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Melodies and Madrigals; 
 
 FROM THE OLD ENGLISH POETS. 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. 
 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals." 
 
 Marlowe . 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 BUNCE AND HUNTINGTON, PUBLISHERS. 
 
 M DCCC LXVI. 
 
H\ii7 
 
 .w 
 
 i 
 
 Entered according to Aft of Congress, in the year 1865, 
 
 By Bunce and Huntington, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 
 Distria of New York. 
 
 ALVORD, PRINTER. 
 
PREFJCE. 
 
 >TpHE object which I had in view while collecting the 
 materials of this volume was, to present the English 
 Poets in their most poetical moods ; not as the makers of 
 long, sustained poems, which most of them are not, but 
 as the singers of short, sweet, unpremeditated lyrics. I 
 use the word Lyric rather than Song, because it best de- 
 scribes the selections which follow, and because I take it 
 to be a purer, as it certainly was an earlier, manifestation 
 of the element which underlies the Song. Songs, as we 
 understand them, are of comparatively recent growth. 
 There are no songs, modernly speaking, in Shakespeare 
 and the Elizabethan dramatists, but lyrics in abundance. 
 The difference between these lyrics and our songs :s 
 manifest : the one being a simple, unstudied expression of 
 thought, sentiment, or passion ; the other its expression 
 according to the mode of the day. The lyrist sang to 
 a tune within him : 
 
 ("Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard 
 Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft p : pes, play on!") 
 
The song-writer composes with a strict regard to conven- 
 tional rhythms and metres, counting his verses on his 
 fingers, uid remembering the lessons of his music-teacher. 
 The thought, the sentiment of the former depends upon 
 ths whim of the moment ; that of the latter, upon the 
 thesis which he intends to prove. Reason predominates 
 in the one, Imagination in the other. 
 
 The early periods Oi English Poetry are rich in the 
 Lyrical-element — almost as rich as in the Dramatic, with 
 which it frequently flourished — springing from its excessive 
 vitality^ like the myriad wild-flowers which light up the 
 depths of tangled woods. "The little lyrics," says Barry 
 Cornwall, c ' which are scattered, like stars, over the sur- 
 face of our old dramas, are sometimes minute, trifling, and 
 undefined in their object , but they are often eminently 
 fine ; in faff, the finest things of the kind which our lan- 
 guage possesses. There is more inspiration, more air and 
 lyrical quality about them, than in songs of ten times 
 their pretension. And this, perhaps, arises from the dra- 
 matic faculty of the writers ; who, being accustomed, in 
 other things, to shape their verse so as to suit the char- 
 acters and different purposes of the drama, naturally extend 
 this care to the fashion of the songs themselves. In cases 
 where a writer speaks in his own person, he expends all 
 his egotism upon his lyrics ; and requires that a critic 
 should be near to curtail his misdeeds. When he writes 
 
as a dramatist, he is, or ought to be, the critic himself. 
 He is not, so to speak, at all implicated in what is going 
 forward in the poem ; but deals out the dialogue like an 
 indifFerent bystander, seeking only to adjust it to the 
 necessities of the aftors. He is above the struggle and 
 turmoil of the battle below, and 
 
 * Sees, as from a tower, the end of all,* 
 
 It is, in fail, this power of forgetting himself, and of im- 
 agining and fashioning characters different from his own, 
 which constitutes the dramatic quality. A man who can 
 set aside his own idiosyncrasy, is half a dramatist.'* 
 
 The lyrics of what we rather loosely call the Eliza- 
 bethan Poets, — a classification which frequently embraces 
 their successors in the reign of James the First, — are, it 
 seems to me, the finest specimens of poetry, "pure and 
 simple," in the whole range of English Literature. Their 
 chief characteristic is naturalness, — real or apparent, it is 
 not easy, in all cases, to decide which. What we call Art 
 (which is often. but another name for artifice), appears 
 never to have crossed the minds of their singers, at least 
 while they were singing ; to listen to them is like listening 
 to the song of the lark. 
 
 The poets of Charles the First's time — accomplished, 
 courtly gentlemen that they were — delighted in the Lyric, 
 which, however, had begun to lose its early simplicity : it 
 
was graceful, it was elegant, but it w r as studied, mannered, 
 
 affected. 
 
 u The hour 
 
 Of glory in the grass, of freshness in the flower," 
 
 had passed away. What it was in the reign of Charles 
 the Second, and later, the reader may see for himself, in 
 the specimens of that period which I have given, and 
 which are the best that I could find, indifferent as, I fear, 
 many of them are. 
 
 The Eighteenth Century was almost destitute of Lyrics, 
 though it abounded in what were by courtesy called Songs, 
 most of which appear to have been composed by that 
 celebrated Myth, " A Person of Quality," and his, or her, 
 immediate connections — 
 
 " The mob of gentlemen who wrote with ease." 
 
 Peace to their ashes ! I could not find it in my heart 
 to disturb them, entombed as they are in the ponderous 
 collections of Johnson, Anderson, and Chalmers. Barren 
 as the last century was in poetry of a high order, its close 
 witnessed the revival of the Lyrical-element, which may be 
 traced, I think, to two causes, — the publication of Bishop 
 Percy's " Reliques of Ancient English Poetry" and the 
 songs of Burns — a born poet, if there ever was one, who 
 ruled as supremely over his "scanty plot of ground" as 
 Shakespeare over his Universe. 
 
What the lyrics of the present time are, the reader 
 may be supposed to know. They will not compare with 
 those of the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries, but 
 they are genuine, as far as they go. The best of them, 
 to my thinking, are Barry Cornwall's — a venerable name, 
 which must soon pass from amongst us. 
 
