry, friends !] 
 
 IDLENESS. 
 
 What heart can think, or tongue express. 
 The harm that groweth of idleness ? 
 
IDLENESS. 21 
 
 This idleness in some of us 
 
 4s seen to seem a thing but sHght ; 
 
 But if that sum the sums discuss, 
 
 The total sum doth show us straight 
 This idleness to weigh such weight 
 
 That it no tongue can well express, 
 
 The harm that groweth of idleness. 
 
 This vice I liken to a weed 
 
 That husband-men have named tyne, 
 
 The which in corn doth root or breed ; 
 The grain to ground it doth incline, 
 It never ripeth, but rotteth in fine ; 
 
 And even a like thing is to guess 
 
 Against all virtue, idleness. 
 
 The proud man may be patient, 
 
 The ireful may be liberal, 
 The gluttonous may be continent. 
 
 The covetous may give alms all, 
 
 The lecher may to prayer ^ fall ; 
 Each vice bideth some good business, 
 Save only idle idleness. 
 
 As some one virtue may by grace 
 
 Suppress of vices many a one, 
 So is one vice once taken place 
 
 Destroyeth all virtues every one ; 
 
 Where this vice cometh, all virtues are gone, 
 In no kind of good business 
 Can company with idleness. 
 
 1 This word was constantly used as a dissyllable. 
 
22 JOHN HEY WOOD. 
 
 An ill wind that bloweth no man good, 
 The blower of which blast is she ; 
 
 The lyther ^ lusts bred of her brood 
 Can no way breed good property ; 
 Wherefore I say, as we now see. 
 
 No heart can think, or tongue express. 
 
 The harm that groweth of idleness ! 
 
 To cleanse the corn, as men at need 
 
 Weed out all weeds, and tyne for chief, 
 
 Let diligence our weed-hook weed 
 All vice from us for like relief ; 
 As faith may faithfully shew proof 
 
 By faithful fruitful business. 
 
 To weed out fruitless idleness. 
 
 WELCOME IS THE BEST DISH. 
 
 Ye be welcome, ye be welcome. 
 Ye be welcome one by one ; 
 
 Ye be heartily welcome. 
 
 Ye be heartily welcome every one ! 
 
 When friends like friends do friendly show 
 Unto each other high and low, 
 What cheer increase of love doth grow. 
 What better cheer than they to know ! 
 
 This is welcome ! 
 To bread or drink, to flesh or fish, 
 Yet welcome is the best dish I 
 
 1 Lazy. 
 
WELCOME IS THE BEST DISH. 23 
 
 In all our fare, in all our cheer 
 Of dainty meats sought far or near, 
 Most fine, most costly to appear, 
 What for all this, if all this gear 
 
 Lack this welcome ? 
 This cheer, lo ! is not worth one rush, 
 For welcome is the best dish ! 
 
 Where welcome is, though fare be small, 
 Yet honest hearts be pleased withal ; 
 When welcome want, though great fare fall, 
 No honest heart content it shall 
 
 Without welcome ; 
 For honest hearts do ever wish 
 To have welcome to the best dish. 
 
 Some with small fare they be not pleased ; 
 Some with much fare be much diseased ; 
 Some with mean fare be scant appeased ; 
 But of all somes none is displeased 
 
 To be welcome ! 
 Then all good cheer to accomplish, 
 Welcome must be the best dish. 
 
 Yet some to this will say that they 
 Without welcome with meat live may, 
 And with welcome without meat, nay ! 
 Wherefore meat seems best dish, they say. 
 
 And not welcome ! 
 But this vain saying to banish, 
 We will prove welcome here best dish. 
 
24 JOHN HEY WOOD. 
 
 Though in some case, for man's rehef, 
 Meat without welcome may be chief ; 
 Yet where man come, as here in proof. 
 Much more for love than hunger's grief, 
 
 Here is welcome. 
 Thorough all the cheer to furnish, 
 Here is welcome the best dish. 
 
 What is this welcome now to tell ? 
 Ye are welcome, ye are come well. 
 As heart can wish your coming fell, 
 Your coming glads my heart each dell ! 
 
 This is welcome ! 
 Wherefore all doubts to relinquish, 
 Your welcome is your best dish. 
 
 Now as we have in words here spent 
 Declared the fact of welcome meant, 
 So pray we you to take the intent 
 Of this poor dish that we present 
 
 To your welcome, 
 As heartily as heart can wish ; 
 Your welcome is here your best dish 1 
 
JOHN STILL. 25 
 
 JOHN STILL. 
 
 1 543-1 607. 
 
 [There is little known of the life of John Still beyond 
 the incidents of his preferments in the church. He was 
 the son of William Still, of Grantham, in Lincolnshire, 
 where he was born in 1543. He took the degree of M.A. 
 at Christ's College, Cambridge, where he was made Mar- 
 garet Professor in 1570: and in subsequent years was 
 elected Master of St. John's, and afterwards of Trinity 
 College. In 1571 he was presented to the Rectory of 
 Hadleigh, in Suffolk, commissioned one of the Deans of 
 Bocking in 1572, collated to the vicarage of Eastmarham, 
 in Yorkshire, in 1573, and installed Canon of Westminster 
 and Dean of Sudbury in 1576. He was chosen prolocutor 
 of convocation in 1588, promoted in 1592 to the see of 
 Bath and Wells, and held the bishopric till his death in 
 1607, having amassed a large fortune by the Mendip lead 
 mines in the diocese, and endowed an almshouse in Wales, 
 to which he bequeathed ^500. Bishop Still was twice 
 married, and left a large family. His excellent character 
 is attested by Sir John Harrington, who says that he was 
 a man ' to whom he never came but he grew more religious, 
 and from whom he never went but he parted more in- 
 structed.' 
 
 The comedy of Gammer Gurion's Needle was originally 
 printed in 1575, but written several years earlier. It is 
 composed in rhyme, and regularly divided into acts and 
 scenes. The plot is meagre and silly, the whole of the 
 five acts being occupied by a hunt after a needle which 
 Gammer Gurton is supposed to have mislaid, but which is 
 found, by way of catastrophe, in a garment she had been 
 mending. The altercations, quarrels, mishaps, and cross- 
 
26 JOHN STILL. 
 
 purposes, arising out of this circumstance constitute the 
 entire substance of the piece. The dialogue is coarse, 
 even for the age in which it was written, and the humour 
 seldom rises above the level of clowns and buffoons.] 
 
 GAMMER GURTON'S NEEDLE. 
 DRINKING SONG.^ 
 
 Back and side go bare, go bare, 
 
 Both foot and hand go cold : 
 But belly, God send thee good ale enough, 
 
 Whether it be new or old. 
 
 1 Warton, in his History of Poets, iii. 206, quotes this song as 
 the first Chanson a boire of any merit in our language. He says it 
 appeared in 1551. This must be an oversight, if Still is to be con- 
 sidered the author, as he was then only eight years old. The com- 
 edy was produced in 1566, and printed for the first time in 1^75. 
 This song, observes Warton, ' has a vein of ease and humour which 
 we should not expect to have been inspired by the simple beverage 
 of those times.' Still less might it have been expected from the 
 writer of the dialogue of this piece, the versification of which is 
 harsh and lumbering. Whether Bishop Still really wrote the song, 
 may be doubted. Mr. Dyce, in his edition of Skelton's works, gives 
 another version of it from a MS. in his possession, which he says 
 is certainly of an earlier date than 1575. The differences are very 
 curious and interesting; but the most striking point of variance is 
 the omission of the verse referring to Tyb, Gammer Gurton's maid, 
 which suggests the probability that the song may have been origi- 
 nally an independent composition, of which Bishop Still availed 
 himself, adapting it to the comedy by curtailments and a new verse 
 with a personal allusion. There are many instances of a similar 
 use being made of popular ballads by the old dramatists. How far 
 this conjecture is justifiable, must be determined by a comparison 
 between the above version and that given by Mr. Dyce, which is 
 here subjoined in the orthograpliy of the original. 
 
 backe & syde goo bare goo bare 
 bothe hande & fote goo colde 
 but belly god sende the good ale inowghe 
 whether hyt be newe or olde. 
 
DRINKING SONG. 2/ 
 
 I can not eat, but little meat, 
 
 My stomach is not good ; 
 But sure I think, that I can drink 
 
 With him that wears a hood. 
 
 but yf that I may have trwly 
 
 good ale my belly full 
 
 I shall looke lyke one by swete sainte Johnn 
 
 were shoron agaynste the woole 
 
 thowte I goo bare take you no care 
 
 I am nothing colde 
 
 I stuffe my skynne so full within 
 
 of joly goode ale & olde. 
 
 I cannot eate but lytyll meate 
 
 my stomacke ys not goode 
 
 but sure I thyncke that I cowd dryncke 
 
 with hym that werythe an hoode 
 
 dryncke is my lyfe althowghe my wyfe 
 
 some tyme do chyde & scolde 
 
 yet spare I not to plye the potte 
 
 of joly goode ale & olde. 
 
 backe & syde, &c. 
 
 I love noo roste but a browne toste 
 
 or a crabbe in the fyer 
 
 a lytyll breade shall do me steade 
 
 mooche breade I neuer desyer 
 
 nor froste nor snowe nor wynde I trow 
 
 canne hurte me yf hyt wolde 
 
 I am so wrapped within & lapped 
 
 with joly goode ale & olde. 
 
 backe & syde, &c. 
 
 I care ryte nowghte I take no thowte 
 for clothes to kepe me warme 
 have I goode dryncke I surely thyncke 
 nothynge canne do me harme 
 
28 JOHN STILL. 
 
 Though I go bare, take ye no care, 
 
 I am nothing a cold ; 
 I stuff my skin so full within, 
 
 Of jolly good ale and old. 
 
 Back and side go bare, go bare, 
 Both foot and hand go cold : 
 
 But belly, God send thee good ale enough, 
 Whether it be new or old. 
 
 for trwly than I feare noman 
 
 be he neuer so bolde 
 
 when I am armed and throwly warmed 
 
 with joly goode a)e & old. 
 
 backe & syde, &c. 
 
 but novve & than I curse & banne 
 
 they make ther ale so small 
 
 god geve them care and evill to faare 
 
 they strye the malte and all 
 
 sooche pevisshe pewe I tell yowe trwe 
 
 not for a c[r]ovne of golde 
 
 ther commethe one syppe within my lyppe 
 
 whether hyt be newe or olde. 
 
 backe & syde, &c. 
 
 good ale & stronge makethe me amonge 
 
 full joconde & full lyte 
 
 that ofte I slepe & take no kepe 
 
 from mornynge vntyll nyte 
 
 then starte I vppe & fle to the cuppe 
 
 the ryte waye on I holde 
 
 my thurste to staunche I fyll my paynche 
 
 with joly goode ale & olde. 
 
 backe & syde, &c. 
 
 and kytte my wife that as her lyfe 
 lovethe well goode ale to seke 
 
DRINKING SONG. 29 
 
 I love no roast, but a nut-brown toast, 
 
 And a crab laid in the fire, 
 A little bread shall do me stead, 
 
 Much bread I not desire. 
 No frost nor snow, no wind, I trow, 
 
 Can hurt me if I wold, 
 I am so wrapt, and throwly ^ lapt, 
 
 Of jolly good ale and old. 
 
 Back and side go bare, &c. 
 
 And Tyb my wife, that as her life 
 
 Loveth well good ale to seek, 
 Full oft drinks she, till ye may see 
 
 The tears run down her cheeks ; 
 Then doth she trowl to me the bowl, 
 
 Even as a malt worm should ; 
 
 full ofte drynkythe she that ye maye see 
 
 the tears ronne downe her cheke 
 
 then doth she troule to me the bolle 
 
 as a goode malte worme sholde 
 
 & saye swete harte I have take my parte 
 
 of joly goode ale & olde. 
 
 backe & syde, &c. 
 
 they that do dryncke tyll they nodde & wyncke 
 
 even as goode fellowes shulde do 
 
 they shall notte mysse to have the blysse 
 
 that goode ale hathe browghte them to 
 
 & all poore soules that skowre blacke belles 
 
 & them hathe lustely trowlde 
 
 god save the lyves of them & ther wyves 
 
 wether they be yonge or olde. 
 
 backe & syde, &c. 
 
 1 Thoroughly. 
 
30 JOHN RED FORD. 
 
 And saith, sweetheart, I took my part 
 Of this jolly good ale and old. 
 
 Back and side go bare, &c. 
 
 Now let them drink, till they nod and wink. 
 
 Even as good fellows should do, 
 They shall not miss to have the bliss 
 
 Good ale doth bring men to : 
 And all poor souls that have scoured bowls. 
 
 Or have them lustily trowled, 
 God save the lives of them and their wives, 
 
 Whether they be young or old. 
 
 Back and side go bare, &c. 
 
 JOHN REDFORD. 
 
 15 • 
 
 [John Redford was a contemporary of John Heywood, 
 a fact sufficiently shown by the MS. of Wit and Science^ 
 already referred to, which Mr. Halliwell thinks is probably 
 contemporary with the author, and which includes several 
 songs by Heywood. Of John Redford nothing more is 
 known than is disclosed by the MS., which contains the 
 moral play of Wit and Science, and a few lines of two other 
 interludes by the same author. Mr. Collier conjectures that 
 Redford was a professor of music, perhaps employed at court. 
 Wit and Science, which is after the manner of Hey wood's 
 interludes, must have been written sometime in the reign of 
 Henry Vin., probably towards its close. The characters, 
 like those in Heywood's pieces, are pure abstractions, and 
 their conversation throughout consists of the same sort of 
 
SONG OF HONEST RECREATION. 31 
 
 dreary discussion, mottled over with the species of word- 
 catching in vogue at that period. ' The dialogue,' says Mr. 
 Halliwell, 'is not in some respects without humour, but 
 the poetry is too contemptible to be patiently endured.' 
 
 The song is curious as an illustration of the manner of 
 these interludes. It is supposed to be sung by a character 
 called Honest Recreation, coming in to the help of Wit, 
 who has been overthrown in a contest with Tediousness^ 
 and who, according to the stage directions, ' falleth down and 
 dieth,' when he is recovered by Honest Reo'eation, with the 
 assistance of his friends Comfort^ Quickness, and Strength.'] 
 
 THE PLAY OF WIT AND SCIENCE. 
 SONG OF HONEST RECREATION. 
 
 When travels grete ^ in matters thick 
 Have dulled your w'its and made them sick, 
 What medicine, then, your wits to quick. 
 If ye will know^, the best physic, 
 Is to give place to Honest Recreation : 
 Give place, we say now, for thy consolation. 
 
 Where is that Wit that we seek than ? 
 
 Alas ! he lyeth here pale and wan : 
 
 Help him at once now, if we can. 
 
 O, Wit ! how doest thou ? Look up, man. 
 
 O, Wit ! give place to Honest Recreation — 
 Give place, we say now% for thy consolation. 
 
 1 Become enlarged. 
 
32 JOHN RED FORD. 
 
 3 
 
 After place given let ear obey : 
 
 Give an ear, O Wit ! now we thee pray ; 
 
 Give ear to what we sing and say ; 
 
 Give an ear and help will come straightway : 
 
 Give an ear to Honest Recreation ; 
 
 Give an ear now, for thy consolation. 
 
 4 
 
 After ear given, now give an eye : 
 
 Behold, thy friends about thee lie, 
 
 Recreation I, and Comfort I, 
 
 Quickness am I, and Strength here bye. 
 
 Give an eye to Honest Recreation : 
 Give an eye now, for thy consolation. 
 
 5 
 
 After an eye given, an hand give ye : 
 
 Give an hand, O Wit ! feel that ye see ; 
 
 Recreation feel, feel Comfort free ; 
 
 Feel Quickness here, feel Strength to thee. 
 Give an hand to Honest Recreation : 
 Give an hand now, for thy consolation. 
 
 Upon his feet, would God he were ! 
 
 To raise him now we need not fear ; 
 
 Stay you his hand, while we here bear: 
 
 Now, all at once upright him rear. 
 
 O Wit ! give place to Honest Recreation : 
 Give place, we say now, for thy consolation. 
 
THOMAS INGELEND. 33 
 
 THOMAS INGELEND. 
 
 15 . 
 
 [All the information that has come down to us respecting 
 Thomas Ingelend is to be found on the title-page of the 
 interlude of the Disobedient Child, where he is designated 
 as ^ late student in Cambridge/ It is the only literary 
 record by which he is known. The original edition has no 
 date, but Mr. Halliwell, who edited a reprint of it for the 
 Percy Society, thinks it was published about 1560. Mr. 
 Collier remarks that the Disobedient Child is less like a 
 moral play than most others of the same class, the intro- 
 duction of the Devil, in the usual manner, constituting its 
 strongest resemblance to that species of dramatic represen- 
 tation. In other points of view it approaches more nearly 
 to the realization of the actual characters of everyday life 
 than the dramatic allegories of Heywood. The persons of 
 the drama, instead of representing abstract qualities, indi- 
 cate certain social conditions and relations that are brought 
 into direct collision by the story. Thus we have the Rich 
 Man, and the Rich Mail's Son, the Yonng Woman, whom 
 the Rich Man''s Son is determined to marry against the 
 wishes of his father, the Priest who marries them, and the 
 Devil who stirs up strife in their household. The titles of 
 these characters reveal the plot, and the following illus- 
 trates the main incident, the resolution of the son to pursue 
 his own inclinations in opposition to the will of his father 
 — a brave resolution, for which he pays dearly in the 
 sequel. The Young Woman turns out a vixen, and after 
 she has beaten him and rendered him sufficiently miser- 
 able, he is glad to make his escape from her, and seek 
 refuge in his father's house.] 
 
34 THOMAS INGELEND. 
 
 THE DISOBEDIENT CHILD. 
 MY FANTASY WILL NEVER TURN. 
 
 Spite of his spite, ^ which that in vain,. 
 Doth seek to force my fantasy, 
 I am professed for loss or gain, 
 To be thine own assuredly : 
 
 Wherefore let my father spite and spurn, 
 
 My fantasy will never turn ! 
 
 Although my father of busy wit. 
 Doth babble still, I care not though ; 
 I have no fear, nor yet will flit. 
 As doth the water to and fro ; 
 Wherefore, &c. 
 
 For I am set and will not swerve. 
 Whom spiteful speech removeth nought ; 
 And since that I thy grace deserve, 
 I count it is not dearly bought ; 
 Wherefore, &c. 
 
 Who is afraid, let you him fly. 
 For I shall well abide the brunt : 
 Maugre to his lips that listeth to lie, 
 Of busy brains as is the wont ; 
 Wherefore, &c. 
 
 1 Anger. 
 
 And that which spites me more than all these wants. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
AfV FANTASY WILL NEVER TURN. 35 
 
 Who listeth thereat to laugh or lour/ 
 I am not he that aught doth reach ; 
 There is no pain that hath the power, 
 Out of my breast your love to fetch ; 
 Wherefore, &c. 
 
 For whereas he moved me to the school, 
 And only to follow my book and learning : 
 He could never make me such a fool, 
 With all his soft words and fair speaking ; 
 Wherefore, &c. 
 
 This minion here, this mincing trull,^ 
 Doth please me more a thousand fold, 
 Than all the earth that is so full 
 Of precious stones, silver and gold ; 
 Wherefore, &c. 
 
 Whatsoever I did it was for her sake. 
 It was for her love and only pleasure ; 
 I count it no labour such labour to take, 
 In getting to me so high a treasure. 
 Wherefore, &c. 
 
 This day I intended for to be merry, 
 Although my hard father be far hence, 
 I know no cause for to be heavy, 
 For all this cost and great expense. 
 Wherefore, &c. 
 
 1 To look sad. 
 
 2 Not a term of reproach. Cf. i Henry K^. — Halliwell. 
 
36 ANTHONY MUNDAY. 
 
 ANTHONY MUNDAY. 
 
 1553-1633- 
 
 [Anthony Munday, son of Christopher Munday, draper 
 of London, was born in 1553, and losing his father at an 
 early age, attempted the stage as an actor. It may be pre- 
 sumed that the experiment failed, as he afterwards appren- 
 ticed himself, in 1576, to one Allde, a stationer. Wearying 
 of this occupation, or abandoning it for some other reason, 
 he travelled into France and Italy, returning to England in 
 or about 1579, and again trying the stage, in a species of 
 extemporaneous entertainment, which Mr. Collier conjec- 
 tures to have been similar to the Coinniedie al improviso 
 of the Italians. According to a contemporary authority, 
 the attempt was unsuccessful. He appears at this time to 
 have entered the service of the Earl of Oxford, as one of 
 his players, and to have been concerned as an evidence 
 against the Roman Catholic priests who were executed at 
 Tyburn in 1581. Not long afterwards he was appointed 
 one of the messengers of her Majesty's chamber, an office 
 which he probably held till his death in 1633. 
 
 Munday was a prolific writer, and embraced in the wide 
 circuit of his literary labours a remarkable variety of sub- 
 jects. Mr. Collier has collected the titles of forty-seven 
 works in which he was concerned as author, translator, 
 or editor, including poems, tracts, histories, dramas, and 
 pageants. Independently of plays of which he was the 
 sole author, he wrote several in conjunction with Chettle, 
 Wilson, Drayton, Dekker, Middleton, and others ; was 
 amongst the cluster of writers in Henslowe's pay, and one 
 of the earliest contributors to the stage, in the period 
 immediately preceding the era of Shakespeare. 
 
 The play from which the following songs are taken was 
 
WANTON LOVE. — LO VE IN PERPLEXITY. 3 7 
 
 discovered in MS. by Sir Frederic Madden, amongst the 
 papers of the Mostyn family, and printed in 1851 by the 
 Shakespeare Society, with an elaborate introduction by 
 Mr. Collier, rendered still more valuable by the addition 
 of three of Munday's tracts against the Jesuits. The title 
 of the MS. is The Book of John a Kent and John a Cumber. 
 The structure of the piece fully bears out the character 
 given by Meres of Munday as being the ' best plotter.' 
 The action is ingeniously contrived ; and, without having 
 recourse to artificial expedients, the interest of the story is 
 skilfully sustained.] 
 
 JOHN A KENT AND JOHN A CUMBER. 
 WANTON LOVE. 
 
 When wanton love had walked astray, 
 Then good regard began to chide, 
 
 And meeting her upon the way. 
 
 Says, wanton lass, thou must abide ; 
 
 For I have seen in many years 
 
 That sudden love breeds sullen fears. 
 
 Shall I never, while I live, keep my girl at school ! 
 She hath wandered to and fro. 
 Further than a maid should go : 
 
 Shall she never, while she lives, make me more a fool. 
 
 LOVE IN PERPLEXITY. 
 
 In a silent shade, as I sat a sunning. 
 
 There I heard a maid grievously complain ; 
 
 Many moans she said, amongst her sighs still coming ; 
 All was ^ 
 
 1 The passage is thus given in the original. 
 
38 ANTHONY MUNDAY. 
 
 Then her aged father counselled her the rather 
 To consent where he had placed his mind ; 
 
 But her peevish mother brought her to another, 
 Though it was against both course and kind. 
 
 Then like a father will I come to check my filly 
 For her gadding forth without my leave ; 
 
 And if she repent it, I am well contented 
 Home again my darling to receive. 
 
 SUNDERED LOVE. 
 
 You that seek to sunder love, 
 
 Learn a lesson ere you go 
 And as others pains do prove, 
 
 So abide yourselves like woe. 
 For I find, and you shall feel 
 Selfsame turn of Fortune's wheel : 
 Then if wrong be [so] repaid, 
 Say deserved amends it made. 
 
 THE THEFT. 
 
 You stole my love ; fy upon you, fy ! 
 
 You stole my love, fy, fy a ; 
 Guessed you but what a pain it is to prove, 
 
 You for your love would die a ; 
 And henceforth never longer 
 Be such a crafty wronger : 
 But when deceit takes such a fall, 
 Then farewell sly device and all. 
 You stole my love ; fy upon you, fy ! 
 
 You stole my love, fy, fy a. 
 
MISTRESS MARY. 39 
 
 LEWIS WAGER. 
 
 15 . 
 
 [The Life and Repentaiice of Mary Magdalen is one of 
 the numerous plays of this period founded on scriptural 
 subjects. It appears from a passage in the prologue, 
 noticed by Mr. Collier, to have been acted by itinerant 
 players at country fairs, the spectators bestowing ' half- 
 pence or pence' as they thought fit, upon the performers. 
 Another passage alludes to its having been represented at 
 the University. The play was printed in 1567, and the 
 author is described on the title-page as ' the learned clarke 
 Lewis Wager.'] 
 
 THE LIFE AND REPENTANCE OF MARY MAG- 
 DALEN, 
 
 MISTRESS MARY. 
 
 Hey dery dery, with a lusty dery, 
 
 Hoigh Mistress Mary, I pray you be merry.- 
 
 Your pretty person we may compare to Lais, 
 A morsel for princes and nobler kings ; 
 In beauty you excel the fair lady Thais ; 
 You exceed the beautiful Helen in all things.^ 
 To behold your face who can be weary ? 
 
 Hoigh my Mistress Mary, I pray you be merry. 
 
 1 The love songs of the period are crowded with similar compli- 
 mentary comparisons. In an interlude called The Trial of Treasure, 
 bearing the same date of 1567, there is a song in praise of the Lady 
 Treasure, containing a verse identical in substance with the above : — 
 
 Helene may not compared be, 
 Nor Cressida that was so bright ; 
 
40 WILLIAM WAGER. 
 
 The hair of your head shineth as the pure gold, 
 Your eyes as glass, and right amiable ; 
 Your smiling countenance, so lovely to behold. 
 To us all is most pleasant and delectable ; 
 Of your commendations who can be weary ? 
 
 Hussa, my Mistress Mary, I pray you be merry. 
 
 Your lips are ruddy as the reddy rose, 
 
 Your teeth as white as ever was the whale's bones ; 
 
 So clear, so sweet, so fair, so good, so fresh, so gay, 
 
 In all Jurie truly at this day there is none. 
 
 With a lusty voice sing we dery dery, 
 
 Hussa, Mistress Mary, I pray you be merry. 
 
 WILLIAM WAGER. 
 
 15 • 
 
 [The date of the only piece that bears the name of this 
 writer, probably a relation of the preceding, is omitted from 
 the title-page of the original edition. But it evidently 
 belongs to the early part of the reign of Elizabeth. The 
 snatches that follow are sung by Moros, the fool, and are 
 ' foots ' of songs, or burthens of well-known ballads, some 
 of which are of a much earlier date than the play itself.] 
 
 These cannot stain the shine of thee, 
 
 Nor yet Minerva of great might. 
 Thou passest Venus far away, 
 
 Lady, Lady ! . ' 
 
 Love thee I will both night and day, 
 
 My dear Lady ! 
 
FOOTS OF SONGS. 4 1 
 
 THE LONGER THOU LIVEST THE MORE FOOL 
 THOU ART. 
 
 FOOTS OF SONGS. 
 
 Broom, Broom on hill, 
 The gentle Broom on hill, hill ; 
 Broom, Broom on Hive hill. 
 The gentle Broom on Hive hill, 
 The Broom stands on Hive hill a.^ 
 
 Robin, lend me thy bow, thy bow, 
 
 Robin the bow, Robin lend to me thy bow a. 
 
 There was a maid came out of Kent, 
 
 Dainty love, dainty love ; 
 There was a maid came out of Kent, 
 
 Dangerous be [she]. 
 
 There was a maid came out of Kent, 
 Fair, proper, small and gent, 
 As ever upon the ground went, 
 For so it should be. 
 
 By a bank as I lay, I lay, 
 Musing on things past, hey how.^ 
 
 Tom a Lin and his wife, and his wife's mother. 
 They went over a bridge all three together ; 
 
 1 Mr. Collier observes that this is one of the ballads in Cox's 
 collection, and that it is also mentioned by Laneham. 
 '■^Another of Cox's ballads, also mentioned by Laneham, 
 
42 WILLIAM WAGER. 
 
 The bridge was broken and they fell in — 
 The devil go with all, quoth Tom a Lin.^ 
 
 Martin Swart and his man, sodle-dum, sodle-dum, 
 Martin Swart and his man, sodle-dum bell.^ 
 
 Come over the boorne, Besse, 
 
 My pretty little' Besse, 
 
 Come over the boorne, Besse, to me.^ 
 
 The white dove set on the castle wall, 
 
 I bend my bow, and shoot her I shall ; 
 
 I put her in my glove, both feathers and all. 
 
 I laid my bridle upon the shelf, 
 
 If you will any more, sing it yourself. 
 
 1 There is a popular old Irish song, in which the adventures of 
 O'Lynn are carried through several verses. In the Irish version the 
 name of the humorous hero is Bryan O'Lynn. That it was either 
 the same song, or founded on the same original as the above, will 
 be obvious from the following verse : — 
 
 Bryan O'Lynn his wife and wife's mother, 
 They all went over a bridge together, 
 The bridge it broke and they all fell in. 
 The devil go with you, says Bryan O'Lynn. 
 
 2 This song, says Mr. Collier, is unquestionably as old as Henry 
 VII. Martin Swart was sent over in i486, by the Duchess of 
 Burgundy, to assist in the insurrection headed by Lord Lovell. 
 
 3 The Bessy of the song was Queen Elizabeth. Mr. Collier quotes 
 a fragment of a dialogue between England and the Queen, on her 
 coming to the throne, which opens in the same way. It is also one 
 of the ballads of which a scrap is to be found in Shakespeare, sung by 
 Edgar in King Lear. The form is common to many popular ditties, 
 and appears to have suggested one of Moore's early songs. 
 
A CATCH. 43 
 
 I have twenty more songs yet, 
 
 A fond woman to my mother, 
 
 As I were wont in her lap to sit. 
 
 She taught me these, and many other. 
 
 I can sing a song of ' Robin Redbreast,' 
 
 And ' My Httle pretty Nightingale,' 
 ' There dwelleth a jolly Foster^ here by the West,' 
 Also, * I come to drink some of your Christmas ale.' 
 
 When I walk by myself alone. 
 
 It doth me good my songs to render. 
 
 A CATCH. 
 
 I HAVE a pretty titmouse 
 Come pecking on my toe. 
 Gossip with you I purpose 
 To drink before I go. 
 Little pretty nightingale. 
 Among the branches green. 
 Give us of your Christmas ale, 
 In the honour of Saint Stephen. 
 Robin Redbreast with his notes 
 Singing aloft in the quire, 
 Warneth to get you frieze coats, 
 For Winter then draweth near. 
 My bridle lieth on the shelf. 
 If you will have any more, 
 Vouchsafe to sing it yourself, 
 For here you have all my store. 
 
 1 Forester. 
 
44 JOHN LYLY. 
 
 JOHN LYLY. 
 
 1553 . 
 
 [John Lyly, or Lilly, the Euphuist, was born in the Weald 
 of Kent, according to Wood, in 1553, but Oldys is inclined 
 to think some years earlier. He was a student of Magdalen 
 College, Oxford, where he took his degrees, and afterwards 
 removed to Cambridge. We next find him at court, where, 
 says his first editor, he was thought an excellent poet, and was 
 ' heard, graced, and rewarded ' by the Queen. The reward, 
 if any, came slowly ; for after several years of attendance, 
 expecting and soliciting the appointment of Master of the 
 Revels, he was forced to apply to her Majesty at last ' for 
 some little grant to support him in his old age.' Of the 
 time or manner of his death nothing is known. He was 
 alive in 1597. Few men attained, for a short period, so 
 brilliant a reputation. His Anatomy of Wit and EiipJines^ 
 and his England, taught a new English to the court and 
 the country, and this language of tropes and puerilities 
 became the reigning fashion. 'All our ladies were his 
 scholars,' says Sir Henry Blount ; ' 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.' This 
 was written in the reign of Charles I., when the effect of 
 the '• pure and reformed English ' may be presumed to have 
 been obliterated by the interposition of the Scotch dialect, 
 and a more learned taste under James L Lyly's ' reformed 
 English,' says Drayton, consisted in 
 
 Talking of stones, stars, plants, of fishes, flies, 
 Playing with words and idle similies. 
 
CUPID AND CAMPASPE. 45 
 
 Lyly wrote nine plays, which were very successful, and in 
 which his fantastical refinements — especially in his songs, 
 which possess considerable grace and delicacy — appear to 
 much greater advantage than in his prose treatises. The 
 dates of the original editions are attached to each of the 
 plays from which the following selections have been made.] 
 
 ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE. 1584. 
 CUPID AND CAMPASPE. 
 
 Cupid and my Campaspe played 
 
 At cards for kisses — Cupid paid ; 
 
 He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows, 
 
 His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; 
 
 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 ? ^ 
 
 THE SONGS OF BIRDS. 
 
 What bird so sings, yet so does wail ? 
 O 't is the ravished nightingale. 
 ' Jug. jug, jug, jug, tereu,' she cries. 
 And still her woes at midnight rise. 
 
 1 This exquisite little song is printed in Percy's Reliques. 
 
46 JOHN LYLY. 
 
 Brave prick song ! who is 't now we hear ? 
 None but the lark so shrill and clear ; 
 Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,^ 
 The morn not waking till she sings. 
 Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat, 
 Poor robin redbreast tunes his note ; 
 Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing, 
 Cuckoo to welcome in the spring ! 
 Cuckoo to welcome in the spring ! ^ 
 
 SAPPHO AND PHAON. 1584. 
 VULCAN'S SONG. 
 
 My shag-hair Cyclops, come, let 's ply 
 Our Lemnian hammers lustily. 
 
 By my wife's sparrows, 
 
 I swear these arrows, 
 
 Shall singing fly 
 
 Through many a wanton's eye. 
 
 These headed are with golden blisses. 
 These silver ones feathered with kisses ; 
 
 But this of lead 
 
 Strikes a clown dead, 
 
 1 Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Ye birds 
 
 That singing up to heaven's gate ascend. 
 
 Milton. 
 
 2 An imitation, or rather an alteration, of this song occurs in the 
 Sun's Darling. It will be found amongst the selections from Ford 
 and Dekker. 
 
COMPLAINT AGAINST LOVE. 47 
 
 When in a dance 
 
 He falls in a trance, 
 To see his black-brown lass not buss him, 
 And then whines out for death to untruss him. 
 
 COMPLAINT AGAINST LOVE. 
 
 O CRUEL Love, on thee I lay 
 
 My curse, which shall strike blind the day ; 
 
 Never may sleep with velvet hand 
 
 Charm these eyes with sacred wand ; 
 
 Thy jailors shall be hopes and fears. 
 
 Thy prison mates groans, sighs, and tears, 
 
 Thy play to wear out weary times. 
 
 Fantastic passions, vows, and rhymes. 
 
 Thy bread be frowns, thy drink be gall, 
 
 Such as when you Phaon call ; 
 
 Thy sleep fond dreams, thy dreams long care. 
 
 Hope, like thy fool at thy bed's head, 
 
 Mock thee till madness strike thee dead, 
 
 As Phaon thou dost me with thy proud eyes, 
 
 In thee poor Sappho lives, for thee she dies. 
 
 ENDYMION. 1 59 1. 
 
 A NIGHT CATCH. 
 
 The Pages and the Constables. 
 
 Watch, Stand ! who goes there ? 
 We charge you appear 
 'Fore our constable here. 
 In the name of the man in the moon. 
 
48 
 
 JOHN LYLY. 
 
 Pages. 
 Watch, 
 
 Pages. 
 Const. 
 
 Pages. 
 
 Const. 
 Omnes. 
 
 To us billmen ^ relate, 
 
 Why you stagger so late, 
 
 And how you came drunk so soon. 
 
 What are ye, scabs ? 
 
 The watch : 
 
 This the constable. 
 
 A patch. 
 
 Knock 'em down unless they all stand ; 
 
 If any run away, 
 
 'T is the old watchman's play. 
 
 To reach them a bill of his hand. 
 
 O gentlemen, hold, 
 
 Your gowns freeze with cold. 
 
 And your rotten teeth dance in your head. 
 
 Wine nothing shall cost ye ; 
 
 Nor huge fires to roast ye ; 
 
 Then soberly let us be led. 
 
 Come, my brown bills, we '11 roar, 
 
 Bounce loud at tavern door. 
 
 And in the morning steal all to bed. 
 
 SONG OF THE FAIRIES. 
 
 Om?ies. Pinch him, pinch him, black and blue. 
 Saucy mortals must not view 
 What the queen of stars is doing, 
 Nor pry into our fairy wooing. 
 
 1 The watchmen were so called from the pole they carried with a 
 blade at the top of it, resembling a bill or halbert. Davenant (1636) 
 uses the term in his play of the Wits. 
 
CUPID BOUND. 49 
 
 1 Fairy. Pinch him blue — 
 
 2 Fairy. And pinch him black — 
 
 3 Fairy. Let him not lack 
 
 Sharp nails to pinch him blue and red, 
 Till sleep has rocked his addlehead. 
 
 4 Fairy. For the trespass he hath done, 
 
 Spots o'er all his flesh shall run, 
 Kiss Endymion, kiss his eyes. 
 Then to our midnight heidegyes.^ 
 
 GALATHEA. 1592. 
 CUPID BOUND. 
 
 O YES, O yes, if any maid 
 Whom leering Cupid has betrayed 
 To powers of spite, to eyes of scorn. 
 And would in madness now see torn 
 The boy in pieces, let her come 
 Hither, and lay on him her doom. 
 
 O yes, O yes, has any fost 
 
 A heart which many a sigh hath cost ? 
 
 If any cozened of a tear 
 
 Which as a pearl disdain does wear ? 
 
 Here stands the thief ; let her but come 
 
 Hither, and lay on him her doom. 
 
 Is any one undone by fire. 
 And turned to ashes by desire ? 
 
 1 Sports, dances, pastimes. 
 
50 JOHN LYLY. 
 
 Did ever any lady weep, 
 
 Being cheated of her golden sleep 
 
 Stolen by sick thoughts ? — the pirate 's found, 
 
 And in her tears he shall be drowned. 
 
 Read his indictment, and let him hear 
 
 What he 's to trust to. Boy, give ear ! 
 
 MIDAS. 1592. 
 APOLLO'S SONG OF DAPHNE. 
 
 My Daphne's hair is twisted gold, 
 Bright stars a-piece her eyes do hold, 
 My Daphne's brow enthrones the graces, 
 My Daphne's beauty stains all faces, 
 On Daphne's cheek grow rose and cherry. 
 But Daphne's lip a sweeter berry; 
 Daphne's snowy hand but touched does melt. 
 And then no heavenlier warmth is felt ; 
 My Daphne's voice tunes all the spheres, 
 My Daphne's music charms all ears ; 
 Fond am I thus to sing her praise, 
 These glories now are turned to bays. 
 
 pan's song of syrinx. 
 
 Pan's Syrinx was a girl indeed. 
 Though now she 's turned into a reed ; 
 From that dear reed Pan's pipe does come, 
 A pipe that strikes Apollo dumb ; 
 Nor flute, nor lute, nor gittern can 
 So chant it as the pipe of Pan : 
 
SONG TO APOLLO. 5 1 
 
 Cross-gartered swains and dairy girls, 
 With faces smug and round as pearls, 
 When Pan's shrill pipe begins to play. 
 With dancing wear out night and day ; 
 The bagpipe's drone his hum lays by, 
 When Pan sounds up his minstrelsy ; 
 His minstrelsy, O base ! This quill, 
 Which at my mouth with wind I fill. 
 Puts me in mind, though her I miss, 
 That still my Syrinx' lips I kiss. 
 
 SONG TO APOLLO. 
 
 Sing to Apollo, god of day. 
 
 Whose golden beams with morning play, 
 
 And make her eyes so brightly shine, 
 
 Aurora's face is called divine. 
 
 Sing to Phoebus and that throne 
 
 Of diamonds which he sits upon. 
 
 lo Paeans let us sing 
 
 To Physic and to Poesy's king. 
 
 Crown all his altars wdth bright fire, 
 Laurels bind about his lyre, 
 A Daphnean coronet for his head. 
 The Muses dance about his bed ; 
 When on his ravishing lute he plays. 
 Strew his temple round with bays. 
 lo Paeans let us sing 
 To the glittering Delian king. 
 
52 JOHN LYLY. 
 
 MOTHER BOMBIE. 1598. 
 BACCHANALIAN SONG. 
 
 lo Bacchus ! to thy table 
 Thou callest every drunken rabble ; 
 We already are stiff drinkers, 
 Then seal us for thy jolly skinkers.^ 
 
 Wine, O wine ! 
 
 O juice divine ! 
 How dost thou the nowle ^ refine. 
 Plump thou makest men's ruby faces, 
 And from girls can fetch embraces. 
 By thee our noses swell 
 With sparkling carbuncle. 
 
 O the dear blood of grapes 
 Turns us to antic shapes. 
 Now to show tricks like apes, 
 Now lion-like to roar, 
 Now goatishly to whore. 
 Now hoggishly in the mire, 
 Now flinging hats in the fire, 
 lo Bacchus ! at thy table. 
 Make us of thy reeling rabble. 
 
 CUPID. 
 
 O Cupid ! monarch over kings, 
 Wherefore hast thou feet and wings ? 
 
 1 Tapster, drawer. From skink, to draw liquor, to drink. 
 
 2 The noddle, or head — used here to imply the brain. 
 
CUPID. 53 
 
 Is it to show how swift thou art, 
 When thou woundest a tender heart ? 
 Thy wings being chpped, 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, 't is confessed. 
 That fools please women best. 
 
 GEORGE PEELE. 
 
 155 — 159- 
 
 [George Peele was a native of Devonshire. His name 
 appears in the Matriculation Book of Oxford as a member 
 of Broadgates Hall (now Pembroke College) in 1564, and 
 Mr. Dyce, assuming him to have been at least twelve or 
 thirteen when he was entered, places his birth about 1552 
 or 1553. While he was at the University, Wood tells us 
 that he was esteemed a most noted poet. In 1577 he took 
 his Bachelor's degree, and was made Master of Arts in 
 1579, after which he went up to London, and became a 
 writer for the theatre. There is reason to believe that he 
 appeared occasionally on the stage ; but he certainly did 
 not follovv it as a profession. His intimate associates were 
 Nash, Marlowe, and Greene, the most profligate men of 
 
54 GEORGE PEELE. 
 
 ojenius of the time : and in the latter part of his life he 
 was acquainted with Shakespeare, Jonson, and their con- 
 temporaries, who were coming in at the close of his career. 
 Peele appears to have abandoned himself to the worst 
 excesses of the town, and to have shortened his life by 
 dissipation, if a coarse allusion to him by Francis Meres 
 may be credited. The date of his death is unknown ; but 
 as Meres' reference to it was printed in 1598, it must have 
 taken place in or before that year. He was one of the 
 earliest of our poets who imparted form and power to the 
 drama, was one of the contributors to the PJiwnix'' Ncst^ 
 and, in addition to numerous small pieces and Pageants, 
 wrote several plays, only five of which have come down to 
 us. Of the remainder, few, probably, were printed, and 
 these are supposed to have been destroyed in the fire of 
 London in 1666. 
 
 Peele holds a place amongst the dramatic poets of that 
 period, described by Gifford as the time when ' the chaos 
 of ignorance was breaking up,' second only to Marlowe. If 
 his versification has not the pomp and grandeur of the 
 ' mighty line ' of his great rival, it is sweeter and more 
 melodious ; and none of his contemporaries exhibit so 
 much tenderness or so luxuriant a fancy. Charles Lamb 
 dismisses his David and Bethsabe as ' stuff' ; but this hasty 
 judgment is balanced by the panegyric of Campbell, who 
 speaks of it as ' the earliest fountain of pathos and harmony 
 that can be traced in our dramatic poetry.' What Hazlitt 
 says of the literature of the time generally appHes to Peele 
 in common with the rest: ' I would not be understood to 
 say that the age of Elizabeth was all gold without any 
 alloy. There was both gold and lead in it, and often in 
 one and the same writer.' There are both in Peele; but 
 the gold was of the finest quality.] 
 