 The arrangement adopted here is that which should 
 always obtain in works of this nature, viz., the chrono- 
 logical one. The lyrics of each poet are placed in the 
 order in which they were written, so far as I could ascer- 
 tain it, and the whole in strict succession of time. Where 
 several are taken from one poet, as in the case of 
 Shakespeare and Fletcher, the date of the earliest deter- 
 mines his place in the century. Shakespeare, for instance, 
 is placed in the year 1592, the date assigned by Dyce to 
 "Love's Labour's Lost;" and Fletcher in 1610, the 
 date of the publication of his "Faithful Shepherdess" 
 Where an author's works were not published until after 
 his death, the lyric, or lyrics, selected therefrom, are, of 
 course, placed before his death. In such cases one can 
 only approximate to correct chronology : certainty is im- 
 possible. The student of English Poetry will detect, in 
 most cases, the reasons which have influenced me in assign- 
 ing the conjectural dates. Had I made the collection 
 for him alone, I would have added annotations of all sorts, 
 which, by-the-way, I could hardly restrain myself from 
 
doing. But, working for the general reader, who seldom 
 cares for the laborious trifles of the scholar, however curi- 
 ous they may be, I have let the poets speak for themselves, 
 without note or comment from me. The text is as pure 
 as I could make it. I dare not flatter myself, however, 
 that it is absolutely pure, so much have the old poets been 
 tampered with by those who have edited them, and those 
 who have quoted from them. In the matter of spelling, 
 punctuation, etc., I have conformed to the usage of to-day, 
 not being able to see the sacredness of the old style of 
 typography, — the phonographic spelling of the author, 
 the whims of his printers, and the blunders of the press 
 
 generally. 
 
 R. H. S. 
 
 New York, November i, 1865. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 • PAG 3 
 
 An Earneft Suit Sir Thomas Wyatt i 
 
 A Praise of his Love Henry Howard (Earl of Surrey) 2 
 
 A Sonnet John Harington 4 
 
 A Ditty Sir Philip Sidney 5 
 
 Of his Cynthia Fulke Greville [Lord Brooke) 5 
 
 Song J 0HN Lyly 7 
 
 Song John Lyly 7 
 
 Song J 0HN Lyly S 
 
 Madrigal Mus.'CA Transalpina 9 
 
 Madrigal Music a Transalpina 9 
 
 The Herdsman's Happy Life Byrd's Songs 10 
 
 Rosalindas Madrigal Thomas Lodge i i 
 
 The Silent Lover Sir Walter Raleigh 13 
 
 Phillida and Cory don Nicholas Breton 15 
 
 A Paftoral of Phillis and Cory don Nicholas Breton i 6 
 
 Song George Peele 17 
 
 The Pajfionate Shepherd to his Love Christopher Marlowe 17 
 
 A Dirge Thomas Nash 19 
 
 Song Thomas Nash 21 
 
 Philomela's Ode Robert Greene 21 
 
 " On a day, [alack the day!)" William Shakespeare 23 
 
 "Over hill, over dale" William Shakespeare 23 
 
 Song William Shakespeare :} 
 
 Song William Shakespeare 25 
 
pa.;: 
 
 Song William Shakespeare 25 
 
 Song William Shakespeare 2,6 
 
 Song William Shaklspeare 2^ 
 
 Song William Shakespeare 2S 
 
 Song William Shakespeare 2g 
 
 Song William Shakespeare 29 
 
 Song William Shakespeare 29 
 
 Song William Shakespeare 30 
 
 Song William Shakespeare 30 
 
 Song J 0HN Donne 31 
 
 Aladrigal Wilbye's Madrigals 33 
 
 Madrigal Wilbye's Madrigals 33 
 
 Madrigal Wilbye's Madrigals 34 
 
 Madrigal ! Wilbye's Madrigals 34 
 
 Madrigal Wilbye's Madrigals 3 5 
 
 Spring-Sorg Weel „es' s Ballals 3 5 
 
 An Ode R.cha.-.d Barnef.eld 36 
 
 Song Thomas Dekker 38 
 
 To the Spring S;r John Davies 39 
 
 The Coy Maiden's Consent Farmer's English Madrigals 40 
 
 The Flight of Phillis Farmer's English Madrigals 40 
 
 Darnclus" Song Henry Constable 41 
 
 The Nymphs, meeting, etc Thomas Watson 42 
 
 False Dorus Morley's Madrigals 43 
 
 Invocation to Night Dovvland's Book of Songs 43 
 
 To Cynthia Dowland's Book of Songs 44 
 
 His Lady's Grief Dovvland's Book of Songs 43 
 
 Madrigal Weelkes's Madrigals 46 
 
 Madrigal Weelkes's Madrigals 47 
 
 Of Corinna's Singing Thomas Campion 47 
 
 Madrigal Thomas Campion 48 
 
 A Song Davison's Poetical Rhapsody 49 
 
 ■ . ■ -■- 
 
Ode Davison's Poetical Rhapsody 50 
 
 Madrigal Davison's Poetical Rhapsody 51 
 
 Madrigal Weelkes's Madrigals 51 
 
 There is a Garden Allison's Hour's Recreation in Music 53 
 
 Song..... Sir Robert Ayton 53 
 
 Madrigal Bateson's Madrigals 54 
 
 Song Thomas H eywood 54 
 
 Madrigal Weelkes's Airs 5 5 
 
 Song Ben Jonson 56 
 
 To Celia Ben Jonson 56 
 
 To Celia Ben Jonson 57 
 
 The Triumph of Chan's Ben Jonson 53 
 
 The booing Song of Panglory Giles Fletcher 59 
 
 Song .' John Fletcher 61 
 
 Song John Fletcher 61 
 
 Song John Fletcher 62, 
 
 Song J OHN Fletcher 63 
 
 Song J 0HN Fletcher 63 
 
 Song John Fletcher 64 
 
 Madrigal Pilkington's Madrigals 65 
 
 " Shall I, wafting in despair?' 1 '' George Wither 65 
 
 " Call for the robin redbreaji and the •wren" J OHN Webster 67 
 
 "Hark, now every thing is JIM" J 0HN Webster 67 
 
 "All the flowers of the Spring" John Webster 68 
 
 Madrigal Ward's Madrigals 69 
 
 The Characlcr of a Happy Life Sir Henry Wotton 69 
 
 On his Mijiress, the ^ucen of Bohemia Sir Henry Wotton 70 
 
 The Indifferent ...' Francis Beaumont 71 
 
 Madrigal William Drummond 72 
 
 A Kiss William Drummond 73 
 
 Def red Death William Drummond 73 
 
 To Sleep William Drummond 74 
 
PAGE 
 
 "Shall I tell you ivhom I love?" William Browne 74 
 
 Song William Browne 75 
 
 Sonv Samuel Daniel 76 
 
 Song Samuel Daniel 77 
 
 Song Nathaniel Field 78 
 
 The Crier Michael Drayton 78 
 
 Song William Herbert (Earl of Pembroke) 79 
 
 Song Leonard Digges 80 
 
 Song Maxkham and Sampson 81 
 
 Song Thomas Goffe 82 
 
 Song Robert Gomersall 82 
 
 A Song, for the Mufic Leclure Robert Gomersall 83 
 
 Song Thomas Randolph 84 
 
 Song Philip Massinger 85 
 
 Virtue George Herbert 85 
 
 Disdain Returned Thomas Carew 86 
 
 Song Thomas Carew 87 
 
 Song Thomas Carew 88 
 
 Song John Ford 88 
 
 Dirge Joh n Ford 8 ) 
 
 Song Samuel Rowley 90 
 
 To Roses in the Bosom cf Cafara William Habington 90 
 
 Upon Cajlara's Departure William Habington 91 
 
 Song J oh n Milton 92 
 
 Song John Milton 93 
 
 Song Henry Killigrew 94 
 
 Song Sir John Suckling 95 
 
 Song JSir John Suckling 96 
 
 Of a Miftresi Thomas Nabbes 97 
 
 Song Henry Glapthorne 97 
 
 Out of the Italian Richard Crashaw 98 
 
 Dirge Sicily and Naples : a Tragedy 100 
 
I'Ai'.I 
 
 To Cynthia Sir Francis Kinaston ioi 
 
 Song Sir John Denham 103 
 
 To Althea. From Prison Richard Lovelace 103 
 
 Song Richard Lovelace 105 
 
 A ValediBion William Cartwright 105 
 
 On a Girdle Edmund Waller 106 
 
 Go, Lovely Rose Edmund Waller 107 
 
 The Pajjing-Bcll James Shirley 108 
 
 Song James Shirley ic8 
 
 Song. — Celia in Love, Martin Lluellin 109 
 
 Honour Abraham Cowley i 10 
 
 Cherry-ripe Robert Herrick hi 
 
 To Meadows Robert Herrick: 112 
 
 To Primroses filed with Morning Dew Robert Herrick 113 
 
 To Daffodils Robert Herrick 114 
 
 To Bloffoms Robert Herrick 115 
 
 To Virgins, to make much of Time Robert Herrick 116 
 
 The Night-piece, to Julia Robert Herrick 117 
 
 To the Weftern Wind Robert Herrick 118 
 
 To the Water-Nymphs Robert Herrick 118 
 
 To Eleclra Robert Herrick 119 
 
 Song Thomas May 119 
 
 The Retreat Henry Vaughan 120 
 
 The Shower Henry Vaughan 121 
 
 Song Robert Cox 121 
 
 The Exequies Thomas Stanley 123 
 
 Love Once, Love Ever Sir Edward Sherburne 124 
 
 Song Robert Baron 125 
 
 The Angler's Wift Izaak Walton 125 
 
 AmintoSs Well-a-Day H. Hughes 127 
 
 To Amanda, leaving him alone N. Hookes 128 
 
 Song Sir Richard Fanshaw 129 
 
 xiii 
 
PAGE 
 
 Song Richard Flecknoe 230 
 
 On Ch/oris walking in the Snoiv Wit's Recreations 130 
 
 Song Henry King (Bijhop of Chichefier) 131 
 
 Fairy Song Mysteries of Love and Eloquence 132 
 
 Song Thomas Ford 134 
 
 To the Inconjlant Cynthia Sir Robert Howard 135 
 
 Song PHILON AX LoVEKIN I 3 6 
 
 Song Sir George Etherege 136 
 
 The Resolve Alexander Brome 137 
 
 On Claret Alexander Brome 138 
 
 Song , Sir William Davenant 139 
 
 Song Sir William Davenant 140 
 
 To Chloris Charles Cotton 141 
 
 Song Sir Charles Sedley 142 
 
 Song S r Charles Sedley 143 
 
 Out of Lye of hr on Sir Charles Sedley 143 
 
 Song The Academy of Compliments 144 
 
 Lovers Bravo Thomas Flatman 145 
 
 Song Sir Francis Fane 146 
 
 Uncertain Love Thomas Duffett 146 
 
 The Mower to the Gloiu-ivorms Andrew Marvell 147 
 
 Love and Life John Wilmot [Earl of Roc hejler) 148 
 
 Song J 0HN Sheffield [Duke of Buckingham) 149 
 
 Song Robert Gould 149 
 
 An Incantation John Dryden I 50 
 
 Ode on Solitude Alexander Pope 151 
 
 Song Mathew Prior 152 
 
 Dirge in Cymbeline William Collins 153 
 
 A Bacchanalian Thomas Chatterton 154 
 
 A Red, Red Rose Robert Burns 154 
 
 Song Samuel Taylor Coleridge 155 
 
 Choral Song Samuel Taylor Coleridge 156 
 
 xiv 
 
PAOK 
 
 Song Thomas Moore 156 
 
 " Nightingale ! thou surely art" William Wordsworth 157 
 
 To the Lady Anne Hamilton Hon. William Robert Spencer 158 
 
 Song Sir Walter Scott 159 
 
 '« Wafted, weary, wherefore ftay ". Sir Walter Scott 159 
 
 She Walks in Beauty Lord Byron 160 
 
 Song John Keats 161 
 
 A Fragment John Keats 162 
 
 Song Percy Bysshe Shelley 163 
 
 Love's Philosophy Percy Bysshe Shelley 163 
 
 Song Percy Bysshe Shelley 164 
 
 Song to May Lord Thurlow 166 
 
 Song to the Evening Star Thomas Campbeil 167 
 
 Song Thomas Lovell Beddoes 168 
 
 Dirge Thomas Lovell Beddoes 169 
 
 A Sono- Thomas Lovell Beddoes 170 
 
 Ballad Thomas Hood 171 
 
 Ballad Thomas Hood 172 
 
 Nephons Song George Darley 172 
 
 A Serenade George Darley 174 
 
 " Siveet in her green dell the flower " etc George Darley 175 
 
 The Cavalier's Song William Motherwell 176 
 
 Song Hartley Coleridge 177 
 
 Song Henry Taylor 177 
 
 The Blackbird James Montgomery 178 
 
 A Phantasy Bryan Waller Procter 179 
 
 The Farewell of the Soldier Bryan Waller Procter 180 
 
 A Bridal Dirge Bryan Waller Procter 181 
 
 A Bacchanalian Song Bryan Waller Procter 182 
 
 Song Robert Browning 183 
 
 Song Robert Browning 184 
 
 Song Robert Browning 184 
 
The Loft Miftress Robert Browning 185 
 
 Rondeau Leigh Hunt 185 
 
 Cupid Sivalloived Leigh Hunt 186 
 
 Song "Walter Savage Landor 186 
 
 Song Walter Savage Landor 187 
 
 Song Walter Savage Landor 187 
 
 Song Walter Savage Landor 188 
 
 The Age of Wisdom William Makepeace Thackeray 189 
 
 Song Charles Kingslev 190 
 
 Song Charles Kingsley 191 
 
 " Thy -voice is heard," etc Alfred Tennyson 191 
 
 "As through the land at eve ivc tvent'''' Alfred Tennyson 192 
 
 " Siveet and lotv, siveet and loiv" Alfred Tennyson 192 
 