MNONE AND PARIS. 55 
 
 THE ARRAIGNMENT OF PARIS. 1584. 
 iENONE AND PARIS. 
 
 /En. Fair and fair, and twice so fair, 
 As fair as any may be ; 
 The fairest shepherd on our green, 
 A love for any lady. 
 Far. 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. 
 ^7t. 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 ! 
 Ambo^simul. They that do change, &c. 
 ^n. Fair and fair, &c. 
 Par. Fair and fair, &c. 
 ^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, &c. 
 
56 GEORGE PEELE. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE ENAMOURED SHEPHERD. 
 
 O GENTLE Love, Ungentle for thy deed, 
 
 Thou makest my heart 
 
 A bloody mark 
 With piercing shot to bleed. 
 Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss, 
 
 For fear too keen 
 
 Thy arrows been, 
 And hit the heart where my beloved is. 
 Too fair that fortune were, nor never I 
 
 Shall be so blest. 
 
 Among the rest, 
 That Love shall seize on her by sympathy. 
 Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot, 
 
 This doth remain 
 
 To ease my pain, 
 I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot. 
 
 iENONE'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 Melpomene, the muse of tragic songs, 
 With mournful tunes, in stole of dismal hue. 
 Assist a silly nymph to wail her woe, 
 And leave thy lusty company behind. 
 
 Thou luckless wreath ! becomes not me to wear 
 The poplar tree, for triumph of my love : 
 Then as my joy, my pride of love, is left. 
 Be thou unclothed of thy lovely green ; 
 
 And in thy leaves my fortunes written be, 
 And them some gentle wind let blow abroad. 
 
COUNTS DIRGE. $y 
 
 That all the world may see how false of love 
 False Paris hath to his ^none been. 
 
 colin's dirge. 
 
 Welladay, welladay, poor Colin, thou art going to 
 the ground, 
 
 The love whom Thestylis hath slain, 
 
 Hard heart, fair face, fraught with disdain, 
 Disdain in love a deadly wound. 
 
 Wound her, sweet love, so deep again, 
 
 That she may feel the dying pain 
 
 Of this unhappy shepherd's swain. 
 And die for love as Colin died, as CoHn died. 
 
 P0LYHYMNIA.1 1590. 
 THE AGED MAN-AT-ARMS. 
 
 His golden locks time hath to silver turned ; 
 
 time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing ! 
 
 1 A description of a Triumph at Tilt, held before Queen Elizabeth 
 in the Tilt Yard at Westminster in 1590. This very rare poem was 
 reprinted by Mr. Dyce, in his edition of Peele's works, from a copy 
 in the University of Edinburgh, amongst the books presented by 
 Drummond. The copy was slightly mutilated, but the deficiencies 
 were supplied from a MS. found in an old house in Oxfordshire. 
 The above song, or sonnet, taken from Polyhymnia, is extracted by 
 Ellis, in his Specimens from Segur's Honour, Military and Civil 
 (1602), and is also given by Beloe, from the Garrick collection in 
 the British Museum. Mr. Dyce throws a doubt upon Beloe's vera- 
 city, by stating that he searched in vain for a copy of Polyhymnia in 
 that collection ; but Beloe's version was evidently derived, notwith- 
 standing, from the original work, and not from Segur's reprint, which 
 exhibits several variations. 
 
58 GEORGE PEELE. 
 
 His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurned, 
 
 But spurned in vain ; youth waneth by encreasing. 
 Beauty, strength, youth, are flowers but fading seen. 
 Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green. 
 
 His helmet now shall make a hive for bees. 
 And lovers' songs be turned to holy psalms ; 
 
 A man at arms must now serve on his knees, 
 And feed on prayers, which are old age's alms : 
 
 But though from court to cottage he depart, 
 
 His saint is sure of his unspotted heart. 
 
 And when he saddest sits in homely cell. 
 
 He '11 teach his swains this carol for a song : 
 
 ' Blessed be the hearts that wish my Sovereign well, 
 Cursed be the souls that think her any wrong.' 
 
 Goddess, allow this aged man his right. 
 
 To be your beadsman now that was your knight. 
 
 THE HUNTING OF CUPID.i 1591. 
 QUESTION AND ANSWER. 
 
 Melampus, when will Love be void of fears ? 
 When Jealousy hath neither eyes nor ears. 
 Melampus, when will Love be thoroughly shrieved ? 
 When it is hard to speak, and not believed. 
 
 1 No copy of this work, apparently a sort of dramatic pastoral, is 
 known to be in existence. These three songs, two of which are 
 familiar to the readers of the Helicon and the Parnassus, and a scanty 
 fragment of the dialogue, were preserved by Drummond in his 
 commonplace book, and have been included by Mr. Dyce in his 
 edition of Peek's works. 
 
CUPID'S ARROWS. 59 
 
 Melampus, when is Love most malcontent ? 
 When lovers range, and bear their bows unbent. 
 Melampus, tell me when Love takes least harm ? 
 When swains' sweet pipes are puffed, and trulls are 
 
 warm. 
 Melampus, tell me when is love best fed ? 
 When it has sucked the sweet that ease hath bred. 
 Melampus, when is time in love ill spent ? 
 When it earns meed and yet receives no rent. 
 Melampus, when is time well spent in Love ? 
 When deeds win meed, and words love works do 
 
 prove. 
 
 cupid's arrows. 
 
 At Venus' entreaty for Cupid her son 
 
 These arrows by Vulcan were cunningly done. 
 
 The first is Love, as here you may behold. 
 
 His feathers, head, and body, are of gold : 
 
 The second shaft is Hate, a foe to love, 
 
 And bitter are his torments for to prove : 
 
 The third is Hope, from whence our comfort springs. 
 
 His feathers [they] are pulled from Fortune's wings : 
 
 Fourth Jealousy in basest minds doth dwell. 
 
 This metal Vulcan's Cyclops sent from hell. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 What thing is love ? — for sure love is a thing; 
 
 Love is a prick, love is a sting, 
 
 Love is a pretty, pretty thing; 
 
 Love is a fire, love is a coal, 
 
 Whose flame creeps in at every hole ; 
 
6o GEORGE PEELE. 
 
 And, as myself can best devise, 
 
 His dwelling is in ladies' eyes. 
 
 From whence he shoots his dainty darts 
 
 Into the lusty gallants' hearts : 
 
 And ever since was called a god 
 
 That Mars with Venus played even and odd. 
 
 THE OLD WIVES' TALE. 1595. 
 THE maid's resolve. 
 
 Whenas^ the rye reach to the chin, 
 And chopcherry, chopcherry ripe within, 
 Strawberries swimming in the cream, 
 And schoolboys playing in the stream ; 
 Then O, then O, then O, my true love said, 
 Till that time come again 
 She could not live a maid ! 
 
 CELANTE AT THE WELL. 
 
 Gently dip, but not too deep. 
 
 For fear you make the golden beard to weep. 
 
 \A head comes up with ears of com ^ and 
 she counts them in her lap. 
 
 Fair maiden, white and red, 
 
 Comb me smooth, and stroke my head, 
 
 And thou shalt have some cockell-bread. 
 
 Gently dip, but not too deep. 
 
 For fear thou make the golden beard to weep 
 
 iWhen. 
 
BETHSABE BATHING. 6 1 
 
 Fair maid, white and red, 
 Comb me smooth, and stroke my head, 
 And every hair a sheaf shall be, 
 And every sheaf a golden tree. 
 
 \A head comes up full of gold ^ and 
 she combs it into her lap. 
 
 DAVID AND BETHSABE. 1599. 
 BETHSABE BATHING. 
 
 Hot sun, cool fire, tempered with sweet air. 
 Black shade, fair nurse, shadow my white hair : 
 Shine, sun ; burn, fire ; breathe air, and ease me ; 
 Black shade, fair nurse, shroud me, and please me : 
 Shadow, my sweet nurse, keep me from burning, 
 Make not my glad cause cause of mourning. 
 
 Let not my beauty's fire 
 
 Inflame unstayed desire, 
 
 Nor pierce any bright eye 
 
 That wandereth lightly. 
 
 ROBERT GREENE. 
 
 1560-1592. 
 
 [The bulk of Greeners dramatic works, like those of his 
 friend Peele, perished in the fire of London, or mouldered 
 into dust in the closets of the theatres. Only five of his 
 plays have come down to us, and they contain but a singie 
 song. He shows no lyrical aptitude in his dramatic works ; 
 
62 ROBERT GREENE. 
 
 and, being compelled to write for subsistence, he had little 
 leisure for cultivating any form of poetry he could not ac- 
 complish with ease and facility. Assuming him to be the 
 author of this solitary song (the play in which it appears 
 was written in conjunction with Lodge), it is an indifferent 
 sample of his skill. He wrote better verses (and worse), and 
 was capable occasionally of much beauty and neatness. 
 Some of his best short pieces will be found in EnglanWs 
 Helicoti. The song may, without much hesitation, be as- 
 cribed to Greene. It is scarcely worthy of Lodge, whose 
 lyrics were generally of a higher and more imaginative 
 cast. 
 
 Robert Greene was a native of Norwich, where he was 
 born, according to different accounts, in 1560 or 1550. He 
 was educated at St. John's College, Cambridge, and took 
 his degrees of A.B. and A.M. in 1578 and 1583. In 1588 
 he was incorporated at Oxford. In the interval he travelled 
 on the Continent, jind is supposed to have described some 
 of his adventures in his G?-oafs lVo?-th of Wit and Never 
 too Late. He is said to have taken orders, and there is no 
 doubt he studied medicine ; but it is certain he followed 
 neither profession. Like Peele, he seems to have ap- 
 peared occasionally on the stage, probably as an ajuatetir 
 in some of his own pieces. The confessions he published 
 of his career trace a course of almost incredible depravity. 
 Upon his return to England, he set up for a man about 
 town, and plunged into the grossest vices of the metropolis. 
 It was easier for a man of genius, who loved pleasure and 
 hated restraint, to write plays and ' love pamphlets,' than to 
 sit dow^n to the sober labours of the pulpit or the hospital ; 
 and Greene found in this occupation easy, although uncer- 
 tain, means of living, and indulging his tastes. Somewhere 
 in the country he married a lady of good family, and as soon 
 as she had borne him a child, and he had expended her 
 portion, he deserted her. The reason he assigns for this 
 
ROBERT GREENE. 63 
 
 piece of turpitude is that she was so virtuous as to endeavour 
 to seduce him from his debaucheries. He acknowledged 
 that he acted as ill to his friends as to his wife, exhausting 
 their good offices, and repaying them with ingratitude. The 
 consequence was that he sank at last into the lowest depths 
 of penury and degradation, running up scores at alehouses, 
 living precariously by his pen, and forsaken by all acquaint- 
 ances who were able to render him any service. The only 
 associates he retained in his dissipation were Peele, Mar- 
 lowe, and Nash, and these, as profligate and unprincipled 
 as himself, abandoned him in the end, when he most needed 
 their succour. The close of his life points a miserable 
 moral. Having indulged in a surfeit of pickled herrings 
 and Rhenish wine, he was seized with a mortal illness, and, 
 being in the last extremity of distress, he must have per- 
 ished for want of bare necessaries, but for the humanity of 
 a poor shoemaker in Dowgate, at whose house he died in 
 September, 1592, after lingering for a month in mental and 
 bodily pain, deserted by his boon companions, and sus- 
 tained by charity. The debt he contracted to this poor 
 man he transferred on his deathbed to his wife, whom he 
 had not seen for six years, imploring her to discharge it by 
 an appeal to 'the love of their youth'! After his death, 
 by his own request, his corpse was crowned with bays by 
 the shoemaker's wife. 
 
 The deaths of his three intimate friends were no less 
 wretched, as far as anything is known of them. Nash, it 
 is said, became a penitent ; but Peele hurried himself to 
 the grave by dissipation, and Marlowe came by a violent 
 death under* peculiarly appalling circumstances. 
 
 Greene's writings were very numerous, and, as might be 
 expected, very unequal. A full account of them will be 
 found in Mr. Dyce's careful and elaborate edition of his 
 dramatic works, published in two volumes in 1831. Many 
 of them obtained a wide and rapid popularity ; and his 
 
64 ROBERT GREENE. 
 
 prose writings, abounding in contemporary allusions, pos- 
 sess, even at the present time, considerable interest for the 
 student curious in this kind of lore.] 
 
 LOOKING GLASS FOR LONDON AND ENGLAND. 
 
 1594- 
 
 BEAUTY SUING FOR LOVE. 
 
 Beauty, alas ! where wast thou born, 
 Thus to hold thyself in scorn ? 
 Whenas Beauty kissed to woo thee, 
 Thou by Beauty dost undo me : 
 
 Heigh-ho ! despise me not. 
 
 I and thou in sooth are one, 
 
 Fairer thou, I fairer none : 
 
 Wanton thou, and wilt thou, wanton. 
 
 Yield a cruel heart to plant on ? 
 
 Do me right, and do me reason ; 
 
 Cruelty is cursed treason : 
 
 Heigh-ho ! I love, heigh-ho ! I love, 
 Heigh-ho ! and yet he eyes me not. 
 
 SAMELA.^ 
 
 Like to Diana in her summer weed. 
 Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, 
 Goes fair Samela ; 
 
 1 This charming song, which, in its structure, will remind the 
 reader of one of Tennyson's popular lyrics, is taken from Greene's 
 poems, of which I should have gladly availed myself more exten- 
 sively if the plan of this volume permitted. 
 
S A MELA. 65 
 
 Whiter than be the flocks that stragghng feed, 
 When washed by Arethusa faint they He, 
 
 Is fair Samela ; 
 As fair Aurora in her morning grey, 
 Decked with the ruddy gHster 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 
 Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue. 
 And Juno in the shew of majesty. 
 
 For she 's Samela : 
 Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view. 
 For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity 
 
 Yield to Samela. 
 
 1 This favourite image is wrought into a delicate and fantastical 
 conceit in a song in the Fatal Contract, a play by William Heminge, 
 the son of Heminge, the actor : 
 
 Who notes her teeth and lips, discloses 
 Walls of pearl and gates of roses ; 
 Two-leaved doors that lead the way 
 Through her breath to Araby, 
 To which, would Cupid grant that bliss, 
 I 'd go a pilgrimage to kiss ! 
 
66 THOMAS NASH, 
 
 THOMAS NASH. 
 
 I 564-1601. 
 
 [Thomas Nash was born at Lowestoff, in Suffolk, and 
 educated at St. John^s College, Cambridge, where he took 
 his degrees of A.B. and A.M. in 1585 and 1587. The date 
 of his birth is not known, but it has been computed, from 
 circumstances, to have been 1564, the same year in which 
 Shakespeare was born. His London life is sufficiently 
 indicated in the notice already given of Peele and Greene. 
 If he did not transcend the latter in profligacy, he under- 
 went greater vicissitudes of distress and suffering, arising 
 in part from the impetuosity of his temperament, which 
 committed him to the most reckless excesses, and partly 
 from his satirical propensities, which made him many 
 enemies. On one occasion he was imprisoned for having 
 written a play called the Isle of Dogs^ and was several times 
 confined in gaol in London. The principal incidents in 
 his literary career are his femous paper-war with Gabriel 
 Harvey, conducted on both sides with savage scurrility ; 
 and his controversy with Martin Marprelate, in which he 
 espoused the cause of the church. He obtained an unen- 
 viable notoriety by the licentiousness and fierceness of his 
 invectives ; and the tract in which he scourges his oppo- 
 nent, Have 2uiih yoii to Saffron li^alden (the name of 
 Harvey's residence), ran through no less than six editions. 
 Notwithstanding the coarseness and violence of his con- 
 troversial pamphlets, and the scoffing bitterness of his Pierce 
 Penniless^ he had the power of writing with grace and 
 energy when he left the region of polemics to breathe the 
 purer air of literature. He wrote three plays : the tragedy 
 oi Dido (in conjunction with Marlowe), and two comedies, 
 Su?mner''s Last PVill and Testament and the Isle of DogSy 
 
SPRING.— THE DECAY OE SUMMER. 6/ 
 
 the last never printed and now lost. Towards the close 
 of his life he recanted his errors in a pamphlet called 
 Chrisfs Tears over Jerusaleui. He died about 1601.] 
 
 SUMMER'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT. 1600. 
 
 SPRING. 
 
 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king ; 
 Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, 
 Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, 
 Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo. 
 
 The palm and may make country houses gay. 
 Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, 
 And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay. 
 Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo. 
 
 The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, 
 Young lovers meet, old wives a sunning sit. 
 In every street these tunes our ears do greet, 
 Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo. 
 Spring, the sweet Spring. 
 
 THE DECAY OF SUMMER. 
 
 Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore, 
 So fair a summer look for never more : 
 All good things vanish less than in a day. 
 Peace, plenty, pleasure, suddenly decay. 
 
 Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year, 
 The earth is hell when thou leavest to appear. 
 
 What, shall those flowers that decked thy garland erst, 
 Upon thy grave be wastefully dispersed ? 
 
6S THOMAS NASH. 
 
 trees consume your sap in sorrow's source, 
 Streams turn to tears your tributary course. 
 
 Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year. 
 The earth is hell when thou leavest to appear. 
 
 THE COMING OF WINTER. 
 
 Autumn hath all the summer's fruitful treasure ; 
 Gone is our sport, fled is our Croydon's pleasure ! 
 Short days, sharp days, long nights come on apace : 
 Ah, who shall hide us from the winter's face ? 
 Cold doth increase, the sickness will not cease, 
 And here we lie, God knows, with little ease. 
 
 From winter, plague and pestilence, good lord, 
 deliver us ! 
 
 London doth mourn, Lambeth is quite forlorn ! 
 Trades cry, woe worth that ever they were born ! 
 The want of term is town and city's harm ; ^ 
 Close chambers we do want to keep us warm. 
 Long banished must we live from our friends : 
 This low-built house will bring us to our ends. 
 
 From winter, plague and pestilence, good lord, 
 deliver us ! 
 
 APPROACHING DEATH. 
 
 Adieu; farewell earth's bliss, 
 This world uncertain is : 
 
 1 This line fixes the date of the acting of the play in the Michaelmas 
 Term of 1598, when, in consequence of the plague, Michaelmas Term 
 was held at St. Albans instead of in London. The date throws a 
 light on the allusions in the song. 
 
APPROACHING DEATH. 69 
 
 Fond are life's lustful joys, 
 Death proves them all but toys. 
 None from his darts can fly : 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Rich men trust not in wealth ; 
 Gold cannot buy you health ; 
 Physic himself must fade ; 
 All things to end are made ; 
 The plague full swift goes by ; 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Beauty is but a flower, 
 Which wrinkles will devour : 
 Brightness falls from the air ; 
 Queens have died young and fair ; 
 Dust hath closed Helen's eye ; 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Strength stoops unto the grave : 
 Worms feed on Hector brave. 
 Swords may not fight with fate : 
 Earth still holds ope her gate. 
 Come, come, the hells do cry ; 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us I 
 
 Wit with his wantonness, 
 Tasteth death's bitterness. 
 
70 SAMUEL DANIEL, 
 
 Hell's executioner 
 Hath no ears for to hear 
 What vain art can repl}^ ; 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Haste therefore each degree 
 To welcome destiny : 
 Heaven is our heritage, 
 Earth but a player's stage. 
 Mount we unto the sky ; 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 SAMUEL DANIEL. 
 
 1562-1619. 
 
 [Samuel Daniel, the son of a music master, was born 
 near Taunton, in Somersetshire, in 1562, and educated at 
 Magdalen College, Oxford. Leaving the University at tlie 
 end of three years without taking a degree, he continued to 
 prosecute his studies under the patronage of the Countess 
 of Pembroke, sister of the accomplished Sidney, whose 
 friendship procured for him the appointment of tutor to 
 the Lady Anne Clifford, daughter of the Earl of Cumber- 
 land. His diligent application to literary pursuits enabled 
 him to improve these favourable circumstances, and the 
 reputation he acquired by the publication of some of his 
 early poems, especially the Couiplaijit of Rosamond (in 
 which Mr. Malone ima<j:ines he has discovered the in- 
 
SAMUEL DANIEL. 7 1 
 
 spiration of Shakespeare's Vemts and Adonis) recom- 
 mended him to the favour of royalty. Thus encouraged, 
 he became one of the volunteer laureates of Queen Eliza- 
 beth, and under King James obtained a place at court as 
 gentleman extraordinary, and subsequently as one of the 
 grooms of the privy chamber to the Queen Consort, who is 
 said to have entertained a high opinion of his conversation 
 and his writings. Few poets have been more fortunate 
 in their associations. Daniel enjoyed the friendship and 
 respect of his most distinguished contemporaries, and 
 amongst those with whom he maintained an intimate 
 intercourse were Camden, Drayton, Shakespeare, Jonson, 
 Fulke Greville, Harrington and Spelman ; even Gabriel 
 Harvey paid tribute to his merits, and Spenser transmitted 
 his character to after times in his Colin Cloufs co7ne home 
 again. While he held his office at court (which imposed 
 merely nominal duties upon him) he lived in a handsome 
 garden-house in Old-street, St. Luke's ; but towards the 
 latter part of his life, feeling that a race of greater poets 
 had extinguished his early popularity, or, as he expresses 
 it himself, that he had 
 
 outlived the date 
 Of former grace, acceptance, and delight, 
 
 he retired to a farm in Somersetshire, where he died 
 in 1619. 
 
 In addition to his poems and plays, Daniel wrote a 
 History of England, which he carried down to the end 
 of the reign of Edward HI. His reputation as a poet 
 rests chiefly on the ponderous cantos of the Civil IVars, 
 a poem now little read, although it occupies a place of 
 some mark in our literature. At the close of his career, 
 when he was relinquishing a Muse that no longer smiled 
 upon his labours, he appears to have formed a very ac- 
 curate estimate of the qualities to which he was indebted 
 for his success : — 
 
72 SAMUEL DANIEL. 
 
 And I, although among the latter train, 
 
 And least of those that sung unto this land, 
 
 Have borne my part, though in an humble strain, 
 
 And pleased the gentler that did understand; 
 
 And never had my harmless pen at all 
 
 Distained with any loose immodesty. 
 
 Nor ever noted to be touched with gall, 
 
 To aggravate the worst man's infamy ; 
 
 But still have done the fairest offices 
 
 To virtue and the time. — Dedication of Philotas. 
 
 The great defect of his poetry is want of imagination, 
 which his naturally languid constitution was unable to 
 remedy by vigour or boldness of treatment. He always 
 writes with good sense ; and his diction, which seldom 
 rises above the level of prose, is generally pure and appro- 
 priate. But his narrative is lifeless and tedious, and fails 
 to sustain the attention. He is more successful in his 
 smaller pieces, where neatness and delicacy of expression 
 make a distinct impression, and atone for the absence of 
 higher qualities. It has been said by some of his critics 
 that he anticipated the improvements of a more refined 
 age, because he wrote with a perspicuity and directness 
 not common amongst his contemporaries. But these 
 merits are not in themselves sufficient to project a poet 
 beyond his own time; a truth strikingly illustrated in his 
 case. He lived in an age that produced the noblest 
 examples of English poetry, and he has not survived it 
 either in the closet or on the stage. 
 
 His plays are planned strictly on the classical model, 
 which he lacked the power to fill up. Deficient in the 
 essential of action, and didactic rather than dramatic, they 
 are for the most part very flat and dreary. The tragedy 
 of Cleopatra., his first play, from which the following piece 
 is taken, may, perhaps, be considered the best of them.] 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF OPINION. 73 
 
 CLEOPATRA. 1594. 
 THE INFLUENCE OF OPINION. 
 
 Opinion, how dost thou molest 
 The affected mind of restless man ? 
 Who following thee never can, 
 Nor ever shall attain to rest, 
 
 For getting what thou sayst is best. 
 Yet lo, that best he finds far wide 
 Of what thou promisedst before : 
 For in the same he looked for more, 
 Which proves but small when once 't is tried. 
 
 Then something else thou findst beside, 
 
 To draw him still from thought to thought : 
 When in the end all proves but nought. 
 Farther from rest he finds him then. 
 Than at the first when he began. 
 
 O malcontent seducing guest. 
 
 Contriver of our greatest woes : 
 
 Which born of wind, and fed with shows, 
 
 Dost nurse thyself in thy unrest ; 
 Judging ungotten things the best. 
 
 Or what thou in conceit designest ; 
 
 And all things in the world dost deem, 
 
 Not as they are, but as they seem ; 
 
 Which shows their state thou ill definest : 
 And Hvest to come, in present pinest. 
 
 For what thou hast, thou still dost lack : 
 
 O mind's tormentor, body's wrack, 
 
74 SAMUEL DANIEL. 
 
 Vain promiser of that sweet rest, 
 Which never any yet possessed. 
 
 If we unto ambition tend, 
 
 Then dost thou draw our weakness on, 
 
 With vain imagination 
 
 Of that which never had an end. 
 
 Or if that lust we apprehend, 
 
 How dost that pleasant plague infest 1 
 O what strange forms of luxury. 
 Thou straight dost cast to entice us by? 
 And tellest us that is ever best 
 
 Which we have never yet possessed. 
 And that more pleasure rests beside, 
 In something that we have not tried. 
 And when the same likewise is had, 
 Then all is one, and all is bad. 
 
 This Anthony can say is true, 
 And Cleopatra knows 't is so. 
 By the experience of their woe. 
 She can say, she never knew 
 
 But that lust found pleasures new, 
 And was never satisfied : 
 He can say by proof of toil. 
 Ambition is a vulture vile, 
 That feeds upon the heart of pride, 
 
 And finds no rest when all is tried. 
 For worlds cannot confine the one. 
 The other, lists and bounds hath none. 
 And both subvert the mind, the state, 
 Procure destruction, envy, hate. 
 
THE INFLUENCE OF OPINION. 75 
 
 And now when all this is proved vain, 
 
 Yet opinion leaves not here, 
 
 But sticks to Cleopatra near, 
 
 Persuading now, how she shall gain 
 Honour by death, and fame attain ; 
 
 And what a shame it were to live, 
 
 Her kingdom lost, her lover dead : 
 
 And so with this persuasion led. 
 
 Despair doth such a courage give, 
 That nought else can her mind relieve, 
 
 Nor yet divert her from that thought : 
 
 To this conclusion all is brought. 
 
 This is that rest this vain world lends, 
 
 To end in death that all things ends. 
 
 DABRIDGECOURT BELCHIER. 
 
 15 — 1621. 
 
 [The author of Hans Beer-Pofs Invisible Coviedy was a 
 Northamptonshire gentleman, who, after completing his 
 education at Cambridge and Oxford, settled at Utrecht, 
 where he died in 162 1. In his dedication to Sir John Ogle, 
 governor of the town and garrison of Utrecht, he describes 
 the play as being neither comedy nor tragedy, but a plain 
 dialogue, or conference, between certain persons, consist- 
 ing of three acts and no more. No division into acts, 
 however, appears in the only edition of this curious piece 
 that is known to exist. The title-page informs us that it 
 was ' acted in the Low Countries by an honest company of 
 health-drinkers,"' and was printed in London in 1618. 
 
'j6 DABRIDGECOURT BELCHIER. 
 
 Coxeter speaks of it as a translation [by inference from 
 the Dutch] ; but it is distinctly described in the dedica- 
 tion as an original production, that cost the author 'not 
 above sixteen days' labour.' It is written with considerable 
 humour, and displays such ease and mastery of versifica- 
 tion as to occasion regret that he who possessed so quaint 
 and fluent a vein should not have given his powers more 
 ample employment.] 
 
 HANS BEER-POT, HIS INVISIBLE COMEDY OF SEE 
 ME AND SEE ME NOT. 1618. 
 
 THE CONFESSION. 
 
 Walking in a shady grove, 
 
 Near silver streams fair gliding. 
 
 Where trees in ranks did grace the banks, 
 
 And nymphs had their abiding ; 
 
 Here as I stayed I saw a maid, 
 
 A beauteous lovely creature, 
 
 With angel's face and goddess' grace, 
 
 Of such exceeding feature. 
 
 Her looks did so astonish me, 
 And set my heart a-quaking, 
 Like stag that gazed was I amazed. 
 And in a stranger taking. 
 Yet roused myself to see this elf, 
 And lo a tree did hide me ; 
 Where I unseen beheld this queen 
 Awhile, ere she espied me. 
 
 Her voice was sweet melodiously, 
 She sung in perfect measure ; 
 
THE CONFESSION. 77 
 
 And thus she said with trickling tears ; 
 
 ' Alas, my joy, my treasure, 
 
 I '11 be thy wife, or lose my life, 
 
 There 's no man else shall have me ; 
 
 If God so, I wall say no, 
 
 Although a thousand crave me. 
 
 ' Oh ! stay not long, but come, my dear, 
 
 And knit our marriage knot ; 
 
 Each hour a day, each month a year, 
 
 Thou knowest, I think, God wot. 
 
 Delay not then, like worldly maiden, 
 
 Good works till withered age ; 
 
 'Bove other things, the King of kings 
 
 Blessed a lawful marriage. 
 
 ' Thou art my choice, I constant am, 
 
 I mean to die unspotted ; 
 
 With thee I '11 live, for thee I love, 
 
 And keep my name unblotted. 
 
 A virtuous life in maid and wife, 
 
 The Spirit of God commends it ; 
 
 Accursed he for ever be. 
 
 That seeks with shame to offend it.' 
 
 With that she rose like nimble roe, 
 The tender grass scarce bending,^ 
 
 1 Or like a nymph with long dishevelled hair 
 Dance on the sands, and yet no footing seen. 
 
 Shakespeare. Venus and Adonis. 
 As falcon to the lure, away she flies ; 
 The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light. — Ibid. 
 A foot more light, a step more true, 
 Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew ; 
 
73 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 And left me then perplexed with fear 
 At this her sonnet's ending. 
 I thought to move this dame of love, 
 But she was gone already ; 
 Wherefore 1 pray that those that stay 
 May find their loves as steady. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 1564-1616. 
 
 TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. 
 
 SILVIA. 
 
 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. 
 
 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 helped, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Silvia let us sing. 
 That Silvia is excelling ; 
 
 E'en the slight harebell raised its head, 
 Elastic from her airy tread. 
 
 ScOTT. Lady of the Lake. 
 
WHITE AND RED. 79 
 
 She excels each mortal thing, 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling: 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 
 LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. 
 WHITE AND RED. 
 
 If she be made of white and red, 
 
 Her faults will ne'er be known ; 
 For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, 
 
 And fears by pale-white shown ; 
 Then, if the fear, or be to blame, 
 
 By this you shall not know ; 
 For still her cheeks possess the same, 
 
 Which native she doth own.^ 
 
 THE STUDENT FORSAKES HIS BOOKS FOR LOVE. 
 
 If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to 
 love ? 
 Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed ! 
 Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove ; 
 These thoughts to me w^ere oaks, to thee like osiers 
 bowed. 
 Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes. 
 Where all those pleasures live that art would com- 
 prehend ; 
 If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice ; 
 Well learned is that tongue that will ever thee 
 commend : 
 
 1 Own — possess. 
 
80 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder ; 
 (Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts 
 admire ; ) 
 Thine eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dread- 
 ful thunder, 
 Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire. 
 Celestial as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, 
 That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly 
 tongue ! 
 
 BEAUTY THROUGH TEARS. 
 
 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 shinest 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. 
 
 THE DEFENCE OF PERJURY. 
 
 Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye 
 
 ('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,) 
 
FORSWORN FOR LOVE. 8 1 
 
 Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? 
 
 Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
 A woman I forswore ; but, I will prove, 
 
 Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
 My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
 
 Thy grace being gained, cures all disgrace in me. 
 Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is : 
 
 Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, 
 Exhalest this vapour vow ; in thee it is : 
 
 If broken then, it is no fault of mine, 
 If by me broke. What fool is not so wise, 
 To lose an oath to win a paradise ? 
 
 FORSWORN FOR LOVE. 
 
 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 : 
 
82 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Thou for whom Jove would swear, 
 Juno but an Ethiope were ; 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 Turning mortal for thy love. 
 
 SPRING AND WINTER. 
 
 When daisies pied, and violets blue, 
 
 And lady-smocks all silver-white, 
 And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue. 
 
 Do paint the meadows with delight. 
 The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings he, 
 
 Cuckoo ; 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear, 
 Unpleasing to a married ear ! 
 
 When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 
 And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 
 
 When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, 
 And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 
 
 The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
 
 Mocks married men, for thus sings he, 
 Cuckoo ; 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo, — O word of fear, 
 
 Unpleasing to a married ear ! 
 
SPRING AND WINTER. 83 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall, 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail. 
 When blood is nipped, and ways befoul, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 To-who ; 
 Tu-whit, to-who, a merry note. 
 While greasy Joan doth keel ^ the pot. 
 
 When all around the wind doth blow. 
 
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow. 
 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
 When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 
 To-who ; 
 Tu-whit, to-w^ho, a merry note, 
 When greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 ALL 'S WELL THAT ENDS WELL. 
 ONE GOOD WOMAN IN TEN. 
 
 Was this fair face the cause, quoth she, 
 Why the Grecians sacked Troy ? 
 
 Fond done, done fond. 
 
 Was this King Priam's joy ? 
 
 1 Skim. 
 
84 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 With that she sighed as she stood, 
 With that she sighed as she stood, 
 
 And gave this sentence then : 
 Among nine bad if one be good, 
 Among nine bad if one be good, 
 
 There 's yet one good in ten. 
 
 A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREA^^- 
 SONG OF THE FAIRY. 
 
 Over hil], over dale, 
 
 Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
 Over park, over pale, 
 
 Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
 I do wander everywhere. 
 Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 
 And I serve the fairy queen, 
 To dew her orbs ^ upon the green ; 
 The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 
 In their gold coats spots you see, 
 These be rubies, fairy favours. 
 In those freckles live their savours : 
 I must go seek some dewdrops here, 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
 
 TITANIA IN THE WOOD. 
 
 I 
 
 You spotted snakes, with double tongue, 
 Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen ; 
 
 1 The rings on the sward, dried up by the feet of the fairies in 
 dancing their rounds. 
 
TITAN I A IN THE WOOD.— BIRDS. 85 
 
 Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong ; 
 Come not near our fairy queen : 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Philomel, with melody, 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby ; 
 Never harm, nor spell nor charm, 
 Come our lonely lady nigh ; 
 So, good night, with lullaby. 
 
 Weaving spiders, come not here : 
 
 Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence 
 
 Beetles black, approach not near ; 
 Worm, nor snail, do no offence. 
 
 Chorus. 
 Philomel, with melody, &c. 
 
 BIRDS. 
 
 The woosel-cock,^ so black of hue, 
 
 With orange-tawny bill, 
 The throstle with his note so true. 
 
 The wren with little quill ; 
 The finch, the sparrow, and the lark. 
 
 The plain-song cuckoo gray, 
 Whose note full many a man doth mark, 
 
 And dares not answer, nay. 
 
 i The blackbird. 
 
86 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT THE APPROACH OF THE 
 
 FAIRIES. 
 
 Now the hungry lion roars, 
 
 And the wolf behowls the moon ; 
 Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 
 
 All with weary task fordone. 
 Now the wasted brands do glow, 
 
 Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, 
 Puts the wretch that lies in woe, 
 
 In remembrance of a shroud. 
 Now it is the time of night 
 
 That the graves, all gaping wide, 
 Everyone lets forth his sprite, 
 
 In the churchway paths to glide : 
 And we fairies, that do run 
 
 By the triple Hecate's team. 
 From the presence of the sun, 
 
 Following darkness like a dream. 
 Now are frolic ; not a mouse 
 Shall disturb this hallowed house : 
 I am sent with broom before. 
 To sweep the dust behind the door. 
 
 Through the house give glimmering light, 
 
 By the dead and drowsy fire ; 
 Every elf, and fairy sprite. 
 
 Hop as light as bird from brier; 
 And this ditty after me. 
 Sing, and dance it, trippingly. 
 
THE DEAD OF THE NIGHT. 8/ 
 
 First, rehearse this song by rote ; 
 To each word a warbling note, 
 Hand in hand, with fairy grace, 
 We will sing, and bless this place. 
 
 Sojig. 
 
 Now, until the break of day, 
 
 Through this house each fairy stray. 
 
 To the best bride-bed will we, 
 
 Which by us shall blessed be ; 
 
 And the issue there create 
 
 Ever shall be fortunate. 
 
 So shall all the couples three 
 
 Ever true in loving be ; 
 
 And the blots of nature's hand 
 
 Shall not in their issue stand ; 
 
 Never mole, hare-lip, nor scar, 
 
 Nor mark prodigious, such as are 
 
 Despised in nativity, 
 
 Shall upon their children be. 
 
 With this field-dew consecrate, 
 
 Every fairy take his gait ; 
 
 And each several chamber bless. 
 
 Through this palace with sweet peace : 
 
 Ever shall in safety rest, 
 
 And the owner of it blessed. 
 
 Trip away ; 
 
 Make no stay : 
 Meet me all by break of day. 
 
88 SHAKESPEARE, 
 
 MERCHANT OF VENICE. 
 THE BIRTH AND DEATH OF FANCY.^ 
 
 Tell me where is fancy bred, 
 Or in the heart, or in the head ? 
 How begot, how nourished ? 
 Reply, reply. 
 
 It is engendered in the eyes. 
 With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
 In the cradle where it lies : 
 Let us all ring fancy's knell ; 
 I '11 begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
 Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 the choice. 
 
 Gold. 
 
 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 inscrolled ; 
 Fare you well ; your suit is cold. 
 
 1 Fancy is constantly used by Shakespeare and his contemporaries 
 in the sense of love. 
 
THE CHOICE. 89 
 
 Silver. 
 
 The fire seven times tried this ; 
 Seven times tried that judgment is 
 That did never choose amiss : 
 Some there be that shadows kiss ; 
 Such have but a shadow's bhss ; 
 There be fools ahve, I wis, 
 Silvered o'er ; and so was this. 
 Take what wife you will to bed, 
 I will ever be your head : 
 So begone : you are sped. 
 
 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 pleased with this, 
 And hold your fortune for your bliss, 
 Turn you where your lady is. 
 And claim her with a loving kiss. 
 
 MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING. 
 INCONSTANCY OF MEN. 
 
 Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more ; 
 
 Men were deceivers ever ; 
 One foot in sea, and one on shore ; 
 
 To one thing constant never : 
 
90 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Then sigh not so, 
 But let them go, 
 And be you bhthe 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 ; 
 
 The fraud of men was ever so, 
 Since summer first was leavy. 
 
 Then sigh not so, &c. 
 
 hero's epitaph. 
 
 Done to death by slanderous tongues 
 
 Was the Hero that here lies ; 
 Death, in guerdon of her wrongs. 
 
 Gives her fame which never dies : 
 So the life that died with shame, 
 Lives in death with glorious fame. 
 Hang thou there upon the tomb, 
 Praising her when I am dumb. 
 
 HYMN AT THE TOMB. 
 
 Pardon, goddess of the night. 
 Those that slew thy virgin knight; 
 For the which, with songs of woe. 
 Round about her tomb they go. 
 
A 'SCORNFUL RHYME: 9 1 
 
 Midnight, assist our moan ; 
 Help us to sigh and groan, 
 Heavily, heavily : 
 Graves yawn, and yield your dead, 
 Till death be uttered, 
 Heavenly, heavenly. 
 
 MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 
 A 'SCORNFUL RHYME.' 
 
 Fy on sinful fantasy ! 
 
 Fy on lust and luxury ! 
 
 Lust is but a bloody fire. 
 
 Kindled with unchaste desire, 
 
 Fed in heart ; whose flames aspire, 
 
 As thoughts do blow them, higher and higher. 
 
 Pinch him, fairies, mutually ; 
 
 Pinch him for his villainy ; 
 Pinch him, and burn him, and turn him about, 
 Till candles, and star-light, and moon-shine be out. 
 
 TWELFTH NIGHT. 
 SWEET-AND-TWENTY. 
 
 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. 
 
92 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 What is love ? 't is 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. 
 
 SLAIN BY LOVE. 
 
 Come away, come away, death, 
 And in sad cypress let me be laid ; 
 
 Fly away, fly away, breath ; 
 I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
 My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 
 
 O, prepare it ; 
 My part of death no one so true 
 Did share it. 
 
 Not a flower, not a flower sweet. 
 On my black coflin let there be strown ; 
 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown 
 A thousand thousand sighs to save. 
 
 Lay me, O where 
 Sad true lover never And my grave, 
 To weep there. 
 
 THE clown's exit. 
 
 I AM gone, Sir, 
 And anon. Sir, 
 I '11 be with you again, 
 
THE RAIN IT RAINETH EVERY DAY. 93 
 
 In a trice, • 
 Like to the old Vice 
 Your need to sustain ; 
 
 Who with dagger of lath, 
 In his rage and his wrath, 
 
 Cries, ah, ha ! to the devil : 
 Like a mad lad. 
 Pare thy nails, dad, 
 
 Adieu, goodman drivel. 
 
 THE RAIN IT RAINETH EVERY DAY. 
 
 When that I was and a little tiny boy. 
 With hey, ho, the wdnd and the rain, 
 
 A foolish thing was but a toy. 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came to man's estate. 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 'Gainst knave and thief men shut their gate, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came, alas ! to wive. 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 By swaggering could I never thrive, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came unto my bed, 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 W^ith toss-pots still had drunken head, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
94 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 A great while ago the world begun, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 But that 's all one, our play is done, 
 
 And we '11 strive to please you every day.^ 
 
 AS YOU LIKE IT. 
 UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE. 
 
 Under the greenwood tree, 
 Who loves to lie with me, 
 And tune^ his merry note 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat. 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
 Here shall we see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Who doth ambition shun. 
 And loves to live in the sun, 
 Seeking the food he eats, 
 And pleased with what he gets. 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither ; 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy, 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 1 The fool in King Lear sings a snatch of a ballad with the same 
 burthen : — 
 
 He that has and a little tiny wit, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, 
 
 Must make content with his fortunes fit, 
 Though the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 2 In some editions turn. 
 
TNGRATITUDE. 95 
 
 If it do come to pass, 
 That any man turn ass, 
 Leaving his wealth and ease, 
 A stubborn will to please, 
 Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame ; 
 Here shall he see. 
 Gross fools as he. 
 An if he will come to me. 
 
 INGRATITUDE. 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 As man's ingratitude ; 
 
 Thy tooth is not so keen, 
 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Heigh ho ! sing, heigh ho ! unto the green holly : 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly 
 
 Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky. 
 Thou dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot : 
 Though thou the waters warp,^ 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 As friend remembered not. 
 Heigh ho ! sing, heigh ho ! &c. 
 
 1 There was an old Saxon proverb, Winter shall ivcwp water. 
 
96 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 ROSALIND. 
 
 From the east to western Ind, 
 
 No jewel is like Rosalind. 
 
 Her worth, being mounted on the wind, 
 
 Through all the world bears Rosalind. 
 
 All the pictures, fairest lined, 
 
 Are but black to Rosalind. 
 
 Let no face be kept in mind, 
 
 But the fair ^ of Rosalind. 
 
 If a hart do lack a hind. 
 
 Let him seek out Rosalind. 
 
 If the cat will after kind, 
 
 So, be sure, will Rosalind. 
 
 Winter garments must be lined, 
 
 So must slender Rosalind. 
 
 They that reap must sheaf and bind ; 
 
 Then to cart with Rosalind. 
 
 Sweetest nut hath sourest rind, 
 
 Such a nut is Rosalind. 
 
 He that sweetest rose will find, 
 
 Must find love's prick and Rosalind. 
 
 THE HOMILY OF LOVE. 
 
 Why should this desert silent be ? 
 
 For it is unpeopled ? No ; 
 Tongues I '11 hang on every tree, 
 
 That shall civil sayings shew. 
 
 1 Used for fairness, or beauty. 
 
THE HOMILY OF LOVE. 97 
 
 Some, how brief the hfe of man 
 
 Runs his erring pilgrimage ; 
 That the stretching of a span 
 
 Buckles in his sum of age. 
 Some, of violated vows 
 
 'Twixt the souls of friend and friend : 
 But upon the fairest boughs, 
 
 Or at every sentence' end, 
 Will I Rosalinda write : 
 
 Teaching all that read to know 
 The quintessence of every sprite 
 
 Heaven would in little show. 
 Therefore heaven nature charged 
 
 That one body should be filled 
 With all graces wide enlarged : 
 
 Nature presently distilled 
 Helen's cheek, but not her heart; 
 
 Cleopatra's majesty ; 
 Atalanta's better part ; 
 
 Sad Lucretia's modesty. 
 Thus Rosalind of many parts 
 
 By heavenly synod was devised ; 
 Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, 
 
 To have the touches dearest prized. 
 Heaven would that she these gifts should have, 
 And I to live and die her slave. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE DEER. 
 
 What shall he have that killed the deer ? 
 His leather skin, and horns to wear. 
 
98 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn ; 
 It was a crest ere thou wast born. 
 
 Thy father's father wore it ; 
 
 And thy father bore it : 
 The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, 
 Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. 
 
 THE MESSAGE OF HOPELESS LOVE. 
 
 Art thou god to shepherd turned, 
 That a maiden's heart hath burned ? 
 Why, thy godhead laid apart, 
 Warrest thou with a woman's heart ? 
 Whiles the eye of man did woo me, 
 That could do no vengeance to me. 
 If the scorn of your bright eyne 
 Have power to raise such love in mine, 
 Alack, in me what strange effect 
 Would they work in mild aspect ? 
 Whiles you chide me, I did love ; 
 How then might your prayers move ? 
 He that brings this love to thee, 
 Little knows this love in me : 
 And by him seal up thy mind ; 
 Whether that by youth and kind 
 Will the faithful offer take 
 Of me, and all that I can make ; 
 Or else by him my love deny, 
 And then I '11 study how to die. 
 
LOVERS LOVE THE SPRING. 99 
 
 LOVERS LOVE THE SPRING. 
 
 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 spring time, &c. 
 
 This carol they began that hour, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 
 How that a life was but a flower 
 In spring time, &c. 
 
 And therefore take the present time, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 
 For love is crowned with the prime, 
 In spring time, &c. 
 
 THE BETROTHAL. 
 
 Then is there mirth in heaven, 
 When earthly things made even 
 
 Atone together. 
 Good duke, receive thy daughter. 
 Hymen from heaven brought her, 
 
 Yea, brought her hither ; 
 
 L.ofC. 
 
lOO SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 That thou mightst join her hand with his, 
 Whose heart within her bosom is. 
 
 WEDLOCK. 
 
 Wedding is great Juno's crown ; 
 
 O blessed bond of board and bed ! 
 'T is Hymen peoples every town ; 
 
 High wedlock then be honoured : 
 Honour, high honour and renown, 
 To Hymen, god of every town ! 
 
 MEASURE FOR MEASURE. 
 TAKE, OH ! TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY. 
 
 Take, oh ! 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 sealed in vain, 
 
 Sealed in vain.^ 
 
 1 The music of this song was composed by ' Jack Wilson,' the 
 singer, who belonged to the same company of players with Shake- 
 speare, and whose name is given in a stage direction in Much Ado 
 about Nothing, 4to, 1600. [See communication from Mr. Collier, 
 Shakespeare Society Papers, ii. 33.] Shakespeare's claim to the words 
 is doubtful. The same song, with an additional stanza, appears in 
 Beaumont and Fletcher's play of Rollo, Duke of Normandy, under 
 which head they will be found in the present volume. Mr. Collier 
 observes, on the other hand, that both stanzas are ascribed to Shake- 
 speare m the edition of his poems printed in 8vo, 1640. But it should 
 
THE SWEET OF THE YEAR. lOI 
 
 A WINTER'S TALE. 
 THE SWEET OF THE YEAR. 
 
 When daffodils begin to peer, 
 
 With heigh ! the doxy over the dale, 
 
 Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year ; 
 For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. 
 
 The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, 
 
 With heigh ! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! 
 
 Doth set thy pugging ^ tooth on edge ; 
 For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 
 
 The lark, that tirra-lirra chants, 
 
 With heigh ! with hey ! the thrush and the jay : 
 Are summer songs for me and my aunts. 
 
 While we lie tumbling in the hay. 
 
 But shall I go mourn for that, my dear ? 
 
 The pale moon shines by night : 
 And when I wander here and there, 
 
 I then do most go right. 
 
 be observed also that the song is not given in the earlier edition by 
 Juggard, and that the edition of 1640 is not conclusive authority. 
 The best evidence in favour of Shakespeare's authorship is the gen- 
 eral fact that, unlike most of the old dramatists, he never introduced 
 into his plays (with the exception of scraps and foots of popular 
 ballads) any songs by other writers. This is the only instance upon 
 which a doubt can be raised. 
 
 1 Supposed to mean thieving, from the old word puggard, a thief. 
 The close resemblance suggests the derivation from this word of the 
 flash term priggitig ox proguing, which, however, is rejected by Dr. 
 Nares. 
 
I02 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 If tinkers may have leave to live, 
 And bear the sow-skin bowget ; 
 
 Then my account I well may give, 
 And in the stocks avouch it. 
 
 A MERRY HEART FOR THE ROAD. 
 
 Jog on, jog on, the footpath way, 
 
 And merrily hent ^ the stile-a : 
 A merry heart goes all the day, 
 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a. 
 
 THE PEDLAR AT THE DOOR. 
 
 Lawn, as white as driven snow ; 
 Cypress, black as e'er was crow ; 
 Gloves, as sweet as damask roses ; 
 Masks for faces, and for noses ; 
 Bugle-bracelet, necklace-amber. 
 Perfume for a lady's chamber : 
 Golden quoifs and stomachers, 
 For my lads to give their dears ; 
 Pins and poking-sticks of steel," 
 What maids lack from head to heel : 
 
 Come, buy of me, come ; come buy, come buy ; 
 
 Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry : 
 
 Come, buy, &c. 
 
 1 To seize, to hold. 
 
 2 A small stick used for setting the plaits of ruffs. They were 
 originally made of wood or bone, afterwards of steel that they might 
 be used hot. The steel poking-stick was introduced in the reign of 
 Elizabeth. 
 
THE BALLAD OF TWO MAIDS. 1 03 
 
 THE BALLAD OF TWO MAIDS WOOING A MAN. 
 
 A. Get you hence, for I must go ; 
 Where it fits not you to know. 
 
 D. Whither ? M. O, whither ? D. Whither ? 
 M. It becomes thy oath full well, 
 Thou to me thy secrets tell : 
 
 D. Me too, let me go thither. 
 M. Or thou goest to the grange, or mill : 
 D. If to either, thou dost ill. 
 
 A. Neither. D. What, neither ? A. Neither. 
 D. Thou hast sworn my love to be : 
 M. Thou hast sworn it more to me : 
 
 Then, whither goest? Say, whither? 
 
 THE pedlar's pack. 
 
 Will you buy any tape. 
 
 Or lace for your cape, 
 My dainty duck, my dear-a ? 
 
 Any silk, any thread, 
 
 Any toys for your head, 
 Of the new'st, and fin'st, fin'st wear-a? 
 
 Come to the pedlar ; 
 
 Money 's a medler, 
 That doth utter all men's ware-a. 
 
 THE TEMPEST. 
 MUSIC IN THE AIR. 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands, 
 And then take hands : 
 
104 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Courtesied when you have, and kissed, 
 
 The wild waves whist, 
 Foot it featly here and there ; 
 And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. 
 
 Hark, hark ! 
 Bowgh, wowgh. 
 
 The watch-dogs bark : 
 Bowgh, wowgh. 
 
 Hark, hark ! I hear 
 The strain of strutting chanticleer 
 Cry, Cock-a-doodle-doa 
 
 THE DROWNED FATHER. 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies : 
 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes : 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
 Hark ! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell.^ 
 
 THE WARNING. 
 
 While you here do snoring lie, 
 Open-eyed Conspiracy 
 
 His time doth take ; 
 If of life you keep a care, 
 Shake off slumber, and beware : 
 
 Awake ! awake ! 
 
 1 Set to music by Robert Johnson, 1612. 
 
A SAILOR'S AVERSION. IO5 
 
 A sailor's aversion. 
 
 The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I, 
 
 The gunner and his mate, 
 Loved Mall, Meg, and Marian, and Margery, 
 
 But none of us cared for Kate ; 
 
 For she had a tongue with a tang. 
 
 Would cry to a sailor, ' Go hang ; ' 
 She loved not the savour of tar nor of pitch. 
 Yet a tailor might scratch her where'er she did itch ; 
 
 Then to sea, boys, and let her go hang. 
 
 THE BLESSING OF JUNO AND CERES. 
 
 Honour, riches, marriage-blessing; 
 Long continuance, and encreasing, 
 Hourly joys be still upon you ! 
 Juno sings her blessings on you. 
 
 Earth's increase, and foison^ plenty, 
 Barns and garners never empty ; 
 Vines with clustering bunches growing ; 
 Plants with goodly burthen bowing ; 
 
 Spring come to you, at the farthest, 
 In the very end of harvest ! 
 Scarcity and want shall shun you ; 
 Ceres' blessing so is on you. 
 
 1 Abundance. 
 
I06 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 ARIEL SET FREE. 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; 
 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie ; 
 
 There I couch when owls do cry ; 
 
 On the bat's back I do fly 
 
 After summer merrily : 
 
 Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. ^ 
 
 KING HENRY IV. PART II. 
 BE MERRY, BE MERRY. 
 
 Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer, 
 And praise Heaven for the merry year ; 
 When flesh is cheap and females dear, 
 And lusty lads roam here and there. 
 So merrily. 
 And ever among so merrily. 
 
 Be merry, be merry, my wife has all. 
 For women are shrews, both short and tall ; 
 'T is merry in hall when beards wag all. 
 And welcome merry shrove-tide. 
 
 Be merry, be merry, &c. 
 
 A cup of wine that 's brisk and fine, 
 And drink unto the leman mine ; 
 
 And a merry heart lives long-a. 
 Fill the cup, and let it come, 
 I '11 pledge you a mile to the bottom. 
 
 1 Robert Johnson also composed the music of this song. 
 
FRAGMENTS OF BALLADS. 10/ 
 
 KING HENRY V. 
 FRAGMENTS OF BALLADS. 
 
 Knocks go and come 
 
 To all and some 
 God's vassals feel the same, 
 
 And sword and shield 
 
 In bloody field 
 Do win immortal fame. 
 
 If wishes would prevail with me, 
 My purpose should not fail with me, 
 But thither would I now ; 
 And as duly, 
 But not as truly, 
 As bird doth sing on bough. ^ 
 
 KING HENRY VIII. 
 
 INFLUENCE OF MUSIC. 
 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees. 
 And the mountain-tops that freeze. 
 Bow themselves when he did sing: 
 
 1 These fragments of ballads, sung by Pistol and the Boy (Act iii. 
 Sc. 2), are taken in the form in which they are here given from the 
 curious volume of MS. Notes and Emendations on the Folio of 1632, 
 published by Mr. Collier. In all existing editions of Shakespeare the 
 first line of the first stanza forms part of the dialogue, and it is here, 
 with the two lines that immediately follow, thrown into verse by the 
 
1 08 SHA KESPEARE. 
 
 To his music, plants and flowers, 
 Ever sprung ; as sun, and showers 
 There had made a lasting spring. 
 
 Everything that heard him play, 
 Even the billows of the sea, 
 
 Hung their heads, and then lay by 
 In sweet music is such art : 
 Killing care, and grief of heart, 
 
 Eall asleep, or, hearing, die. 
 
 HAMLET. 
 Ophelia's songs. 
 
 How should I your true love know 
 
 From another one ? 
 By his cockle hat and staff, 
 
 And his sandal shoon. 
 
 He is dead and gone, lady, 
 
 He is dead and gone ; 
 At his head a grass-green turf, 
 
 At his heels a stone. 
 
 White his shroud as the mountain snow, 
 
 Larded all with sweet flowers. 
 Which bewept to the grave did go. 
 
 With true-love showers. 
 
 emendator. In the third line ot the second stanza the word hie, as 
 printed in all the copies, is changed, with obvious propriety, into now. 
 A comparison between the verses as they are given above, and as they 
 are printed in the play, will enable the reader to trace the variances. 
 
OPHELIA'S SONGS. 109 
 
 Good morrow, 't is Saint Valentine's day, 
 
 All in the morning betime, 
 And I a maid at your window, 
 
 To be your Valentine. 
 
 Then up he rose, and donned his clothes. 
 And dupped ^ the chamber door ; 
 
 Let in the maid, that out a maid 
 Never departed more. 
 
 By Gis, and by Saint Charity, 
 
 Alack, and fy for shame ! 
 Young men will do it, if they come to it ; 
 
 By cock, they are to blame. 
 
 Quoth she, before you tumbled me. 
 
 You promised me to wed : 
 So would I ha' done, by yonder sun. 
 
 An thou hadst not come to my bed. 
 
 3 
 
 And will he not come again ? 
 And will he not come again ? 
 
 No, no, he is dead. 
 
 Go to thy death -bed, 
 He never will come again. 
 
 1 To do open, abbreviated into dup, or do up. The meaning is ex- 
 plained by Dr. Nares : ' Some gates and doors were opened by 
 lifting up as portcullises, and that kind of half-door swinging on two 
 hinges at the top, which is still seen in some shops.* — Glossary. It 
 also applies to doors with latches. 
 
no SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 His beard was as white as snow, 
 All flaxen was his poll : 
 
 He is gone, he is gone, 
 
 And we cast away moan; 
 God 'a' mercy on his soul! 
 
 grave-digger's song.^ 
 
 In youth when I did love, did love, 
 
 Methought, it was very sweet. 
 To contract, O, the time, for, ah ! my behove 
 
 O, methought, there was nothing meet. 
 
 But age, with his stealing steps, 
 
 Hath clawed me in his clutch. 
 And hath shipped me intil the land, 
 
 As if I had never been such. 
 
 1 These stanzas are from the poem of The Aged Lover renoiinceth 
 Love, written by Lord Vaux. — See Surrey's Poems [Ann. Ed. p. 226] . 
 In Shakespeare's time Lord Vaux's poem was one of the popular 
 ballads of the day, and Shakespeare appears to have altered the 
 verses to suit them the better to the character of the grave-digger ; 
 unless we are to suppose that corruptions had crept into the broad- 
 sheet. The following are the original stanzas : — 
 I loathe that I did love 
 
 In youth that I thought sweet, 
 As time requires for my behove, 
 Methinks they are not meet. 
 
 For Age with stealing steps 
 Hath clawed me with his clutch, 
 
 And lusty Life away she leaps 
 As there had been none such. 
 
 A pick-axe and a spade, 
 
 And eke a shrouding sheet, 
 A house of clay for to be made 
 
 For such a guest most meet. 
 
SERENADE. — DIRGE OF IMOGEN. \\\ 
 
 A pickaxe, and a spade, a spade, 
 For — and a shrouding sheet : 
 
 O, a pit of clay for to be made 
 For such a guest is meet. 
 
 CYMBELINE. ' 
 SERENADE. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 
 
 And Phoebus 'gins arise. 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 
 On chaliced flowers that lies ; 
 And winking Mary-buds begin 
 
 To ope their golden eyes ; 
 With every thing that pretty bin : ^ 
 
 My lady sweet, arise ; 
 Arise, arise. 
 
 THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN. 
 
 Fear no more the heat o' the sun 
 Nor the furious winter's rages ; 
 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
 
 Home art gone and ta'en thy wages : 
 
 Golden lads and girls all must, 
 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the frown o' the great. 
 Thou art past the tyrant's stroke ; 
 
 Care no more to clothe, and eat ; 
 To thee the reed is as the oak : 
 
 1 Printed is in the folio, changed by Hanmer to bin. 
 
112 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 All follow this, and come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
 Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 
 
 Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
 Thou hast finished joy and moan : 
 
 All lovers young, all lovers must 
 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 No exorciser harm thee ! 
 Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 
 Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
 Nothing ill come near thee ! 
 
 Quiet consummation have ; 
 
 And renowned be thy grave ! 
 
 OTHELLO. 
 KING STEPHEN. 
 
 King Stephen was a worthy peer, 
 His breeches cost him but a crown ; 
 
 He held them sixpence all too dear. 
 With that he called the tailor lown. 
 
 He was a wight of high renown, 
 And thou art but of low degree : 
 
 'T is pride that pulls the country down, 
 Then tak thy auld cloak about thee.^ 
 
 1 An English version of the old ballad (supposed to have been 
 originally Scotch) from which these stanzas are taken will be found 
 in Percy's Religues, i. 153, ed. 1844. 
 
WILLOW SONG.—FOOUS SONG. II3 
 
 THE WILLOW SONG. 
 
 The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree, 
 
 Sing all a green willow ; 
 Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee, 
 
 Sing willow, willow, willow : 
 The fresh streams ran by her, and murmured her 
 
 moans ; 
 Her salt tears fell from her, and softened the stones ; 
 Sing willow, willow, willow ; 
 Sing all a green willow must be my garland.^ 
 
 KING LEAR. 
 THE fool's song. 
 
 Fools had ne'er less grace in a year ; 
 
 For wise men are grown foppish ; 
 And know not how their wits to wear, 
 
 Their manners are so apish. 
 
 Then they for sudden joy did weep. 
 And I for sorrow sung, 
 
 1 This is the opening verse of an old ballad adapted to Desdemona 
 by changing the sex of the forsaken lover. The following are the 
 words of the original : — 
 
 A poor soul sat sighing under a sycamore tree ; 
 
 ' O willow, willow, willow ! ' 
 With his hand on his bosom, his head on his knee ; 
 ' O willow, willow, willow ! 
 O willow, willow, willow! 
 Sing, O the green willow shall be my garland.' 
 The whole ballad is given from a black-letter copy in the Pepys' 
 Collection by Bishop Percy, Reliques, i. 156. For the first Willow 
 Song, see ante, p. 14. 
 
I 1 4 SHAKES PEA RE. 
 
 That such a king should play bo-peep, 
 And go the fool among. 
 
 MACBETH. 
 THE witches' rendezvous. 
 
 1 Witch. When shall we three meet again, 
 
 In thunder, lightning, or in rain ? 
 
 2 Witch. When the hurlyburly 's done, 
 
 When the battle 's lost and won : 
 Witch. That will be ere set of sun. 
 Witch. Where the place ? 
 Witch. Upon the heath ; 
 
 Witch. There to meet with Macbeth. 
 Witch. I come, Grimalkin ! ^ 
 
 All. Paddock - calls : — Anon. — 
 
 Fair is foul, and foul is fair ; 
 
 Hover through the fog and filthy air. 
 
 THE CHARM. 
 
 1 Witch. Thrice the brinded ^ cat hath mewed. 
 
 2 Witch. Thrice ; and once the hedgehog whined. 
 
 3 Witch. Harpier cries : — 'T is time, 'T is time. 
 I Witch. Round about the caldron go : 
 
 In the poisoned entrails throw. 
 Toad, that under cold stone. 
 Days and nights hath thirty-one, 
 Sweltered venom sleeping got, 
 Boil thou first in the charmed pot! 
 
 1 A cat. 
 
 2 A load. 
 
 3 Fierce. 
 
THE CHARM. 
 
 115 
 
 All. Double, double, toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn ; and, caldron, bubble. 
 
 2 Witch. Fillet of a fenny snake. 
 
 In the caldron boil and bake ; 
 Eye of newt, and toe of frog ; 
 Wool of bat, and tongue of dog ; 
 Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting; 
 Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing ; 
 For a charm of powerful trouble ; 
 Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. 
 All. Double, double, toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn ; and, caldron, bubble. 
 
 3 Witch. Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf ; 
 
 Witches' mummy ; maw, and gulf 
 Of the ravened salt sea-shark ; 
 Root of hemlock, digged i' the dark ; 
 Liver of blaspheming Jew ; 
 Gall of goat, and slips of yew. 
 Silvered in the moon's eclipse ; 
 Nose of Turk, and Tartar's lips ; 
 Finger of birth-strangled babe. 
 Ditch-delivered by a drab. 
 Make the gruel thick and slab ; 
 Add thereto a tiger's chaudron,^ 
 For the ingredients of our caldron. 
 All. Double, double, toil and trouble ; 
 Fire, burn ; and, caldron, bubble. 
 
 2 Witch. Cool it with a baboon's blood. 
 
 Then the charm is firm and good. 
 
 1 Entrails. 
 
Il6 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 APEMANTUS'S GRACE. 
 
 Immortal gods, I crave no pelf ; 
 
 I pray for no man but myself : 
 
 Grant I may never prove so fond, 
 
 To trust man on his oath or bond ; 
 
 Or a harlot for her weeping ; 
 
 Or a dog that seems a sleeping ; 
 
 Or a keeper with my freedom ; 
 
 Or my friends, if I should need 'em. 
 
 Amen. So fall to 't : 
 
 Rich men sin, and I eat root. 
 
 TROILUS AND CRESSIDA. . 
 OH ! OH ! — HA ! HA ! 
 
 Love, love, nothing but love, still more ! 
 For, oh, love's bow 
 Shoots buck and doe : 
 The shaft confounds, 
 Not that it wounds, 
 
 But tickles still the sore. 
 
 These lovers cry — Oh ! oh ! they die ! 
 
 Yet that which seems the wound to kill, 
 Doth turn oh ! oh ! to ha ! ha ! he ! 
 
 So dying love lives still : 
 Oh ! oh ! a while, but ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 Oh ! oh ! groans out for ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 
BA CCHANALIAN R O UND. 1 1 / 
 
 ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA. 
 BACCHANALIAN ROUND. 
 
 Come, thou monarch of the vine, 
 Plumpy Bacchus, with pink eyne : 
 In thy vats our cares be drowned ; 
 With thy grapes our hairs be crowned ; 
 Cup us, till the world go round ; 
 Cup us, till the world go round ! 
 
 BEN JONSON. 
 
 1574-1637. 
 
 [After Shakespeare's songs all others appear to dis- 
 advantage. He shows an instinctive knowledge of the 
 secret of this kind of writing as of everything else. His 
 songs possess in perfection all the essential elements of 
 gaiety and tenderness, facility and grace, idiomatic purity, 
 melody in the expression, variety, suddenness, and com- 
 pleteness. In their airiness and sweetness, their sponta- 
 neity and full-throated ease, they resemble the songs of 
 birds. The contrast with Ben Jonson is striking. Here 
 we have a great command of resources, and a visible air of 
 preparation. The lines are thoughtful, and occasionally 
 rugged, and must be read, even in the singing, with a 
 certain degree of emphasis and deliberation. They do 
 not spring at once to the heart and the fancy. Without 
 a particle of pedantry, of which Jonson was unjustly 
 accused by his detractors, the spirit of the Greek anthol- 
 ogy is in them, and is felt either in the allusions, the 
 
Il8 BEN JOiWSON. 
 
 phrase, the subject, or the diction. Yet, in a different 
 way, they are as charming as Shakespeare's, and worthy 
 to stand beside them. If they do not recall the ravishing 
 music of the lark or the nightingale, they hold us in the 
 spell of some fine instrument whose rich notes are deliv- 
 ered with the skill of a master. It is the difference be- 
 tween impulse and premeditation, and, in a general sense, 
 between nature and art, although we are compelled to 
 acknowledge in Shakespeare the presence of the highest 
 art also. Ben Jonson is generally supposed to be distin- 
 guished chiefly, if not exclusively, by his learning and his 
 humour. But his songs, his masques, and pastoral scenes 
 are strewn with beauties of another order, and exhibit, 
 over and above his more special qualities, singular ele- 
 gance of thought and a luxuriant fancy. 
 
 The dates attached to the titles of the plays from which 
 the following lyrics are extracted, are the dates of their 
 production upon the stage.] 
 
 CYNTHIA'S REVELS. 1600. 
 ECHO MOURNING THE DEATH OF NARCISSUS. 
 
 Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears ; 
 
 Yet slower, yet, O faintly gentle springs : 
 List to the heavy part the music bears. 
 
 Woe weeps out her division when she sings. 
 Droop herbs and flowers ; 
 Fall grief in showers. 
 Our beauties, are not ours ; 
 O, I could still, 
 Like melting snow upon some craggy hill, 
 
 Drop, drop, drop, drop. 
 Since nature's pride is, now, a withered daffodil. 
 
THE KISS. 119 
 
 THE KISS. 
 
 O, TPIAT joy SO soon should waste ! 
 
 Or so sweet a bliss 
 
 As a kiss 
 Might not for ever last ! 
 So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious, 
 
 The dew that lies on roses, 
 
 When the morn herself discloses, 
 Is not so precious. 
 O rather than I w^ould it smother, 
 Were I to taste such another ; 
 
 It should be my wishing 
 
 That I might die kissing. 
 
 THE GLOVE OF THE DEAD LADY. 
 
 Thou more than most sweet glove, 
 Unto my more sweet love, 
 Suffer me to store with kisses 
 This empty lodging that now misses 
 The pure rosy hand that wore thee, 
 Whiter than the kid that bore thee. 
 
 Thou art soft, but that was softer ; 
 Cupid's self hath kissed it ofter 
 Than e'er he did his mother's doves. 
 Supposing her the queen of loves, 
 That was thy mistress, 
 Best of gloves. 
 
120 BEN JONSON, 
 
 HYMN TO DIANA. 
 
 Queen, and huntress, chaste and fair, 
 
 Now the sun is laid to sleep, 
 Seated in thy silver chair. 
 
 State in wonted manner keep : * 
 Hesperus entreats thy light, 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Earth, let not thy envious shade 
 
 Dare itself to interpose ; 
 Cynthia's shining orb was made 
 
 Heaven to clear when day did close : 
 Bless us then with wished sight, 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 
 
 And thy crystal shining quiver ; 
 Give unto thy flying hart 
 
 Space to breathe, how short soever : 
 Thou that makest a day of night. 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 THE POETASTER. 1601. 
 THE lover's ideal. 
 
 If I freely may discover 
 
 What would please me in my lover, 
 
 1 Come, but keep thy wonted state, 
 With even step, and mincing gait. 
 
 M I LTON . // Penseroso. 
 
THE LOVER'S IDEAL. 121 
 
 I would have her fair and witty, 
 
 Savouring more of court than city ; 
 
 A little proud, but full of pity ; 
 
 Light and humorous in her toying ; 
 
 Oft building hopes, and soon destroying ; 
 
 Long, but sweet in the enjoying ; 
 Neither too easy nor too hard. 
 All extremes I would have barred. 
 
 She should be allowed her passions, 
 So they were but used as fashions ; 
 Sometimes froward, and then frowning, 
 Sometimes sickish, and then swooning, 
 Every fit with change still crowning. 
 Purely jealous I would have her, 
 Then only constant when I crave her; 
 'T is a virtue should not save her. 
 
 Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me, 
 
 Nor her peevishness annoy me.^ 
 
 1 The germ of this song may be traced to the following epigram of 
 
 Martial : — 
 
 Qualem, Flacce, velim quseris, nolimve puellam, 
 
 Nolo nimis facilem, difficilemve nimis : 
 Illud quod medium est, atque inter utrumque probamus, 
 
 Nee volo quod cruciat, nee volo quod satiat. 
 
 Thus rendered by Elphinston : — 
 
 What a fair, my dear Flaccus, I like or dislike ? 
 
 I approve not the dame, or too kind, or too coy ; 
 The sweet medium be mine : no extremities strike : 
 
 I '11 have her who knows nor to torture nor cloy. 
 
122 BEN JONSON. 
 
 WANTON CUPID. 
 
 Love is blind, and a wanton ; 
 
 In the whole world, there is scant [one] 
 
 One such another : 
 
 No, not his mother. 
 He hath plucked her doves and sparrows, 
 To feather his sharp arrows, 
 
 And alone prevaileth, 
 
 While sick Venus waileth. 
 But if Cypris once recover 
 The wag ; it shall behove her 
 
 To look better to him, 
 
 Or she will undo him. 
 
 WAKE ! MUSIC AND WINE. 
 
 Wake, our mirth begins to die, 
 Quicken it with tunes and wines, 
 Raise your notes ; you 're out : fy, fy 1 
 This drowsiness is an ill sign. 
 We banish him the quire of gods, 
 
 That droops again : 
 
 Then all are men, 
 For here 's not one, but nods. 
 
 THE FEAST OF THE SENSES. 
 
 Then, in a free and lofty strain. 
 Our broken tunes we thus repair ; 
 And we answer them again, 
 
 Running division on the panting air ; 
 
 To celebrate this feast of sense. 
 
FOOLS. 123 
 
 As free from scandal as offence. 
 
 Here is beauty for the eye ; 
 
 For the ear sweet melody ; 
 Ambrosial odours for the smell ; 
 
 Delicious nectar for the taste ; 
 
 For the touch a lady's waist ; 
 Which doth all the rest excel ! 
 
 VOLPONE ; OR, THE FOX. 1605. 
 
 FOOLS. 
 
 Fools, they are the only nation 
 Worth men's envy or admiration ; 
 Free from care or sorrow-taking, 
 Selves and others merry making : 
 All they speak or do is sterling. 
 Your fool he is your great man's darling, 
 And your ladies' sport and pleasure ; 
 Tongue and babble are his treasure. 
 Even his face begetteth laughter, 
 And he speaks truth free from slaughter ; ^ 
 He 's the grace of every feast. 
 And sometimes the chiefest guest ; 
 Hath his trencher and his stool, 
 When wit waits upon the fool. 
 O, who would not be 
 He, he, he?' 
 
 1 Reason here, observes one of Jonson's commentators, has been 
 made to suffer for the rhyme, slander being the word apparently 
 designed. 
 
 2 There is a Fool's Song in the Bird in a Co^^ of Shirley (see Shir- 
 ley's songs in this volume) which seems to be formed upon this song. 
 
1 24 BEN J ON SON. 
 
 LOVE WHILE WE CAN. 
 
 Come, my Celia, let us prove, 
 
 While we can the sports of love, 
 
 Time will not be ours for ever. 
 
 He, at length, our good will sever ; 
 
 Spend not then his gifts in vain, 
 
 Suns that set may rise again : 
 
 But if once we lose this light, 
 
 'T is with us perpetual night. 
 
 Why should we defer our joys ? 
 
 Fame and rumour are but toys. 
 
 Cannot we delude the eyes 
 
 Of a few poor household spies ? 
 
 Or his easier ears beguile, 
 
 Thus removed by our wile ? 
 
 'T is no sin love's fruits to steal ; 
 
 But the sweet thefts to reveal : 
 
 To be taken, to be seen, 
 
 These have crimes accounted been.^ 
 
 THE QUEEN'S MASQUE. 1605. 
 
 THE BIRTH OF LOVE. 
 
 So beauty on the waters stood, 
 
 When love had severed earth from flood ; 
 
 So when he parted air from fire, 
 
 He did with concord all inspire ; 
 
 1 The leading idea of this song is taken from Catullus. It was a 
 favourite theme with the old dramatists, and will be found treated in 
 a variety of ways amongst their songs. 
 
CUPIDS SHOOTING AT RANDOM. 1 2$ 
 
 And there a matter he thq^ taught 
 That elder than himself was thought ; 
 Which thought was yet the child of earth, 
 For Love is older than his birth. 
 
 CUPIDS SHOOTING AT RANDOM. 
 
 If all these Cupids now were blind, 
 As is their wanton brother, 
 
 Or play should put it in their mind 
 To shoot at one another, 
 
 What pretty battle they would make. 
 
 If they their object should mistake, 
 And each one wound his mother. 
 
 EPICCENE; OR, THE SILENT WOMAN. 1609. 
 THE GRACE OF SIMPLICITY. 
 
 Still to be neat, still to be drest, 
 
 As you were going to a feast ; 
 
 Still to be powdered, still perfumed : 
 
 Lady, it is to be presumed, 
 
 Though art's hid causes are not found, 
 
 All is not sweet, all is not sound. 
 
 Give me a look, give me a face, 
 That makes simplicity a grace ; 
 Robes loosely flowang, hair as free : 
 Such sweet neglect more taketh me. 
 
126 BEN JONSON. 
 
 Than all the adulteries of art; 
 
 They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.* 
 
 BARTHOLOMEW FAIR. 1614. 
 THE BALLAD OF THE CUT-PURSE.^ 
 
 j\Iy masters, and friends, and good people, draw near, 
 And look to your purses for that I do say ; 
 
 And though little money in them you do bear. 
 It cost more to get, than to lose in a day. 
 
 1 This is one of the best known of Jonson's songs, and a remark- 
 able illustration of the art with which he constructed these com- 
 positions. The first verse is an evident preparation for the skilful 
 flattery and delightful sentiment of the second. Nothing less than 
 the fascinating result to which it leads us could excuse its want of 
 gallantry. 
 
 ^ In the Roxburghe collection there is a ballad with the following 
 title : ' A Caveat for Cut-Purses. With a warning to all purse 
 carriers, shewing the confidence of the first, and the carelessness of 
 the last, with necessary admonitions for them both, lest the hang- 
 man get the one, and the beggar the other.' Mr. Collier observes 
 upon it that ' this singular ballad preceded the Restoration, and 
 indeed the civil wars, and the mention in it of Dun, the public hang- 
 man, is one proof of its date ; ' and he adds, ' it is to be observed 
 that the ballad singer speaks in his own person ; and, were it not for 
 the conclusion, we might suppose that the production was a "jig " 
 which had been performed by a comic actor at the Curtain, the Red 
 Bull, or some other popular place of amusement.' It escaped Mr. 
 Collier that the first five stanzas are in Ben Jonson's play of 
 Bartholomew Fair, acted for the first time on the 31st October, 1614, 
 at the Hope theatre. Bank-side. The song is sung by Nightingale, 
 a ballad singer in the fair, and immediately afterwards Edgworth, a 
 cut-purse, puts its doctrines into practice by picking the pocket of a 
 country gentleman, and handing over the purse he has stolen to the 
 ballad singer. The additional verses in the broad-sheet, containing 
 the allusion to Dun, the hangman, who seems to have succeeded to 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE CUT-PURSE. 12/ 
 
 You oft have been told, 
 Both the young and the old, 
 And bidden beware of the Cut-purse so bold ! 
 Then if you take heed not, free me from the curse, 
 Who both give you warning, for, and the Cut-purse. 
 Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starved by thy 
 
 nurse, 
 Than live to be hanged for cutting a purse. 
 
 his office in 1616, two years after the play was produced, were 
 evidently added afterwards. They extend the ballad to ten verses, 
 and run as follows : — 
 
 The players do tell you, in Bartholomew Fair, 
 
 What secret consumptions and rascals you are ; 
 For one of their actors, it seems, had the fate 
 By some of your trade to be fleeced of late : 
 Then fall to your prayers. 
 You that are way-layers, 
 They 're fit to choose all the world that can cheat players ; 
 For he hath the art, and no man the worse. 
 Whose cunning can pilfer the pilferer's purse. 
 
 Youth, youth, &c. 
 
 The plain countryman that comes staring to London, 
 
 If once you come near him he quickly is undone. 
 For when he amazedly gazeth about. 
 
 One treads on his toes, and the other pulls it out : 
 Then in a strange place. 
 Where he knows no face. 
 His money is gone, 't is a pitiful case. 
 The Devil in hell in his trade is not worse. 
 Than Gilter, and Diver, and Cutter of purse. 
 
 Youth, youth, (S:c. 
 
 The poor servant maid wears her purse in her placket, 
 A place of quick feeling, and yet you can take it ; 
 
 Nor is she aware that you have done the feat, 
 Until she is going to pay for her meat ; 
 
128 BEN JONSON. 
 
 It hath been upbraided to men of my trade, 
 
 That oftentimes we are the cause of this crime : 
 Alack, and for pity ! why should it be said, 
 As if they regarded or places or time ? 
 Examples have been 
 Of some that were seen 
 In Westminster-hall, yea, the pleaders between; 
 
 Then she cries and rages 
 Amongst the baggages, 
 And swears at one thrust she hath lost all her wages ; 
 For she is engaged her own to disburse, 
 To make good the breach of the cruel Cut-purse. 
 
 Youth, youth, &c. 
 
 Your eyes and your fingers are nimble of growth. 
 
 But Dun many times hath been nimbler than both ; 
 Yet you are deceived by many a slut. 
 
 But the hangman is only the Cut-purse's cut. 
 It makes you to vex 
 When he bridles your necks. 
 And then, at the last, what becomes of your tricks ? 
 But when you should pray, you begin for to curse 
 The hand tliat first showed you to slash at a purse. 
 
 Youth, youth, &c. 
 
 But now to my hearers this counsel I give, 
 
 And pray, friends, remember it as long as you live ; 
 Bring out no more cash in purse, pocket, or wallet. 
 Than one single penny to pay for this ballad ; 
 For Cut-purse doth shroud 
 Himself in a cloud, 
 There 's many a purse hath been lost in a crowd, 
 For he 's the most rogue that doth cry up, and curses, 
 Who first cries, ' My masters, beware of your purses." 
 
 Oh ! youth, &c. 
 
 An inferior hand may be easily detected in these supplementary 
 verses. It will be seen, also, that the writer changes the alternate 
 rhymes to couplets. 
 
THE BALLAD OF THE CUT-PURSE. 1 29 
 
 Then why should the judges be free from this curse, 
 More than my poor self for cutting the purse ? 
 
 Youth, youth, &c. 
 
 At Worcester, 't is known well, and even in the jail, 
 A knight of good worship did there show his 
 face 
 Against the foul sinners in zeal for to rail, 
 
 And lost {ipso facto) his purse in the place. 
 Nay, once from the seat 
 Of judgment so great, 
 A judge there did lose a fair purse of velvate. 
 O Lord ! for thy mercy, how wicked, or worse. 
 Are those that so venture their necks for a purse ! 
 
 Youth, youth, &c. 
 
 At plays, and at sermons, and at the sessions, 
 
 'T is daily their practice such booty to make ; 
 Yea, under the gallows, at executions, 
 
 They stick not the stare-abouts' purses to 
 take. 
 Nay, one without grace, 
 At a better place, 
 At court, and in Christmas, before the king's 
 face. 
 Alack, then for pity ! must I bear the curse. 
 That only belongs to the cunning Cut-purse ? 
 
 Youth, youth, &c. 
 
 But O, you vile nation of Cut-purses all. 
 
 Relent and repent, and amend and be sound, 
 
I 30 BEN J ON SON. 
 
 And know that you ought not by honest men's fall 
 Advance your own fortunes, to die above 
 ground ; 
 And though you go gay 
 In silks as you may, 
 It is not the high way to heaven, as they say. 
 Repent then, repent you, for better, for worse. 
 And kiss not the gallows for cutting a purse. 
 
 Youth, youth, &c. 
 
 THE NEW INN; OR, THE LIGHT HEART. 1629. 
 A VISION OF BEAUTY. 
 
 It was a beauty that I saw 
 
 So pure, so perfect, as the frame 
 Of all the universe was lame. 
 
 To that one figure could I draw. 
 
 Or give least line of it a law ! 
 
 A skein of silk without a knot ! 
 
 A fair march made without a halt ! 
 
 A curious form without a fault ! 
 
 A printed book without a blot ! 
 All beauty, and without a spot. 
 
 THE SAD SHEPHERD; OR, A TALE OF ROBIN 
 
 HOOD.i 
 
 LOVE AND DEATH. 
 
 Though I am young and cannot tell 
 Either what death or love is well, 
 
 iThis piece, a dramatic pastoral, in the manner of the Faithful 
 Shepherdess of Fletcher, was left unfinished by Jonson at his death. 
 Only two acts, and a fragment of a third, are all that have come down 
 
TO CELIA. 131 
 
 Yet I have heard they both bear darts, 
 
 And both do aim at human hearts ; 
 
 And then again, I have been told, 
 
 Love wounds with heat, as death with cold ; 
 
 So that I fear they do but bring 
 
 Extremes to touch, and mean one thing. 
 
 As in a ruin we it call, 
 One thing to be blown up, or fall ; 
 Or to our end, like way may have. 
 By a flash of Hghtning, or a wave : 
 So love's inflamed shaft or brand, 
 May kill as soon as death's cold hand; 
 Except love's fires the virtue have 
 To fright the frost out of the grave. 
 
 THE FOREST.i 
 
 TO CELIA. 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
 
 And I will pledge with mine ; 
 Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 
 
 And I '11 not look for wine. 
 The thirst that from the soul doth rise, 
 
 Doth ask a drink divine : 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
 
 I would not change for thine. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 Not so much honouring thee, 
 
 to us. They abound in passages of exquisite beauty, and display 
 his mastery over a species of poetry in which he is least appreciated. 
 1 A collection of Jonson's smaller poems. 
 
132 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER, 
 
 As giving it a hope that there 
 
 It could not withered be ; 
 But thou thereon didst only breathe, 
 
 And sent'st it back to me ; 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 
 
 Not of itself, but thee. 
 
 FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN 
 FLETCHER. 
 
 1584-1616. 1579-1625. 
 
 [Variety, grace, and sweetness are the predominant 
 characteristics of Beaumont and Fletcher's songs. They 
 occupy a middle region between Shakespeare and Jonson. 
 The individual hand of either poet cannot be traced with 
 certainty in any of these pieces. We learn from the tradi- 
 tions which have reached us, that they lived together on 
 the Bank-side, and not only pursued their studies in close 
 companionship, but carried their community of habits so 
 far that they had only one bench between them, and used 
 the same clothes and cloaks in common. Beaumont has 
 got the credit (though the younger man) of possessing the 
 restraining judgment, and Fletcher the overflowing fancy 
 and exuberant wit. There can be no doubt, however, 
 from the allusions of the Prologues and Commendatory 
 Verses, that Fletcher had by far the larger share in the 
 plays ; and, if such a conjecture may be hazarded upon 
 internal evidence, the bulk of the songs may be ascribed 
 to him also. They are full of that luxuriance and beauty 
 which distinguish the pieces known to have been written by 
 him separately.] 
 
CONS TANC V. — FICKLENESS. I 3 3 
 
 THE xMAID'S TRAGEDY. 
 CONSTANCY. 
 
 Lay a garland on my hearse 
 
 Of the dismal yew ; 
 Maidens, willow branches bear ; 
 
 Say, I died true. 
 
 My love was false, but I was firm 
 
 From my hour of birth. 
 Upon my buried body lie 
 
 Lightly, gentle earth ! 
 
 FICKLENESS. 
 
 I COULD never have the power 
 To love one above an hour, 
 But my head would prompt mine eye 
 On some other man to fly. 
 Venus, fix thou mine eyes'fast, 
 Or if not, give me all that I shall see at last. 
 