 " Come not token I am dead" Alfred Tennyson 193 
 
 The Sentences Coventry Patmore 193 
 
 The Revelation Coventry Patmore 194 
 
E D M UN D C LARENC E S T E D M A N, 
 
 POET, SCHOLAR, GENTLEMAN 
 
 WITH THE LOVE OF HIS FRIEND 
 
 R H. S. 
 
The courts of kings hear no such (trains 
 As daily lull the ruflic swains." 
 
 England's Helicon. 
 
 M 1 would rather than forty fhillings I had my book of songs 
 and sonnets here." 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 • Mark it, Cesario ; it is old and plain : 
 The spinfters and the knitters in the sun, 
 And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones, 
 Do use to chant it ; it is filly sooth, 
 And dallies with the innocence of love, 
 Like the old age." 
 
 Twelfth Night. 
 
 u They were old-fafhioned poetry, but choicely good, I think 
 much better than the ftrong lines that are now in fafhion in this 
 critical age." 
 
 Ixaat Walton. 
 
Melodies and Madrigals 
 
 AN EARNEST SUIT 
 
 TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT T~0 FORSAKE HIM. 
 
 jri ND ivilt thou leave me thus ? 
 Say nay, say nay, for jha?ne I 
 To save thee from the blame 
 Of all my grief and grame. 
 And nvilt thou leave me thus ? 
 Say nay, say nay ! 
 
 And -ivilt thou leave me thus? 
 That hath loved thee so long, 
 In vjealth and vjoe among? 
 And is thy heart so ftrong 
 As for to leave me thus ? 
 Say nay, say nay I 
 
III. 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus? 
 That hath given thee my heart, 
 Never for to depart ; 
 Neither for pain nor smart : 
 And nvilt thou leave me thus? 
 Say nay, say nay ! 
 
 And vjilt thou leave me thus? 
 And have no more pity 
 Of him that loveth thee? 
 Alas, thy cruelty I 
 And wilt thou leave me thus? 
 Say nay, say nay! 
 
 Sir Thomas Wyatt. 
 
 A PRAISE OF HIS LOVE, 
 
 WHEREIN HE REPROTETH THEM THAT COMPARE THEIR 
 
 LADIES WITH HIS. 
 
 [1535?] 
 
 Give place, ye lovers, here before 
 
 That spent your boa/Is and brags in vain ; 
 
 My lady's beauty paffeth more 
 
 The bejl of yours, I dare well sayen, 
 
 Than doth the sun the candle light, 
 
 Or brightejl day the darkeji night. 
 
And thereto Jiath a troth as juft 
 As had Penelope the fair ; 
 For what (he saith, ye may it truft, 
 As it by writing sealed were: 
 And virtues hath /he many mo 
 Than I with pen have /kill to Jhonv. 
 
 I could rehearse, if that I would, 
 The whole effecl of Nature 's plaint, 
 When fhe had loft the perfecl mould 
 The like to 'whom fhe could not paint : 
 With wringing hands, how fhe did cry, 
 And what Jhe said, I know it, aye. 
 
 I know fhe swore with raging mind, 
 Her kingdom only set apart, 
 There was no loss by law of kind 
 That could have gone so near her heart, 
 And this was chiefly all her pain : 
 " She could not make the like again." 
 
 Sith Nature thus gave her the praise, 
 To be the chief eft work Jhe wrought : 
 In faith, methink, some better ways 
 On your behalf might well be sought, 
 Than to compare, as ye have done, 
 To match the candle with the sun. 
 
 Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey. 
 
A SONNET. 
 
 MADE ON ISABELLA MARKHAM, WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT HER 
 FAIR, AS SHE STOOD AT THE PRINCESS'S WINDOW IN GOOD- 
 LY ATTIRE, AND TALKED TO DIVERS IN THE COURT-YARD. 
 
 [1564.] 
 I. 
 
 JV HENCE comes ?ny love? O heart, disclose! 
 ' Twas from cheeks that Jhamed the rose : 
 From lips that spoil the ruby's praise; 
 From eyes that ??iock the diamonds blaze. 
 Whgnce comes ?ny woe as freely own ; 
 Ah, yne ! 'twas from a heart like (lone. 
 
 The blnjhi?ig cheek speaks modejl mind, 
 The lips befitting words mo/l kind; 
 The eye does tempt to love's defire, 
 And seems to say, 'tis Cupid's fire : 
 Yet all so fair but speak my moan, 
 Sith naught doth say the heart of jlone. 
 
 Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak 
 Sweet lip, sweet eye, sweet blujhing cheek, 
 Vet not a heart to save my pain ? 
 O Venus, take thy gifts again! 
 Make not so fair to cause our moan, 
 Or make a heart that's like our own. 
 
 John Harington 
 
a ditty. 
 
 [i 5 8o?j 
 
 1. 
 
 Mr true love hath my heart, and I have his, 
 By ju/l exchange one for another given ; 
 
 / hold his dear, and ?nine he cannot miss; 
 There never was a better bargain driven. 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 His heart in ?ne keeps him and ?ne in one; 
 
 My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : 
 He loves my heart, for once it voas his o-zvu ; 
 / cheri/h his, because in ?ne it bides. 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 Sir Philip Sidney. 
 
 OF HIS CYNTHIA. 
 
 [1580?] 
 1. 
 