 THE ELDER BROTHER.i 
 THE STUDENT AWAKENED BY LOVE. 
 
 Beauty clear and fair. 
 Where the air 
 
 Rather like a perfume dwells ; 
 Where the violet and the rose 
 Their blue veins in blush disclose. 
 
 And came to honour nothing else. 
 
 1 Ascribed to Fletcher. 
 
134 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Where to live near, 
 
 And planted there, 
 
 Is to live, and still live new ; 
 Where to gain a favour is 
 More than light, perpetual bliss, — 
 
 Make me live by serving you. 
 
 Dear, again back recall 
 To this light, 
 
 A stranger to himself and all; 
 Both the wonder and the story 
 Shall be yours, and eke the glory : 
 
 I am your servant, and your thrall. 
 
 THE SPANISH CURATE.i 
 SPEAK, LOVE ! ^ 
 
 Dearest, do not delay me, 
 
 Since, thou knowest, I must be gone ; 
 Wind and tide, 't is thought, doth stay me, 
 But 't is wind that must be blown 
 
 From that breath, whose native smell 
 Indian odours far excel. 
 
 1 By Fletcher. 
 
 2 This song, and that which immediately follows, not having 
 appeared in the original edition of the Spanish Curate, were removed 
 from the text by Mr. Colman. The authorship is, of course, doubt- 
 ful ; but the stage directions in the places in which they were inserted 
 indicate that some songs were intended to be introduced by the 
 authors ; and, to whatever hand we are indebted for these, they are 
 entitled to preservation in this collection. 
 
COUNTRY FEASTING. 1 35 
 
 Oh, then speak, thou fairest fair ! 
 
 Kill not him that vows to serve thee ; 
 But perfume this neighbouring air,^ 
 
 Else dull silence, sure, will starve me : 
 'T is a word that 's quickly spoken, 
 Which, being restrained, a heart is broken. 
 
 COUNTRY FEASTING. 
 
 Let the bells ring, and let the boys sing, 
 
 The young lasses skip and play ; 
 Let the cups go round, till round goes the ground ; 
 
 Our learned old vicar will stay. 
 
 Let the pig turn merrily, merrily, ah ! 
 
 And let the fat goose swim ; 
 For verily, verily, verily, ah ! 
 
 Our vicar this day shall be trim.^ 
 
 The stewed cock shall crow, cock-a-loodle-loo, 
 A loud cock-a-loodle shall he crow ; 
 
 1 This looks either like the authorship of Fletcher, or an intentional 
 imitation. A similar passage occurs in a preceding song : — 
 
 Beauty clear and fair, 
 Where the air 
 Rather like a perfume dwells, &c. 
 
 2 Dibdin appears to have founded the burthen of a song in the 
 Quaker on this verse : — 
 
 When the lads of the village shall merrily, ah, 
 Sound the tabors, I '11 hand thee along ; 
 
 And I say unto thee, that verily, ah ! 
 Thou and I will be first in the throng. 
 
136 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 The duck and the drake shall swim in a lake 
 Of onions and claret below. 
 
 Our wives shall be neat, to bring in our meat 
 
 To thee our most noble adviser ; 
 Our pains shall be great, and bottles shall sweat, 
 
 And we ourselves will be wiser. 
 
 We '11 labour and swink/ we '11 kiss and we '11 drink. 
 And tithes shall come thicker and thicker ; 
 
 We '11 fall to our plough, and get children enow, 
 And thou shalt be learned old vicar. 
 
 WIT WITHOUT iMONEY. 
 TAKE ME WHILE I 'm IN THE VEIN. 
 
 The fit 's upon me now, 
 
 The fit 's upon me now ! 
 
 Come quickly, gentle lady, 
 
 The fit 's upon me now ! 
 The world shall soon know they 're fools, 
 
 And so shalt thou do too ; 
 Let the cobbler meddle with his tools, 
 
 The fit 's upon me now ! 
 
 BEGGARS BUSH.2 
 THE KING OF THE BEGGARS. 
 
 Cast our caps and cares away : 
 This is beggar's holiday ! 
 
 1 To w ork hard. 2 Ascribed to Fletcher. 
 
THE LOVE PHILTER. 1 37 
 
 At the crowning of our king, 
 Thus we ever dance and sing. 
 In the world look out and see, 
 Where 's so happy a prince as he ? 
 Where the nation lives so free, 
 And so merry as do we ? 
 Be it peace, or be it war. 
 Here at liberty we are, 
 And enjoy our ease and rest : 
 To the field we are not pressed ; 
 Nor are called into the town. 
 To be troubled with the gown. 
 Hang all offices, we cry, 
 And the magistrate too, by ! 
 When the subsidy 's encreased 
 We are not a penny sessed ; 
 Nor will any go to law 
 With the beggar for a straw. 
 All which happiness, he brags, 
 He doth owe unto his rags. 
 
 THE HUMOROUS LIEUTENANT.i 
 THE LOVE PHILTER. 
 
 Rise from the shades below. 
 
 All you that prove 
 The helps of loose love ! 
 
 Rise, and bestow 
 
 1 Also ascribed to Fletcher by the writers of the commendatory 
 verses, and confirmed by the authority of a MS, referred to by 
 Mr. Dyce. 
 
138 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Upon this cup whatever may compel, 
 By powerful charm and unresisted spell 
 A heart unwarmed to melt in love's desires ! 
 Distil into liquor all your fires ; 
 Heats, longings, tears ; 
 But keep back frozen fears ; 
 That she may know, that has all power defied, 
 Art is a power that will not be denied. 
 
 THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS.i 
 THE SATYR.^ 
 
 Through yon same bending plain 
 That flings his arms down to the main, 
 And through these thick woods," have I run, 
 Whose bottom never kissed the sun 
 Since the lusty spring began ; 
 All to please my Master Pan, 
 
 1 The sole production of Fletcher. 
 
 2 The lyrical character of this soliloquy of the Satyr, and of two or 
 three similar pieces extracted from the same pastoral comedy, may be 
 allowed to justify their insertion in this volume, if their beauty stand 
 in need of any plea for their admission. 
 
 3 Mr. Seward traces an imitation of Shakespeare's Midsummer 
 Night's Dream in the beginning and ending of this soliloquy. The 
 passage is in the speech of the Fairy : — 
 
 Over hill, over dale. 
 
 Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
 Over park, over pale. 
 
 Thorough flood, thorough fire, &c. 
 
 A still closer imitation of Fletcher himself may be found in the 
 G?w«jof Milton, which owes large obligations not only to the imagery 
 and general treatment, but to the plan of the Faithful Shepherdess. 
 
THE SATYR. 1 39 
 
 Have I trotted without rest 
 
 To get him fruit ; for at a feast 
 
 He entertains, this coming night, 
 
 His paramour, the Syrinx bright. 
 
 But, behold a fairer sight ! 
 
 By that heavenly form of thine, 
 
 Brightest fair, thou art divine. 
 
 Sprung from great immortal race 
 
 Of the gods ; for in thy face 
 
 Shines more awful majesty, 
 
 Than dull weak mortality 
 
 Dare with misty eyes behold. 
 
 And live ! Therefore on this mould 
 
 Lowly do I bend my knee 
 
 In worship of thy deity. 
 
 Deign it, goddess, from my hand, 
 
 To receive whate'er this land 
 
 From her fertile womb doth send 
 
 Of her choice fruits ; and but lend 
 
 Belief to that the Satyr tells : 
 
 Fairer by the famous wells 
 
 To this present day ne'er grew, 
 
 Never better nor more true. 
 
 Here be grapes, whose lusty blood 
 
 Is the learned poet's good, 
 
 Sweeter yet did never crown 
 
 The head of Bacchus ; nuts more brown 
 
 Than the squirrel's teeth that crack them ; 
 
 Deign, oh fairest fair, to take them ! 
 
 For these black-eyed Dryope 
 
 Hath often-times commanded me 
 
140 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 With my clasped knee to climb : 
 
 See how well the lusty time 
 
 Hath decked their rising cheeks in red, 
 
 Such as on your lips is spread ! 
 
 Here be berries for a queen, 
 
 Some be red, some be green ; 
 
 These are of that luscious meat. 
 
 The great god Pan himself doth eat : 
 
 All these, and what the woods can yield, 
 
 The hanging mountain, or the field, 
 
 I freely offer, and ere long 
 
 Will bring you more, more sweet and strong ; 
 
 Till when, humbly leave I take, 
 
 Lest the great Pan do awake. 
 
 That sleeping lies in a deep glade, 
 
 Under a broad beech's shade. 
 
 I must go, I must run 
 
 Swifter than the fiery sun. 
 
 THE PRAISES OF PAN. 
 
 Sing his praises that doth keep 
 
 Our flocks from harm, 
 Pan, the father of our sheep ; 
 
 And arm in arm 
 Tread we softly in a round. 
 Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground 
 Fills the music with her sound. 
 
 Pan, oh, great god Pan, to thee 
 Thus do we sing 1 
 
THE INVITAT/Oy. 141 
 
 Thou that keep'st us chaste and free 
 
 As the young spring ; 
 Ever be thy honour spoke, 
 From that place the morn is spoke, 
 To that place day doth unyoke ! 
 
 THE INVITATION, 
 
 Come, shepherds, come ! 
 Come away 
 Without delay 
 Whilst the gentle time doth stay. 
 
 Green woods are dumb, 
 And will never tell to any 
 Those dear kisses, and those many 
 Sweet embraces, that are given, 
 Dainty pleasures, that would even 
 Raise in coldest age a fire, 
 And give virgin blood desire. 
 Then, if ever. 
 Now or never, 
 Come and have it : 
 Think not I 
 Dare deny. 
 If you crave it. 
 
 EVENING SONG OF PAN's PRIEST. 
 
 Shepherds all, and maidens fair, 
 Fold your flocks up, for the air 
 'Gins to thicken, and the sun 
 Already his great course hath run. 
 
142 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER, 
 
 See the dew-drops how they kiss 
 Every little flower that is, 
 Hanging on their velvet heads, 
 Like a rope of crystal beads : 
 See the heavy clouds low falling. 
 And bright Hesperus down calling 
 The dead Night from under ground ; 
 At whose rising mists unsound. 
 Damps and vapours fly apace, 
 Hovering o'er the wanton face 
 Of these pastures, where they come, 
 Striking dead both bud and bloom : 
 Therefore, from such danger lock 
 Every one his loved flock ; 
 And let your dogs lie loose without. 
 Lest the wolf come as a scout 
 From the mountain, and, ere day, 
 Bear a lamb or kid away ; 
 Or the crafty thievish fox 
 Break upon your simple flocks. 
 To secure yourselves from these, 
 Be not too secure in ease ; 
 Let one eye his watches keep. 
 Whilst the other eye doth sleep ; 
 So you shall good shepherds prove, 
 And for ever hold the love 
 Of our great god. Sweetest slumbers. 
 And soft silence, fall in numbers 
 On your eye-lids ! So, farewell ! 
 Thus I end my evening's knell. 
 
THE SULLEN SHEPHERD TO AMARILLIS. 1 43 
 
 THE SULLEN SHEPHERD TO AMARILLIS ASLEEP. 
 
 From thy forehead thus I take 
 
 These herbs, and charge thee not awake 
 
 Till in yonder holy well 
 
 Thrice, with powerful magic spell, 
 
 Filled with many a baleful word. 
 
 Thou hast been dipped. Thus, with my cord 
 
 Of blasted hemp, by moonlight twined, 
 
 I do thy sleepy body bind. 
 
 I turn thy head unto the east,^ 
 
 And thy feet unto the west, 
 
 Thy left arm to the south put forth, 
 
 And thy right unto the north. 
 
 I take thy body from the ground, 
 
 In this deep and deadly swound. 
 
 And into this holy spring 
 
 I let thee slide down by my string. 
 
 Take this maid, thou holy pit. 
 
 To thy bottom ; nearer yet ; 
 
 In thy water pure and sweet. 
 
 By thy leave I dip her feet ; 
 
 Thus I let her lower yet. 
 
 That her ankles may be wet ; 
 
 Yet down lower, let her knee 
 
 In thy waters washed be. 
 
 There stop. Fly away," 
 
 Everything that loves the day ! 
 
 1 Thus in Cymbeline : — 
 
 Nay, Cadwal, we must lay his head to the east; 
 My father had a reason for 't. 
 
 2 Regarding this hne as an ' unmusical hemistich ' occasioned 
 
144 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Truth, that hath but one face, 
 Thus I charm thee from this place. 
 Snakes that cast your coats for new, 
 Chamehons that alter hue, 
 Hares that yearly sexes change, 
 Proteus altering oft and strange, 
 Hecate, with shapes three. 
 Let this maiden changed be, 
 With this holy water wet. 
 To the shape of Amoret ! 
 Cynthia, work thou with my charm I 
 Thus I draw thee, free from harm, 
 Up out of this blessed lake. 
 Rise both like her and awake ! 
 
 THE satyr's watch. 
 
 Now, whilst the moon doth rule the sky. 
 And the stars, whose feeble light 
 Give[s] a pale shadow to the night, 
 Are up, great Pan commanded me 
 To walk this grove about, whilst he, 
 In a corner of the wood. 
 Where never mortal foot hath stood. 
 Keeps dancing, music, and a feast, 
 To entertain a lovely guest : 
 
 probably 'by the loss of one or more words,' Mr. Seward and Mr, 
 Sympson altered it to 
 
 There I stop. Now fly away. 
 With such scrupulous ears for syllabic completeness, it is surprising 
 they did not fill out a hemistich that occurs a few lines lower down, 
 and that is really unmusical. The abruptness of the line they have 
 altered was obviously intentional. 
 
THE SATYR'S WATCH. 1 45 
 
 Where he gives her many a rose, 
 Sweeter than the breath that blows 
 The leaves, grapes, berries of the best ; 
 I never saw so great a feast. 
 But, to my charge. Here must I stay. 
 To see what mortals lose their way, 
 And by a false fire, seeming bright, 
 Train them in and leave them right. 
 Then must I watch if any be 
 Forcing of a chastity ; 
 If I find it, then in haste 
 Give my wreathed horn a blast. 
 And the fairies all will run, 
 Wildly dancing by the moon, 
 And will pinch him to the bone, 
 Till his lustful thoughts be gone. 
 
 Back again about this ground ; 
 
 Sure I hear a mortal sound. — 
 
 I bind thee by this powerful spell, 
 
 By the waters of this well. 
 
 By the glimmering moon-beams bright, 
 
 Speak again, thou mortal wight ! 
 
 Here the foolish mortal lies. 
 Sleeping on the ground. Arise ! 
 The poor wight is almost dead ; 
 On the ground his wounds have bled. 
 And his clothes fouled with his blood : 
 To my goddess in the wood 
 Will I lead him, whose hands pure 
 Will help this mortal wight to cure. 
 
146 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 AMORET AND THE RIVER-GOD. 
 
 God. What powerful charms my streams do bring 
 Back again unto their spring, 
 With such force, that I their god, 
 Three times striking with my rod, 
 Could not keep them in their ranks ? 
 My fishes shoot into the banks ; 
 There 's not one that stays and feeds, 
 All have hid them in the weeds. 
 Here 's a mortal almost dead. 
 Fallen into my river-head, 
 Hallowed so with many a spell, 
 That till now none ever fell. 
 'T is a female young and clear, 
 Cast in by some ravisher : 
 See upon her breast a w^ound. 
 On w^hich there is no plaster bound. 
 Yet she 's warm, her pulses beat, 
 'T is a sign of life and heat. — 
 If thou be'st a virgin pure, 
 I can give a present cure : 
 Take a drop into thy wound. 
 From my watery locks, more round 
 Than orient pearl, and far more pure 
 Than unchaste flesh may endure. — 
 See, she pants, and from her flesh 
 The warm blood gusheth out afresh. 
 She is an unpolluted maid ; 
 I must have this bleeding staid. 
 
AMORET AND THE RIVER-GOD. 
 
 147 
 
 From my banks I pluck this flower 
 With holy hand, whose virtuous power 
 Is at once to heal and draw. — 
 The blood returns. I never saw 
 A fairer mortal. Now doth break 
 Her deadly slumber. Virgin, speak. 
 
 Amoret. Who hath restored my sense, given me new 
 breath. 
 And brought me back out of the arms of 
 death ? 
 
 God. I have healed thy wounds. 
 
 Amoret. Ah me ! 
 
 God. Fear not him that succoured thee. 
 I am this fountain's god. Below, 
 My waters to a river grow. 
 And 'twixt two banks with osiers set. 
 That only prosper in the wet. 
 Through the meadows do they glide. 
 Wheeling still on every side. 
 Sometimes winding round about, 
 To find the evenest channel out. 
 And if thou wilt go with me, 
 Leaving mortal company. 
 In the cool streams shalt thou lie. 
 Free from harm as well as I : 
 I will give thee for thy food 
 No fish that useth in the mud ; 
 But trout and pike, that love to swim 
 Where the gravel from the brim 
 Through the pure streams may be seen : 
 Orient pearl fit for a queen 
 
148 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Will I give, thy love to win, 
 
 And a shell to keep them in ; 
 
 Not a fish in all my brook 
 
 That shall disobey thy look, 
 
 But, when thou wilt, come sliding by, 
 
 And from thy white hand take a fly : 
 
 And to make thee understand 
 
 How I can my waves command, 
 
 They shall bubble whilst I sing, 
 
 Sweeter than the silver string. 
 
 The Song. 
 
 Do not fear to put thy feet 
 Naked in the river sweet ; 
 Think not leech, or newt, or toad, 
 Will bite thy foot, when thou hast trod ; 
 Nor let the water rising high. 
 As thou wad'st in, make thee cry 
 And sob ; but ever live with me, 
 And not a wave shall trouble thee ! 
 
 SONG TO PAN. 
 
 All ye woods, and trees, and bowers, 
 All ye virtues and ye powers 
 That inhabit in the lakes. 
 In the pleasant springs or brakes, 
 Move your feet 
 
 To our sound. 
 Whilst we greet 
 All this ground 
 
THE SATYR'S LEAVE-TAKING. 1 49 
 
 With his honour and his name 
 That defends our flocks from blame. 
 
 He is great, and he is just, 
 He is ever good, and must 
 Thus be honoured. DaffodilHes, 
 Roses, pinks, and loved lilies, 
 
 Let us fling, 
 
 Whilst we sing, 
 
 Ever holy. 
 
 Ever holy, 
 Ever honoured, ever young ! 
 Thus great Pan is ever sung. 
 
 THE satyr's leave-taking. 
 
 Thou divinest, fairest, brightest. 
 Thou most powerful maid, and whitest, 
 Thou most virtuous and most blessed, 
 Eyes of stars and golden tressed 
 Like Apollo ! tell me, sweetest. 
 What new service now is meetest 
 For the Satyr ? Shall I stray 
 In the middle air, and stay 
 The sailing rack, or nimbly take 
 Hold by the moon, and gently make 
 Suit to the pale queen of night 
 For a beam to give thee light ? 
 Shall I dive into the sea, 
 And bring thee coral, making way 
 Through the rising waves that fall 
 In snowy fleeces ? Dearest, shall 
 
150 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 I catch thee wanton fawns, or flies 
 Whose woven wings the summer dyes 
 Of many colours ? get tliee fruit, 
 Or steal from Heaven old Orpheus' lute ? 
 All these I '11 venture for, and more. 
 To do her service all these woods adore. 
 
 Holy virgin, I will dance 
 Round about these woods as quick 
 As the breaking light, and prick 
 Down the lawns and down the vales 
 Faster than the wind-mill sails. 
 So I take my leave, and pray 
 All the comforts of the day, 
 Such as Phoebus' heat doth send 
 On the earth, may still befriend 
 Thee and this arbour ! ^ 
 
 1 The functions of the Satyr in this pastoral and the Attendant 
 Spirit in Comus are identical ; and there are few passages in Milton 
 finer or more exquisite than this last address of the Satyr. The 
 farewell of the Attendant Spirit is a direct imitation, and the lines 
 toward the end are inferior in beauty to the original. The couplet, 
 
 But now my task is smoothly done, 
 I can fly, or I can run, 
 
 is transplanted almost verbally from the first speech of the Satyr : 
 
 I must go, and I must run. 
 Swifter than the fiery sun. 
 
 As a whole, however, the last speech of the Attendant Spirit 
 transcends its prototype in magnificence of versification and the 
 gorgeous loveliness ot its imagery. 
 
THE LOVER'S LEGACY. 151 
 
 THE MAD LOVER.i 
 THE lover's legacy TO HIS CRUEL MISTRESS. 
 
 Go, happy heart ! for thou shalt he 
 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, 
 'T is not for my memory, 
 But thy rites of obsequy. 
 
 The altar was my loving breast, 
 My heart the sacrificed beast, 
 And I was myself the priest. 
 
 Your body was the sacred shrine, 
 Your cruel mind the power divine. 
 Pleased with the hearts of men, not kine. 
 
 THE WARNING OF ORPHEUS. 
 
 Orpheus I am, come from the deeps below. 
 To thee, fond man, the plagues of love to show. 
 To the fair fields where loves eternal dwell 
 There 's none that come, but first they pass through 
 
 hell : 
 Hark, and beware ! unless thou hast loved, ever 
 Beloved again, thou shalt see those joys never. 
 
 1 Ascribed to Fletcher. 
 
152 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Hark ! how they groan that died despairing ! 
 
 Oh, take heed, then ! 
 Hark, how they howl for over-daring ! 
 
 All these were men. 
 
 They that be fools, and die for fame, 
 They lose their name ; 
 And they that bleed 
 Hark how they speed. 
 Now in cold frosts, now scorching fires 
 They sit and curse their lost desires ; 
 Nor shall these souls be free from pains and fears, 
 Till women waft them over in their tears. 
 
 TO VENUS. 
 
 Oh, fair sweet goddess, queen of loves, 
 Soft and gentle as thy doves. 
 Humble-eyed, and ever rueing 
 These poor hearts, their loves pursuing ! 
 Oh, thou mother of delights, 
 Crowner of all happy nights. 
 Star of dear content and pleasure, 
 Of mutual loves the endless treasure ! 
 Accept this sacrifice we bring. 
 Thou continual youth and spring ; 
 Grant this lady her desires, 
 And every hour we '11 crown thy fires. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF PELUSIUM. 
 
 Arm, arm, arm, arm ! the scouts are all come in ; 
 Keep your ranks close, and now your honours win. 
 
THE BATTLE OF PELUSIUM. I 53 
 
 Behold from yonder hill the foe appears ; 
 Bows, bills, glaves, arrows, shields, and spears ! 
 Like a dark wood ^ he comes, or tempest pouring ; 
 Oh, view the wings of horse the meadows scouring. 
 The van-guard marches bravely. Hark, the drums ! 
 
 Dub, dub. 
 They meet, they meet, and now the battle comes : 
 
 See how the arrows fly. 
 
 That darken all the sky ! 
 
 Hark how the trumpets sound. 
 
 Hark how the hills rebound, 
 
 Tara^ tara, tara, tara, tara ! 
 
 Hark how the horses charge ! in, boys, boys, in ! 
 The battle totters ; now the wounds begin : 
 
 Oh, how they cry ! 
 
 Oh, how they die ! 
 Room for the valiant Memnon, armed with thunder ! 
 
 See how he breaks the ranks asunder ! 
 They fly ! they fly ! Eumenes has the chase, 
 And brave Polybius makes good his place. 
 
 To the plains, to the woods, 
 
 To the rocks, to the floods, 
 
 1 One of the commentators proposes to read cloud for wood. 
 These emendations are very provoking, because they are supported 
 by a certain show of reason. But the writers of this hurricane song 
 were not thinking of the literal reason of the matter, but of the sug- 
 gestiveness of the image. And they have succeeded better than their 
 critic. The coming of the dark wood is grander than the cloud. 
 The rout and uproar of battle are admirably depicted. There are 
 few specimens of this kind in these Dramatic Songs. The most 
 animated and picturesque is a Sea-fight by Dryden. 
 
154 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 They fly for succour. Follow, follow, follow ! 
 
 Hark how the soldiers hollow ! He}\, hey ! 
 Brave Diodes is dead, 
 And all his soldiers fled ; 
 The battle 's won, and lost, 
 That many a life hath cost. 
 
 THE LOYAL SUBJECT.i 
 THE broom-man's SONG. 
 
 Broom, broom, the bonny broom ! 
 
 Come, buy my birchen broom : 
 
 In the wars we have no more room, 
 
 Buy all my bonny broom 1 
 
 For a kiss take two ; 
 
 If those will not do. 
 
 For a little, little pleasure. 
 
 Take all my whole treasure : 
 
 If all these will not do 't. 
 
 Take the broom-man to boot. 
 
 Broom, broom, the bonny broom ! 
 
 THE FALSE ONE. 
 TO CiESAR AND CLEOPATRA OF THE NILE. 
 
 his. Isis, the goddess of this land, 
 
 Bids thee, great Caesar, understand 
 
 1 By Fletcher. 
 
TO C^SAR AND CLEOPATRA. 1 55 
 
 And mark our customs : and first know, 
 With greedy eyes these watch the glow 
 Of plenteous Nilus ; when he comes, 
 With songs, with dances, timbrels, drums, 
 They entertain him ; cut his way. 
 And give his proud heads leave to play ; 
 
 Nilus himself shall rise and shew 
 
 His matchless wealth in overflow. 
 Labourers. Come, let us help the reverend Nile ; 
 He 's very old ; alas, the while ! 
 Let us dig him easy ways. 
 And prepare a thousand plays : 
 To delight his streams, let 's sing 
 A loud welcome to our spring ; 
 This way let his curling heads 
 Fall into our new-made beds ; 
 This way let his wanton spawns 
 Frisk, and glide it o er the lawns. 
 This way profit comes, and gain : 
 How he tumbles here amain ! 
 How his waters haste to fall 
 Into our channels ! Labour, all, 
 And let him in ; let Nilus flow, 
 And perpetual plenty shew. 
 With incense let us bless the brim, 
 And, as the wanton fishes swim. 
 Let us gums and garlands fling, 
 And loud our timbrels ring. 
 
 Come, old father, come away I 
 
 Our labour is our holiday. 
 
156 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Enter Nilus. 
 
 Isis. Here comes the agfed river now, 
 
 With garlands of great pearl his brow 
 Begirt and rounded. In his flow 
 All things take life, and all things grow : 
 A thousand wealthy treasures still. 
 To do him service at his will, 
 Follow his rising flood, and pour 
 Perpetual blessings on our store. 
 Hear him ; and next there will advance 
 His sacred heads to tread a dance. 
 In honour of my royal guest : 
 Mark them too ; and you have a feast. 
 Nihis. Make room for my rich waters' fall. 
 
 And bless my flood ; 
 Nilus comes flowing to you all 
 
 Encrease and good. 
 Now the plants and flowers shall spring, 
 And the merry ploughman sing : 
 In my hidden waves I bring 
 Bread, and wine, and everything. 
 Let the damsels sing me in. 
 
 Sing aloud, that I may rise : 
 Your holy feasts and hours begin, 
 
 And each hand bring a sacrifice. 
 Now my wanton pearls I shew. 
 That to ladies' fair necks grow ; 
 
 Now my gold. 
 And treasures that can ne'er be told. 
 Shall bless this land, by my rich flow ; 
 
SONG IN THE WOOD. — LUSTY SPRING. I 57 
 
 And after this, to crown your eyes, 
 My hidden holy heads arise. 
 
 THE LITTLE FRENCH LAWYER. 
 SONG IN THE WOOD. 
 
 This way, this way come, and hear, 
 You that hold these pleasures dear ; 
 Fill your ears with our sweet sound. 
 Whilst we melt the frozen ground. 
 This way come ; make haste, oh, fair ! 
 Let your clear eyes gild the air ; 
 Come, and bless us with your sight ; 
 This way, this way, seek delight ! 
 
 THE TRAGEDY OF VALENTINIAN. 
 
 THE LUSTY SPRING. 
 
 Now the lusty spring is seen ; 
 
 Golden yellow, gaudy blue, 
 
 Daintily invite the view. 
 Everywhere on every green, 
 Roses blushing as they blow, 
 
 And enticing men to pull, 
 Lihes whiter than the snow. 
 
 Woodbines of sweet honey full : 
 All love's emblems, and all cry, 
 'Ladies, if not plucked, we die.' 
 
158 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Yet the lusty spring hath stayed, 
 
 Blushing red and purest white 
 
 Daintily to love invite 
 Every woman, every maid. 
 Cherries kissing as they grow, 
 
 And inviting men to taste, 
 Apples even ripe below. 
 
 Winding gently to the waist : 
 All love's emblems, and all cry, 
 ' Ladies, if not plucked, we die.' 
 
 HEAR WHAT LOVE CAN DO. 
 
 Hear, ye ladies that despise, 
 
 What the mighty love has done ; 
 Fear examples, and be wise : 
 
 Fair Calisto was a nun ; 
 Leda, sailing on the stream 
 
 To deceive the hopes of man, 
 Love accounting but a dream. 
 
 Doted on a silver swan ; 
 Danae, in a brazen tower. 
 Where no love was, loved a shower. 
 
 Hear, ye ladies that are coy. 
 
 What the mighty love can do ; 
 Fear the fierceness of the boy : 
 
 The chaste moon he makes to woo ; 
 Vesta, kindling holy fires, 
 
 Circled round about with spies. 
 Never dreaming loose desires. 
 
 Doting at the altar dies ; 
 
THE MAID IN THE WINDOW. 1 59 
 
 Ilion, in a short hour, higher 
 He can build, and once more fire. 
 
 MONSIEUR THOMAS. 1 
 THE MAID IN THE WINDOW. 
 
 My man Thomas 
 Uid me promise, 
 He would visit me this night. 
 
 I am here, love ; 
 Tell me, dear love, 
 How I may obtain thy sight. 
 
 Come up to my window, love ; 
 
 Come, come, come ( 
 
 Come to my window, my dear ; 
 The wind nor the rain 
 Shall trouble thee again. 
 
 But thou shalt be lodged here. 
 
 THE CHANCES.2 
 AN INVOCATION. 
 
 Come away, thou lady gay : 
 Hoist ! how she stumbles ! 
 Hark how she mumbles. 
 Dame Gillian ! 
 Answer. — I come, I come. 
 
 L By Fletcher. 2 Ascribed to Fletcher. 
 
l6o BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 By old Claret I enlarge thee, 
 By Canary thus I charge thee, 
 By Britain Metheglin, and Peeter,^ 
 Appear, and answer me in metre ! 
 
 Why, when ? 
 
 Why, Gill ! 
 
 Why, when ? 
 Answe?'. — You '11 tarry till I am ready. 
 
 Once again I conjure thee, 
 
 By the pose in thy nose, 
 
 And the gout in thy toes ; 
 
 By thine old dried skin, 
 
 And the mummy within ; 
 
 By thy little, little ruff. 
 
 And thy hood that 's made of stuff ; 
 
 By thy bottle at thy breech. 
 
 And thine old salt itch ; 
 
 By the stakes, and the stones, 
 
 That have worn out thy bones, 
 
 Appear, 
 
 Appear, 
 
 Appear ! 
 Answer. — Oh, I am here ! 
 
 1 An abbreviation of Peter-see-me, itself a corruption of Pedro- 
 Ximenes, derived from Pedro-Simon, who is said to have imported 
 the grape from the Rhine. — See note by Mr. Dyce, from Hender- 
 son's History of Wines — Works of Beaumont and Fletcher, vii, 297. 
 Ximenes is still a well-known wine. 
 
A DRINKING SONG. l6l 
 
 THE BLOODY BROTHER; OR, ROLLO, DUKE OF 
 NORMANDY.i 
 
 A DRINKING SONG. 
 
 Drink to-day, and drown all sorrow, 
 You shall perhaps not do it to-morrow : 
 Best, while you have it, use your breath ; 
 There is no drinking after death. 
 
 Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit, 
 There is no cure 'gainst age but it : 
 It helps the head-ach, cough, and ptisick, 
 And is for all diseases physick. 
 
 Then let us swill, boys, for our health ; 
 Who drinks well, loves the commonwealth.^ 
 And he that will to bed go sober 
 Falls with the leaf, still in October.^ 
 
 1 The sole authorship of this play by Fletcher is doubtful, although 
 ascribed to him on the title-page of the edition of 1640. Parts of it 
 are supposed, on internal evidence, to have been written by some 
 other dramatist. — Weber suggests either W. Rowley or Middleton. 
 
 2 This defence of drinking is repeated and expanded in a song 
 by Shadwell. 
 
 3 The following well-known catch, or glee, is formed on this 
 song : — 
 
 He who goes to bed, and goes to bed sober. 
 Falls as the leaves do, and dies in October; 
 But he who goes to bed, and goes to bed mellow. 
 Lives as he ought to do, and dies an honest fellow. 
 
1 62 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 SONG OF THE YEOMAN OF THE CELLAR, THE BUT- 
 LER, THE COOK, . AND PAUL THE PANTLER ^ GO- 
 ING TO EXECUTION. 
 
 Yeoman. 
 
 Come, Fortune 's a jade, I care not who tell her, 
 Would offer to strangle a page of the cellar, 
 That should by his oath, to any man's thinking, 
 And place, have had a defence for his drinking ; 
 But thus she does still when she pleases to palter, — 
 Instead of his wages, she gives him a halter. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 Three merry boys, and three merry boys. 
 
 And three merry boys are we, 
 As ever did sing in a hempen string 
 
 Under the gallows tree ! 
 
 Butler. 
 
 But I that was so lusty, 
 
 And ever kept my bottles. 
 That neither they were musty, 
 
 And seldom less than pottles ; 
 For me to be thus stopped now. 
 
 With hemp instead of cork, sir, 
 And from the gallows lopped now, 
 
 Shews that there is a fork, sir, 
 In death, and this the token ; 
 
 Man may be two ways killed, 
 
 1 The ' pantler ' was the servant who had charge of the pantry. 
 
SONG OF THE YEOMAN, THE BUTLER, ETC. 1 63 
 
 Or like the bottle broken, 
 Or like the wine be spilled. 
 
 Chorus. — Three merry boys, &c. 
 
 Cook. 
 
 Oh, yet but look 
 
 On the master cook. 
 The glory of the kitchen, 
 
 In sewing whose fate, 
 
 At so lofty a rate. 
 No tailor e'er had stitch in ; 
 For, though he made the man, 
 
 The cook yet makes the dishes, 
 The which no tailor can. 
 
 Wherein I have my wishes, 
 That I, who at so many a feast 
 
 Have pleased so many tasters, 
 Should now myself come to be dressed, 
 
 A dish for you, my masters. 
 
 Chorus. — Three merry boys, &c. 
 
 Paiitler. 
 
 Oh, man or beast, 
 
 Or you, at least, 
 That wears or brow or antler. 
 
 Prick up your ears 
 
 Unto the tears 
 Of me, poor Paul the Pantler, 
 
 That thus am clipped 
 
 Because I chipped 
 
164 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 The cursed crust of treason 
 
 With loyal knife : — 
 
 Oh, doleful strife, 
 To hang thus without reason ! 
 
 Chorus. — Three merry boys, &c. 
 
 TAKE, OH ! TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY. 
 
 Take, oh ! take those lips away, 
 That so sweetly were forsworn. 
 
 And those eyes, like break of day, 
 Lights that do mislead the morn ! 
 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 Seals of love, though sealed in vain. 
 
 Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow, 
 Which thy frozen bosom bears. 
 
 On whose tops the pinks that grow 
 Are yet of those that April wears I 
 
 But first set my poor heart free. 
 
 Bound in those icy chains by thee.^ 
 
 1 The first stanza of this song is found in Measure for Measure. 
 — See ante, p. 100. The origin of both verses may be traced to the 
 fragment Ad Lydiatn, ascribed to Cornelius Gallus, The following 
 are the corresponding passages, which discover a resemblance too 
 close to have been merely accidental : — 
 
 Pande, Puella, geneas roseas, 
 
 Perfusas rubro purpureae tyriae. 
 Porrige labra, labra corallina ; 
 
 Da coliimbatim mitia basia: 
 
 Sugis amentis partem animi. — 
 
 Sinus expansa profert cinnama ; 
 Undique surgunt ex te deliciae. 
 
TO THE BLEST EVAN THE. 1 65 
 
 A WIFE FOR A MONTH.i 
 TO THE BLEST EVANTHE. 
 
 Let those complain that feel Love's cruelty, 
 
 And in sad legends write their woes ; 
 With roses gently h' has corrected me, 
 My war is without rage or blows : 
 My mistress' eyes shine fair on my desires. 
 And hope springs up inflamed with her new fires. 
 
 No more an exile will I dwell, 
 
 With folded arms, and sighs all day, 
 Reckoning the torments of my hell. 
 And flinging my sweet joys away : 
 I am called home again to quiet peace ; 
 My mistress smiles, and all my sorrows cease. 
 
 Yet, what is living in her eye. 
 
 Or being blessed with her sweet tongue. 
 
 If these no other joys imply ? 
 
 A golden gyve, a pleasing wrong : 
 
 Conde papillas, quae me sauciant 
 Candore, et luxu nivei pectoris. 
 
 The English version of the second of these passages, by the 
 translator of Secundus, is still nearer to Fletcher's song. 
 
 Again, above its envious rest. 
 
 See, thy bosom heaves confest ! 
 
 Hide the rapturous, dear delight ! 
 
 Hide it from my ravished sight ! 
 
 Hide it ! — for through all my soul 
 
 Tides of maddening rapture roll. 
 1 By Fletcher. 
 
1 66 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 To be your own but one poor month, I 'd give 
 My youth, my fortune, and then leave to Hve. 
 
 THE LOVERS' PROGRESS.i 
 THE SONG OF THE DEAD HOST. 
 
 'T IS late and cold ; stir up the fire ; 
 Sit close, and draw the table nigher ; 
 Be merry, and drink wine that 's old, 
 A hearty medicine 'gainst a cold : 
 Your beds of wanton down the best, 
 Where you shall tumble to your rest ; 
 I could wish you wenches too. 
 But I am dead, and cannot do. 
 Call for the best the house may ring. 
 Sack, white, and claret, let them bring, 
 And drink apace, while breath you have ; 
 You '11 find but cold drink in the grave : 
 Plover, partridge, for your dinner, 
 And a capon for the sinner. 
 You shall find ready when you 're up, 
 And your horse shall have his sup : 
 Welcome, welcome, shall fly round. 
 And I shall smile, though under ground. 
 
 THE PILGRIM.2 
 NEPTUNE COMMANDING STILLNESS ON THE SEA. 
 
 Down, ye angry waters all ! 
 
 Ye loud whistling whirlwinds, fall ! 
 
 1 One of the pieces left unfinished by Fletcher, and completed by 
 another writer — supposed to be Shirley, or Massinger. 
 
 2 Ascribed to Fletcher. 
 
THE CATECHISM OF LOVE. 16/ 
 
 Down, ye proud waves ! ye storms, cease ! 
 
 I command ye, be at peace ! 
 
 Fright not with your churUsh notes, 
 
 Nor bruise the keel of bark that floats ; 
 
 No devouring fish come nigh, 
 
 Nor monster in my empery 
 
 Once show his head, or terror bring ; 
 
 But let the weary sailor sing : 
 
 Amphitrite with white arms 
 
 Strike my lute, I '11 sing thy charms. 
 
 THE CAPTAIN.i 
 THE CATECHISM OF LOVE. 
 
 Tell me, dearest, what is love ? 
 'T is a lightning from above ; 
 'T is an arrow, 't is a fire, 
 'T is a boy they call Desire. 
 'T is a grave. 
 Gapes to have 
 Those poor fools that long to prove. 
 
 Tell me more, are women true ? 
 Yes, some are, and some as you. 
 Some are willing, some are strange, 
 Since you men first taught to change. 
 And till troth 
 Be in both. 
 All shall love, to love anew. 
 
 1 The Prologue speaks of only one author, — one writer of com- 
 mendatory verses ascribes it to both Beaumont and Fletcher, — the 
 rest to Fletcher alone. 
 
1 68 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Tell me more yet, can they grieve ? 
 Yes, and sicken sore, but live, 
 And be wise, and delay. 
 When you men are as wise as they. 
 Then I see. 
 Faith will be, 
 Never till they both believe.* 
 
 THE INVITATION. 
 
 Come hither, you that love, and hear me sing 
 
 Of joys still growing. 
 Green, fresh, and lusty as the pride of spring, 
 
 And ever blowing. 
 Come hither, youths that blush, and dare not know 
 
 What is desire ; 
 And old men, worse than you, that cannot blow 
 
 One spark of fire ; 
 
 1 The music of this song was composed by Robert Jones. The first 
 two verses are repeated in The Knight of the Burning Pestle, with 
 some variations. 
 
 Tell me, dearest, what is love ? 
 'Tis a lightning from above ; 
 'T is an arrow, 'tis a fire ; 
 'T is a boy they call Desire. 
 'Tis a smile 
 Doth beguile 
 The poor hearts of men that prove. 
 
 Tell me more, are women true ? 
 Some love change, and so do you. 
 Are they fair, and never kind ? 
 Yes, when men turn with the wind. 
 Are they froward ? 
 Ever toward 
 Those that love, to love anew. 
 
A 'SAD song: 169 
 
 And with the power of my enchanting song, 
 Boys shall be able men, and old men young. 
 
 Come hither, you that hope, and you that cry; 
 
 Leave off complaining ; 
 Youth, strength, and beauty, that shall never die, 
 
 Are here remaining. 
 Come hither, fools, and blush you stay so long 
 
 From being blessed ; 
 And mad men, w^orse than you, that suffer wrong. 
 
 Yet seek no rest; 
 And in an hour, with my enchanting song. 
 You shall be ever pleased, and young maids long. 
 
 THE QUEEN OF CORINTH.i 
 A ' SAD SONG.' 
 
 Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, 
 Sorrow calls no time that 's gone : 
 Violets plucked, the sweetest rain 
 Makes not fresh nor grow again ; ^ 
 Trim thy locks, look cheerfully ; 
 Fate's hidden ends eyes cannot see : 
 Joys as winged dreams fly fast, 
 Why should sadness longer last ? 
 
 1 Ascribed to Fletcher. 
 
 2 This most exquisite passage is thus embodied b)' Bishop Percy 
 in his ballad of The Friar of Orders Grey : — 
 
 Weep no more, lady, weep no more ; 
 
 Thy sorrow is in vain : 
 For violets plucked the sweetest showers 
 
 Will ne'er make grow again. 
 
I/O BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Grief is but a wound to woe ; 
 Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo. 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. 
 THE HEALTHINESS OF MIRTH. 
 
 'T IS mirth that fills the veins with blood. 
 
 More than wine, or sleep, or food ; 
 
 Let each man keep his heart at ease ; 
 
 No man dies of that disease. 
 
 He that would his body keep 
 
 From diseases, must not weep ; 
 
 But whoever laughs and sings. 
 
 Never he his body brings 
 
 Into fevers, gouts, or rheums. 
 
 Or lingeringly his lungs consumes ; 
 
 Or meets with aches in his bone, 
 
 Or catarrhs, or griping stone : 
 
 But contented lives for aye ; 
 
 The more he laughs, the more he may. 
 
 DIRGE FOR THE FAITHFUL LOVER. 
 
 Come, you whose loves are dead, 
 
 And, whiles I sing, 
 
 Weep, and wring 
 Every hand, and every head 
 Bind with cypress and sad yew ; 
 Ribbons black and candles blue 
 For him that was of men most true ! 
 