 AlVAY vjith these self-loving lads, 
 IVhom Cupid' 's arrovj never glads; 
 Avjay, poor souls, that Jigh and vueep, 
 In love of them that lie and fleep : 
 For Cupid is a merry god, 
 And forceth none to kiss the rod. 
 
Sweet Cupid's /hafts, like dejliny, 
 
 Do causeless good or ill decree: 
 
 Desert is borne out of his bow, 
 
 Reward upon his wing doth go. 
 
 What fools are they that have not known 
 That love likes no laws but his own ! 
 
 My songs they be of Cynthia's praise, 
 I wear her rings on holy-days; 
 On every tree I write her ?iame, 
 And every day I read the same. 
 
 Where Honour Cupid^s rival is, 
 There miracles are seen of his. 
 
 If Cynthia crave her ring of me, 
 I blot her name out of the tree. 
 If doubt do darken things held dear, 
 Then well-fare nothing once a year. 
 For many run, but one mu/l win, 
 Fools only hedge the cuckoo in. 
 
 The worth that worthiness Jhould move, 
 
 Is love, which is the due of love ; 
 
 And love as well the Jhepherd can, 
 
 As can the mighty nobleman. 
 
 Sweet nymph, "'tis true, you worthy be, 
 Yet without love, naught worth to me. 
 
 Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1584.] 
 
 Cupid and my Campaspe played 
 
 At cards for kisses, Cupid paid ; 
 
 He /lakes 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 ons cheek, {but none knows how) 
 
 With these the cryftal of his brow, 
 
 And then the dimple of his chin ; 
 
 All these did my Campaspe win. 
 
 At la/l he set her both his eyes ; 
 
 She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
 
 O Love ! has (he done this to thee ? 
 
 What /hall, alas ! become of me P 
 
 John Lyly. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1584.] 
 What bird so Jings, yet so does wail ? 
 O "tis the ravijhed nightingale. 
 " J u g> J u g> J u g> J u g> term? jhe cries, 
 And /lill her woes at midnight rise. 
 Brave prick song! who is't now we hear? 
 None but the lark so /brill and clear; 
 Now at heaven s gates /he claps her wings, 
 The morn not waking till Jhe Jings. 
 
Hark, hark, nvith <vohat a pretty t/iroat 
 Poor robin redbreafl tunes his note; 
 Hark, how the jolly cuckoos Jing, 
 Cuckoo, to ^welcome in the Spring! 
 Cuckoo, to welcome in the Spring ! 
 
 John Lyly 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [159*.] 
 
 Pan's Syrinx was a girl indeed, 
 Though no-iv /he's turned into a reed] 
 From that dear reed Pan's pipe does come, 
 A pipe that Jlrikes Apollo dumb j 
 Nor flute, nor lute, nor gittern can 
 So chant it as the pipe of Pan. 
 Crojf-gartered swains and dairy girls, 
 With faces smug and round as pearls, 
 When Pans Jhrill pipe begins to play, 
 With dancing wear out night and day ; 
 The bagpipe's drone his hum lays by, 
 When Pan sounds up his min/lrelsy. 
 His minfirelsy, O base! This quill, 
 Which at my mouth with wind I fill, 
 Puts me in mind, though her I miss, 
 That jiill my Syrinx' lips I kiss. 
 
 John Lyly. 
 
 
MADRIGAL. 
 
 [1588.] 
 
 Sleep, jleep, mine only jewel, 
 Much more thou do/l delight me, 
 
 Than my beloved, too cruel, 
 That hid her face to spite me. 
 
 Thou bring /I her home full nigh me, 
 While jhe so fajl did fly me. 
 By thy means I behold those eyes so Jhining, 
 Long time absented, that now look appeased; 
 
 Thus is my grief declining : 
 Thou in my dreams do/l make dejire well pleased. 
 Sleep, if thou be like death, as thou art feigned, 
 A happy life by such a death were gained. 
 
 Musica Trans alpina. 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 [1588.] 
 
 Like as from heaven the dew full softly /hoovering, 
 Doth fill and so refrejh both fields and closes, 
 
 Filling the parched flowers with sap and savour ; 
 So while Jhe bathed the violets and roses, 
 Upon her lovely cheeks so frejhly flowering, 
 
 The Spring renewed his force with her sweet favour. 
 
 Musica Transalpina. 
 
THE HERDSMAN'S HAPPY LIFE. 
 
 [1588.] 
 
 Jl'iiAT pleasure have great princes, 
 More dainty to their choice, 
 
 Then herdsmen woild i -ivho, careless, 
 In quiet life rejoice, 
 
 And fortune's fate not fearing, 
 
 Sing s-zveet jn summer morning P 
 
 Their dealings, plain and rightful, 
 
 Are --void of all deceit ; 
 They never kno c w koiv spiteful 
 
 It is to kneel and -wait, 
 On favourite presumptuous, 
 Whose pride is -vain and sumptuous. 
 
 All day their flocks each tendeth, 
 At night they take their reft, 
 
 More quiet than -zvho sendeth 
 His /hip into the EafI, 
 
 Where gold and pearl are plenty, 
 
 But getting -very dainty. 
 
 For la-tvyers and their pleading 
 They '/leem it not a ftra-zv ,• 
 
 They think that hone/l meaning 
 Is of itself a la-zv ; 
 
 Where conscience judgeth plainly, 
 
 They spend no mo?iey -vainly 
 
O happy who thus liueth ! 
 
 Not caring much for gold ; 
 With clothing which sufficeth 
 
 To keep him from the cold : 
 Though poor and plain his diet, 
 Yet merry it is, and quiet. 
 
 Byrd's Songs. 
 
 ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL 
 
 [1590.] 
 
 Love in my bosom like a bee 
 
 Doth suck his sweet j 
 Now with his wings he plays with me, 
 
 Now with his feet. 
 Within mine eyes he makes his nejl, 
 His bed amid/l my tender brea/l ; 
 My kijfes are his daily fea/l, 
 And yet he robs me of ?ny reft. 
 
 Ah, wanton, will ye ? 
 
 And if I fleep, then percheth he 
 
 With pretty flight, 
 And makes his pillow of my knee, 
 
 The live-long night. 
 
Strike I my lute, he tunes the firing 
 He mufic plays if I do Jing ; 
 He lends me every lovely thing: 
 Yet cruel he my heart doth /ling. 
 Whiji, wanton, Jlill ye ! 
 