LIVE WELL AND BE IDLE. 171 
 
 Come with heavy moaning, 
 
 And on his grave 
 
 Let him have 
 Sacrifice of sighs and groaning ; 
 Let him have fair flowers enow, 
 White and purple, green and yellow. 
 For him that was of men most true 1 
 
 LIVE WELL AND BE IDLE. 
 
 I WOULD not be a serving-man 
 
 To carry the cloak-bag still. 
 Nor would I be a falconer 
 
 The greedy hawks to fill ; 
 But I would be in a good house. 
 
 And have a good master too ; 
 But I would eat and drink of the best, 
 
 And no work would I do. 
 
 JILLIAN OF BERRY. 
 
 For Jillian of Berry, she dwells on a hill, 
 And she hath good beer and ale to sell. 
 And of good fellows she thinks no ill. 
 And thither will we go now, now, now, 
 
 And thither we will go now. 
 And when you have made a little stay, 
 You need not ask what is to pay. 
 But kiss your hostess, and go your way 
 
 And thither, &c. 
 
172 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 THE SONG OF MAY-DAY. 
 
 London, to thee I do present 
 
 The merry month of May ; 
 Let each true subject be content 
 
 To hear me what I say : 
 For from the top of conduit-head, 
 
 As plainly may appear, 
 I will both tell my name to you, 
 
 And wherefore I came here. 
 My name is Ralph, by due descent, 
 
 Though not ignoble I, 
 Yet far inferior to the flock 
 
 Of gracious grocery ; 
 And by the common counsel of 
 
 My fellows in the Strand. 
 With gilded staff and crossed scarf, 
 
 The May-lord here I stand. 
 Rejoice, oh, English hearts, rejoice ! 
 
 Rejoice, oh, lovers dear ! 
 Rejoice, oh, city, town, and country, 
 
 Rejoice eke every shire ! 
 For now the fragrant flowers do spring 
 
 And sprout in seemly sort. 
 The little birds do sit and sing, 
 
 The lambs do make fine sport ; 
 And now the birchen-tree doth bud, 
 
 That makes the schoolboy cry ; 
 The morris rings, while hobby-horse 
 
 Doth foot it feateously ; 
 The lords and ladies now abroad, 
 
THE SONG OF MA Y-DA V. 1 73 
 
 For their disport and play, 
 Do kiss sometimes upon the grass, 
 
 And sometimes in the hay. 
 Now butter with a leaf of sage 
 
 Is good to purge the blood ; 
 Fly Venus and phlebotomy, 
 
 For they are neither good ! 
 Now little fish on tender stone 
 
 Begin to cast their bellies. 
 And sluggish snails, that erst were mewed, 
 
 Do creep out of their shellies ; 
 The rumbling rivers now do warm. 
 
 For little boys to paddle ; 
 The sturdy steed now goes to grass, 
 
 And up they hang his saddle ; 
 The heavy hart, the blowing buck. 
 
 The rascal, and the pricket, 
 Are now among the yeoman's pease, 
 
 And leave the fearful thicket ; 
 And be like them, oh, you, I say. 
 
 Of this same noble town. 
 And lift aloft your velvet heads, 
 
 And slipping off your gown. 
 With bells on legs, and napkins clean 
 
 Unto your shoulders tied. 
 With scarfs and garters as you please. 
 
 And ' Hey for our town ! ' cried, 
 March out, and shew your willing minds, 
 
 By twenty and by twenty. 
 To Hogsdon, or to Newington, 
 
 Where ale and cakes are plenty ; 
 
1/4 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 And let it ne'er be said for shame, 
 
 That we the youths of London 
 Lay thrumming of our caps at home, 
 
 And left our custom undone. 
 Up then, I say, both young and old, 
 
 Both man and maid a-maying, 
 With drums and guns that bounce aloud, 
 
 And merry tabor playing ! 
 Which to prolong, God save our king. 
 
 And send his country peace. 
 And root out treason from the land ! 
 
 And so, my friends, I cease. 
 
 THE MAID IN THE MILL.i 
 LET THE MILL GO ROUND. 
 
 Now having leisure, and a happy wind. 
 Thou mayst at pleasure cause the stones to grind ; 
 Sails spread, and grist have ready to be ground ; 
 Fy, stand not idly, but let the mill go round ! 
 
 How long shall I pine for love ? 
 
 How long shall I sue in vain ? 
 How long like the turtle-dove, 
 
 Shall I heavily thus complain ? 
 Shall the sails of my love stand still ? 
 
 Shall the grist of my hopes be unground ? 
 Oh fy, oh fy, oh fy ! 
 
 Let the mill, let the mill go round ! 
 
 1 The joint production of Fletcher and W, Rowley. 
 
THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 1 75 
 
 WOMEN PLEASED. 
 THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. 
 
 Oh, fair sweet face ! oh, eyes celestial bright, 
 Twin stars in heaven, that now adorn the night! 
 Oh, fruitful lips, where cherries ever grow. 
 And damask cheeks, where all sweet beauties blow I 
 Oh thou, from head to foot divinely fair ! 
 Cupid's most cunning net 's made of that hair ; 
 And, as he weaves himself for curious eyes, 
 ' Oh me, oh me, I 'm caught myself ! ' he cries : 
 Sweet rest about thee, sweet and golden sleep. 
 Soft peaceful thoughts your hourly watches keep, 
 Whilst I in wonder sing this sacrifice. 
 To beauty sacred, and those angel eyes 1 
 
 WHAT WOMEN MOST DESIRE. 
 
 Question. Tell me what is that only thing 
 For which all women long ; 
 Yet having what they most desire, 
 To have it does them wrong ? 
 
 Answer. 'T is not to be chaste, nor fair, 
 (Such gifts malice may impair,) 
 Richly trimmed, to walk or ride, 
 Or to wanton unespied ; 
 To preserve an honest name. 
 And so to give it up to fame ; 
 These are toys. In good or ill 
 They desire to have their will : 
 
176 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Yet, when they have it, they abuse it, 
 For they know not how to use it.^ 
 
 CUPID'S REVENGE. 
 SACRIFICE TO CUPID. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 LOVERS, REJOICE ! 
 
 Lovers, rejoice ! your pains shall be rewarded. 
 The god of love himself grieves at your crying ; 
 
 1 This solution of the question is to be found in the Wife of Bath's 
 Tale, and, doubtless, was a common saw from time immemorial. 
 But Chaucer spares the ladies the ungallant commentary with which 
 the song closes. 
 
PRAYER TO CUPID. 1 77 
 
 No more shall frozen honour be regarded, 
 
 Nor the coy faces of a maid denying. 
 
 No more shall virgins sigh, and say ' We dare not. 
 
 For men are false, and what they do they care not.' 
 
 All shall be well again ; then do not grieve ; 
 
 Men shall be true, and women shall believe. 
 
 Lovers, rejoice ! what you shall say henceforth. 
 When you have caught your sweethearts in your arms, 
 It shall be accounted oracle and worth ; 
 No more faint-hearted girls shall dream of harms, 
 And cry ' They are too young ; ' the god hath said, 
 Fifteen shall make a mother of a maid : 
 Then, wise men, pull your roses yet unblown ; 
 Love hates the too-ripe fruit that falls alone. 
 
 PRAYER TO CUPID. 
 
 Cupid, pardon what is past, 
 And forgive our sins at last ! 
 Then we will be coy no more. 
 But thy deity adore ; 
 Troths at fifteen we will plight. 
 And will tread a dance each night, 
 In the fields, or by the fire, 
 With the youths that have desire. 
 Given ear-rings we will wear, 
 Bracelets of our lovers' hair, 
 Which they on our arms shall twist. 
 With their names carved, on our wrist ; 
 All the money that we owe ^ 
 1 Own — possess. 
 
1 78 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 We in tokens will bestow ; 
 And learn to write that, when 't is sent, 
 Only our loves know what is meant. 
 Oh, then pardon what is past, 
 And forgive our sins at last ! 
 
 THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.i 
 A BRIDAL SONG. 
 
 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 ; 
 
 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 ! 
 
 1 Stated in the first 4to edition, 1634, to be the joint production of 
 Fletcher and Shakespeare. 
 
THE DIRGE OF THE THREE KINGS. 1 79 
 
 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 ! 
 
 THE DIRGE OF THE THREE KINGS. 
 
 Urns and odours bring away ! 
 
 Vapours, sighs, darken the day ! , 
 
 Our dole more deadly looks than dying; 
 
 Balms, and gums, and heavy cheers, 
 
 Sacred vials filled with tears. 
 And clamours through the wild air flying ! 
 
 Come, all sad and solemn shows. 
 That are quick-eyed Pleasure's foes ! 
 We convent nought else but woes. 
 
 THE jailor's DAUGHTER. 
 
 For I '11 cut my green coat, a foot above my knee ; 
 And I '11 clip my yellow locks, an inch below mine eye. 
 
 Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny. 
 He 's buy me a white cut, forth for to ride. 
 And I '11 go seek him through the world that is so wide : 
 
 Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny. 
 
 1 In the old editions, this line runs — 
 
 The boding raven, nor clough he ; 
 Mr. Seward altered it as above, to respond to the rhyme and the 
 sense. There is some difficulty in accepting the original reading. 
 Clough means a break or valley in the side of a hill, and the poet is 
 here enumerating the birds that are not to be permitted to perch or 
 sing on the bride-house. 
 
l8o BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 THE WOMAN-HATER. 
 INVOCATION TO SLEEP. 
 
 Come, Sleep, and, with thy sweet deceiving, 
 Lock me in delight awhile ; 
 Let some pleasing dreams beguile 
 All my fancies ; that from thence 
 I may feel an influence. 
 
 All my powers of care bereaving ! 
 
 Though but a shadow, but a sliding. 
 Let me know some little joy ! 
 We that suffer long annoy 
 Are contented with a thought, 
 Through an idle fancy wrought : 
 
 Oh, let my joys have some abiding ! 
 
 THE NICE VALOUR ; OR, THE PASSIONATE 
 MADMAN.i 
 
 LOVE, SHOOT MORE ! 
 
 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, 
 
 1 Ascribed to Fletcher. 
 
LOVE, SHOOT NO MAID AGAIN! l8l 
 
 And call upon thee to shoot more, 
 Shoot more, shoot more ! 
 
 LOVE, SHOOT NO MAID AGAIN ! 
 
 Oh, turn thy bow ! 
 
 Thy power we feel and know ; 
 
 Fair Cupid, turn away thy bow ! 
 
 They be those golden arrows. 
 
 Bring ladies all their sorrows ; 
 
 And till there be more truth in men, 
 
 Never shoot at maid again ! 
 
 MELANCHOLY. 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights, 
 As short as are the nights 
 
 Wherein you spend your folly ! 
 There 's nought in this life SAveet, 
 If man were wise to see 't, 
 
 But only melancholy, 
 
 Oh, sweetest melancholy ! 
 Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, 
 A sight that piercing mortifies, 
 A look that 's fastened to the ground, 
 A tongue chained up without a sound ! 
 Fountain heads, and pathless groves, 
 Places which pale passion loves ! 
 Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
 Are warmly housed, save bats and owls ! 
 
 A midnight bell, a parting groan ! 
 
 These are the sounds we feed upon ; 
 
1 82 BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 
 
 Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley, 
 Nothing 's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 
 
 THE PASSIONATE LORD. 
 
 A CURSE upon thee, for a slave ! 
 
 Art thou here, and heardst me rave ? 
 
 Fly not sparkles from mine eye, 
 
 To shew my indignation nigh ? 
 
 Am I not all foam and fire, 
 
 With voice as hoarse as a town-crier ? 
 
 How my back opes and shuts together 
 
 With fury, as old men's with weather ! 
 
 Couldst thou not hear my teeth gnash hither ? 
 
 Death, hell, fiends, and darkness ! 
 
 I will thrash thy mangy carcase. 
 
 There cannot be too many tortures 
 
 Spent upon those lousy quarters. 
 
 Thou nasty, scurvy, mungrel toad. 
 
 Mischief on thee ! 
 
 Light upon thee 
 All the plagues that can confound thee, 
 Or did ever reign abroad ! 
 Better a thousand lives it cost, 
 Than have brave anger spilt or lost. 
 
 LAUGHING SONG. 
 
 \_For several voices. ] 
 
 Oh, how my lungs do tickle ! ha, ha, ha ! 
 Oh, how my lungs do tickle ! ho, ho, ho, ho ! 
 
LAUGHING SONG. 1 83 
 
 Set a sharp jest 
 
 Against my breast, 
 Then how my lungs do tickle ! 
 
 As nightingales, 
 
 And things in cambric rails, 
 Sing best against a prickle.^ 
 
 Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho ! 
 Laugh ! Laugh ! Laugh ! Laugh ! 
 Wide ! Loud ! And vary ! 
 A smile is for a simpering novice. 
 
 One that ne'er tasted caviare, 
 Nor knows the smack of dear anchovies. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho ! 
 A giggling waiting wench for me. 
 That shows her teeth how white they be ! 
 
 A thing not fit for gravity. 
 
 For theirs are foul and hardly three. 
 
 Ha, ha, ha ! 
 
 Ho, ho, ho ! 
 
 1 A multitude of examples might be cited of the use of this 
 favourite allusion by the old poets. Giles Fletcher assigns a reason 
 for the painful pose of the nightingale while she is singing : — 
 
 Ne ever lets sweet rest invade her eyes, 
 
 But leaning on a thorn her dainty chest, 
 
 For fear soft sleep should steal into her breast, 
 
 Expresses in her song grief not to be expressed. 
 
 — Chtist's Victory. 
 
1 84 THOMAS MIDDLE TON. 
 
 Democritus, thou ancient fleerer, 
 
 How I miss thy laugh, and ha' since ! ^ 
 There thou named the famous[est] jeerer, 
 
 That e'er jeered in Rome or Athens. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! 
 Ho, ho, ho. 
 How brave Hves he that keeps a fool, 
 
 Although the rate be deeper ! 
 But he that is his own fool, sir. 
 
 Does live a great deal cheaper. 
 Sure I shall burst, burst, quite break, 
 
 Thou art so witty. 
 'T is rare to break at court, 
 
 For that belongs to the city. 
 Ha, ha ! my spleen is almost worn 
 
 To the last laughter. 
 Oh, keep a corner for a friend ; 
 
 A jest may come hereafter. 
 
 THOMAS MIDDLETON. 
 
 1570-1627. 
 
 [Mr. Dyce conjectures that Thomas Middleton was born 
 about 1570. His father was settled in London, where the 
 poet was born. The materials gathered for his biography 
 are scanty. He seems to have been admitted a member of 
 Gray's Inn, to have been twice married, and to have con- 
 
 1 Changed by Seward to 
 
 How I miss thy laugh, and ha-sense. 
 The change helps little towards clearing up the obscurity. 
 
WHAT LOVE IS LIKE. 1 85 
 
 tributed numerous pieces to the stage, sometimes in 
 connection with several of his contemporaries. He was 
 appointed, in 1620, Chronologer to the City of London and 
 ' Inventor of its honourable Entertainments.' In 1624, the 
 Spanish ambassador having complained to the King that 
 the persons of the King of Spain, Conde de Gondomar, 
 and others were represented upon the stage in 'a very 
 scandalous comedy ' called A Gajne at Chess, written by 
 Middleton, the author and the actors were cited before the 
 Privy Council. The actors appeared, and pleaded that the 
 piece had been produced under the usual sanction of 
 the Master of the Revels ; but Middleton, ' shifting out of 
 the way, and not attending the board with the rest,' was 
 ordered to be arrested, and a warrant was issued for his 
 apprehension. The play was in the meanwhile suppressed, 
 and for a certain time the actors were prohibited from 
 appearing. Middleton afterwards submitted, but no further 
 punishment appears to have been inflicted. At this time, Mid- 
 dleton resided at Newington Butts, where he died in 1627. 
 Middleton may be fairly assigned a distinguished position 
 amongst the dramatists of his period. His most conspicu- 
 ous characteristics are a rich and natural humour and a 
 poetical imagination. Nor was he deficient in passionate 
 energy and pathos, although inferior in these qualities to 
 some of his contemporaries.] 
 
 BLURT, MASTER CONSTABLE ;i OR, THE SPANIARD'S 
 NIGHT-WALK. 
 
 \_Fij'st printed in 1 602.] 
 WHAT LOVE IS LIKE. 
 
 Love is like a lamb, and love is like a lion ; 
 
 Fly from love, he fights ; fight, then does he fly on ; 
 
 1 A proverbial phrase. 
 
1 86 THOMAS MIDDLETON. 
 
 Love is all on fire, and yet is ever freezing ; 
 Love is much in winning, yet is more in leesing : ^ 
 Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying ; 
 Love is ever true, and yet is ever lying ; 
 Love does dote in liking, and is mad in loathing ; 
 Love indeed is anything, yet indeed is nothing. 
 
 PITY, PITY, PITY ! 
 
 Pity, pity, pity ! 
 Pity, pity, pity ! 
 That word begins that ends a true-love ditty. 
 Your blessed eyes, like a pair of suns, 
 
 Shine in the sphere of smiling; 
 Your pretty lips, like a pair of doves. 
 Are kisses still compiling. 
 Mercy hangs upon your brow like a precious jewel : 
 O, let not then, 
 Most lovely maid, best to be loved of men, 
 Marble lie upon your heart, that will make you cruel ! 
 Pity, pity, pity ! 
 Pity, pity, pity ! 
 That word begins that ends a true-love ditty. 
 
 CHERRY LIP AND WANTON EYE. 
 
 Love for such a cherry lip 
 
 Would be glad to pawn his arrows ; 
 
 Venus here to take a sip 
 
 Would sell her doves and team of sparrows. 
 
 1 Losing. 
 
BACCHANALIAN CATCH. 1 8/ 
 
 But they shall not so ; 
 
 Hey nonny, nonny no ! 
 None but I this life must owe; 
 
 Hey nonny, nonny no! 
 
 Did Jove see this wanton eye, 
 
 Ganymede must wait no longer ; 
 Phoebe here one night did lie,^ 
 Would change her face and look much younger. 
 But they shall not so ; 
 
 Hey nonny, nonny no ! 
 None but I this life must owe ; 
 Hey nonny, nonny no ! 
 
 A MAD WORLD, MY MASTERS. 
 
 \_Licensed and first printed in 1 608.] 
 
 BACCHANALIAN CATCH. 
 
 O FOR a bowl of fat canary. 
 Rich Aristippus, sparkling sherry ! 
 Some nectar else from Juno's dairy ; 
 O these draughts would make us merry 
 
 O for a wench ! I deal in faces. 
 And in other daintier things ; 
 Tickled am I with her embraces ; 
 Fine dancing in such fairy rings ! 
 
 1 Mr. Dyce changes the Hne to — 
 
 Did Phoebe here one night Ue, 
 obtaining the sense at the cost of the melody. 
 
1 88 THOMAS MIDDLETON. 
 
 O for a plump, fat leg of mutton, 
 Veal, lamb, capon, pig, and coney ! 
 None is happy but a glutton, 
 None an ass, but who wants money. 
 
 Wines, indeed, and girls are good ; 
 But brave victuals feast the blood ; 
 For wenches, wine, and lusty cheer, 
 Jove would come down to surfeit here.^ 
 
 THE WITCH. 
 THE THREE STATES OF WOMAN. 
 
 In a maiden-time professed, 
 Then we say that life is blessed ; 
 Tasting once the married life, 
 Then we only praise the wife ; 
 There 's but one state more to try, 
 Which makes women laugh or cry — 
 W^idow, widow : of these three 
 The middle's best, and that give me. 
 
 1 The authorship of this song is doubtful. It was printed for the 
 first time in the Alexander and Campaspe of Lyh' appended to the 
 edition of 1632, and is not to be found in the earher editions, the first 
 of which appeared in 1584. That it did not originally belong to 
 A Mad World, my Masters, is clear from this circumstance, the first 
 edition of that play having been published in 1608 ; but it was added 
 to the second edition in 1640. The probability is that it was not 
 written by either Lyly or Middleton ; but, if by either, the evidence is 
 in favour of the latter, as Lyly was dead many years before 1632, 
 when the song was first printed, and Middleton was certainly alive a 
 few- years before that time. Mr. Dyce, who prints it at the end of 
 Middleton's play from the edition of 1640, does not appear to have 
 been aware that it had previously been printed in Lyly's Alexander 
 a?td Campaspe. 
 
HECATE AND THE WITCHES. 
 
 189 
 
 HECATE AND THE WITCHES. 
 
 Voices above. Come away, come away, 
 
 Hecate, Hecate, come away ! 
 Hecate. I come, I come, I come, I come, 
 With all the speed I may. 
 With all the speed I may. 
 Where 's Stadlin ? 
 Voice above. Here. 
 
 Hecate. Where 's Puckle ? 
 Voice above. Here ; 
 
 And Hoppo too, and Hellwain too ; 
 We lack but you, we lack but you ; 
 Come away, make up the count. 
 Hecate. I will but 'noint, and then I mount. 
 \_A spirit like a cat descends. 
 Voice above. There 's one comes down to fetch his 
 dues, 
 A kiss, a coll, a sip of blood ; 
 And why thou stayest so long 
 
 I muse, I muse. 
 Since the air 's so sweet and good. 
 Hecate. O, art thou come ? 
 
 What news, what news ? 
 Spirit. All goes still to our delight : 
 Either come, or else 
 Refuse, refuse. 
 Hecate. Now I 'm furnished for the flight. 
 Now I go, now I fly, 
 Malkin my sweet spirit and I. 
 O what a dainty pleasure 't is 
 
190 THOMAS MIDDLETON. 
 
 To ride in the air 
 
 When the moon shines fair, 
 
 And sing and dance, and toy and kiss ! 
 
 Over woods, high rocks, and mountains, 
 
 Over seas, our mistress' fountains, 
 
 Over steeples, towers, and turrets. 
 
 We fly by night, 'mongst troops of spirits 
 
 No ring of bells to our ears sounds, 
 
 No howls of wolves, no yelps of hounds ; 
 
 No, not the noise of water's breach. 
 
 Or cannon's throat our height can reach. 
 
 THE CHARM. 
 
 Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray. 
 Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may 1 
 
 Titty, Tiffin, 
 
 Keep it stiff in ; 
 
 Firedrake, Puckey, 
 
 Make it lucky ; 
 
 Liard, Robin, 
 
 You must bob in. 
 Round, around, around, about, about ! 
 All ill come running in, all good keep out! 
 Here 's the blood of a bat. 
 Put in that, O put in that ! 
 Here 's libbard's bane. 
 Put in again ! 
 
 The juice of toad, the oil of adder ; 
 Those will make the younker madder. 
 Put in — there 's all — and rid the stench. 
 
SONG OF THE GIPSIES. 191 
 
 Nay, here 's three ounces of the red-haired wench. 
 Round, around, around, about, about ! ^ 
 
 MORE DISSEMBLERS BESIDES WOMEN. 
 
 \_In 1623 this co77iedy zvas entered by Sir Henry Herbert -<is an 
 ^ old play.'' It was first printed in 1657.] 
 
 SONG OF THE GIPSIES. 
 
 Come, my dainty doxies. 
 
 My dells,^ my dells most dear; 
 
 We have neither house nor land, 
 
 Yet never want good cheer. 
 
 We never want good cheer. 
 
 We take no care for candle rents. 
 We lie, we snort, we sport in tents, 
 
 1 The similarity between these passages and the witch scenes in 
 Macbeth is too close to admit of a doubt that Shakespeare borrowed 
 from Middleton, or Middleton from Shakespeare. Which play was 
 produced first is an open question. Steevens and Gifford assign 
 the priority to Middleton. Malone to Shakespeare. Mr. Dyce objects 
 to Mr. Gifford that he adduces no evidence to show that the Witch 
 was anterior to Macbeth ; but, so far as his own opinion is concerned, 
 leaves the question where he found it. Lamb, in a subtle and dis- 
 criminating criticism, says that the coincidence does not detract 
 much from the originality of Shakespeare (supposing Middleton to 
 have preceded him), because his witches are distinguished from 
 those of Middleton by essential differences. This is quite true. 
 But it should be observed that it is not in these essential differences, 
 which lie in the elements of character, and not in forms of expres- 
 sion, that the resemblance consists; and that the fact of direct imi- 
 tation in the conception and poetical treatment of the Charms and 
 Incantations remains unaffected. 
 
 2 A cant term for an undefiled girl. 
 
192 THOMAS MIDDLETON. . 
 
 Then rouse betimes and steal our dinners. 
 
 Our store is never taken 
 
 Without pigs, hens, or bacon, 
 And that 's good meat for sinners : 
 
 At wakes and fairs we cozen 
 
 Poor country folk by dozen ; 
 If one have money, he disburses ; 
 Whilst some tell fortunes, some pick purses ; 
 
 Rather than be out of use, 
 
 We '11 steal garters, hose, or shoes. 
 Boots, or spurs with gingling rowels. 
 Shirts or napkins, smocks or towels. 
 
 Come live with us, come live with us. 
 
 All you that love your eases ; 
 He that 's a gipsy 
 May be drunk or tipsy 
 
 At any hour he pleases. 
 We laugh, we quaff, we roar, we scuffle ; 
 We cheat, w^e drab, we filch, we shuffle. 
 
 A CHASTE MAID IN CHEAPSIDE. 
 
 [ Fir si prifited in 1 630. ] 
 THE PARTING OF LOVERS. 
 
 Weep eyes, break heart ! 
 
 My love and I must part. 
 
 Cruel fates true love do soonest sever ; 
 
 O, I shall see thee never, never, never ! 
 
 O, happy is the maid whose life takes end 
 Ere it knows parent's frown or loss of friend ! 
 
GIPSIES. 193 
 
 Weep eyes, break heart ! 
 My love and I must part. 
 
 THOMAS MIDDLETON AND WILLIAM 
 ROWLEY. 
 
 [William Rowley was an actor in the Prince of Wales's 
 company in the reign of James I. In addition to some 
 plays of which he was the sole author, his name appears 
 attached to several others, in conjunction with those of 
 Middleton, Webster, Massinger, Thomas Heywood, Day, 
 Wilkins, Ford, and Fletcher ; and in one instance Shake- 
 speare is said to have assisted him.] 
 
 THE SPANISH GIPSY. 
 
 [ This piece zvas played at court about 1623 or 1 624, but the date 
 of its first production in the theatre is not hiozvn. It was first 
 printed in 1653.] 
 
 GIPSIES. 
 
 Trip it, gipsies, trip it fine, 
 Show tricks and lofty capers ; 
 At threading-needles ^ we repine, 
 
 And leaping over rapiers : 
 Pindy pandy rascal toys ! 
 
 We scorn cutting purses ; 
 Though we live by making noise, 
 
 For cheating none can curse us. 
 
 Over high ways, over low. 
 And over stones and gravel, 
 
 1 An old pastime. 
 
194 MIDDLETON AND ROWLEY. 
 
 Though we trip it on the toe, 
 
 And thus for silver travel ; 
 Though our dances waste our backs, 
 
 At night fat capons mend them, 
 Eggs well brewed in buttered sack, 
 
 Our wenches say befriend them. 
 
 Oh that all the world were mad ! 
 
 Then should we have fine dancing ; 
 Hobby-horses would be had, 
 
 And brave girls keep a-prancing ; 
 Beggars would on cock-horse ride. 
 
 And boobies fall a-roaring ; 
 And cuckolds, though no horns be spied, 
 
 Be one another goring. 
 
 Welcome, poet to our ging ! ^ 
 
 Make rhymes, we '11 give thee reason, 
 Canary bees thy brains shall sting, 
 
 Mull-sack did ne'er speak treason ; 
 Peter-see-me ^ shall wash thy nowl. 
 
 And Malaga glasses fox thee ; 
 If, poet, thou toss not bowl for bowl, 
 
 Thou shalt not kiss a doxy. 
 
 THE GIPSY ROUT. 
 
 Come, follow your leader, follow, 
 Our convoy be Mars and Apollo ; 
 The van comes brave up here ; 
 As hotly comes the rear. 
 
 1 Gang. 2 See Note, p. 144. 
 
THE GIPSY ROUT. 1 95 
 
 Our knackers are the fifes and drums, 
 Sa, sa, the gipsies' army comes ! 
 
 Horsemen we need not fear, 
 There 's none but footmen here ; 
 The horse sure charge without ; 
 Or if they wheel about, 
 
 Our knackers are the shot that fly, 
 
 Pit-a-pat ratthng in the sky. 
 
 If once the great ordnance play. 
 
 That 's laughing, yet run not away. 
 
 But stand the push of pike, 
 
 Scorn can but basely strike ; 
 
 Then let our armies join and sing. 
 And pit-a-pat make our knackers ring. 
 
 Arm, arm ! what bands are those ? 
 
 They cannot be sure our foes ; 
 
 We '11 not draw up our force. 
 
 Nor muster any horse ; 
 
 For since they pleased to view our sight, 
 Let 's this way, this way, give delight. 
 
 A council of war let 's call, 
 
 Look either to stand or fall ; 
 
 If our weak army stands. 
 
 Thank all these noble hands ; 
 
 Whose gates of love being open thrown. 
 We enter, and then the town 's our own. 
 
196 MIDDLETON AND ROWLEY. 
 
 THE GIPSY S OATH. 
 
 Thy best hand lay on this turf of grass, 
 There thy heart lies, vow not to pass 
 From us two years for sun nor snow, 
 For hill nor dale, howe'er winds blow ; 
 Vow the hard earth to be thy bed, 
 With her green cushions under thy head : 
 Flower-banks or moss to be thy board, 
 Water thy wine — and drink like a lord. 
 
 Kings can have but coronations ; 
 
 We are as proud of gipsy fashions ; 
 
 Dance, sing, and in a well-mixed border 
 
 Close this new brother of our order. 
 
 What we get with us come share. 
 You to get must vow to care ; 
 Nor strike gipsy, nor stand by 
 When strangers strike, but fight or die; 
 Our gipsy-wenches are not common, 
 You must not kiss a fellow's leman ; 
 Nor to your own, for one you must, 
 In songs send errands of base lust. 
 
 Dance, sing, and in a well-mixed border 
 Close this new brother of our order. 
 
 Set foot to foot ; those garlands hold. 
 Now mark [well] what more is told ; 
 By cross arms, the lover's sign, 
 Vow as these flowers themselves entwine, 
 
THE GIPSY LIFE. 1 97 
 
 Of April's wealth building a throne 
 Round, so your love to one or none ; 
 By those touches of your feet, 
 You must each night embracing meet, 
 Chaste, howe'er disjoined by day ; 
 You the sun with her must play. 
 She to you the marigold, 
 To none but you her leaves unfold ; 
 Wake she or sleep, your eyes so charm. 
 Want, woe, nor weather do her harm. 
 This is your market now of kisses. 
 Buy and sell free each other blisses. 
 Holidays, high days, gipsy-fairs. 
 When kisses are fairings, and hearts meet 
 in pairs. 
 
 THE GIPSY LIFE. 
 
 Brave Don, cast your eyes on our gipsy fashions : 
 In our antique hey de guize^ we go beyond all 
 
 nations ; 
 Plump Dutch at us grutch, so do English, so do 
 
 French ; 
 He that lopes - on the ropes, show me such another 
 
 wench. 
 
 We no camels have to show, nor elephant with growt^ 
 
 head; 
 We can dance, he cannot go, because the beast is 
 
 corn-fed ; 
 
 1 A country dance. 2 Leaps. 3 Great. 
 
198 JONSON, FLETCHER, AND MIDDLETON. 
 
 No blind bears shedding tears, for a collier's whipping; 
 Apes nor dogs, quick as frogs, over cudgels skipping. 
 
 Jacks-in-boxes, nor decoys, puppets, nor such poor 
 
 things, 
 Nor are we those roaring boys that cozen fools with 
 
 gilt rings ; ^ 
 For an ocean, not such a motion as the city Nineveh, 
 Dancing, singing, and fine ringing, you these sports 
 
 shall hear and see. 
 
 BEN JONSON, FLETCHER, AND 
 MIDDLETON. 
 
 THE WIDOW. 
 
 \^Acted about 1616. First printed 1652.] 
 THE thieves' song. 
 
 How round the world goes, and every thing that 's 
 
 in it! 
 The tides of gold and silver ebb and flow in a 
 
 minute : 
 From the usurer to his sons, there a current swiftly 
 
 runs ; 
 
 1 Ring-dropping, a gulling trick, which consisted in dropping a 
 paper of brass rings, washed over with gold, on the pavement, and 
 picking it up in the presence of a person likely to be swindled into 
 the purchase of them. It is one of the cheats upon countrymen de- 
 scribed bv Sir John Fielding, in the last century, in his Extracts 
 from the Penal Laws, and is still practised in the streets of London. 
 
VIRTUE AND VICE. 1 99 
 
 From the sons to queans in chief, from the gallant 
 to the thief ; 
 
 From the thief unto his host, from the host to hus- 
 bandmen ; 
 
 From the country to the court ; and so it comes to 
 us again. 
 
 How round the world goes, and every thing that 's in it! 
 
 The tides of gold and silver ebb and flow in a 
 minute. 
 
 THOMAS DEKKER. 
 
 [An industrious dramatist in the reign of James I., 
 chiefly distinguished by having been engaged in a' literary 
 quarrel with Ben Jonson, who satirized him under the 
 name of Crispiniis, an indignity for which Dekker took 
 ample revenge in his Satiro-mastix ; or, the Untriissing of 
 a H2i7norous Poet. Dekker rgust not be estimated from 
 Jonson^s character of him. He wrote a great number of 
 plays, and was joined in several by Webster, Ford, and 
 others. His pieces are remarkably unequal. His plots 
 are not always well chosen, and are generally careless in 
 construction. But in occasional scenes he rises to an un- 
 expected height of power, and exhibits a range of fancy 
 that fairly entitles him to take rank with the majority of his 
 contemporaries.] 
 
 OLD FORTUNATUS. 
 
 \^First printed in 1600.] 
 
 VIRTUE AND VICE. 
 
 Virtue's branches wither, virtue pines, 
 O pity ! pity ! and alack the time 1 
 
200 T. DEKKER AND R. WILSON. 
 
 Vice doth flourish, vice in glory shines, 
 Her gilded boughs above the cedar climb. 
 
 Vice hath golden cheeks, O pity, pity ! 
 She in every land doth monarchize : 
 Virtue is exiled from every city, 
 Virtue is a fool, Vice only wise. 
 
 O pity, pity ! Virtue weeping dies ! 
 Vice laughs to see her faint, alack the time ! 
 This sinks ; with painted wings the other flies ; 
 Alack, that best should fall, and bad should climb. 
 
 O pity, pity, pity ! mourn, not sing ; 
 Vice is a saint, Virtue an underling ; 
 Vice doth flourish, Vice in glory shines, 
 Virtue's branches wither. Virtue pines. 
 
 T. DEKKER AND R. WILSON. 
 
 [Wilson was an actor of humorous parts, and one of the 
 boon companions over the ' Mermaid wine,' alluded to by 
 Beaumont, in his verses to Ben Jonson : — 
 
 Filled with such moisture, in most grievous qualms 
 Did Robert Wilson write his singing psalms. 
 
 He was considered by Meres one of the best comedy- 
 writers of his time. He wrote, however, only one entire 
 piece, The Cobbler's Prophecy ; but assisted Chettle, Dekker, 
 and others, in the composition of several.] 
 
THE SUMMER'S QUEEN. — SAINT HUGH! 20T 
 
 THE SHOEMAKER'S HOLIDAY; OR, THE GENTLE 
 CRAPT. 1594. 
 
 THE summer's queen. 
 
 O, THE month of May, the merry month of May, 
 So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so green I 
 O, and then did I unto my true love say. 
 Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen. 
 
 Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale, 
 The sweetest singer in all the forest's quire, 
 Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love's 
 
 tale : 
 Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier. 
 
 But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo; 
 See where she sitteth ; come away, my joy : 
 Come away, I prithee, I do not like the cuckoo 
 Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy. 
 
 O, the month of May, the merry month of May, 
 
 So frolick, so gay, and so green, so green, so green ; 
 
 And then did I unto my true love say. 
 
 Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen. 
 
 SAINT HUGH ! 
 
 Cold 's the wind, and wet 's the rain. 
 
 Saint Hugh be our good speed ! 
 Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain, 
 
 Nor helps good hearts in need. 
 
202 DEKKER, CHETTLE, AND HAUGHTON. 
 
 Troll the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl, 
 And here kind mate to thee ! 
 
 Let 's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul, 
 And down it merrily. 
 
 Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down, 
 Hey derry derry down-a-down. 
 
 Ho ! well done, to me let come, 
 Ring compass, gentle joy ! 
 
 Troll the bowl, the nut-brown bowl, 
 
 And here kind, &c. 
 
 Cold 's the wind, and wet 's the rain, 
 Saint Hugh ! be our good speed ; 
 
 111 is the weather that bringeth no gain, 
 Nor helps good hearts in need. 
 
 THOMAS DEKKER, HENRY CHETTLE, 
 AND WILLIAM HAUGHTON. 
 
 [The names of Chettle and Haiighton are attached to a 
 great number of plays, generally in conjunction with those 
 of other writers. It is difficult to determine their respec- 
 tive merits ; but as far as any speculation may be founded 
 upon such evidence of their independent labours as can be 
 traced with certainty, Chettle had a more serious vein than 
 Haughton, whose special force lay in comedy. How this 
 joint authorship was conducted, we have no means of 
 ascertaining. The likelihood is that in most cases there 
 
SWEET CONTENT. 203 
 
 was one principal writer, with whom the subject may have 
 originated, and that when he had completed his design, 
 either as a sketch or a finished work, the others filled in, 
 added, retrenched, or altered. If there be any weight in 
 this supposition, the largest share in the comedy of /Vz//^;// 
 6^rmt'// should perhaps be assigned to Dekker, whose name 
 stands first of the three in the entry acknowledging a pay- 
 ment in earnest of the play, in Henslowe's Diary. 
 
 The story of Patient Grissell was first thrown into a 
 narrative shape by Boccaccio ; and the earliest drama on 
 the subject was brought upon the stage by the French, 
 in 1393. About 1538, Richard Radcliff"e, a schoolmaster in 
 Hertfordshire, wrote a play called Patieiit Griselde, founded 
 on Boccaccio, of which nothing has survived but the name. 
 Dekker and his coadjutors may probably have been to some 
 extent indebted to Radcliffe's production. The story, how- 
 ever, was well-known, and existed in other shapes ; Chaucer 
 having long before rendered it familiar to English readers 
 in the Canterbury Tales. The date of the receipt in 
 Henslowe's Diary — 19 December, 1599 — determines the 
 date of the play from which the following songs are 
 derived.] 
 
 THE PLEASANT COMEDY OF PATIENT GRISSELL. 
 SWEET CONTENT. 
 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? 
 O, sweet content ! 
 Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ? 
 
 O, punishment ! 
 Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed 
 To add to golden numbers, golden numbers ? 
 O, sweet content ! O, sweet, &c. 
 
204 DEKKER, CHETTLE, AND HAUGHTON. 
 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 
 
 Honest labour bears a lovely face ; 
 
 Then hey noney, noney, hey noney, noney. 
 
 Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring ? 
 O, sweet content ! 
 Swimmest thou in wealth, yet sinkest in thine own 
 tears ? 
 O, punishment ! 
 Then he that patiently want's burden bears, 
 No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! 
 O, sweet content ! &c. 
 
 Work apace, apace, &c. 
 
 LULLABY. 
 
 Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, 
 Smiles awake you when you rise. 
 Sleep, pretty wantons ; do not cry. 
 And I will sing a lullaby : 
 Rock them, rock them, lullaby. 
 
 Care is heavy, therefore sleep you ; 
 You are care, and care must keep you. 
 Sleep, pretty wantons ; do not cry. 
 And I will sing a lullaby : 
 Rock them, rock them, lullaby. 
 
 BEAUTY, ARISE ! 
 
 Beauty, arise, shew forth thy glorious shining ; 
 Thine eyes feed love, for them he standeth pining. 
 
BEAUTY, ARISE! 205 
 
 Honour and youth attend to do their duty 
 To thee, their only sovereign beauty. 
 Beauty, arise, whilst we, thy servants, sing, 
 lo to Hymen, wedlock's jocund king. 
 
 lo to Hymen, lo, lo, sing. 
 
 Of wedlock, love, and youth, is Hymen king. 
 
 Beauty, arise, thy glorious lights display, 
 Whilst we sing lo, glad to see this day. 
 
 lo, lo, to Hymen, lo, lo, sing. 
 
 Of wedlock, love, and youth, is Hymen king. 
 
 JOHN WEBSTER. 
 
 [In passionate energy and intensity of expression Web- 
 ster resembles Marston and transcends him. He had a 
 profounder dramatic power, and possessed a command 
 over the sources of terror which none of our dramatists 
 have exhibited so effectively. ' To move a terror skil- 
 fully,' observes Lamb, ' to touch a soul to the quick, to lay 
 upon fear as much as it can bear, to wear and weary a life till 
 it is ready to drop, and then step in with mortal instru- 
 ments to take its last forfeit : this only a Webster can do. 
 Writers of an inferior genius may '' upon horror's head 
 horrors accumulate," but they cannot do this. They mis- 
 take quantity for quality, they " terrify babies with painted 
 devils," but they know not how a soul is capable of being 
 moved ; their terrors want dignity, their affrightments are 
 without decorum.' This criticism refers specially to the 
 Duchess of Malfy, but indicates generally that peculiar 
 quality of Webster's genius which chiefly distinguishes 
 him from his contemporaries. 
 
206 JOHN WEBSTER. 
 
 The earliest notice of Webster occurs in 1602. He is 
 said to have been clerk of St. Andrew's, Holborn, and a 
 member of the Merchants Tailors' Company ; but Mr. 
 Dyce could not discover any trace of his name, although 
 he searched the registers of the church, and the MSS. 
 belonging to the Parish Clerk's Hall. In tracing, in his 
 collected edition of Webster's works, the order of his pro- 
 ductions, and examining every collateral question of author- 
 ship likely to throw any light upon his identity, Mr. Dyce 
 has supplied all the information that can be obtained 
 respecting him. It relates almost exclusively to his writ- 
 ings. His personal history is buried in obscurity.] 
 
 THE WHITE DEVIL; OR, VITTORIA COROMBONA. 
 
 1612. 
 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren, 
 
 Since o'er shady groves they hover, 
 
 And with leaves and flowers do cover 
 
 The friendless bodies of unburied men. 
 
 Call unto his funeral dole 
 
 The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, 
 
 To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm. 
 
 And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm ; 
 
 But keep the wolf far thence, that 's foe to men, 
 
 For with his nails he '11 ^ dig them up again. 
 
 1 ' I never saw anything like this Dirge, except the Ditty which 
 reminds Ferdinand of his drowned Father in the Te^npest. As that is 
 of the water, watery; so this is of the earth, earthy. Both have that 
 intenseness of feeHng, which seems to resolve itself into the elements 
 which it contemplates.' — LAMB. 
 
THE MADMAN'S SONG. 20y 
 
 THE DUCHESS OF MALFY. 1623. 
 THE madman's song. 
 
 O, LET US howl some heavy note, 
 
 Some deadly dogged howl, 
 Sounding, as from the threatning throat 
 
 Of beasts and fatal fowl ! 
 As ravens, screech-owls, bulls and bears, 
 
 We '11 bell, and bawl our parts, 
 Till irksome noise have cloyed your ears. 
 
 And corrosived your hearts. 
 At last, whenas our quire wants breath, 
 
 Our bodies being blessed, 
 We '11 sing, like swans, will welcome death, 
 
 And die in love and rest. 
 
 THE PREPARATION FOR EXECUTION. 
 
 Hark, now everything is still. 
 
 The screech-owl, and the whistler shrill. 
 
 Call upon our dame aloud. 
 
 And bid her quickly don her shroud ! 
 
 Much you had of land and rent ; 
 
 Your length in clay 's now competent : 
 
 A long war disturbed your mind ; 
 
 Here your perfect peace is signed. 
 
 Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping ? 
 
 Since their conception, their birth weeping. 
 
 Their life a general mist of error. 
 
 Their death, a hideous storm of terror. 
 
208 WEBSTER AND ROWLEY. 
 
 Strew your hair with powders sweet, 
 Don clean linen, bathe your feet. 
 And (the foul fiend more to check,) 
 A crucifix let bless your neck : 
 'T is now full tide 'tween night and day ; 
 End your groan, and come away. 
 
 JOHN WEBSTER AND WILLIAM ROWLEY. 
 
 THE THRACIAN WONDER. 1661. 
 
 woman's love. 
 
 Love is a law, a discord of such force. 
 
 That 'twixt our sense and reason makes divorce ; 
 
 Love 's a desire, that to obtain betime. 
 
 We lose an age of years plucked from our prime ; 
 
 Love is a thing to which we soon'consent, 
 
 As soon refuse, but sooner far repent. 
 
 Then what must women be, that are the cause 
 That love hath life ? that lovers feel such laws ? 
 They 're like the winds upon Lepanthae's shore, 
 That still are changing : O, then love no more ! 
 A woman's love is like that Syrian flower. 
 That buds, and spreads, and withers in an hour. 
 
 LOVE MUST HAVE LOVE. 
 
 I CARE not for these idle toys, 
 That must be wooed and prayed to ; 
 
THE PURSUIT OF LOVE. 209 
 
 Come, sweet love, let 's use the joys 
 That men and women used to do. 
 
 The first man had a woman 
 Created for his use, you know ; 
 Then never seek so close to keep 
 A jewel of a price so low. 
 
 Delay in love 's a lingering pain, 
 That never can be cured ; 
 Unless that love have love again, 
 'T is not to be endured. 
 
 THE PURSUIT OF LOVE. 
 
 Art thou gone in haste ? 
 
 I '11 not forsake thee ; 
 Runnest thou ne'er so fast, 
 
 I '11 overtake thee : 
 Over the dales, over the downs. 
 
 Through the green meadows, 
 From the fields through the towns, 
 
 To the dim shadows. 
 
 All along the plain, 
 
 To the low fountains. 
 Up and down again 
 
 From the high mountains ; 
 Echo then shall again 
 
 Tell her I follow, 
 And the floods to the woods, 
 
 Carry my holla, holla ! 
 
 Ce ! la ! ho ! ho ! hu ! 
 
2IO WEBSTER AND ROWLEY. 
 
 THE SONG OF JANUARY. 
 
 Now does jolly Janus greet your merriment ; 
 
 For since the world's creation, 
 
 I never changed my fashion ; 
 
 'T is good enough to fence the cold : 
 
 My hatchet serves to cut my firing yearly, 
 
 My bowl preserves the juice of grape and barley : 
 
 Fire, wine, and strong beer, make me live so long 
 
 here 
 To give the merry new year a welcome in. 
 
 All the potent powers of plenty wait upon 
 
 You that intend to be frolic to-day : 
 
 To Bacchus I commend ye, and Ceres eke attend ye. 
 
 To keep encroaching cares away. 
 
 That Boreas' blasts may never blow to harm you ; 
 
 Nor Hyems' frost, but give you cause to warm you : 
 
 Old father Janevere drinks a health to all here, 
 
 To give the merry new year a welcome in. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE OF JANUARY. 
 
 Since you desire my absence ; 
 
 I will depart this green ; 
 Though loath to leave the presence 
 
 Of such a lovely queen ; 
 Whose beauty, like the sun, 
 
 Melts all my frost away ; 
 And now, instead of winter, 
 
 Behold a youthful May. 
 
HOMAGE TO LOVE. — HEIGH, HEIGHO ! 211 
 
 HOMAGE TO LOVE. 
 
 Love 's a lovely lad 
 
 His bringing-up is beauty ; 
 Who loves him not is mad, 
 
 For I must pay him duty ; 
 Now I 'm sad. 
 
 Hail to those sweet eyes, 
 
 That shine celestial wonder ; 
 
 From thence do flames arise. 
 Burn my poor heart asunder. 
 Now it fries. 
 
 Cupid sets a crown 
 
 Upon those lovely tresses ; 
 O, spoil not with a frown 
 
 What he so sweetly dresses ! 
 I '11 sit down. 
 
 HEIGH, HEIGHO ! 
 
 Whither shall I go, 
 
 To escape your folly ? 
 For now there 's love I know, 
 
 Or else 't is melancholy : 
 
 Heigh, heigho ! 
 
 Yonder lies the snow, 
 
 But my heart cannot melt it : 
 Love shoots from his bow. 
 
 And my poor heart hath felt it. 
 Heigh, heigho ! 
 
212 WEBSTER AND ROWLEY. 
 
 I LL NEVER LOVE MORE. 
 
 O STAY, O turn, O pity me 
 
 That sighs, that sues for love of thee ! 
 
 O lack ! I never loved before ; 
 
 If you deny, I '11 never love more. 
 
 No hope, no help ! then wretched I 
 Must lose, must lack, must pine, and die ; 
 Since you neglect when I implore. 
 Farewell, hard, I '11 ne'er love more. 
 
 BEWARE OF LOVE. 
 
 There is not any wise man, 
 That fancy can a woman ; 
 Then never turn your eyes on 
 A thing that is so common : 
 For be they foul or fair. 
 They tempting devils are, 
 Since they first fell ; 
 They that love do live in hell, 
 And therefore, men, beware. 
 
 OUT UPON ye all ! 
 
 Foolish, idle toys. 
 
 That nature gave unto us, 
 
 But to curb our joys, 
 
 And only to undo us ; 
 
 For since Lucretia's fall, 
 
 There are none chaste at all ; 
 
INVOCATION TO APOILO. 213 
 
 Or if perchance there be 
 One in an empery, 
 Some other malady 
 Makes her far worse than she. 
 Out upon ye all ! 
 
 'T were too much to tell 
 The follies that attend ye ; 
 He must love you well 
 That can but discommend ye ; 
 For your deserts are such, 
 Man cannot rail too much ; 
 Nor is the world so blind, 
 But it may easily find 
 The body, or the mind, 
 Tainted in womankind. 
 
 O, the devil take you all ! 
 
 INVOCATION TO APOLLO. 
 
 Fair Apollo, whose bright beams 
 Cheer all the world below : 
 The birds that sing, the plants that spring, 
 The herbs and flowers that grow : 
 O, lend thy aid to a swain sore oppressed, 
 
 That his mind 
 
 Soon may find 
 The delight that sense admits ! 
 And by a maid let his harms be redressed, 
 
 That no pain 
 
 Do remain 
 In his mind to offend his wits ! 
 
214 SAMUEL ROWLEY, 
 
 SAMUEL ROWLEY. 
 
 [One of the players in the establishment of the Prince 
 of Wales, and included in the list of Henslowe's authors. 
 His principal pieces are the play from which the following 
 song is taken, and a comedy called IV/ien you see me you 
 know me. He also assisted other writers in some of the 
 Moral Plays.] 
 
 THE NOBLE SPANISH SOLDIER. 1634. 
 
 SORROW. 
 
 Oh, sorrow, sorrow, say where dost thou dwell ? 
 
 In the lowest room of hell. 
 Art thou born of human race ? 
 No, no, I have a furier face. 
 Art thou in city, town, or court ? 
 
 I to every place resort. 
 Oh, why into the world is sorrow sent ? 
 
 Men afflicted best repent. 
 What dost thou feed on ? 
 
 Broken sleep. 
 What takest thou pleasure in ? 
 To weep. 
 
 To sigh, to sob, to pine, to groan, 
 To wring my hands, to sit alone. 
 Oh when, oh when shall sorrow quiet have ? 
 Never, never, never, never. 
 Never till she finds a grave. 
 
XUA'SE'S SONG. 21$ 
 
 THOMAS GOFFE. 
 
 1592-1627. 
 
 [Thomas Goffe was born in Essex, about 1592, and 
 educated at Westminster. In 1609 he entered Christ 
 Church, Oxford, and having had the degree of bachelor 
 of divinity conferred upon him, was preferred to the living 
 of P2ast Clandon, in Surrey, in 1623. He is said to have 
 been a professed woman-hater, yet, notwithstanding, mar- 
 ried the wife of his predecessor, who revenged the wrongs 
 of the whole sex upon him by the violence of her temper, 
 and finally, it is supposed, shortened his life. He died in 
 1627. He was the author of four dramas, and is believed 
 in the latter part of his life to have embraced the church 
 of Rome.] 
 
 ORESTES. 1633. 
 nurse's song. 
 
 Lullaby, lullaby, baby, 
 
 Great Argos' joy. 
 The King of Greece thou art born to be, 
 In despite of Troy. 
 Rest ever wait upon thy head. 
 Sleep close thine eyes. 
 The blessed guard tend on thy bed 
 
 Of deities. 
 O, how this brow will beseem a crown ! 
 How these locks will shine ! 
 
2l6 THOMAS GOFFE. 
 
 Like the rays of the sun on the ground, 
 
 These locks of thine ! 
 
 The nurse of heaven will send thee milk ; 
 
 Mayst thou suck a Queen. 
 
 Thy drink love's nectar, and clothes of silk ; 
 
 A god mayst thou seem. 
 
 Cupid sit on this rosean cheek. 
 
 On these ruby lips. 
 May thy mind like a lamb be meek, 
 
 In the vales which trips. 
 Lullaby, lullaby, baby, &c. 
 
 THE MADNESS OF ORESTES. 
 
 Weep, weep, you Argonauts, 
 
 Bewail the day 
 
 That first to fatal Troy 
 
 You took your way. 
 
 Weep, Greece, weep, Greece, 
 
 Two kings are dead. 
 
 Argos, thou Argos, now a grave 
 
 Where kings are buried ; 
 
 No heir, no heir is left. 
 
 But one that 's mad. 
 
 See, Argos, hast not thou 
 
 Cause to be sad ? 
 
 Sleep, sleep, wild brain, 
 
 Rest, rock thy sense. 
 
 Live if thou canst 
 
 To grieve for thy offence. 
 
 Weep, weep, you Argonauts ! 
 
THE FOLLY OF LOVE. 21/ 
 
 THE CARELESS SHEPHERDESS. 1656. 
 
 THE FOLLY OF LOVE. 
 
 Now fie on love, it ill befits, 
 
 Or man and woman know it. 
 Love was not meant for people in their wits, 
 
 And they that fondly show it 
 Betray their too much feathered brains, 
 And shall have only Bedlam for their pains. 
 
 To love is to distract my sleep. 
 
 And waking to wear fetters ; 
 To love is but to go to school to weep ; 
 
 I '11 leave it for my betters. 
 If single love be such a curse, 
 To marry is to make it ten times worse. 
 
 THE TYRANNY OF CUPID. 
 
 Blind Cupid, lay aside thy bow, 
 
 Thou dost not know its use, 
 For love, thou tyranny dost show, 
 
 Thy kindness is abuse. 
 
 Thou wert called a pretty boy, 
 
 Art thought a skeleton. 
 For thou like death dost still destroy, 
 
 When thou dost strike but one. 
 
 Each vulgar hand can do as much ; 
 
 Thine heavenly skill we see 
 When we behold one arrow touch 
 
 Two marks that distant be. 
 
2l8 CHETTLE AND MUNDAY. 
 
 Love always looks for love again ; 
 
 If ever thou wound man's heart, 
 Pierce by the way his rib, and then 
 
 He '11 kiss, not curse thy dart. 
 
 LOVE WITHOUT RETURN. 
 
 Grieve not, fond man, nor let one tear 
 Steal from thine eyes ; she '11 hear 
 No more of Cupid's shafts ; they fly 
 For wounding her, so let them die. 
 For why shouldst thou nourish such flames as burn 
 Thy easy breast, and not have like return ? 
 Love forces love, as flames expire 
 If not increased by gentle fire. 
 
 Let then her frigid coolness move 
 
 Thee to withdraw thy purer love ; 
 
 And since she is resolved to show 
 
 She will not lov^e, do thou so too : 
 For why should beauty so charm thine eyes. 
 That if she frown, thou 'It prove her sacrifice ? 
 
 Love, &c. 
 
 CHETTLE AND MUNDAY. 
 
 THE DEATH OF ROBERT, EARL OF HUNTINGDON. 
 THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD, 
 
 Weep, weep, ye woodmen wail. 
 Your hands with sorrow wring ; 
 
THE DEATH OF ROBIN HOOD. 219 
 
 Your master Robin Hood lies dead, 
 Therefore sigh as you sing. 
 
 Here He his primer and his beads, 
 His bent bow and his arrows keen, 
 His good sword and his holy cross : 
 Now cast on flowers fresh and green ; 
 
 And as they fall shed tears and say, 
 Wella, wella-day, wella, wella-day : 
 Thus cast ye flowers and sing, 
 And on to Wakefield take your way. 
 
 THOMAS HEYWOOD. 
 
 I5__i6_. 
 
 [' Heywood,' says Charles Lamb, Ms a sort oi prose 
 Shakespeare, his scenes are to the full as natural and 
 affecting. But we miss the poet, that which in Shake- 
 speare always appears out and above the surface of the 
 nature. Heywood's characters, his country gentlemen, 
 &c., are exactly what we see (but of the best kind of 
 what we see) in Hfe. Shakespeare makes us believe, 
 while we are among his lovely creations, that we see noth- 
 ing but what we are familiar with, as in dreams new things 
 seem old; but we awake, and sigh for the difference."' 
 The test to which this comparison subjects the writings 
 of Heywood is a severe one ; but he comes out of it with 
 credit. Considering how much he wrote, and the circum- 
 stances under which he appears to have written, it is no 
 slight merit to have produced scenes as natural and affect- 
 
220 THOMAS HEY WOOD. 
 
 ing, and characters as true to life, as those of Shakespeare, 
 even without the power of ideahzing his conceptions. Of 
 all our dramatic writers he was the most voluminous, hav- 
 ing been concerned in no less than two hundred and twenty 
 dramatic pieces, besides his Apology for Actors, and other 
 works. It was only by the most persevering and system- 
 atic industry such a prodigious quantity of labour could 
 have been accomplished, and Kirkman says that he 'not 
 only acted almost every day, but obliged himself to write 
 a sheet every day for several years together.'' Many of his 
 plays were written in this way in taverns. 'As one proof 
 of the rapidity of his composition,' observes the last editor 
 of Dodsley, ' it may be mentioned that at the end of his 
 Ni?ie Books of Furious History conceniijig WoDieii, a folio 
 of 466 pages, printed in 1624, are the following words: 
 Opus excogitatum, inchoatujji, explicitujn et typograpJio ex- 
 cusu7)i inter septemdeceiii septimauas^ We can hardly 
 form a just estimate of the various merits of such a writer 
 from the scanty evidence that has come down to us, twenty- 
 three of his plays being all that are known to exist in print. 
 He seems, indeed, to have written his plays solely for the 
 stage without any view to publication, and he tells us that 
 many of them were lost by the shifting and change of com- 
 panies, that others were retained in the hands of the actors, 
 who considered it injurious to their profits to suffer them 
 to be printed, that having sold his copies to them he 
 thought he had no right to print them without their con- 
 sent, and that, even if he had the right to print them, he 
 never had 'any great ambition to be, in this kind, volumi- 
 nously read.' 
 
 The earliest notice that has been traced of Thomas 
 Hey wood occurs in Henslowe's Diary under the date of 
 1596, from which it appears that he had at that time writ- 
 ten a play for the Lord Admiral's company. In 1598 he 
 entered Henslowe's company as a regular actor and sharer. 
 
THOMAS HEY WOOD. 221 
 
 On the accession of James I., he became one of the the- 
 atrical servants of the Earl of Worcester, was afterwards 
 transferred to the service of Queen Anne, and upon her 
 Majesty's death returned to Lord Worcester. Amongst 
 the numerous works he either contemplated or produced 
 was a collection of The Lives of all tJie Poets, Modern and 
 Foreign, upon the materials for which he was for many 
 years engaged. Few further particulars are known con- 
 cerning him. We learn from an elegy on Sir George 
 Saint Poole, whom he calls his countryman, that he was 
 born in Lincolnshire ; and William Cartwright says that 
 he was a fellow of Peter House, in Cambridge, which is in 
 some degree confirmed by an allusion of his own to ' the 
 time of his residence at Cambridge.' 
 
 The following curious notice of Heywood, in which an 
 allusion is made to the poverty under which he suffered at 
 one period of his life, if not throughout his whole career of 
 labour and struggle, is extracted from a poem on the Times'' 
 Poets, published by Mr. Halliwell amongst the miscellaneous 
 papers of the Shakespeare Society. It occurs in a very 
 scarce volume, bearing the date of 1656, and entitled 
 Choyce Drollery, So?igs, and Sonnets, being a collection of 
 divers excellent pieces of poetry of several eminent authors^ 
 never before printed : — 
 
 The squibbling Middleton, and Heywood sage, 
 
 The apologetic Atlas of the stage ; 
 
 Well of the Golden Age he could entreat, 
 
 But little of the metal he could get; 
 
 Threescore sweet babes he fashioned from the lump, 
 
 For he was christened in Parnassus' pump, 
 
 The Muses gossip to Aurora's bed, 
 
 And ever since that time his face was red.] 
 
222 THOMAS HEY WOOD. 
 
 THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. 
 WHAT IS LOVE? 
 
 Now what is love I will thee tell, 
 
 It is the fountain and the well, 
 
 Where pleasure and repentance dwell : 
 
 It is perhaps the sansing belV 
 
 That rings all in to heaven or hell. 
 
 And this is love, and this is love, as I hear tell. 
 
 Now what is love I will you show : 
 A thing that creeps and cannot go ; 
 A prize that passeth to and fro ; 
 A thing for me, a thing for mo' : 
 And he that proves shall find it so, 
 And this is love, and this is love, sweet friend, I 
 trow. 
 
 TAVERN SIGNS. 
 
 The gentry to the King's Head, 
 
 The nobles to the Crown, 
 
 The knights unto the Golden Fleece, 
 
 And to the Plough the clown. 
 
 The churchman to the Mitre, 
 
 The shepherd to the Star, 
 
 The gardener hies him to the Rose, 
 
 To the Drum the man of war ; 
 
 To the Feathers, ladies, you ; the Globe 
 
 The sea-man doth not scorn : 
 
 The usurer to the Devil, and 
 
 The townsman to the Horn. 
 
 1 Sanctus bell, or Saint's bell, that called to prayers. 
 
THE DEATH BELL. 223 
 
 The huntsman to the White Hart, 
 
 To the Ship the merchants go, 
 
 But you that do the muses love, 
 
 The Sign called River Po. 
 
 The banquerout to the World's End, 
 
 The fool to the Fortune hie, 
 
 Unto the Mouth the oyster wife, 
 
 The fiddler to the Pie. 
 
 The punk unto the Cockatrice, 
 
 The drunkard to the Vine, 
 
 The beggar to the Bush, then meet, 
 
 And with Duke Humphrey dine. 
 
 THE DEATH BELL. 
 
 Come, list and hark, the bell doth toll 
 For some but now departing soul. 
 And was not that some ominous fowl. 
 The bat, the night-crow, or screech-owl ? 
 To these I hear the wild wolf howl, 
 In this black night that seems to scowl. 
 All these my black-book death enroll. 
 For hark, still, still, the bell doth toll 
 For some but now departing soul. 
 
 LOVE'S MISTRESS ; OR, THE QUEEN'S MASQUE. 
 THE PRAISES OF PAN. 
 
 Thou that art called the bright Hyperion, 
 Wert thou more strong than Spanish Geryon 
 
224 THOMAS II RY WOOD. 
 
 That had three heads upon one man, 
 Compare not with our great god Pan. 
 
 They call thee son of bright Latona, 
 But girt thee in thy torrid zona, 
 Sweat, baste and broil, as best thou can ; 
 Thou art not like our dripping Pan. 
 
 What cares he for the great god Neptune, 
 With all the broth that he is kept in ; 
 Vulcan or Jove he scorns to bow to, 
 Hermes, or the infernal Pluto. 
 
 Then thou that art the heavens' bright eye, 
 Or burn, or scorch, or broil, or fry, 
 Be thou a god, or be thou man, 
 Thou art not like our frying Pan. 
 
 They call thee Phoebus, god of day, 
 
 Years, months, weeks, hours, of March and May ; 
 
 Bring up thy army in the van, 
 
 We '11 meet thee with our pudding Pan. 
 
 Thyself in thy bright chariot settle, 
 With skillet armed, brass-pot or kettle, 
 With jug, black-pot, with glass or can, 
 No talking to our warming Pan. 
 
 Thou hast thy beams thy brows to deck, 
 Thou hast thy Daphne at thy beck : 
 Pan hath his horns. Syrinx, and Phillis, 
 And I, Pan's swain, my Amaryllis. 
 
A GIN CO UR T. — HAR VES T-HOME. 225 
 
 FIRST PART OF KING EDWARD IV. 
 
 AGINCOURT. 
 
 Agincourt, Agincourt ! know ye not Agincourt ? 
 Where the Enghsh slew and hurt 
 All the French foemen ? 
 With our guns and bills brown, 
 Oh, the French were beat down, 
 Morris-pikes and bowmen. 
 
 THE SILVER AGE, 
 HARVEST-HOME. 
 
 With fair Ceres, Queen of Grain, 
 
 The reaped fields we roam, roam, roam : 
 
 Each country peasant, nymph, and swain. 
 Sing their harvest home, home, home ; 
 
 Whilst the Queen of Plenty hallows 
 
 Growing fields, as well as fallows. 
 
 Echo, double all our lays, 
 
 Make the champaigns sound, sound, sound, 
 To the Queen of Harvest's praise. 
 
 That sows and reaps our ground, ground, ground. 
 Ceres, Queen of Plenty, hallows 
 Growing fields, as well as fallows. 
 
226 THOMAS HEY WOOD. 
 
 THE FAIR MAID OF THE EXCHANGE. 
 
 GO, PRETTY BIRDS. 
 
 Ye little birds that sit and sing 
 
 Amidst the shady valleys, 
 And see how Phillis sweetly walks, 
 
 Within her garden-alleys ; 
 Go, pretty birds, about her bower ; 
 Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower ; 
 Ah, me ! methinks I see her frown ! 
 
 Ye pretty wantons, warble. 
 
 Go, tell her, through your chirping bills, 
 
 As you by me are bidden. 
 To her is only known my love. 
 
 Which from the world is hidden. 
 Go, pretty birds, and tell her so ; 
 See that your notes strain not too low, 
 For still, methinks, I see her frown. 
 
 Ye pretty wantons, warble. 
 
 Go, tune your voices' harmony, 
 
 And sing, I am her lover ; 
 Strain loud and sweet, that every note 
 
 With sweet content may move her. 
 And she that hath the sweetest voice. 
 Tell her I will not change my choice ; 
 Yet still, methinks, I see her frown. 
 
 Ye pretty wantons, warble. 
 
THE NATIONS. 227 
 
 Oh, fly ! make haste ! see, see, she falls 
 
 Into a pretty slumber. 
 Sing round about her rosy bed, 
 
 That waking, she may wonder. 
 Say to her, 't is her lover true 
 That sendeth love to you, to you ; 
 And when you hear her kind reply, 
 
 Return with pleasant warblings. 
 
 A CHALLENGE FOR BEAUTY. 
 THE NATIONS. 
 
 The Spaniard loves his ancient slop ; 
 A Lombard the Venetian ; 
 And some like breechless women go, 
 The Russe, Turk, Jew, and Grecian : 
 
 The thrifty Frenchman wears small waist, 
 The Dutch his belly boasteth ; 
 The Englishman is for them all, 
 And for each fashion coasteth. 
 
 The Turk in linen wraps his head, 
 The Persian his in lawn too, 
 The Russe with sables furs his cap, 
 And change will not be drawn to. 
 
 The Spaniard 's constant to his block. 
 The French inconstant ever ; 
 But of all felts that may be felt, 
 Give me your English beaver. 
 
228 THOMAS HEY WOOD. 
 
 The German loves his coney-wool, 
 The Irishman his shag too, 
 The Welch his Monmouth loves to wear, 
 And of the same will brag too. 
 
 Some love the rough, and some the smooth, 
 Some great and others small things ; 
 But oh, your liquorish Englishman, 
 He loves to deal in all things. 
 
 The Russe drinks quasse ; Dutch, Lubeck's beer, 
 And that is strong and mighty ; 
 The Briton he Metheglen quaffs, 
 The Irish aqua vitae. 
 
 The French affects the Orleans grape, 
 The Spaniard sips his sherry. 
 The English none of these can 'scape, 
 But he with all makes merry. 
 
 The Italian in her high chioppine,^ 
 Scotch lass, and lovely Erse too. 
 The Spanish donna, French madam, 
 He doth not fear to go to. 
 
 Nothing so full of hazard, dread. 
 Nought lives above the centre. 
 No health, no fashion, wine or wench, 
 On which he dare not venture.^ 
 
 1 Choppine, a clog or patten. 
 
 2 This song is introduced into the Rape of Lucrece. 
 
DIANA'S NYMPHS. 229 
 
 THE GOLDEN AGE. 
 
 Diana's nymphs. 
 
 Hail, beauteous Dian, queen of shades, 
 That dwell'st beneath these shadowy glades, 
 Mistress of all those beauteous maids 
 
 That are by her allowed. 
 Virginity we all profess, 
 Abjure the worldly vain excess. 
 And will to Dian yield no less 
 
 Than we to her have vowed. 
 The shepherds, satyrs, nymphs, and fawns, 
 For thee will trip it o'er the lawns. 
 
 Come, to the forest let us go, 
 And trip it like the barren doe ; 
 The fawns and satyrs still do so. 
 
 And freely thus they may do. 
 The fairies dance and satyrs sing, 
 And on the grass tread many a ring. 
 And to their caves their venison bring ; 
 
 And we will do as they. 
 
 The shepherds, satyrs, &c., &c. 
 
 Our food is honey from the bees, 
 
 And mellow fruits that drop from trees ; 
 
 In chace we climb the high degrees 
 
 Of every steepy mountain. 
 And when the weary day is past. 
 We at the evening hie us fast, 
 
230 PHILIP MASSING ER. 
 
 And after this, our field repast, 
 We drink the pleasant fountain. 
 
 The shepherds, satyrs, &c., &c. 
 
 PHILIP MASSINGER. 
 
 1 5 84- 1 640. 
 
 [The struggle of Massinger's life is pathetically summed 
 up in the entry of his burial in the parish register of St. 
 Saviour's : ' March 20, 1639-40 — buried Philip Massinger, 
 a strange}'.'' This entry tells his whole story, its obscurity, 
 humiliations, and sorrows. Dying in his house at Bank- 
 side, in the neighbourhood of the theatre which had been 
 so often enriched by his genius, the isolation in which he 
 lived is painfully indicated by this touching memorial. 
 Yet there is little trace of a resentment against fortune in 
 his writings, which are generally marked, on the contrary, 
 by religious feeling, and that gentleness and patience of 
 spirit by which he is said to have been distinguished in his 
 intercourse with his contemporaries. The only passages 
 that have an air of discontent are those in which he rails at 
 kings, and chastises the vices and hollowness of fashion- 
 able life and its vulgar imitators ; but these topics were the 
 common property of all the dramatists. Massinger was 
 not so profound in his development of the stronger passions 
 as he was true and chaste in the delineation of quiet emo- 
 tions and ordinary experiences. His vehement tragic 
 bursts sometimes degenerate into rant ; but his calmer 
 scenes are always natural and just. 'He wrote,' observes 
 Lamb, 'with that equability of all the passions which made 
 his English style the purest and most free from violent 
 
THE SWEETS OE BEAUTY. — DEATH. 23 I 
 
 metaphors and harsh constructions of any of the dramatists 
 who were his contemporaries.'' 
 
 The dates attached to the plays indicate the years in 
 which they were produced upon the stage.] 
 
 THE PICTURE. 1629. 
 THE SWEETS OF BEAUTY. 
 
 The blushing rose, and purple flower, 
 Let grow too long, are soonest blasted ; 
 
 Dainty fruits, though sweet, will sour, 
 And rot in ripeness, left untasted. 
 
 Yet here is one more sweet than these : 
 
 The more you taste the more she 'II please. 
 
 Beauty that 's enclosed with ice. 
 
 Is a shadow chaste as rare ; 
 Then how much those sweets entice, 
 
 That have issue full as fair ! 
 Earth cannot yield, from all her powers, 
 One equal for dame Venus' bowers. 
 
 THE EMPEROR OF THE EAST. 1631. 
 DEATH. 
 
 Why art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death, 
 
 To stop a wretch's breath, 
 That calls on thee, and offers her sad heart 
 
 A prey unto thy dart ? 
 I am nor young nor fair ; be, therefore, bold : 
 
 Sorrow hath made me old, 
 
232 PHILIP MASSING ER. 
 
 Deformed, and wrinkled ; all that I can crave, 
 
 Is quiet in my grave. 
 Such as live happy, hold long life a jewel ; 
 
 But to me thou art cruel, 
 If thou end not my tedious misery ; 
 
 And I soon cease to be. 
 Strike, and strike home, then ; pity unto me, 
 
 In one short hour's delay, is tyranny. 
 
 THE GUARDIAN. 1633. 
 THE BRIDAL. 
 
 Ju7io to the Bride. 
 
 Enter a maid ; but made a bride. 
 
 Be bold and freely taste 
 The marriage banquet, ne'er denied 
 
 To such as sit down chaste. 
 Though he unloose thy virgin zone, 
 
 Presumed against thy will. 
 Those joys reserved to him alone, 
 
 Thou art a virgin still. 
 
 Hymen to the Bridegroom. 
 
 Hail, bridegroom, hail ! thy choice thus made, 
 
 As thou wouldst have her true, 
 Thou must give o'er thy wanton trade. 
 
 And bid those fires adieu. 
 That husband who would have his wife 
 
 To him continue chaste, 
 In her embraces spends his life. 
 
 And makes abroad no waste. 
 
WELCOME TO THE FOREST'S QUEEN. 233 
 
 Hymen and Juno. 
 
 Sport then like turtles, and bring forth 
 
 Such pledges as may be 
 Assurance of the father's worth, 
 
 And mother's purity. 
 Juno doth bless the nuptial bed ; 
 
 Thus Hymen's torches burn. 
 Live long, and may, when both are dead, 
 
 Your ashes fill one urn ! 
 
 WELCOME TO THE FOREST's QUEEN. 
 
 Welcome, thrice welcome to this shady green, 
 Our long-wished Cynthia, the forest's queen, 
 The trees begin to bud, the glad birds sing 
 In winter, changed by her into the spring. 
 
 We know no night, 
 
 Perpetual light 
 
 Dawns from your eye. 
 
 You being near, 
 
 We cannot fear, 
 
 Though death stood by. 
 
 From you our swords take edge, our heart grows 
 bold; 
 
 Doia; 
 
 From you in fee their lives your liegemen hold. 
 These groves your kingdom, and our laws your 
 Smile, and we spare ; but if you frown, we kill. 
 Bless then the hour 
 
 will ; 
 
 Bless then the hour 
 That gives the power 
 In which you may, 
 
234 JOHN FORD. 
 
 At bed and board, 
 
 Embrace your lord 
 Both night and day. 
 Welcome, thrice welcome to this shady green, 
 Our long-wished Cynthia, the forest's queen ! 
 
 JOHN FORD. 
 
 1586-16—. 
 
 [While Massinger was fighting against the ills and morti- 
 fications of a precarious pursuit, his contemporary Ford, 
 two years his junior, was persevering in the profession of 
 the law, filling up his leisure hours with dramatic poetry, 
 and making an independence, which at last enabled him 
 to marry (if the pleasant tradition may be trusted), and to 
 spend the last years of his life at ease in his native place. 
 He was descended from a family long settled in the north 
 of Devonshire, was born in Islington in 1586, and is sup- 
 posed to have died about 1640. In the poem- on the Times' 
 Poets, already quoted, he is described in a characteristic 
 couplet : — 
 
 Deep in a dump John Ford was alone got, 
 With folded arms and melancholy hat. 
 
 Whether the ' melancholy hat ' really conveys a faithful 
 image of the character of the man is questionable, for in 
 the roll of worthies enumerated by Heywood in his Hie- 
 rarchy of Angels, we are told that he was always called by 
 the familiar name of Jack Ford, which argues a more social 
 and genial nature.] 
 
THE REAL AND THE WEAL. 235 
 
 THE SUN'S DARLING.i 1623. 
 THE REAL AND THE IDEAL. 
 
 Fancies are but streams 
 
 Of vain pleasure ; 
 They, who by their dreams 
 True joys measure, 
 Feasting starve, laughing weep, 
 Playing smart; whilst in sleep 
 Fools, with shadows smiling, 
 Wake and find 
 Hopes like wind, 
 Idle hopes, beguihng. 
 Thoughts fly away ; Time hath passed them : 
 Wake now, awake ! see and taste them ! 
 
 birds' songs. 
 
 What bird so sings, yet so does wail? 
 
 'T is Philomel, the nightingale ; 
 
 Jugg, jugg, jugg, terue she cries, 
 
 And, hating earth, to heaven she flies. 
 
 Ha, ha ! hark, hark ! the cuckoos sing 
 Cuckoo ! to welcome in the Spring. 
 
 Brave prick-song ! who is't now we hear? 
 'Tis the lark's silver leer-a-leer. 
 Chirrup the sparrow flies away ; 
 For he fell to 't ere break of day. 
 
 1 In this play Ford was joined by Dekker. 
 
236 JOHN FORD. 
 
 Ha, ha ! hark, hark ! the cuckoos sing 
 Cuckoo ! to welcome in the spring.^ 
 
 LIVE WITH ME. 
 
 Live with me still, and all the measures, 
 Played to by the spheres, I '11 teach thee ; 
 
 Let 's but thus dally, all the pleasures 
 
 The moon beholds, her man shall reach thee. 
 
 Dwell in mine arms, aloft we '11 hover, 
 And see fields of armies fighting : 
 
 Oh, part not from me ! I '11 discover 
 There all, but books of fancy's writing. 
 
 Be but my darling, age to free thee 
 From her curse, shall fall a-dying; 
 
 Call me thy empress ; Time to see thee 
 Shall forget his art of flying. 
 
 the death of spring. 
 
 Here lies the blithe Spring, 
 
 Who first taught birds to sing ; 
 Yet in April herself fell a-crying : 
 
 Then May growing hot, 
 
 A sweating sickness she got. 
 And the first of June lay a-dying. 
 
 Yet no month can say. 
 But her merry daughter May 
 Stuck her coffins with flowers great plenty : 
 
 1 Imitated from a song in Lyiy's Alexander and Campaspe. See 
 ante, p. 45. 
 
SUMMER SPORTS. 27,7 
 
 The cuckoo sung in verse 
 An epitaph o'er her hearse, 
 But assure you the lines were not dainty. 
 
 SUMMER SPORTS. 
 
 Haymakers, rakers, reapers, and mowers, 
 
 Wait on your Summer-queen ; 
 Dress up with musk-rose her eglantine bowers, 
 Daffodils strew the green; 
 Sing, dance, and play, 
 'T is holiday ; 
 The Sun does bravely shine 
 On our ears of corn. 
 Rich as a pearl 
 Comes every girl. 
 This is mine, this is mine, this is mine; 
 Let us die, ere away they be borne. 
 
 Bow to the Sun, to our queen, and that fair one 
 
 Come to behold our sports : 
 Each bonny lass here is counted a rare one. 
 As those in a prince's courts. 
 These and we 
 With country glee, 
 Will teach the woods to resound. 
 And the hills with echoes hollow : 
 Skipping lambs 
 Their bleating dams, 
 'Mongst kids shall trip it round ; 
 For joy thus our wenches we follow. 
 
!38 JOHN FORD. 
 
 Wind, jolly huntsmen, your neat bugles shrilly, 
 
 Hounds make a lusty cry ; 
 Spring up, you falconers, the partridges freely, 
 Then let your brave hawks fly. 
 Horses amain, 
 Over ridge, over plain, 
 The dogs have the stag in chase : 
 'T is a sport to content a king. 
 So ho ho ! through the skies 
 How the proud bird flies. 
 And sousing kills with a grace ! 
 Now the deer falls ; hark ; how they ring ! 
 
 DRINKING SONG. 
 
 Cast away care ; he that loves sorrow 
 Lengthens not a day, nor can buy to-morrow ; 
 Money is trash ; and he that will spend it. 
 Let him drink merrily, Fortune will send it. 
 
 Merrily, merrily, merrily, oh, ho ! 
 
 Play it off" stiffly, we may not part so. 
 
 Wine is a charm, it heats the blood too. 
 Cowards it will arm, if the wine be good too ; 
 Quickens the wit, and makes the back able, 
 Scorns to submit to the watch or constable. 
 
 Merrily, &c. 
 
 Pots fly about, give us more liquor. 
 Brothers of a rout, our brains will flow quicker ; 
 Empty the cask ; score up, we care not ; 
 Fill all the pots again ; drink on, and spare not. 
 
 Merrily, &c. 
 
FLY HENCE, SHADOWS! 239 
 
 THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. 1628. 
 FLY HENCE, SHADOWS ! 
 
 Fly hence, shadows, that do keep 
 Watchful sorrows, charmed in sleep ! 
 Though the eyes be overtaken. 
 Yet the heart doth ever waken 
 Thoughts, chained up in busy snares 
 Of continual woes and cares : 
 Love and griefs are so expressed, 
 As they rather sigh than rest. 
 Fly hence, shadows, that do keep 
 Watchful sorrows, charmed in sleep. 
 
 THE BROKEN HEART. 1633. 
 BEAUTY BEYOND THE REACH OF ART. 
 
 Can you paint a thought ? or number 
 Every fancy in a slumber? 
 Can you count soft minutes roving 
 From a dial's point by moving? 
 Can you grasp a sigh? or, lastly, 
 Rob a virgin's honour chastely ? 
 No, oh no ! yet you may 
 
 Sooner do both that and this, 
 This and that, and never miss. 
 Than by any praise display 
 Beauty's beauty ; such a glory, 
 As beyond all fate, all story. 
 All arms, all arts, 
 All loves, all hearts, 
 
240 JOHN FORD. 
 
 Greater than those, or they, 
 Do, shall, and must obey. 
 
 BRIDAL SONG. 
 
 Comforts lasting, loves encreasing, 
 Like soft hours never ceasing ; 
 Plenty's pleasure, peace complying, 
 Without jars, or tongues envying ; 
 Hearts by holy union wedded, 
 More than theirs by custom bedded ; 
 Fruitful issues ; life so graced. 
 Not by age to be defaced ; 
 Budding as the year ensu'th, 
 Every spring another youth : 
 All what thought can add beside, 
 Crown this Bridegroom and this Bride ! 
 
 LOVE IS EVER DYING. 
 
 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 burned out : no heat, no Hght 
 Now remains ; 't is ever night. 
 
 Love is dead ; let lover's eyes, 
 Locked 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. 
 
A DIRGE. — LOVE NOT OPPORTUNITY. 24 1 
 A DIRGE. 
 
 Glories, pleasures, pomps, delights and ease, 
 
 Can but please 
 The outward senses, when the mind 
 Is or untroubled, or by peace refined. 
 Crowns may flourish and decay, 
 Beauties shine, but fade away. 
 Youth may revel, yet it must 
 Lie down in a bed of dust. 
 Earthly honours flow and waste. 
 Time alone doth change and last. 
 Sorrows mingled with contents, prepare 
 
 Rest for care ; 
 Love only reigns in death ; though art 
 Can find no comfort for a broken heart. 
 
 THE LADY'S TRIAL. 1638. 
 LOVE NOT OPPORTUNITY. 
 
 Pleasures, beauty, youth attend ye. 
 
 Whilst the spring of nature lasteth ; 
 Love and melting thoughts befriend ye. 
 Use the time, ere winter hasteth. 
 Active blood, and free delight. 
 Place and privacy invite. 
 Do, do ! be kind as fair, 
 Lose not opportunity for air. 
 
 She is cruel that denies it, 
 
 Bounty best appears in granting ; 
 
 Stealth of sport as soon supplies it, 
 Whilst the dues of love are wanting. 
 
242 SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 
 
 Here 's the sweet exchange of bliss, 
 When each whisper proves a kiss. 
 
 In the game are felt no pains, 
 
 For in all the lover gains. 
 
 SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 
 
 1 608- 1 642. 
 
 [The animal spirits and gallantry of Suckling are charm- 
 ingly sustained in these songs. Nothing in verse can be 
 more airy or sparkling. They have in them the brightest 
 and finest elements of youth — manliness and gaiety, wit, 
 grace, and refinement. In this class of light and sprightly 
 lyrics, of which he may be considered the founder, he is 
 unrivalled. The comparison between him and Waller is 
 infinitely in favour of Suckling, whose ease and vivacity 
 offer a striking contrast to the elaborate finish and careful 
 filigree of Waller. He writes, also, more like a man of 
 blood and high breeding. His luxurious taste and voluptu- 
 ousness are native to him ; while in Waller there is always 
 the effort of art, and the consciousness of the fine gentle- 
 man.] 
 
 AGLAURA. 1638. 
 
 THE PINING 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 ? 
 
TRUE LOVE. 243 
 
 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. 
 
 TRUE LOVE. 
 
 No, no, fair heretic, it needs must be 
 
 But an ill love in me, 
 
 And worse for thee ; 
 For were it in my power 
 To love thee now this hour 
 More than I did the last ; 
 'T would then so fall, 
 
 I might not love at all ; 
 Love that can flow, and can admit increase, 
 Admits as well an ebb, and may grow less. 
 
 True love is still the same ; the torrid zones, 
 
 And those more frigid ones 
 
 It must not know : 
 For love grown cold or hot, 
 
 Is lust, or friendship, not 
 
 The thing we have. 
 
244 -S"^^ JOHN SUCKLING. 
 
 For that 's a flame would die 
 
 Held down, or up too high : 
 
 Then think I love more than I can express, 
 
 And would love more, could I but love thee less. 
 
 BRENNORALT. 1639. 
 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. 
 
 THE VIRTUE OF DRINKING. 
 
 Come, let the state stay, 
 
 And drink away. 
 There is no business above it : 
 
 It warms the cold brain. 
 
 Makes us speak in high strain ; 
 He 's a fool that does not approve it. 
 
 The Macedon youth 
 
 Left behind him this truth, 
 
 That nothing is done with much thinking ; 
 He drunk, and he fought, 
 Till he had what he sought. 
 
 The world was bis own by good drinking. 
 
 1 A snare or decoy. 
 
A CATCH. — FICKLE AND FALSE. 245 
 
 THE GOBLINS. 1646. 
 
 A CATCH. 
 
 Fill it up, fill it up to the brink, 
 When the poets cry clink, 
 And the pockets chink. 
 
 Then 't is a merrv world. 
 To the best, to the best, have at her, 
 And the deuce take the woman-hater : — 
 The prince of darkness is a gentleman, 
 
 Mahu, Mahu is his name. 
 