 Else I nvith roses every day 
 
 Will whip you hence ; 
 And bind you when you long to play, 
 
 For your offence. 
 Til Jhut mine eyes to keep you in, 
 Til make you fajl it for your fin, 
 Til count your power not worth a pin 
 Alas, what hereby /hall I win, 
 
 If he gainsay me ? 
 
 What if I beat the wanton boy, 
 
 With many a rod? 
 He will repay me with annoy, 
 
 Because a god. 
 Then ft thou safely on my knee, 
 And let thy bower my bosom be: 
 Lurk in ?nine eyes, I like of thee. 
 O Cupid! so thou pity me, 
 
 Spare not, but play thee! 
 
 Thomas Lodge. 
 
THE SILENT LOVER. 
 
 [1590 ?] 
 1. 
 
 Passions are likened beft to floods and jlreams -, 
 The Jhallow ?nurmur, but the deep are dumb : 
 
 So, when affetlions yield discourse, it seems 
 The bottom is but /hallow whence they come. 
 
 They that are rich in words, in words discover 
 
 That they are poor in that which makes a louver 
 
 Wrong not, sweet empress of my heart, 
 
 The merit of true paflion, 
 With thinking that he feels no smart, 
 
 That sues for no compajfwn : 
 
 Since, if my plaints serve ?iot to approve 
 
 The conquejl of thy beauty, 
 It comes not from defetl of love, 
 
 But from excess of duty : 
 
 For, knowing that I sue to serve 
 A saint of such perfection, 
 
 As all dejire, but none deserve, 
 A place in her affection, 
 
/ rather choose to want relief, 
 Than venture the revealing; 
 
 Where glory recommends the grief, 
 Despair dijlrujis the healing. 
 
 Thus those defires that ai?n too high 
 
 For any mortal lover, 
 IV hen reason camiot make t)ie?n die, 
 
 Discretion doth them cover. 
 
 Yet, when discretion doth bereave 
 The plaints that they Jhould utter, 
 
 Then thy discretion may perceive 
 That Jilence is a suitor 
 
 Silence in love bewrays more vsoe 
 Than words, though ne"er so witty ; 
 
 The beggar that is dumb, you know, 
 May challenge double pity ! 
 
 Then wrong not, dearejl to my heart, 
 
 My true, though secret pajfwn ; 
 He smarteth moll that hides his smart, 
 
 And sues for no companion. 
 
 S:r Walter Raleigh. 
 
PHIL LI DA AND CORY DON. 
 
 [1591.] 
 Ix the merry ?nontJi of May, 
 In a morn by break of Jay, 
 With a troop of damsels playing, 
 Forth I yode forsooth a maying. 
 When anon by a woodfide, 
 Where that May was in his pride, 
 I espied all alone 
 Phillida and Corydon. 
 Much ado there was, God wot, 
 He would love, and Jhe would not ; 
 She said, never man was true; 
 He says, none was false to you. 
 He said, he had loved her long ; 
 She says, love Jhould have no wrong. 
 Corydon would kiss her then ; 
 She says, ??iaids mujl kiss no men, 
 Till they do for good and all : 
 When Jhe made the fhepherd call 
 All the heavens to witness truth, 
 Never loved a truer youth. 
 Then with many a pretty oath, 
 Tea and nay, and faith and troth, 
 Such as filly Jhepherds use, 
 When they will not love abuse, 
 Love, that had been long deluded, 
 Was with kiffes sweet concluded; 
 And Phillida, with garlands gay, 
 Was made the Lady of the May. 
 
 Nicholas Breton. 
 
A PASTORAL OF PHILLIS AND CORYDON. 
 
 [ 1600.1 
 
 On a hill there grows a flower, 
 Fair befall the dainty sweet: 
 
 By that flower there is a bower 
 Where the heavenly Muses meet. 
 
 In that bower there is a chair, 
 Fringed all about with gold, 
 
 Where doth fit the fairefk fair 
 That ever eye did yet behold. 
 
 It is Phillis, fair and bright, 
 She that is the Jhepherd"s joy : 
 
 She that Venus did despite, 
 And did blind her little boy. 
 
 This is Jhe, the wise, the rich, 
 That the world defires to see: 
 
 This is ipsa qua, the which 
 There is none but only Jhe. 
 
 Who would not this face admire ? 
 
 Who would not this saint adore? 
 Who would not this fight defire, 
 
 Though he thought to see no more? 
 
 O fair eyes ! yet let me see 
 
 One good look, and I am gone. 
 
 Look 07i me, for I am he, 
 Thy poor filly Cory don. 
 
Thou that art the jhepherd's queen. 
 
 Look upon thy filly swain ; 
 By thy comfort have been seen 
 
 Dead men brought to life again. 
 
 Nicholas Brkton. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 WHAT thing is love? for sure love is a thing; 
 
 Love is a prick, love is a fling, 
 
 Love is a pretty, pretty thing, 
 
 Love is a fire, love is a coal, 
 
 Whose flame creeps in at every hole; 
 
 And, as myself can befl devise, 
 
 His dvoelling is in ladies* eyes, 
 
 From vohence he flioots his dainty darts 
 
 Into the lufly gallants" hearts : 
 
 And ever flnce nvas called a god 
 
 That Mars and Venus played even and odd. 
 
 George Peele. 
 
 THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 
 
 [159*?] 
 I. 
 Come live vjith me, and be my love, 
 And voe nvill all the pleasures prove, 
 That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, 
 Woods, or fleepy mountains yields. 
 
And we n.v ill fit upon the rocks, 
 Seeing the Jhepherds feed their flocks, 
 By Jhalloiv rivers, to whose falls 
 Melodious birds fing madrigals. 
 
 And I -zv ill ?nakc thee beds of roses, 
 And a thousand fragrant pojies, 
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
 Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle 
 
 A gown made of the finejl wool, 
 Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
 Fair-lined flippers for the cold, 
 With buckles of the pureft gold. 
 
 A belt of Jlraw and ivy-buds, 
 With coral clasps and amber Jluds. 
 And if these pleasures may thee ?novc, 
 Come live with me, and be my love. 
 
 The jhepherd swains /ball dance and jing 
 For thy delight each May-morning. 
 If these delights thy mind may move, 
 Then live with me, and be my love. 
 