 THE SAD ONE. 
 FICKLE AND FALSE. 
 
 Hast thou seen the down in the air, 
 
 When wanton blasts have tossed it? 
 Or the ship on the sea. 
 
 When ruder winds have crossed it? 
 Hast thou marked the crocodile's weeping. 
 
 Or the fox's sleeping? 
 Or hast thou viewed the peacock in his pride, 
 
 Or the dove by his bride. 
 
 When he courts for his lechery? 
 Oh ! so fickle, oh ! so vain, oh ! so false, so false 
 is she ! 
 
 WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. 
 
 1611-1643. 
 
 [It was of William Cartwright Ben Jonson said, ' My son, 
 Cartwright writes like a man.' He has not left much be- 
 
246 WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. 
 
 hind to justify tliis eulogium ; but his minor poems exhibit 
 evidences of taste and scholarship which sufficiently explain 
 the esteem and respect in which he was held by his con- 
 temporaries. His father, after spending a fortune, was re- 
 duced to the necessity of keeping an inn at Cirencester ; 
 but the son, obtaining a king's scholarship, was enabled to 
 enter Westminster School, and from thence was elected a 
 student of Christ Church, Oxford. He afterwards went into 
 holy orders, and in 1643 was chosen junior proctor of the 
 University. He is said to have studied sixteen hours a day, 
 was an accomplished linguist, and added to his other graces 
 a handsome person. A malignant fever that prevailed at 
 Oxford seized upon him in 1643, 'i^d terminated his life in 
 the thirty-second year of his age.] 
 
 THE ORDINARY. 
 THE PHILOSOPHY OF EATING. 
 
 Then our music is in prime, 
 When our teeth keep triple time ; 
 Hungry notes are fit for knells. 
 May lankness be 
 No guest to me : 
 The bag-pipe sounds when that it swells. 
 
 May lankness, &c. 
 
 A mooting-night brings wholesome smiles, 
 When John-a-Nokes and John-a-Stiles 
 Do grease the lawyer's satin. 
 A reading day 
 Frights French away, 
 The benchers dare speak Latin. 
 A reading, &c. 
 
THE PHILOSOPHY OF EATING. 247 
 
 He that 's full doth verse compose ; 
 Hunger deals in sullen prose : 
 Take notice and discard her. 
 The empty spit 
 Ne'er cherished wit ; 
 Minerva loves the larder. 
 
 The empty spit, &c. 
 
 First to breakfast, then to dine, 
 Is to conquer Bellarmine : 
 
 Distinctions then are budding. 
 Old Sutcliff's wit 
 Did never hit, 
 But after his bag-pudding. 
 
 Old Sutcliff's wit, &c. 
 
 PHINEAS FLETCHER. 
 
 1 584- 1 650. 
 
 [The author of the Purple Island and the Piscatory Ec- 
 logues. His out-of-door poetry is his best, and frequently 
 recalls the sweetness and luxuriance of Spenser, and of his 
 own namesake and cousin, the dramatic poet. Phineas 
 was what honest Walton would have called ' a true brother 
 of the nangle,' and his master-passion betrays itself in the 
 most unexpected places. It appears even in the characters 
 and subject of his only dramatical work, which he describes 
 on the title-page as A Piscatoiy .'\ 
 
248 PHINEAS FLETCHER, 
 
 THE SICELIDES. 1614. 
 LOVE. 
 
 Love is the fire, dam, nurse, and seed 
 Of all that air, earth, waters breed. 
 All these earth, water, air, and fire. 
 Though contraries, in love conspire. 
 Fond painters, love is not a lad 
 With bow, and shafts, and feathers clad, 
 As he is fancied in the brain 
 Of some loose loving idle swain. 
 Much sooner is he felt than seen ; 
 Substance subtle, slight and thin. 
 Oft leaps he from the glancing eyes ; 
 Oft in some smooth mount he hes ; 
 Soonest he wins, the fastest flies ; 
 Oft lurks he 'twixt the ruddy lips. 
 Thence, while the heart his nectar sips, 
 Down to the soul the poison slips ; 
 Oft in a voice creeps down the ear ; 
 Oft hides his darts in golden hair ; 
 Oft blushing cheeks do light his fires ; 
 Oft in a smooth soft skin retires ; 
 Often in smiles, often in tears, 
 His flaming heat in water bears ; 
 When nothing else kindles desire, 
 Even virtue's self shall blow the fire. 
 Love with a thousand darts abounds, 
 Surest and deepest virtue wounds. 
 Oft himself becomes a dart. 
 And love with love doth love impart. 
 
LOVE. 249 
 
 Thou painful pleasure, pleasing pain, 
 
 Thou gainful life, thou losing gain, 
 
 Thou bitter sweet, easing disease, 
 
 How dost thou by displeasing please ? 
 
 How dost thou thus bewitch the heart. 
 
 To love in hate, to joy in smart, 
 
 To think itself most bound when free. 
 
 And freest in its slavery ? 
 
 Every creature is thy debtor ; 
 
 None but loves, some worse, some better. 
 Only in love they happy prove 
 Who love what most deserves their love. 
 
 WILLIAM HABINGTON. 
 
 1 605- 1 654. 
 
 [William Habington is not generally known as a drama- 
 tist. His poetical reputation rests on a volume of verses 
 called Castai'a^ divided into three parts, the first and sec- 
 ond addressed to his wife before and after marriage, and 
 the third to religious subjects. The play from which this 
 song is taken is his only dramatic work, and the song itself, 
 which has something of the nonchalance and freedom of 
 Suckling, without his airiness, is the happiest passage it 
 contains.] 
 
 THE QUEEN OF ARRAGON. 
 INDIFFERENCE. 
 
 Fine young folly, though you were 
 That fair beauty I did swear. 
 
 Yet you ne'er could reach my heart : 
 
250 WILLIAM IIABINGTON. 
 
 For we courtiers learn at school, 
 Only with your sex to fool ; 
 
 You are not worth the serious part. 
 
 When I sigh and kiss your hand, 
 Cross my arms, and wondering stand, 
 
 Holding parley with your eye. 
 Then dilate on my desires. 
 Swear the sun ne'er shot such fires — 
 
 All is but a handsome He. 
 
 When I eye your curl or lace. 
 Gentle soul, you think your face 
 
 Straight some murder doth commit ; 
 And your virtue doth begin 
 To grow scrupulous of my sin, 
 
 When I talk to shew my wit. 
 
 Therefore, madam, wear no cloud. 
 Nor to check my love grow proud ; 
 
 In sooth I much do doubt, 
 'T is the powder in your hair. 
 Not your breath, perfumes the air. 
 
 And your clothes that set you out. 
 
 Yet though truth has this confessed, 
 And I vow I love in jest. 
 
 When I next begin to court, 
 And protest an amorous flame. 
 You will swear I in earnest am : 
 
 Bedlam ! this is pretty sport. 
 
TOBACCO. 251 
 
 BARTEN HOLIDAY. 
 
 1661. 
 
 [Barten Holiday was born in the latter end of the reign 
 of Queen Elizabeth, became at an early age a student of 
 Christ Church College, Oxford, entered orders in 161 5, and 
 was appointed archdeacon of the diocese of Oxford. He 
 died in 1661. Langbaine says that he was 'a general 
 scholar, a good preacher, a skilful philosopher, and an ex- 
 cellent poet.'' He translated Juvenal and Persius, and pub- 
 lished numerous sermons. The singular drama which 
 supplies the following lively song is allegorical, the char- 
 acters forming a sort of commonwealth of the arts and 
 sciences. In order to give the true relish to this vagrant 
 ditty it should be observed that it is sung by a humorous 
 serving-man, dressed, according to the stage directions, ' in a 
 pale russet suit, on the back whereof is expressed one fill- 
 ing a pipe of tobacco, his hat set round with tobacco-pipes, 
 with a can of drink hanging at his girdle.'] 
 
 TEXNOTAMIA ; OR, THE MARRIAGE OF THE ARTS. 
 
 1630. 
 
 TOBACCO. 
 
 Tobacco 's a Musician, 
 
 And in a pipe delighteth ; 
 It descends in a close, 
 Through the organs of the nose, 
 
 With a relish that inviteth. 
 
 This makes me sing So ho, ho ; So ho, ho, boys, 
 Ho boys, sound I loudly; 
 
252 BART EN HOLIDAY. 
 
 Earth ne'er did breed 
 Such a jovial weed, 
 Whereof to boast so proudly. 
 
 Tobacco is a Lawyer, 
 
 His pipes do love long cases, 
 When our brains it enters, 
 Our feet do make indentures. 
 While we seal with stamping paces. 
 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
 Tobacco 's a Physician, 
 
 Good both for sound and sickly ; 
 'T is a hot perfume 
 That expels cold rheum. 
 And makes it flow down quickly. 
 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
 Tobacco is a Traveller, 
 
 Come from the Indies hither ; 
 It passed sea and land, 
 Ere it came to my hand, 
 And 'scaped the wind and weather. 
 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
 Tobacco is a Critic, 
 
 That still old paper turneth, 
 Whose labour and care 
 Is as smoke in the air 
 That ascends from a rag when it burneth. 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
TOBACCO. 253 
 
 Tobacco 's an ignis fatuus — 
 A fat and fiery vapour, 
 That leads men about 
 Till the fire be out, 
 Consuming like a taper. 
 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
 Tobacco is a Whiffler, 
 
 And cries huff snuff with fury ; 
 His pipe 's his club and link ; 
 He 's wiser that does drink ; 
 Thus armed I fear not a fury. 
 
 This makes me sing, &c. 
 
 JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 1 596- 1 666. 
 
 [With Shirley terminates the roll of the great writers whose 
 works form a distinct era in our dramatic literature. He 
 was the last of a race of giants. Born in the reign of Eliza- 
 beth, he lived to witness the Restoration, and carried down 
 to the time of Charles I. the moral and poetical elements of 
 the age of Shakespeare. New modes and a new language 
 set in with the Restoration ; and the line that separates 
 Shirley from his immediate successors is as clearly defined 
 and as broadly marked as if a century had elapsed between 
 them. 
 
 Shirley was educated at Merchant Tailors' School, and 
 from thence removed to St. John's College, Oxford, which 
 he afterwards left to complete his collegiate course at Cam- 
 bridge. Having entered holy orders, he was appointed to 
 
2 54 JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 a living at or near St. Albans, in Hertfordshire ; but subse- 
 quently renounced his ministry, in consequence of having 
 embraced the doctrines of the Church of Rome. For a short 
 time he found occupation as a teacher in a grammar-school, 
 a life of drudgery which he soon relinquished to become a 
 writer for the stage. He produced altogether thirty-three 
 plays ; and not the least remarkable circumstance connected 
 with them is that, instead of going to other sources for his 
 plots, he invented nearly the whole of them. Vigour and 
 variety of expression and richness of imagery are amongst 
 his conspicuous merits ; and, making reasonable allowance 
 for occasional confusion in the imbroglio of his more com- 
 plicated fables, arising, no doubt, from hasty composition, 
 the action of his dramas is generally contrived and evolved 
 with considerable skill. 
 
 Shirley died in 1666. Wood tells us that the fire of Lon- 
 don drove him and his wife from their residence near Fleet- 
 street into the parish of St. Giles's-in-the-Fields, and that 
 the alarm and losses they sustained took so severe an effect 
 upon them that they both died on the same day.] 
 
 LOVE TRICKS. 1624. 
 SHEPHERDS AND SHEPHERDESSES. 
 
 Woodmen, shepherds, come away, 
 This is Pan's great holiday, 
 
 Throw off cares, 
 With your heaven-aspiring airs 
 
 Help us to sing, 
 While valleys with your echoes sing. 
 
 Nymphs that dwell within these groves 
 Leave your arbours, bring your loves, 
 Gather posies. 
 
LOVE'S HUE AND CRY. 255 
 
 Crown your golden hair with roses ; 
 
 As you pass 
 Foot like fairies on the grass. 
 
 Joy crown our bowers ! Philomel, 
 Leave of Tereus' rape to tell. 
 
 Let trees dance, 
 As they at Thracian lyre did once ; 
 
 Mountains play, 
 This is the shepherds' holiday. 
 
 THE WITTY FAIR ONE. 1628. 
 
 love's hue and cry. 
 
 In Love's name you are charged hereby 
 
 To make a speedy hue and cry, 
 
 After a face, who t'other day. 
 
 Came and stole my heart away ; 
 
 For your directions in brief 
 
 These are best marks to know the thief: 
 
 Her hair a net of beams would prove. 
 
 Strong enough to captive Jove, 
 
 Playing the eagle ; her clear brow 
 
 Is a comely field of snow. 
 
 A sparkling eye, so pure a gray 
 
 As when it shines it needs no day. 
 
 Ivory dwelleth on her nose ; 
 
 Lilies, married to the rose. 
 
 Have made her cheek the nuptial bed ; 
 
 Her lips betray their virgin red, 
 
256 JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 As they only blushed for this, 
 
 That they one another kiss ; 
 
 But observe, beside the rest. 
 
 You shall know this felon best 
 
 By her tongue ; for if your ear 
 
 Shall once a heavenly music hear. 
 
 Such as neither gods nor men 
 
 But from that voice shall hear again, 
 
 That, that is she, oh, take her t' ye, 
 
 None can rock heaven asleep but shCc 
 
 THE BIRD IN A CAGE. 1632. 
 THE fool's SONG,^ 
 
 Among all sorts of people 
 
 The matter if we look well to ; 
 The fool is the best, he from the rest 
 
 Will carry away the bell too. 
 All places he is free of. 
 
 And foots it without blushing 
 At masks and plays, is not the bays 
 
 Thrust out, to let the plush in? 
 Your fool is fine, he 's merry. 
 
 And of all men doth fear least, 
 At every word he jests with my lord. 
 
 And tickles my lady in earnest : 
 The fool doth pass the guard now. 
 
 He '11 kiss his hand, and leg it, 
 
 1 In this song, Shirley follows closely a similar exaltation of the 
 motley by Ben Jonson. See ante, p. 123. 
 
THE BREAKING UP OF THE MASQUE. 25/ 
 
 When wise men prate, and forfeit their state, 
 
 Who but the fine fool will beg it ? 
 He without fear can walk in 
 
 The streets that are so stony ; 
 Your gallant sneaks, your merchant breaks, 
 
 He 's a fool that does owe no money. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE. 1633. 
 THE BREAKING UP OF THE MASQUE. 
 
 Come away, away, away. 
 See the dawning of the day. 
 Risen from the murmuring streams ; 
 Some stars show with sickly beams. 
 What stock of flame they are allowed, 
 Each retiring to a cloud ; 
 Bid your active sports adieu. 
 The morning else will blush for you. 
 Ye feather-footed hours run 
 To dress the chariot of the sun ; 
 Harness the steeds, it quickly will 
 Be time to mount the eastern hill. 
 The lights grow pale with modest fears. 
 Lest you offend their sacred ears 
 And eyes, that lent you all this grace ; 
 Retire, retire, to your own place. 
 And as you move from that blest pair. 
 Let each heart kneel, and think a prayer, 
 That all, that can make up the glory 
 Of good and great may fill their story. 
 
258 JAMES SHIRLEY. \ 
 
 ST. PATRICK FOR IRELAND. 1640. 
 HANG CARE ! 
 
 I NEITHER will lend nor borrow, 
 
 Old age will be here to-morrow ; 
 
 This pleasure we are made for, 
 
 When death comes all is paid for : 
 
 No matter what 's the bill of fare, 
 I '11 take my cup, I '11 take no care. 
 
 Be wise, and say you had warning, 
 
 To laugh is better than learning ; 
 
 To wear no clothes, not neat is ; 
 
 But hunger is good where meat is : 
 Give me wine, give me a wench. 
 And let her parrot talk in French. 
 
 It is a match worth the making, 
 To keep the merry-thought waking ; 
 A song is better than fasting, 
 And sorrow 's not worth the tasting : 
 
 Then keep your brain light as you can, 
 An ounce of care will kill a man. 
 
 THE ARCADIA. 1640. 
 
 cupid's search for his mother. 
 
 Tell me tidings of my mother. 
 Shepherds, and be Cupid's brother. 
 Down from heaven we came together : 
 With swan's speed came she not hither? 
 
THE COMMON DOOM. 259 
 
 But what lady have I spied ? 
 Just so was my mother eyed ; 
 Such her smiles wherein I dwelt ; 
 In those lips have I been felt ; 
 Those the pillows of her breast, 
 Which gave Cupid so much rest : 
 'T is she, 't is she ! make holiday, 
 Shepherds, carol, dance, and play. 
 'T is Venus, it can be no other ; 
 Cupid now has found his mother ! 
 
 CUPID AND DEATH. 1653. 
 THE COMMON DOOM. 
 
 Victorious men of earth, no more 
 Proclaim how wide your empires are ; 
 
 Though you bind in every shore, 
 And your triumphs reach as far 
 
 As night or day. 
 Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey, 
 
 And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
 
 Death calls ye to the crowd of common men. 
 
 Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, 
 
 Each able to undo mankind, 
 Death's servile emissaries are ; 
 
 Nor to these alone confined, 
 He hath at will 
 
 More quaint and subtle ways to kill ; 
 A smile or kiss, as he will use the art. 
 Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. 
 
260 JAMES SHIRLEY. 
 
 LOVE AND DEATH. 
 
 Change, oh change your fatal bows, 
 Since neither knows 
 The virtue of each other's darts ! 
 Alas, what will become of hearts ! 
 
 If it prove 
 
 A death to love, 
 
 We shall find 
 Death will be cruel to be kind : 
 For when he shall to armies fly. 
 Where men think blood too cheap to buy 
 
 Themselves a name, 
 He reconciles them, and deprives 
 The valiant men of more than lives, 
 
 A victory and fame : 
 Whilst Love, deceived by these cold shafts, instead 
 Of curing wounded hearts, must kill indeed. 
 
 Take pity, gods ! some ease the world will find 
 To give young Cupid eyes, or strike Death blind : 
 Death should not then have his own will. 
 And Love, by seeing men bleed, leave ofl" to kill. 
 
 THE CONTENTION OF AJAX AND ULYSSES. 1659. 
 THE EQUALITY OF THE GRAVE.^ 
 
 The glories of our blood and state 
 Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
 
 There is no armour against fate ; 
 Death lays his icy hand on kings : 
 
 1 This is said to have been a favourite song of Charles II. 
 
 \ 
 
THE EQUALITY OF THE GRAVE. 26 1 
 
 Sceptre and crown 
 
 Must tumble down, 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
 Some men with swords may reap the field, 
 And plant fresh laurels where they kill ; 
 But their strong nerves at last must yield ; 
 They tame but one another still : 
 Early or late, 
 They stoop to fate. 
 And must give up their murmuring breath, 
 When they, pale captives, creep to death. 
 
 The garlands wither on your brow. 
 
 Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
 Upon Death's purple altar now 
 
 See, where the victor-victim bleeds : 
 Your heads must come 
 To the cold tomb. 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. 
 
 I 605- I 668. 
 
 [If we cannot discover in the tedious poem of Gondi- 
 bert any satisfactory evidence of that illustrious descent 
 implied by the insinuation of Wood, the following songs 
 might justify a suspicion of Davenant's poetical lineage. 
 
262 SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. 
 
 The character of Davenant's verse is by no means Shake- 
 spearean ; but there is a spirit in these pieces not unworthy 
 of such a paternity. They possess an energy 
 
 That like a trumpet makes the spirits dance. 
 
 The bounding versification fills the ear with music ; 
 and they are distinguished by a breadth of treatment and 
 knowledge of effect seldom so successfully displayed within 
 such restricted limits.] 
 
 THE SIEGE OF RHODES. 
 WOMEN PREPARING FOR WAR. 
 
 Let us live, live ! for, being dead, 
 
 The pretty spots, 
 
 Ribbons and knots, 
 And the fine French dress for the head, 
 
 No lady wears upon her 
 
 In the cold, cold bed of honour. 
 Beat down our grottos, and hew down our bowers, 
 Dig up our arbours, and root up our flowers ; 
 Our gardens are bulwarks and bastions become ; 
 Then hang up our lute, we must sing to the drum. 
 
 Our patches and our curls. 
 So exact in each station. 
 Our powders and our purls. 
 Are now out of fashion. 
 Hence with our needles, and give us your spades ; 
 We, that were ladies, grow coarse as our maids. 
 Our coaches have driven us to balls at the court, 
 We now must drive barrows to earth up the fort. 
 
JEALOUSY. — LOVE'S LOTTERY. 263 
 
 JEALOUSY. 
 
 This cursed jealousy, what is 't? 
 'T is love that has lost itself in a mist ; 
 'T is love being frighted out of his wits ; 
 'T is love that has a fever got ; 
 Love that is violently hot, 
 But troubled with cold and trembling fits. 
 'T is yet a more unnatural evil : 
 
 'T is the god of love, 't is the god of love, possessed 
 with a devil. 
 
 *T is rich corrupted wine of love. 
 
 Which sharpest vinegar does prove ; 
 
 From all the sweet flowers which might honey make. 
 
 It does a deadly poison bring : 
 
 Strange serpent which itself doth sting ! 
 
 It never can sleep, and dreams still awake ; 
 
 It stuffs up the marriage-bed with thorns. 
 
 It gores itself, it gores itself, with imagined horns. 
 
 THE UNFORTUNATE LOVERS. 
 
 love's lottery. 
 
 Run to love's lottery ! Run, maids, and rejoice : 
 When, drawing your chance, you meet your own 
 
 choice ; 
 And boast that your luck you help with design, 
 By praying cross-legged to Old Bishop Valentine. 
 Hark, hark ! a prize is drawn, and trumpets sound ! 
 
 Tan, ta, ra, ra, ra ! 
 
 Tan, ta, ra, ra, ra ! 
 
264 ^^^ WILLIAM DAVENANT, 
 
 Hark maids ! more lots are drawn ! prizes abound. 
 Dub ! dub a, dub a, dub ! the drum now beats ! 
 And, dub a, dub a, dub, echo repeats ; 
 As if at night the god of war had made 
 Love's queen a skirmish for a serenade. 
 
 Haste, haste, fair maids, and come away ! 
 
 The priest attends, your bridegrooms stay. 
 
 Roses and pinks will be strewn where you go ; 
 
 Whilst I walk in shades of willow, willow. 
 
 When I am dead let him that did stay me 
 Be but so good as kindly to lay me 
 There where neglected lovers mourn. 
 Where lamps and hallowed tapers burn. 
 Where clerks in quires sad dirges sing. 
 Where sweetly bells at burials ring. 
 
 My rose of youth is gone 
 
 Withered as soon as blown ! 
 
 Lovers go ring my knell ! 
 
 Beauty and love farewell ! 
 
 And lest virgins forsaken 
 
 Should, perhaps, be mistaken 
 In seeking my grave, alas ! let them know 
 I lie near a shade of willow, willow. 
 
 THE COQUET. 
 
 'T IS, in good truth, a most wonderful thing 
 (I am even ashamed to relate it) 
 
THE COQUET. — LOVE PROSCRIBED. 265 
 
 That love so many vexations should bring, 
 And yet few have the wit to hate it. 
 
 Love's weather in maids should seldom hold fair : 
 Like April's mine shall quickly alter ; 
 
 I '11 give him to-night a lock of my hair, 
 To whom next day I '11 send a halter. 
 
 I cannot abide these malapert males, 
 
 Pirates of love, who know no duty ; 
 Yet love with a storm can take down their sails, 
 
 And they must strike to Admiral Beauty. 
 
 Farewell to that maid who will be undone, 
 Who in markets of men (where plenty 
 
 Is cried up and down) will die even for one ; 
 I will live to make fools of twenty. 
 
 THE LAW AGAINST LOVERS. 
 LOVE PROSCRIBED. 
 
 Wake all the dead ! what ho ! what ho ! 
 How soundly they sleep whose pillows lie low? 
 They mind not poor lovers who walk above 
 On the decks of the world in storms of love. 
 
 No whisper now nor glance shall pass 
 
 Through wickets or through panes of glass ; 
 For our windows and doors are shut and barred. 
 Lie close in the church, and in the churchyard. 
 
 In every grave make room, make room ! 
 
 The world 's at an end, and we come, we come. 
 
266 SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT. 
 
 The state is now love's foe, love's foe ; 
 Has seized on his arms, his quiver and bow ; 
 Has pinioned his wings, and fettered his feet. 
 Because he made way for lovers to meet. 
 
 But O sad chance, his judge was old ; 
 
 Hearts cruel grown, when blood grows cold. 
 No man being young, his process would draw. 
 O heavens that love should be subject to law ! 
 
 Lovers go woo the dead, the dead ! 
 
 Lie two in a grave, and to bed, to bed ! 
 
 THE MAN 'S THE MASTER. 
 A DRINKING ROUND. 
 
 The bread is all baked, 
 The embers are raked ; 
 'T is midnight now by Chanticleer's first crowing ; 
 Let 's kindly carouse 
 Whilst 'top of the house 
 The cats fall out in the heat of their wooing. 
 Time, whilst thy hour-glass does run out. 
 This flowing glass shall go about. 
 Stay, stay, the nurse is waked, the child does cry, 
 No song so ancient is as lulla-by. 
 The cradle 's rocked, the child is hushed again, 
 Then hey for the maids, and ho for the men. 
 Now every one advance his glass ; 
 Then all at once together clash ; 
 Experienced lovers know 
 This clashing does but shew, 
 
A DRINKING ROUND. 26/ 
 
 That, as in music, so in love must be 
 Some discord to make up a harmony. 
 Sing, sing ! When crickets sing why should not we? 
 
 The crickets were merry before us ; 
 They sung us thanks ere we made them a fire. 
 
 They taught us to sing in a chorus : 
 The chimney 's their church, the oven their quire. 
 Once more the cock cries cock-a-doodle-doo. 
 The owl cries o'er the barn, to-whit-to-whoo ! 
 Benighted travellers now lose their way 
 
 Whom Will-of-the-wisp bewitches : 
 About and about he leads them astray 
 
 Through bogs, through hedges, and ditches. 
 Hark ! hark ! the cloister bell is rung ! 
 Alas ! the midnight dirge is sung. 
 Let 'em ring. 
 Let 'em sing, 
 Whilst we spend the night in love and in laughter. 
 When night is gone, 
 O then too soon 
 The discords and cares of the day come after. 
 
 Come boys ! a health, a health, a double health 
 To those who 'scape from care by shunning wealth. 
 
 Dispatch it away 
 
 Before it be day, 
 *T will quickly grow early when it is late : 
 
 A health to thee. 
 
 To him, to me. 
 To all who beauty love, and business hate. 
 
268 MARKHAM AND SAMPSON. 
 
 THE CRUEL BROTHER. 
 GRIEVE NOT FOR THE PAST. 
 
 Weep no more for what is past, 
 For time in motion makes such haste 
 He hath no leisure to descry 
 Those errors which he passeth by. 
 If we consider accident, 
 
 And how repugnant unto sense 
 It pays desert with bad event, 
 
 We shall disparage Providence. 
 
 GERVASE MARKHAM AND WILLIAM SAMP- 
 SON. 
 
 [These writers belong to the time of Charles I., in 
 whose service Markham bore a captain's commission. He 
 was a writer of some authority in his day on agriculture 
 and husbandry. Of Sampson nothing is known except 
 that he was the author of two plays, and assisted Mark- 
 ham in the piece from which the following song is taken.] 
 
 HEROD AND ANTIPATER. 
 SIMPLES TO SELL. 
 
 Come will you buy? for I have here 
 The rarest gums that ever were ; 
 Gold is but dross, and features die. 
 Else ^sculapius tells a he. 
 
SIMPLES TO SELL. 269 
 
 But I, 
 Come will you buy? 
 Have medicines for that malady. 
 
 Is there a lady in this place, 
 Would not be masked, but for her face? 
 O do not blush, for here is that 
 Will make your pale cheeks plump and fat. 
 Then why 
 
 Should I thus cry, 
 
 And none a scruple of me buy? 
 
 Come buy, you lusty gallants, 
 
 These simples which I sell ; 
 In all your days were never seen like these, 
 
 For beauty, strength, and smell. 
 Here 's the king-cup, the pansy with the violet, 
 
 The rose that loves the shower, 
 
 The wholesome gilliflower, 
 Both the cowslip, lily. 
 And the daffodilly, . 
 
 With a thousand in my power. 
 
 Here 's a golden amaranthus. 
 
 That true love can provoke, 
 Of horehound store, and poisoning hellebore, 
 
 With the pohpode of the oak ; 
 Here 's chaste vervine, and lustful eringo, 
 
 Health preserving sage. 
 
 And rue which cures old age, 
 With a world of others, 
 Making fruitful mothers ; 
 
 All these attend me as my page. 
 
2/0 JASPER MAYNE, 
 
 JASPER MAYNE. 
 
 1 604- 1 672. 
 
 [Dr. Jasper Mayne was a distinguished preacher in 
 the time of Charles I., and held two livings in the gift of the 
 University of Oxford, from which he was expelled under 
 the Commonwealth. At the Restoration, however, he was 
 not only re-appointed to his former benefice, but made 
 chaplain in ordinary to his Majesty, and archdeacon of 
 Chichester. Dr. Mayne is said to have been a clergyman 
 of the most exemplary character ; but there is an anecdote 
 related of him which, if true, shows that he was also a 
 practical humorist. He had an old servant to whom he 
 bequeathed a trunk, which he told him contained something 
 that would make him drink after his death. When the 
 trunk was opened on the Doctor's demise, it was found to 
 contain — a red-herring.] 
 
 THE CITY MATCH. 
 THE WONDERFUL FISH. 
 
 We show no monstrous crocodile, 
 Nor any prodigy of Nile ; 
 No Remora that stops your fleet, 
 Like Serjeant's gallants in the street ; 
 No sea-horse which can trot or pace, 
 Or swim false gallop, post, or race : 
 For crooked dolphins we not care. 
 Though on their back a fiddler were : 
 The like to this fish, which we shew. 
 Was ne'er in Fish-street, old, or new ; 
 
MISTAKEN KINDNESS. 2/1 
 
 Nor ever served to the sheriff's board, 
 Or kept in souse for the Mayor Lord. 
 Had old astronomers but seen 
 This fish, none else in heaven had been. 
 
 SIR SAMUEL TUKE. 
 
 1673. 
 
 THE ADVENTURES OF TWO HOURS. 
 
 MISTAKEN KINDNESS. 
 
 Can Luciamira so mistake, 
 
 To persuade me to fly ? 
 'T is cruel kind for my own sake, 
 
 To counsel me to die ; 
 Like those faint souls, who cheat themselves of breath. 
 And die for fear of death. 
 
 Since Love 's the principle of life, 
 
 And you the object loved. 
 Let 's, Luciamira, end this strife, 
 I cease to be removed. 
 We know not what they do, are gone from hence, 
 But here we love by sense. 
 
 If the Platonics, who would prove 
 
 Souls without bodies love. 
 Had, with respect, well understood. 
 
 The passions in the blood, 
 They had suffered bodies to have had their part, 
 And seated love in the heart. 
 
2/2 SIR WILLIAM KILLIGREW. 
 
 SIR WILLIAM KILLIGREW. 
 1 605-1 693. 
 
 SELINDRA. 
 
 THE HAPPY HOUR. 
 
 Come, come, thou glorious object of my sight, 
 Oh my joy ! my Hfe, my only delight ! 
 
 May this glad minute be 
 
 Blessed to eternity. 
 
 See how the glimmering tapers of the sky, 
 Do gaze, and wonder at our constancy, 
 
 How they crowd to behold ! 
 
 What our arms do infold ! 
 
 How all do envy our felicities ! 
 
 And grudge the triumphs of Selindra's eyes : 
 How Cynthia seeks to shroud 
 Her crescent in yon cloud ! 
 
 Where sad night puts her sable mantle on, 
 Thy light mistaking, hasteth to be gone ; 
 Her gloomy shades give way, 
 As at the approach of day ; 
 And all the planets shrink, in doubt to be 
 Eclipsed by a brighter deity. 
 Look, oh look ! 
 
 How the small 
 Lights do fall. 
 
THE HAPPY HOUR, 2/3 
 
 And adore, 
 
 What before 
 The heavens have not shown, 
 Nor their god-heads known ! 
 
 Such a faith, 
 
 Such a love 
 
 As may move 
 
 From above 
 To descend ; and remain 
 Amongst mortals again. 
 
 JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 1631-1700. 
 
 [The songs scattered through Dryden''s plays are strik- 
 ingly inferior to the rest of his poetry. The confession he 
 makes in one of his dedications that in writing for the 
 stage he consulted the taste of the audiences and not his 
 own, and that, looking at the results, he was equally 
 ashamed of the public and himself, applies with special 
 force to his songs. They seem for the most part to have 
 been thrown off merely to fill up a situation, or produce a 
 transitory effect, without reference to substance, art, or 
 beauty, in their structure. Like nearly all pieces written 
 expressly for music, the convenience of the composer is 
 consulted in many of them rather than the judgment of the 
 poet, although the world had a right to expect that the 
 genius of Dryden would have vindicated itself by reconcil- 
 ing both. Some of the verses designed on this principle 
 undoubtedly exhibit remarkable skill in accommodating 
 
274 JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 the diction and rhythm to the demands of the air ; and, 
 however indift'erent they may be in perusal, it can be easily 
 understood how effective their breaks, repetitions, and 
 sonorous words (sometimes without much meaning in 
 them) must have been in the dehvery. Dryden descended 
 to the smallest things with as much success as he soared to 
 the highest ; and, if he had cared to bestow any pains 
 upon such compositions, two or three of the following 
 specimens are sufficient to show with what a subtle fancy 
 and melody of versification he might have enriched this 
 department of our poetical literature. 
 
 Many of the songs are stained with the grossness that 
 defiled the whole drama of the Restoration. Others are 
 metrical commonplaces not worth transplantation. From 
 the nature of the subjects, the selection is necessarily 
 scanty, although Dryden's plays yield a more plentiful 
 crop of lyrics of various kinds than those of any of his 
 contemporaries. A larger collection might have been 
 made, but that numerous songs, otherwise unobjectionable, 
 are so closely interwoven with the business of the scene 
 as to be inseparable from the dialogue. Of this character 
 is the greater part of the opera of Albion and Albajius, 
 and nearly the whole of the lyrical version of the Tempest, 
 a work in which Dryden appears to greater disadvantage 
 than in any other upon which he was ever engaged.] 
 
 THE INDIAN QUEEN. 1664. 
 INCANTATION. 
 
 You twice ten hundred deities, 
 
 To whom we daily sacrifice ; 
 
 You Powers that dwell with fate below, 
 
 And see what men are doomed to do, 
 
INCANTATION. — SONG OF AERIAL SPIRITS. 2/5 
 
 Where elements in discord dwell ; 
 
 Then God of Sleep arise and tell 
 
 Great Zempoalla what strange fate 
 
 Must on her dismal vision wait. 
 
 By the croaking of the toad, 
 
 In their caves that make abode ; 
 
 Earthy Dun that pants for breath, 
 
 With her swelled sides full of death ; 
 
 By the crested adders' pride. 
 
 That along the chfts do glide ; 
 
 By thy visage fierce and black ; 
 
 By the death's head on thy back ; 
 
 By the twisted serpents placed 
 
 For a girdle round thy waist ; 
 
 By the hearts of gold that deck 
 
 Thy breast, thy shoulders, and thy neck : 
 
 From thy sleepy mansion rise. 
 
 And open thy unwilling eyes. 
 
 While bubbling springs their music keep, 
 
 That use to lull thee in thy sleep. 
 
 SONG OF THE AERIAL SPIRITS. 
 
 Poor mortals, that are clogged with earth below. 
 
 Sink under love and care. 
 
 While we, that dwell in air. 
 Such heavy passions never know. 
 
 Why then should mortals be 
 
 Unwilling to be free 
 
 From blood, that sullen cloud. 
 
 Which shining souls does shroud? 
 
2/6 JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 Then they '11 shew bright, 
 And hke us hght, 
 When leaving bodies with their care, 
 They slide to us and air. 
 
 THE INDIAN EMPEROR. 1665. 
 THE FOLLY OF MAKING TROUBLES. 
 
 Ah fading joy ! how quickly art thou past ! 
 
 Yet we thy ruin haste. 
 As if the cares of human life were few, 
 
 We seek out new : 
 And follow fate, which would too fast pursue. 
 
 See how on every bough the birds express 
 
 In their sweet notes their happiness. 
 
 They all enjoy and nothing spare. 
 
 But on their mother nature lay their care : 
 
 Why then should man, the lord of all below, 
 
 Such troubles choose to know, 
 
 As none of all his subjects undergo? 
 
 Hark, hark, the waters fall, fall, fall. 
 And with a murmuring sound 
 Dash, dash, upon the ground, 
 To gentle slumbers call. 
 
 SECRET LOVE; OR, THE MAIDEN QUEEN. 1667. 
 
 CONCEALED LOVE. 
 
 I FEED a flame within, which so torments me. 
 That it both pains my heart, and yet contents me : 
 
CONCEALED LOVE. — DEEP IN LOVE. 277 
 
 '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 't is the fuel : 
 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 ; 
 iVVhile 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." 
 
 SIR MARTIN MAR-ALL; OR, THE FEIGNED INNO- 
 CENCE. 1667. 
 
 DEEP IN LOVE. 
 
 Blind love, to this hour. 
 Had ne'er, like me, a slave under his power : 
 
 Then blessed be the dart. 
 
 That he threw at my heart ; 
 For nothing can prove 
 A joy so great, as to be wounded with love. 
 
 My days, and my nights. 
 Are filled to the purpose with sorrows and frights : 
 From my heart still I sigh. 
 And my eyes are ne'er dry ; 
 
278 JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 So that, Cupid be praised, 
 I am to the top of love's happiness raised. 
 
 My soul 's all on fire, 
 So that I have the pleasure to dote and desire : 
 
 Such a pretty soft pain, 
 
 That it tickles each vein ; 
 
 'T is the dream of a smart, [heart. 
 
 Which makes me breathe short, when it beats at my 
 
 Sometimes, in a pet. 
 When I 'm despised, I my freedom would get : 
 
 But straight a sweet smile 
 
 Does my anger beguile. 
 And my heart does recall ; 
 Then the more I do struggle, the lower I fall. 
 
 Heaven does not impart 
 Such a grace as to love unto every one's heart ; 
 
 For many may wish 
 
 To be wounded, and miss : 
 Then blessed be love's fire. 
 And more blessed her eyes, that first taught me desire. 
 
 TYRANNIC LOVE; OR, THE ROYAL MARTYR. 1669. 
 ST. CATHERINE ASLEEP. 
 
 You pleasing dreams of love and sweet delight. 
 Appear before this slumbering Virgin's sight : 
 Soft visions set her free 
 From mournful piety ; 
 
THE COURSE OF LOVE. 2/9 
 
 Let her sad thoughts from heaven retire; 
 
 And let the melancholy love 
 
 Of those remoter joys above 
 
 Give place to your more sprightly fire ; 
 
 Let purling streams be in her fancy seen, 
 
 And flowery meads, and vales of cheerful green ; 
 
 And in the midst of deathless groves 
 
 Soft sighing wishes lie. 
 
 And smiling hopes fast by, 
 
 And just beyond them ever-laughing loves. 
 
 THE COURSE OF LOVE. 
 
 Ah, how sweet it is to love ! 
 Ah, how gay is young desire ! 
 And what pleasing pains we prove 
 When we first approach love's fire ! 
 
 Pains of love be sweeter far 
 
 Than all other pleasures are. 
 
 Sighs, which are from lovers blown, 
 Do but gently heave the heart : 
 Even the tears they shed alone, 
 Cure, Hke trickling balm, their smart. 
 
 Lovers when they lose their breath, 
 
 Bleed away in easy death. 
 
 Love and time with reverence use ; 
 
 Treat them like a parting friend, 
 
 Nor the golden gifts refuse. 
 
 Which in youth sincere they send : 
 For each year their price is more, 
 And they less simple than before. 
 
280 JOHN DRY DEN. 
 
 Love, like spring-tides, full and high, 
 
 Swells in every youthful vein ; 
 
 But each tide does less supply, 
 
 Till they quite shrink in again : 
 If a flow in age appear, 
 'T is but rain, and runs not clear. 
 
 AMBOYNA. 1673. 
 THE SEA FIGHT. 
 
 Who ever saw a noble sight, 
 
 That never viewed a brave sea-fight ! 
 
 Hang up your bloody colours in the air. 
 
 Up with your lights, and your nettings prepare ; 
 
 Your merry mates cheer with a lusty bold spright. 
 
 Now each man his brindice, and then to the fight. 
 
 St. George ! St. George ! we cry, 
 
 The shouting Turks reply. 
 
 Oh now it begins, and the gun-room grows hot, 
 
 Ply it with culverin and with small shot ; 
 
 Hark, does it not thunder? no, 't is the gun's roar. 
 
 The neighbouring billows are turned into gore; 
 
 Now each man must resolve to die. 
 
 For here the coward cannot fly. 
 
 Drums and trumpets toll the knell, 
 
 And culverins the passing bell. 
 
 Now, now they grapple, and now board amain ; 
 
 Blow up the hatches, they 're off" all again : 
 
 Give them a broadside, the dice run at all, 
 
 Down comes the mast, and yard and tacklings fall ; 
 
NEREIDS RISING FROM THE SEA. 28 1 
 
 She grows giddy now, like blind Fortune's wheel, 
 She sinks there, she sinks, she turns up her keel. 
 Who ever beheld so noble a sight, 
 As this so brave, so bloody sea-fight ! 
 
 ALBION AND ALBANUS. 1685. 
 NEREIDS RISING FROM THE SEA. 
 
 From the low palace of old father Ocean, 
 Come we in pity our cares to deplore ; 
 Sea-racing dolphins are trained for our motion. 
 Moony tides swelling to roll us ashore. 
 
 Every nymph of the flood, her tresses rending, 
 Throws off her armlet of pearl in the main ; 
 Neptune in anguish his charge unattending. 
 Vessels are foundering, and vows are in vain. 
 
 KING ARTHUR; OR, THE BRITISH WORTHY. 1691. 
 HARVEST HOME.^ 
 
 Your hay it is mowed, and your corn is reaped : 
 Your barns will be full, and your hovels heaped : 
 
 Come, my boys, come ; 
 
 Come, my boys, come ; 
 And merrily roar out harvest home ! 
 Harvest home, 
 
 1 This rustic madrigal, with its rant against the parsons, forms 
 part of the enchantments of Merlin, and is sung by Comus and peas- 
 ants. The introduction of Comus is as anomalous as the allusion 
 to tithes. 
 
282 JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 Harvest home ; 
 And merrily roar out harvest home ! 
 
 Come, my boys, come, &c. 
 
 We have cheated the parson, we '11 cheat him again, 
 For why should a blockhead have one in ten? 
 
 One in ten. 
 
 One in ten ; 
 For why should a blockhead have one in ten, 
 
 For prating so long like a book-learned sot. 
 Till pudding and dumpHng burn to pot, 
 
 Burn to pot. 
 
 Burn to pot ; 
 Till pudding and dumpHng burn to pot. 
 
 Burn to pot, &c. 
 
 We '11 toss off our ale till we cannot stand : 
 And hoigh for the honour of Old England : 
 
 Old England, 
 
 Old England ; 
 And hoigh for the honour of Old England. 
 
 Old England, &c. 
 
 CLEOMENES ; OR, THE SPARTAN HERO. 
 1692. 
 
 FIDELITY. 
 
 No, no, poor suffering heart, no change endeavour, 
 Choose to sustain the smart, rather than leave her ; 
 
FIDELITY. — THE T YRANT JEAL OUSY. 283, 
 
 My ravished eyes behold such charms about her, 
 
 I can die with her, but not live without her ; ^ 
 
 One tender sigh of hers to see me languish, 
 
 Will more than pay the price of my past anguish ; 
 
 Beware, O cruel fair, how you smile on me, 
 
 'T was a kind look of yours that has undone me. 
 
 Love has in store for me one happy minute, 
 
 And she will end my pain v/ho did begin it ; 
 
 Then no day void of bliss, of pleasure, leaving, 
 
 Ages shall slide away without perceiving : 
 
 Cupid shall guard the door, the more to please us. 
 
 And keep out Time and Death, when they would seize 
 
 us ; 
 Time and Death shall depart, and say, in flying. 
 Love has found out a way to live by dying. 
 
 LOVE TRIUMPHANT ; OR, NATURE WILL PREVAIL. 
 
 1693- 
 
 THE TYRANT JEALOUSY. 
 
 What state of life can be so blessed 
 As love, that warms a lover's breast? 
 Two souls in one, the same desire 
 To grant the bhss, and to require ! 
 But if in heaven a hell we find, 
 'T is all from thee, 
 O Jealousy ! 
 
 1 As for the women, though we scorn and flout 'em, 
 We may live with, but cannot hve without 'em. 
 
 The Will. 
 
284 JOHN DRYDEN. 
 
 'T is all from thee, 
 
 Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
 
 Thou tyrant of the mind ! 
 
 All other ills, though sharp they prove, 
 
 Serve to refine, and perfect love : 
 
 In absence, or unkind disdain. 
 
 Sweet hope reheves the lover's pain. 
 
 But ah ! no cure but death we find. 
 
 To set us free 
 
 From Jealousy : 
 
 O Jealousy ! 
 
 Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
 
 Thou tyrant of the mind. 
 
 False in thy glass all objects are. 
 
 Some set too near, and some too far ; 
 
 Thou art the fire of endless night. 
 
 The fire that burns and gives no light. 
 
 All torments of the damned we find 
 
 In only thee, 
 
 O Jealousy ! 
 
 Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, 
 
 Thou tyrant of the mind ! 
 
 THE SECULAR MASQUE. 1700. 
 
 THE SONG OF DIANA. 
 
 With horns and with hounds, I waken the day, 
 
 And hie to the woodland-walks away ; 
 
 I tuck up my robe, and am buskined soon. 
 
BEAUTY NO ARMOUR AGAINST LOVE. 285 
 
 And tie to my forehead a wexing moon.^ 
 
 I course the fleet stag, unkennel the fox, 
 
 And chase the wild goats o'er summits of rocks ; 
 
 With shouting and hooting we pierce through the sky, 
 
 And Echo turns hunter, and doubles the cry. 
 
 SIR GEORGE ETHEREGE. 
 
 1636 . 
 
 LOVE IN A TUB. 
 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. 
 
 1 Wexing, or waxing, as Dryden has elsewhere employed it : — 
 
 'T is Venus' hour, and in the waxing moon, 
 With chalk I first describe a circle here. 
 
 Tyra?inic Love, 
 
286 THOMAS SHAD WELL. 
 
 THOMAS SHADWELL. 
 
 1 640- 1 692. 
 
 [Shadwell's plays abound in songs, but the bulk of 
 them are too slovenly, frivolous, or licentious, to deserve 
 preservation in a separate form. His comedies, admirable 
 as pictures of contemporary meanness, supplied an appro- 
 priate setting for his coarse and reckless verses ; but such 
 pieces will not bear to be exhibited apart from the scenes 
 for which they were designed. The following, however, 
 may be accepted as characteristic of the time and the 
 writer.] 
 
 THE WOMAN CAPTAIN. 
 
 THE ROARERS. 
 
 The king's most faithful subjects we 
 
 In's service are not dull, 
 We drink, to show our loyalty, 
 
 And make his coffers full. 
 Would all his subjects drink like us, 
 
 We 'd make him richer far, 
 More pow^erful and more prosperous 
 
 Than all the Eastern monarchs are.^ 
 
 THE AMOROUS BIGOT. 
 LOVE IN >>'OUTH AND IN AGE. 
 
 The fire of love in youthful blood, 
 Like what is kindled in brushwood, 
 
 1 See ante, p. 163. Dryden, in his Vindication of the Duke of 
 Guise, says that the only loyal service Shadwell could render the king 
 was to increase the revenue by drinking. 
 
DAWN OF MORNING, 287 
 
 But for a moment burns ; 
 Yet in that moment makes a mighty noise, 
 It crackles, and to vapour turns, 
 
 And soon itself destroys. 
 
 But when crept into aged veins 
 It slowly burns, and long remains ; 
 
 And with a sullen heat, 
 Like fire in logs, it glows, and warms 'em long, 
 And though the flame be not so great, 
 
 Yet is the heat as strong. 
 
 TIMON OF ATHENS. 
 DAWN OF MORNING. 
 
 The fringed vallance of your eyes advance, 
 Shake off your canopied and downy trance ; 
 Phoebus already quaffs the morning dew. 
 Each does his daily lease of life renew. 
 
 He darts his beams on the lark's mossy house. 
 
 And from his quiet tenement does rouse 
 
 The little charming and harmonious fowl. 
 
 Which sings its lump of body to a soul : 
 
 Swiftly it clambers up in the steep air 
 
 With warbling throat, and makes each note a stair. 
 
 This the solicitous lover straight alarms. 
 Who too long slumbered in his Celia's arms : 
 And now the swelling spunges of the night 
 With aching heads stagger from their delight : 
 
288 S/A' CHARLES S ED LEY. 
 
 Slovenly tailors to their needles haste : 
 Already now the moving shops are placed 
 By those who crop the treasures of the fields, 
 And all those gems the ripening summer yields. 
 
 SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. 
 I 639-1 701. 
 
 THE MULBERRY GARDEN. 
 THE GROWTH OF LOVE. 
 
 Ah Chloris ! that I now could sit 
 
 As unconcerned, as when 
 Your infant beauty could beget 
 
 No pleasure nor no pain. 
 
 When I the dawn used to admire, 
 And praised the coming day, 
 
 I little thought the growing fire 
 Must take my rest away. 
 
 Your charms in harmless childhood lay, 
 
 Like metals in the mine : 
 Age from no face took more away. 
 
 Than youth concealed in thine. 
 
 But as your charms insensibly 
 To their perfection pressed. 
 
 Fond love as unperceived did fly, 
 And in my bosom rest. 
 
THE GROWTH OF LOVE. 289 
 
 My passion with your beauty grew, 
 
 And Cupid at my heart, 
 StiU, as his mother favoured you. 
 
 Threw a new flaming dart. 
 
 Each gloried in their wanton part : 
 
 To make a lover, he 
 Employed the utmost of his art — 
 
 To make a beauty she. 
 
 Though now I slowly bend to love, 
 
 Uncertain of my fate. 
 If your fair self my chains approve, 
 
 I shall my freedom hate. 
 
 Lovers, like dying men, may well 
 
 At first disordered be ; 
 Since none alive can truly tell 
 
 What fortune they must see. 
 
 TOM D'URFEY. 
 
 1723- 
 
 THE COMICAL HISTORY OF DON QUIXOTE. 
 
 STILL WATER. 
 
 Damon, let a friend advise ye. 
 Follow Chlores though she flies ye, 
 Though her tongue your suit is slighting, 
 Her kind eyes you '11 find inviting : 
 
290 TOM D'URFEY. 
 
 Women'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. 
 
 THE MODERN PROPHETS ; OR, NEW WIT FOR A 
 
 HUSBAND. 
 
 THE FOP OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 I HATE a fop that at his glass sits prinking half the day, 
 With a sallow, frowsy, olive-coloured face. 
 And a powdered peruke hanging to his waist ; 
 Who with ogUng imagines to possess, 
 And to show his shape 
 Does cringe and scrape, 
 But nothing has to say : 
 
 Or if the courtship 's fine, 
 He '11 only cant and whine. 
 And in confounded poetry, he '11 goblins make divine. 
 I love the bold and brave, 
 I hate the fawning slave. 
 Who quakes and cries, 
 And sighs and lies. 
 
BEWARE OF LOVE, 29 1 
 
 Yet wants the skill 
 
 With sense to tell 
 
 What 't is he longs to have. 
 
 SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. 
 
 1 666- 1 726. 
 THE RELAPSE ; OR, VIRTUE IN DANGER. 
 
 BEWARE OF LOVE. 
 
 I SMILE at Love and all its arts, 
 
 The charming Cynthia cried ; 
 Take heed, for Love has piercing darts, 
 
 A wounded swain replied ; 
 Once free and blessed as you are now, 
 
 I trifled with his charms, 
 I pointed at his little bow. 
 
 And sported with his arms : 
 Till urged too far, Revenge ! he cries, 
 
 A fatal shaft he drew, 
 It took its passage through your eyes. 
 
 And to my heart it flew. 
 
 To tear it thence I tried in vain. 
 
 To strive I quickly found 
 Was only to increase the pain, 
 
 And to enlarge the wound. 
 Ah ! much too well, I fear, you know 
 
 What pain I 'm to endure. 
 Since what your eyes alone could do. 
 
 Your heart alone can cure. 
 
292 SIR JOHN VANBRUGH. 
 
 And that (grant Heaven I may mistake !) 
 
 I doubt is doomed to bear 
 A burthen for another's sake, 
 
 Who ill rewards its care. 
 
 THE PROVOKED WIFE. 
 LOVELESS BEAUTY. 
 
 Fly, fly, you happy shepherds, fly ! 
 
 Avoid PhiUra's charms ; 
 The rigour of her heart denies 
 
 The heaven that 's in her arms. 
 Ne'er hope to gaze, and then retire, 
 
 Nor yielding, to be blessed : 
 Nature, who formed her eyes of fire, 
 
 Of ice composed her breast. 
 
 Yet, lovely m^d, this once believe 
 
 A slave whose zeal you move ; 
 The gods, alas, your youth deceive, 
 
 Their heaven consists in love. 
 In spite of all the thanks you owe, 
 
 You may reproach 'em this. 
 That where they did their form bestow, 
 
 They have denied their bliss. 
 
 ^SOP. 
 
 LEARNED WOMEN. 
 
 Once on a time, a nightingale 
 To changes prone ; 
 
LEARNED WOMEN. 293 
 
 Unconstant, fickle, whimsical, 
 
 (A female one) 
 Who sung hke others of her kind, 
 Hearing a well-taught linnet's airs. 
 Had other matters in her mind, 
 To imitate him she prepares. 
 
 Her fancy straight was on the wing : 
 
 'I fly,' quoth she, 
 
 ' As well as he ; 
 
 I don't know why 
 
 I should not try 
 As well as he to sing.' 
 
 From that day forth she changed her note. 
 She spoiled her voice, she strained her throat : 
 She did, as learned women do. 
 
 Till everything 
 
 That heard her sing, 
 Would run away from her — as I from you. 
 
 WILLIAM CONGREVE. 
 
 1672-1728. 
 
 LOVE FOR LOVE. 
 THE ORACLE. 
 
 A NYMPH and a swain to Apollo once prayed. 
 
 The swain had been jilted, the nymph been betrayed : 
 
 Their intent was to try if his oracle knew 
 
 E'er a nymph that was chaste, or a swain that was true. 
 
294 WILLIAM CONGREVE. 
 
 Apollo was mute, and was like t' have been posed, 
 But sagely at length he this secret disclosed : 
 * He alone won't betray in whom none will confide : 
 And the nymph may be chaste that has never been tried.' 
 
 love's infidelities. 
 
 I TELL thee, Charmion, could I time retrieve, 
 And could again begin to love and live, 
 To you I should my earliest offering give ; 
 I know my eyes would lead my heart to you. 
 And I should all my vows and oaths renew ; 
 But, to be plain, I never would be true. 
 
 For by our weak and weary truth I find, 
 Love hates to centre in a point assigned : 
 But runs with joy the circle of the mind : 
 
 Then never let us chain what should be free, 
 
 But for relief of either sex agree : 
 
 Since women love to change, and so do we. 
 
 THE WAY OF THE WORLD. 
 
 love's ambition. 
 
 Love 's but the frailty of the mind. 
 When 'tis not with ambition joined ; 
 A sickly flame, which, if not fed, expires. 
 And feeding, wastes in self-consuming fires. 
 
 'T is not to wound a wanton boy, 
 
 Or amorous youth, that gives the joy ; 
 
DRINKING SONG. 295 
 
 But 't is the glory to have pierced a swain, 
 For whom inferior beauties sighed in vain. 
 
 Then I alone the conquest prize, 
 
 When I insult a rival's eyes : 
 If there 's delight in love, 't is when I see 
 That heart, which others bleed for, bleed for me. 
 
 DRINKING SONG. 
 
 -Prithee fill me the glass, 
 
 Till it laugh in my face. 
 With ale that is potent and mellow ; 
 
 He that whines for a lass, 
 
 Is an ignorant ass, 
 For a bumper has not its fellow. 
 
 We '11 drink and we '11 never ha' done, boys. 
 
 Put the glass then around with the sun, boys, 
 Let Apollo's example invite us ; 
 
 For he 's drunk every night, 
 
 And that makes him so bright. 
 That he 's able next morning to light us. 
 
 To drink is a Christian diversion. 
 Unknown to the Turk or the Persian : 
 
 Let Mahometan fools 
 
 Live by heathenish rules, 
 And be damned over tea-cups and coffee ; 
 
 But let British lads sing. 
 
 Crown a health to the king. 
 And a fig for your sultan and sophy ! 
 
296 GEORGE FARQUHAR, 
 
 GEORGE FARQUHAR. 
 1 678-1 707. 
 
 LOVE AND A BOTTLE. 
 FALSE LOVE ONLY IS BLIND. 
 
 How blessed are lovers in disguise ! 
 
 Like gods, they see, 
 
 As I do thee, 
 Unseen by human eyes. 
 
 Exposed to view, 
 
 I 'm hid from you, 
 I 'm altered, yet the same : 
 
 The dark conceals me, 
 
 Love reveals me ; 
 Love, which lights me by its flame. 
 
 Were you not false, you me would know ; 
 
 For though your eyes 
 
 Could not devise. 
 Your heart had told you so. 
 
 Your heart would beat 
 
 With eager heat. 
 And me by sympathy would find : 
 
 True love might see 
 
 One changed like me. 
 False love is only blind. 
 
WIT IN JAIL. —LOVE FOR L VE. 297 
 THE TWINS. 
 
 WIT IN JAIL, 
 
 The Tower confines the great, 
 
 The spimging-house the poor ; 
 Thus there are degrees of state 
 
 That even the wretched must endure. 
 Virgil, though cherished in courts, 
 
 Relates but a splenetic tale : 
 Cervantes revels and sports, 
 
 Althoughvhe writ in a jail. 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 
 
 THE DUENNA. 
 LOVE FOR LOVE. 
 
 I ne'er could any lustre see 
 
 In eyes that would not look on me ; 
 
 I ne'er saw nectar on a lip, 
 
 But where my own did hope to sip. 
 
 Has the maid who seeks my heart 
 
 Cheeks of rose, untouched by art? 
 
 I will own the colour true. 
 
 When yielding blushes aid their hue. 
 
 Is her hand so soft and pure ? 
 I must press it, to be sure ; 
 Nor can I be certain then. 
 Till it, grateful, press again. 
 
298 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 
 
 Must I, with attentive eye, 
 Watch her heaving bosom sigh ? 
 I will do so, when I see 
 That heaving bosom sigh for me. 
 
 CONDITIONS OF BEAUTY. 
 
 Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast, 
 But health and good humour to make her his toast ; 
 If straight, I don't mind whether slender or fat. 
 And six feet or four — we '11 ne'er quarrel for that. 
 
 Whate'er her complexion I vow I don't care, 
 If brown, it is lasting — more pleasing, if fair : 
 And though in her face I no dimples should see, 
 Let her smile — and each dell is a dimple to me. 
 
 Let her locks be the reddest that ever were seen, 
 And her eyes may be e'en any colour but green ; 
 For in eyes, though so various the lustre and hue, 
 I swear I 've no choice — only let her have two. 
 
 'T is true I 'd dispense with a throne on her back ; 
 And white teeth, I own, are genteeler than black ; 
 A little round chin too 's a beauty, I 've heard ; 
 But I only desire she mayn't have a beard. 
 
 THE SUNSHINE OF AGE. 
 
 Oh, the days when I was young. 
 When I laughed in fortune's spite ; 
 
SUNSHINE OF AGE.— DRINKING GLEE. 299 
 
 Talked of love the whole day long, 
 And with nectar crowned the night ! 
 
 Then it was, old father Care, 
 Little recked I of thy frown ; 
 
 Half thy malice youth could bear, 
 And the rest a bumper drown. 
 
 Truth, they say, lies in a well. 
 
 Why I vow I ne'er could see ; 
 Let the water-drinkers tell, 
 
 There it always lay for me : 
 For when sparkling wine went round, 
 
 Never saw I falsehood's mask ; 
 But still honest truth I found 
 
 In the bottom of each flask. 
 
 True, at length my vigour 's flown, 
 
 I have years to bring decay ; 
 Few the locks that now I own. 
 
 And the few I have are gray. 
 Yet, old Jerome, thou mayst boast, 
 
 While thy spirits do not tire ; 
 Still beneath thy age's frost. 
 
 Glows a spark of youthful fire. 
 
 DRINKING GLEE. 
 
 This bottle 's the sun of our table. 
 
 His beams are rosy wine ; 
 We, planets, that are not able 
 
 Without his help to shine. 
 
300 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN. 
 
 Let mirth and glee abound ! 
 
 You '11 soon grow bright 
 With borrowed light, 
 And shine as he goes round ! 
 
 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. 
 LET THE TOAST PASS. 
 
 Here 's to the maiden of bashful fifteen ; 
 
 Here 's to the widow of fifty ; 
 Here 's to the flaunting extravagant quean, 
 And here 's to the housewife that 's thrifty. 
 Let the toast pass, 
 Drink to the lass, 
 I '11 warrant she '11 prove an excuse for the glass. 
 
 Here 's to the charmer whose dimples we prize, 
 
 Now to the maid who has none, sir : 
 Here 's to the girl with a pair of blue eyes. 
 And here 's to the nymph with but one, sir. 
 ' Let the toast pass, &c. 
 
 Here 's to the maid with a bosom of snow ; 
 
 Now to her that 's as brown as a berry : 
 Here 's to the wife with a face full of woe, 
 
 And now to the damsel that 's merry. 
 Let the toast pass, &c. 
 
 For let 'em be clumsy, or let 'em be sHm, 
 Young or ancient, I care not a feather ; 
 
LET THE TOAST PASS. 3OI 
 
 So fill a pint bumper quite up to the brim, 
 So fill up your glasses, nay, fill to the brim. 
 And let us e'en toast them together. 
 
 Let the toast pass, &c.^ 
 
 JOHN O'KEEFE. 
 
 1747-1833. 
 
 THE HIGHLAND REEL. 
 
 SWEET JANE OF GRISIPOLY. 
 
 Oh, had I Allan Ramsay's art 
 To sing my passion tender ! 
 
 1 These gay and flowing verses, perhaps the most popular of their 
 class in the language, are evidently modelled on the following song 
 in Suckling's play of the Goblins : — 
 
 A health to the nut-brown lass 
 With the hazel eyes, let it pass, 
 
 She that has good eyes, &c. 
 Let it pass — let it pass. 
 
 As much to the lively grey, 
 
 'T is as good in the night as the day, 
 
 She that hath good eyes, &c. 
 Drink away — drink away. 
 
 I pledge, I pledge, what ho ! some wine, 
 Here 's to thine — here 's to thine ! 
 
 The colours are divine ; 
 But oh ! the black, the black. 
 Give me as much again, and let 't be sack; 
 
 She that hath good eyes, &c. 
 
 This song was appropriated by S. Sheppard, in a comedy called 
 the Committee-man curried, 1647. Sheppard was a notorious pla- 
 giarist, and had the audacity to publish the lines without any acknow- 
 ledgment of the source from whence he stole them. 
 
302 JOHN O'KEEFE. 
 
 In every verse she 'd read my heart, 
 Such soothing strains I 'd send her : 
 
 Nor his, nor gentle Rizio's aid 
 To shew is all a folly, 
 
 How much I love the charming maid, 
 Sweet Jane of Grisipoly. 
 
 She makes me know what all desire 
 
 With such bewitching glances ; 
 Her modest air then checks my fire, 
 
 And stops my bold advances : 
 Meek as the lamb on yonder lawn. 
 
 Yet by her conquered wholly ; 
 For sometimes sprightly as the fawn. 
 
 Sweet Jane of Grisipoly. 
 
 My senses she 's bewilder'd quite, 
 
 I seem an amorous ninny ; 
 A letter to a friend I write. 
 
 For Sandy I sign Jenny : 
 Last Sunday when from church I came, 
 
 With looks demure and holy, 
 I cried, when asked the text to name, 
 
 'T was Jane of Grisipoly. 
 
 My Jenny is no fortune great. 
 
 And I am poor and lowly ; 
 A straw for power and grand estate, 
 
 Her person I love solely : 
 From every sordid, selfish view. 
 
 So free my heart is wholly ; 
 And she is kind as I am true, 
 
 Sweet Jane of Grisipoly. 
 
SERENADE. 303 
 
 HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 I 807-1 882. 
 
 THE SPANISH STUDENT. 
 
 SERENADE. 
 
 Stars of the summer night ! 
 
 Far in yon azure deeps, 
 Hide, hide your golden Hght ! 
 
 She sleeps ! 
 My lady sleeps ! 
 
 Sleeps ! 
 
 Moon of the summer night ! 
 
 Far down yon western steeps, 
 Sink, sink in silver light ! 
 
 She sleeps ! 
 My lady sleeps ! 
 
 Sleeps ! 
 
 Wind of the summer night ! 
 
 Where yonder woodbine creeps. 
 Fold, fold thy pinions light ! 
 
 She sleeps ! 
 My lady sleeps ! 
 
 Sleeps ! 
 
 Dreams of the summer night ! 
 
 Tell her, her lover keeps 
 Watch ! while in slumbers light 
 
 She sleeps ! 
 My lady sleeps ! 
 
 Sleeps ! 
 
304 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 
 ALFRED TENNYSON. 
 I 809- I 889. 
 
 QUEEN MARY. 
 THE milk-maid's SONG. 
 
 Shame upon you, Robin, 
 
 Shame upon you now ! 
 Kiss me would you ? with my hands 
 
 Milking the cow? 
 
 Daisies grow again, 
 
 Kingcups blow again. 
 And you came and kiss'd me milking the cow. 
 
 Robin came behind me, 
 
 Kiss'd me well I vow ; 
 Cuff him could I ? with my hands 
 
 Milking the cow? 
 
 Swallows fly again. 
 
 Cuckoos cry again. 
 And you came and kiss'd me milking the cow. 
 
 Come, Robin, Robin, 
 
 Come and kiss me now ; 
 Help it can I ? with my hands 
 
 Milking the cow? 
 
 Ringdoves coo again, 
 
 All things woo again, 
 Come behind and kiss me milking the cow. 
 
SONG TO THE LUTE. 305 
 
 SONG TO THE LUTE. 
 
 Hapless doom of woman happy in betrothing ! 
 Beauty passes Hke a breath and love is lost in loathing : 
 Low, my lute ; speak low, my lute, but say the world 
 
 is nothing — 
 
 Low, lute, low ! 
 Love will hover round the flowers when they first 
 
 awaken ; 
 Love will fly the fallen leaf, and not ht overtaken ; 
 Low, my lute ! oh, low, my lute ! we fade and are 
 
 forsaken — 
 
 Low, dear lute, low ! 
 
 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 1812-1889. 
 
 A BLOT IN THE 'SCUTCHEON. 
 
 THERE 'S A WOMAN. 
 
 There 's a woman like a dew-drop, she 's so purer than 
 
 the purest ; 
 And her noble heart 's the noblest, yes, and her sure 
 
 faith 's the surest : 
 And her eyes are dark and humid, like the depth on 
 
 depth of lustre 
 Hid i' the harebell, while her tresses, sunnier than the 
 
 wild-grape cluster, 
 
306 ROBERT BROWNING. 
 
 Gush in golden-tinted plenty down her neck's rose- 
 misted marble : 
 
 Then her voice's music . . . call it the well's bub- 
 bling, the bird's warble ! 
 
 \^A figure wrapped in a mantle appears at the window. 
 
 And this woman says, ' My days were sunless and my 
 nights were moonless, 
 
 Parched the pleasant April herbage, and the lark's 
 heart's outbreak tuneless. 
 
 If you loved me not ! ' And I who — (ah, for words 
 of flame !) adore her, 
 
 Who am mad to lay my spirit prostrate palpably be- 
 fore her — 
 
 \^He enters, approaches her seat, and bends over her. 
 
 I may enter at her portal soon, as now her lattice takes 
 
 me, 
 And by noontide as by midnight make her mine, as 
 
 hers she makes me ! 
 
 PIPPA PASSES. 
 
 THE year's at the SPRING. 
 
 The year 's at the spring 
 And day 's at the morn ; 
 Morning' s at seven ; 
 The hill-side 's dew-pearled ; 
 The lark 's on the wing ; 
 The snail 's on the thorn : 
 God 's in his heaven — 
 All 's right with the world ! 
 
THE GRAVE OE LOVE. 307 
 
 THE GRAVE OF LOVE. 
 
 You ''11 love me yet ! — and I can tarry 
 
 Your love's protracted growing : 
 June reared that bunch of flowers you carry, 
 
 From seeds of April's sowing. 
 
 I plant a heartful now : some seed 
 
 At least is sure to strike, 
 And yield — what you '11 not pluck indeed, 
 
 Not love, but, may be, like. 
 
 You '11 look at least on love's remains, 
 
 A grave's one violet : 
 Your look ? — that pays a thousand pains. 
 
 What 's death? You '11 love me yet ! 
 
 DION BOUCICAULT. 
 
 I 822- I 890. 
 
 ARRAH-NA-POGUE. 
 THE WEARING OF THE GREEN. 
 
 Oh, Paddy dear, and did ye hear 
 
 The news that 's goin' round? 
 The Shamrock is by law forbid 
 
 To grow on Irish ground ! 
 No more ye may on Patrick's day, 
 
 Joy with the dance an' song — 
 We thought it did the Saint no harm 
 
 But England says it 's wrong. 
 
308 DION BOUCICAULT. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 The Shamrock is forbid, the Shamrock is forbid, 
 The Shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish ground. 
 
 Oh, I met wid Napper Tandy, and 
 
 He tuck me by the hand. 
 And he axed me if Ould Ireland 
 
 At last had tuck her stand? 
 It 's the most distrissful country 
 
 That man has iver seen : 
 
 [ Very pathetically. 
 Sure they 're hanging men and women there. 
 
 For wearing of the green ! 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 For wearing of the green, for wearing of the green. 
 They are hanging men and women there, for wearing 
 of the green. 
 
 They may make their laws in Windsor, 
 
 And sind ridcoats to the fore. 
 But we 're resolved our rights to have 
 
 As Paddies ever more ! 
 Though on the sod the three-leaf's cast. 
 
 Plucked from your ould caubeen — 
 Oh, niver fear ! 't will take root there ! 
 
 And be wearing of the green. 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 A-wearing of the green, a-wearing of the green ! 
 Oh, niver fear ! 't will take root there, and be wearing 
 of the green. 
 
THE SONG OF THE SEA. 309 
 
 ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE. 
 
 1837 • 
 
 CHASTELARD. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE SEA. 
 
 Between the sunset and the sea 
 My love laid hands and hps on me ; 
 Of sweet came sour, of day came night, 
 Of long desire came brief delight : 
 Ah, love, and what thing came of thee 
 Between the sea-downs and the sea? 
 
 Between the sea-mark and the sea 
 
 Joy grew to grief, grief grew to me ; 
 
 Love turned to tears, and tears to fire, 
 
 And dead delight to new desire ; 
 
 Love's talk, love's touch there seemed to be 
 
 Between the sea-sand and the sea. 
 
 Between the sundown and the sea 
 
 Love watched one hour of love with me ; 
 
 Then down the all-golden water-ways 
 
 His feet flew after yesterday's ; 
 
 I saw them come and saw them flee 
 
 Between the sea-foam and the sea. 
 
 Between the sea-strand and the sea 
 Love fell on sleep, sleep fell on me ; 
 The first star saw twain turn to one 
 Between the moonrise and the sun ; 
 The next, that saw not love, saw me 
 Between the sea-banks and the sea. 
 
INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
 A curse upon thee, for a slave ! . 
 
 Adieu; farewell, earth's bliss 
 
 Agincourt, Agincourt ! know ye not Agincourt 
 
 Ah Chloris ! that I now could sit 
 
 Ah fading joy ! how quickly art thou passed 1 
 
 Ah, how sweet it is to love ! . . . 
 
 All a green willow, willow .... 
 
 All that glisters is not gold 
 
 All ye woods, and trees, and bowers . 
 
 Among all sorts of people .... 
 
 And to begin ...... 
 
 And will he not come again? ... 
 A nymph and a swain to Apollo once prayed 
 Arm, arm, arm, arm ! the scouts are all come i 
 Art thou god to shepherd turned 
 Art thou gone in haste ? . . . . 
 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? 
 A thing very fit . 
 
 At Venus' entreaty for Cupid her son 
 Autumn hath all the summer's fruitful treasure 
 
 Back and side go bare, go bare 
 
 Beauty, alas ! where wast thou born 
 
 Beauty arise, show forth thy glorious shining 
 
 Beauty clear and fair .... 
 
 Be merry, friends, take ye no thought 
 
 Between the sunset and the sea 
 
 Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray 
 
 Blind Cupid, lay aside thy bow 
 
 Blind love, to this hour .... 
 
 PAGE 
 182 
 
 68 
 225 
 288 
 276 
 279 
 
 14 
 
 88 
 
 148 
 
 256 
 
 12 
 
 109 
 
 293 
 
 152 
 
 98 
 
 209 
 
 203 
 
 S 
 
 59 
 
 68 
 
 26 
 64 
 204 
 133 
 17 
 309 
 190 
 217 
 277 
 
312 
 
 INDEX TO FIRST IINES. 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind . . -. . 
 Brave Don, cast your eyes on our gipsy fashions 
 Broom, Broom on hill 
 Broom, broom, the bonny broom 
 
 Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren 
 
 Can Luciamira so mistake 
 
 Can you paint a thought ? or number 
 
 Cast away care ; he that loves sorrow 
 
 Cast our caps and cares away , 
 
 Change, oh change your fatal bows . 
 
 Cold 's the wind, and wet 's the rain 
 
 Come away, away, away . 
 
 Come away, come away 
 
 Come away, come away, death 
 
 Come away, tliou lady gay 
 
 Come, come, thou glorious object of my sight 
 
 Come, follow your leader, follow 
 
 Come, Fortune 's a jade, I care not who tell he 
 
 Come hither, you that love, and hear me sing 
 
 Come, let the state stay 
 
 Come list and hark, the bell doth toll 
 
 Come, my Celia, let us prove . 
 
 Come, my children, let your feet 
 
 Come, my dainty doxies . 
 
 Come, shepherds, come ... 
 
 Come, sleep, and, with thy sweet deceivin 
 
 Come, thou monarch of the vine 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands . 
 
 Come will you buy ? for I have here . 
 
 Come, you whose loves are dead 
 
 Comforts lasting, loves encreasing 
 
 Cupid and my Campaspe played 
 
 Cupid, pardon what is past 
 
 Damon, let a friend advise ye . 
 Dearest, do not delay me . 
 
 PAGE 
 
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INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
 313 
 
 Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye 
 
 Done to death by slanderous tongues 
 
 Do nothing but eat, and make good cheer 
 
 Do not fear to put thy feet 
 
 Down, ye angry waters all ! 
 
 Drink to-day, and drown all sorrow 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes 
 
 Enter a maid ; but made a bride 
 
 Fair and fair, and twice so fair 
 
 Fair Apollo, whose bright beams 
 
 Fair summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore 
 
 Fancies are but streams 
 
 Fear no more the heat o' the sun 
 
 Fill it up, fill it up to the brink . 
 
 Fine young folly, though you were 
 
 Fly, fiy, you happy shepherds, fly! 
 
 Fly hence shadows, that do keep 
 
 Foolish, idle toys 
 
 Fools had ne'er less grace in a year 
 
 Fools, they are the only nation . 
 
 For I '11 cut my green coat, a foot above my knee 
 
 For Jillian of Berry, she dwells on a hill . 
 
 From the east to western Ind .... 
 
 From the low palace of old father Ocean . 
 
 From thy forehead thus I take .... 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies .... 
 
 Fy on sinful fantasy ! 
 
 Gently dip, but not too deep .... 
 Get you hence, for I must go . 
 Give Isaac the nymph who no beauty can boast 
 Glories, pleasures, pomps, delights and ease 
 Go, happy heart ! for thou shalt lie . 
 Golden slumbers kiss your eyes 
 
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314 
 
 INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
 Good morrow, 't is Saint Valentine's day . 
 Grieve not, fond man, nor let one tear 
 
 Hail, beauteous Dian, queen of shades 
 
 Hapless doom of woman, happy in betrothing . 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings . 
 
 Hark, now everything is still .... 
 
 Hast thou seen the down in the air . 
 
 Haymakers, rakers, reapers, and mowers . 
 
 Hear ye ladies that despise .... 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights .... 
 
 Here lies the blithe Spring .... 
 
 Here 's to the maiden of bashful fifteen 
 
 Hey dery dery, with a lusty dery 
 
 His golden locks time hath to silver turned 
 
 Honour, riches, marriage-blessing 
 
 Hot sun, cool fire, tempered with sweet air 
 
 How blessed are lovers in disguise ! . 
 
 How round the world goes, and every thing that 's in it 
 
 How should I your true love know . 
 
 I am gone, Sir ....... 
 
 I care not for these idle toys .... 
 
 I could never have the power .... 
 
 If all these Cupids now were blind . 
 
 I feed a flame within, which so torments me 
 
 If I freely may discover 
 
 If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love ? 
 If she be made of white and red . . *. . 
 I hate a fop that at his glass sits prinking half the day 
 
 I have a pretty titmouse 
 
 Immortal gods, I claim no pelf .... 
 I mun be married a Sunday .... 
 In a maiden-time professed .... 
 In a silent shade, as I sat a sunning . 
 I ne'er could any lustre see .... 
 
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INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
 315 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I neither will lend nor borrow 258 
 
 In love's name you are charged hereby ..... 255 
 
 In youth when I did love, did love no 
 
 lo Bacchus ! to thy table 52 
 
 Isis, the goddess of this land ....... 154 
 
 I smile at Love and all its arts ....... 291 
 
 I tell thee, Charmion, could I time retrieve . . . ^ . 294 
 
 It was a beauty that I saw 130 
 
 It was a lover and his lass 99 
 
 I would not be a serving-man 171 
 
 Jog on, jog on, the footpath way 
 
 102 
 
 King Stephen was a worthy peer 
 Knocks go and come 
 
 112 
 107 
 
 Ladies, though to your conquering eyes . 
 
 Lawn, as white as driven snow . 
 
 Lay a garland on my hearse 
 
 Let the bells ring, and let the boys sing . 
 
 Let those complain that feel Love's cruelty 
 
 Let us live, live ! for, being dead 
 
 Like to Diana in her summer weed . 
 
 Live with me still, and all the measures . 
 
 London, to thee I do present 
 
 Love for such a cherry lip ... 
 
 Love is a law, a discord of such force 
 
 Love is blind, and a wanton 
 
 Love is like a lamb, and love is like a lion 
 
 Love is the sire, dam, nurse, and seed 
 
 Love, love, nothing but love, still more ! . 
 
 Lovers, rejoice ! your pains shall be rewarded 
 
 Love 's a lovely lad ..... 
 
 Love 's but the frailty of the mind 
 
 Lullaby, lullaby, baby .... 
 
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i6 
 
 INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
 Maister Roister Doister will straight go home and die 
 Melampus, when will Love be void of fears ? 
 Melpomene, the muse of tragic songs 
 My Daphne's hair is twisted gold 
 
 My man Thomas 
 
 My masters, my friends, and good people, draw near 
 My shag-hair Cyclops, come, let 's ply 
 
 No, no, fair heretic, it needs must be 
 
 No, no, poor suffering heart, no change endeavour 
 
 Now does jolly Janus greet your merriment 
 
 Now fie on Love, it ill befits 
 
 Now having leisure, and a happy wind 
 
 Now the hungry lion roars 
 
 Now the lusty spring is seen 
 
 Now, until the break of day 
 
 Now what is love I will thee tell 
 
 Now, whilst the moon doth rule the sky 
 
 O cruel Love, on thee I lay 
 
 O Cupid 1 monarch over kings . 
 
 O for a bowl of fat canary . 
 
 O gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed 
 
 Oh, fair sweet face ! oh, eyes celestial bright 
 
 Oh, fair sweet goddess queen of loves 
 
 Oh, had I Allan Ramsay's art .... 
 
 Oh, how my lungs do tickle! ha, ha, ha . 
 
 Oh, no more, no more, too late 
 
 Oh, Paddy dear, and did ye hear 
 
 Oh, sorrow, sorrow, say where dost thou dwell 
 
 Oh, the days when I was young 
 
 Oh, the month of May, the merry month of May 
 
 Oh, turn thy bow ! 
 
 O, let us howl some heavy note 
 
 O Mistress mine, where are you roaming ? 
 
 On a day, (alack the day !).... 
 
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INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
 317 
 
 Once on a time, a nightingale . 
 
 Opinion, how dost thou molest 
 
 Orpheus I am, come from the deeps below 
 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees 
 
 O stay, O turn, O pity me . 
 
 O, that joy so soon should waste ! 
 
 Over hill, over dale .... 
 
 O yes, O yes, if any maid . 
 
 Pan's Syrinx was a girl indeed . 
 Pardon, goddess of the night 
 Pinch him, pinch him, black and blue 
 Pipe, merry Annot .... 
 
 Pity, pity, pity ! 
 
 Pleasures, beauty, youth attend ye . 
 
 Poor mortals, that are clogged with earth below 
 
 Prithee fill me the glass 
 
 Queen, and huntress, chaste and fair 
 
 Rise from the shades below 
 
 Roses, their sharp spines being gone 
 
 Run to love's lottery! run, maids, and rejoice 
 
 Shame upon you, Robin . 
 
 Shepherds all, and maidens fair 
 
 She 's pretty to walk with . 
 
 Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more . 
 
 Since you desire my absence . 
 
 Sing his praises that doth keep 
 
 Sing to Apollo, god of day 
 
 Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears 
 
 So beauty on the waters stood . 
 
 So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 
 
 Spite of his spite, which that in vain . 
 
 Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king 
 
 PAGE 
 
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3l8 INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Stand ! who goes there ? 47 
 
 Stars of the summer night 303 
 
 Still to be neat, still to be drest 125 
 
 Take, oh ! take those lips away 100 
 
 Take, oh ! take those lips away 164 
 
 Tell me, dearest, what is love ? 167 
 
 Tell me tidings of my mother 258 
 
 Tell me what is that only thing 175 
 
 Tell me where is fancy bred ? 88 
 
 The blushing rose, and purple flower 231 
 
 The bread is all baked 266 
 
 The fire of love in youthful blood 286 
 
 The fit 's upon me now 136 
 
 The fringed vallance of your eyes advance .... 287 
 
 The gentry to the King's Head 222 
 
 The glories of our blood and state 260 
 
 The king's most faithful subjects we 286 
 
 The master, the swabber, the boatswain, and I . . . 105 
 
 Then, in a free and lofty strain 122 
 
 Then is there mirth in heaven 99 
 
 Then our music is in prime 246 
 
 The poor soul sat singing by a sycamore tree . . . .113 
 
 There is not any wise man 212 
 
 There *s a woman like a dew-drop 305 
 
 The Spaniard loves his ancient slop 227 
 
 The Tower confines the great 297 
 
 The woosel-cock, so black of hue 85 
 
 The year 's at the spring 306 
 
 This bottle 's the sun of our table 299 
 
 This cursed jealousy, what is 't ? 263 
 
 This way, this way come, and hear 157 
 
 Thou deity, swift-winged Love 180 
 
 Thou divinest, fairest, brightest 149 
 
 Thou more than most sweet glove . . . . . . 119 
 
 Thou that art called the bright Hyperion 223 
 
INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
 319 
 
 Though I am young and cannot tell 
 Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed . 
 Through yon same bending plain 
 Thy best hand lay on this turf of grass 
 'T is, in good truth, a most wonderful thing 
 'T is late and cold ; stir up the fire . 
 'T is mirth that fills the veins with blood 
 Tobacco 's a Musician 
 Trip it, gipsies, trip it fine . 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 
 Urns and odours bring away ! . 
 
 Victorious men of earth, no more 
 Virtue's branches wither, virtue pines 
 
 Wake all the dead ! what ho ! what ho ! 
 
 Wake, our mirth begins to die . 
 
 Walking in a shady grove 
 
 Was this fair face the cause, quoth she 
 
 Wedding is great Juno's crown 
 
 Weep eyes, break heart ! . 
 
 Weep no more for what is past 
 
 Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan . 
 
 Weep, weep, ye woodmen wail . 
 
 Weep, weep, you Argonauts 
 
 Welcome, thrice welcome to this shady green 
 
 Welladay, welladay, poor Colin, thou art going 
 
 We show no monstrous crocodile 
 
 What bird so sings, yet so does wail ? 
 
 What bird so sings, yet so does wail ? 
 
 What heart can think, or tongue express . 
 
 What powerful charms my streams do bring 
 
 What shall he have that killed the deer? . 
 
 What state of life can be so blessed . 
 
 What thing is love ? for sure love is a thing 
 
 to th 
 
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320 INDEX TO FIRST LINES. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Whenas the rye reach to the chin 60 
 
 When daffodils begin to peer loi 
 
 When daisies pied, and violets blue 82 
 
 When shall we three meet again 114 
 
 When that I was and a little tiny boy 93 
 
 When travels grete in matters thick 31 
 
 When wanton love hath walked astray ..... 37 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I 106 
 
 While you here do snoring lie 104 
 
 Whither shall I go . . . . . . . . .211 
 
 Who ever saw a noble sight ....... 280 
 
 Who is Silvia ? What is she ? . . . , . .78 
 
 Who so to marry a minion wife ...... 6 
 
 Why art thou slow, thou rest of trouble, Death . . . 231 
 
 Why should this desert silent be ? 96 
 
 Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? . . . . . . 242 
 
 Will you buy any tape 103 
 
 With fair Ceres, Queen of Grain 225 
 
 With horns and with hounds, I waken the day . . . 284 
 
 Woodmen, shepherds, come away 254 
 
 Ye be welcome, ye be welcome ...... 22 
 
 Ye little birds that sit and sing 226 
 
 You '11 love me yet ! — and I can tarry ..... 307 
 
 You pleasing dreams of love and sweet delight , . . 278 
 
 Your hay it is mowed, and your corn is reaped . . .281 
 You spotted snakes, with double tongue ..... 84 
 
 You stole my love ; fy upon you, f y ! . . . . .38 
 
 You that seek to sunder love ....... 38 
 
 You twice ten hundred deities 274 
 
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