 Christopher Marlowe. 
 
A DIRGE. 
 
 Adieu ; farewell earth" s bliss, 
 'This world uncertain is: 
 Fond are life's luflful joys, 
 Death proves them all but toys. 
 None from his darts can fly : 
 I am Jick, I mujl die. 
 
 Lord, have mercy on us'. 
 
 Rich men, trujl not in wealth ; 
 Gold cannot buy you health ; 
 Phyfic himself mujl fade ; 
 All things to end are made; 
 The plague full swift goes by : 
 I am Jick, I mujl 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 fah 
 Dujl hath closed Helens eye: 
 I am Jick, I mujl die. 
 
 Lord, have mercy on us! 
 
Strength (loops unto the grave < 
 Worms feed on Heclor brave. 
 Swords may not fight with fate 
 Earth ftill holds ope her gate. 
 Come, come, the hells do cry ,• 
 / am Jick, I mujl die. 
 
 Lord, have mercy on us ! 
 
 Wit with his wantonness 
 Ta/leth death's bitterness. 
 Hell's executioner 
 Hath no ears for to hear 
 What vain art can reply, 
 I am Jick, I mujl die. 
 
 Lord, have mercy on us! 
 
 Hajle therefore each degree 
 To welcome dejliny : 
 Heaven is our heritage, 
 Earth but a players Jlage. 
 Mount we unto the jky ; 
 I am Jick, I mujl die. 
 
 Lord, have mercy on us! 
 
 Thomas Nash. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1592.] 
 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the years pleasant King 
 Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring; 
 Cold doth not fting, the pretty birds do fing, 
 Cuckoo, jug, jug, pit we, to nvitta woo. 
 
 The palm and May make country houses gay, 
 Lambs frijk and play, the jhepherds pipe all day, 
 And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, 
 Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to ivitta woo. 
 
 The fields breathe sweet, the daifies kiss our feet, 
 Young lovers meet, old wives a sunning fit, 
 In every Jlreet these tunes our ears do greet, 
 Cuckoo, jug, jug, pu we, to witta woo. 
 Spring, the sweet Spring. 
 
 Thomas Nash. 
 
 PHILOMELA'S ODE 
 
 THAT SHE SUNG IN HER ARBOUR 
 [I59a.] 
 
 Sitting by a river's fide, 
 Where a filent jlream did glide, 
 Muse I did of many things, 
 That the mind in quiet brings. 
 I "gan think how some men deem 
 Gold their god; and some ejleem 
 
Honour is the chief content 
 That to man in life is lent. 
 And some others do contend, 
 Quiet none, like to a friend. 
 Others hold, there is no wealth 
 Compared to a perfetl health. 
 Some mans mind in quiet /lands, 
 When he is lord of many lands : 
 But I did figh, and said all this 
 Was but a /bade of perfetl bliss; 
 A?id in my thoughts I did approuc, 
 Naught so sweet as is true hue. 
 Loue ^twixt lovers paJJ'eth these, 
 When mouth ki/Jeth, and heart Agrees, 
 With folded arms and lips meeting, 
 Each soul another sweetly greeting; 
 For by the breath the soul fleet eth, 
 And soul with soul in kijjing meeteth. 
 If loue be so sweet a thing, 
 That such happy bliss doth bring, 
 Happy is loue^s sugared thrall, 
 But unhappy maidens all, 
 Who efleem your 'virgin blij/es 
 Sweeter than a wife^s sweet kijfes. 
 No such quiet to the ?nind, 
 As true loue with kijfes kind: 
 But if a kiss proue unchafle, 
 Then is true loue quite disgraced. 
 Though loue be sweet, learn this of me, 
 No sweet loue but honejly. 
 
 Robert Greene. 
 
ON a day, [alack the day!) 
 Love, whose month is ever May, 
 Spied a blojfom, pafiing fair, 
 Playing in the wanton air: 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 All unseen, "gan pqfage find ; 
 That the lover, fick to death, 
 Wijhed himself the heaven s breath. 
 Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow, 
 Air, vjould I might triumph sol 
 But, alack, my hand is s-ivorn 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
 Vovj, alack, for youth unmeet ; 
 Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. 
 Do not call it fin in me, 
 That I am forsworn for thee : 
 Thou for whom Jove would swear 
 Juno but an Ethiope were; 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 Turning mortal for thy love. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 I 1 594-] 
 Over hill, over dale, 
 
 Thorough bujh, thorough brier, 
 Over park, over pale, 
 
 Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
 
/ do wander everywhere, 
 
 Swifter than the moon's sphere: 
 
 And I serve the fairy queen. 
 
 To dew her orbs upon the green. 
 
 The cow/lips tall her penfioners be; 
 
 In their gold coats spots you see, 
 
 Those be rubies, fairy favours, 
 
 In those freckles live their savours. 
 I must go seek some dew-drops here, 
 And hang a pearl in every cow/lip's ear. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1597.] 
 
 Tell me where is fancy bred, 
 Or in the heart, or in the head? 
 How begot, how nourijhed? 
 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 ; 
 ril begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
 Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [*599- J 
 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 he jlmll see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Who doth ambition Jhun, 
 And loves to live i the sun, 
 Seeking the food he eats, 
 And pleased with what he gets, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither: 
 Here he /hall see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [I599-] 
 Bloiv, blow, thou winter wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 
 As mans ingratitude; 
 Thy tooth is not so keen, 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 
Heigh ho ! Jing, heigh ho ! unto the green holly : 
 Mojl friendjhip is feigning, mojl loving mere folly : 
 
 Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
 
 This life is mojl jolly. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter Jky, 
 Thou dojl not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot : 
 Though thou the waters warp, 
 Thy fling is not so Jharp 
 
 As friend remembered not. 
 Heigh hot Jing, heigh hoi unto the green holly: 
 Mofl friendjhip is feigning, mojl loving mere folly : 
 Then, heigh ho ! the holly ! 
 This life is mofl jolly. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1600.] 
 
 Sigh no more, ladies, figh no more, 
 
 Men were deceivers ever-, 
 One foot in sea, and one on Jbore, 
 To one thing conflant never: 
 Then figJi not so, 
 But let them go, 
 And be you blithe and bonny : 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 
 
Sing no more ditties, fing no mo 
 
 Of dumps so dull and heavy ; 
 The fraud of men was ever so, 
 Since summer firfl was leavy. 
 Then figh not so, 
 But let them go, 
 And be you blithe and bonny : 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 Into, Hey nonny, nonny. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1601.] 
 
 O MTSTRESS mine, where are you roaming? 
 O, ftay and hear; your true love's coming, 
 
 That can fing both high and low : 
 Trip no further, pretty sweeting ; 
 Journeys end in lovers" meeting, 
 
 Every wise mans son doth know. 
 
 What is love? 'tis not hereafter; 
 Present mirth hath present laughter; 
 
 Whafs to come is flill unsure: 
 In delay there lies no plenty; 
 Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, 
 
 Youth 'j a fluff will not endure. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1601.] 
 Come away, come away, death. 
 And in sad cypress let me be laid: 
 
 Fly away, fly away, breath ; 
 / am Jlain by a fair cruel maid. 
 My Jhroud of white, (luck all with yew, 
 
 O, prepare it! 
 My part of death, no one so true 
 Did /hare it. 
 
 Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 
 On my black coffin let there be jlrown; 
 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 My poor corpse, ivhere my bones /hall be thrown : 
 A thousand thousand fighs to save, 
 
 Lay me, O where 
 Sad true lover never find my grave, 
 To weep there I 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [i6oj.] 
 Take, oh I take those lips away, 
 
 That so sweetly were forsworn : 
 And those eyes, the break of day, 
 
 Lights that do mi/lead the morn: 
 B%t my kiffes bring again, 
 
 Bring again, 
 Seals of love, but sealed in vain, 
 
 Sealed in vain. 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1609.] 
 
 Hark! hark! the lark at heavens gate fings, 
 
 And Phaebus "gins arise, 
 His fleed 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. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [I6«L] 
 
 Full fathom Jive 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 jlrange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: 
 Hark! novo I hear them, — ding, dong, bell. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1612.] 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands, 
 
 And then take hands: 
 Courtfied when you have, and kijfed, 
 
 [The wild waves whift) 
 Foot it featly here and there, 
 And, sweet sprites, the burden bear. 
 Hark, hark 1 . 
 
 Bowgh, wowgh. 
 The watch-dogs bark: 
 
 Bowgh, wowgh. 
 Hark, hark! I hear 
 The Jlrain of Jlrutting chanticleer 
 Cry, Cock-a-doodle-do. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1612.] 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I; 
 
 In a cow/lip's bell I lie: 
 
 There I couch when owls do cry: 
 
 On the bat's back I do fiy 
 
 After summer, merrily: 
 
 Merrily, merrily, Jhall I live now, 
 
 Under the bloffom that hangs on the bough. 
 
 William Shakespeare. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1598?] 
 
 Sweetest love, I do not go, 
 
 For weariness of thee, 
 Nor in hope the world can Jhow 
 
 A fitter love for me ; 
 
 But fine e that I 
 At the laft muft part, 'tis beji 
 Thus to use myself in jejl 
 
 By feigned deaths to die. 
 
 Yeflernight the sun went hence, 
 
 And yet is here to-day: 
 He hath no defire nor sense, 
 
 Nor half so Jhort a way : 
 
 Then fear not me, 
 But believe that I Jhall make 
 Speedier journeys, fince I take 
 
 More wings and spurs than 
 
 he. 
 
 O how} feeble is mans power, 
 That, if good fortune fall, 
 
 Cannot add another hour, 
 Nor a lofl hour recall! 
 
But come bad chance, 
 And ive join to it our flrength, 
 And <we teach it art and length, 
 
 Itself o'er us to advance. 
 
 When thou figh 'ft thou figh 'ft no wind, 
 
 But figh 'ft my soul away : 
 When thou nveep'ft, unkindly kind, 
 
 My life's blood doth decay. 
 
 It cannot be 
 That thou lov'ft me, as thou say' ft, 
 If in thine my life thou ivafle, 
 
 That art the bejl of me. 
 
 Let not thy divining heart 
 
 Forethink me any ill: 
 Deftiny may take thy part, 
 
 And may thy fears fulfil : 
 
 But think that we 
 Are but turned afide to Jleep 
 They, who one another keep 
 
 Alive, ne'er parted be. 
 
 John Donne. 
 
MADRIGAL. 
 
 [i 59 8.] 
 
 Lady, your words do spite me, 
 
 Yet your sweet lips so soft kiss and delight me; 
 
 Your deeds my heart surcharged with overjoying, 
 
 Your taunts my life dejlroying; 
 
 Since both have force to kill me, 
 
 Let kifes sweet, sweet kill me! 
 
 Knights fight with swords and lances, 
 
 Fight you with smiling glances; 
 
 So, like swans of Meander, 
 
 My ghofl from hence /ball wander, 
 
 Singing and dying, Jinging and dying. 
 
 Wilbye's Madrigals. 
 
 MADRIGAL, 
 
 [1598.] 
 
 Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting, 
 
 Which clad in damafk mantles deck the arbours, 
 
 And then behold your lips, where sweet love harbours, 
 
 My eyes present me with a double doubting; 
 
 For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes, 
 
 Whether the roses be your lips, or your lips the roses. 
 
 Wilbye's Madrigals. 
 
MADRIGAL. 
 
 [1598.] 
 
 Love me not for comely grace, 
 
 For my pleafing eye or face ; 
 
 Not for any outward part, 
 
 No, nor for my conjlant heart ; 
 
 For these may fail, or turn to ill, 
 
 A?id thus we love /ball sever : 
 
 Keep, therefore, a true woman s eye, 
 
 And love me fill, 
 
 Yet know not why; 
 
 So hajl thou the same reason fill, 
 
 To dote upon me ever. 
 
 Wilbye's Madrigals. 
 
 MADRIGAL 
 
 [1598.J 
 
 There is a jewel which ?io Indian mine can buy, 
 
 No chemic art can counterfeit; 
 
 It ?nakes men rich in greatejl poverty, 
 
 Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold, 
 
 The homely whiflle to sweet mufic"s Jlrain ; 
 
 Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent, 
 
 That much in little, all in naught — Content. 
 
 Wilbye's Madrigals. 
 34 
 
MADRIGAL. 
 
 [1598.] 
 Change me, O Heaven ! into the ruby jlone 
 That on my love's fair locks doth hang in gold, 
 Yet leave me speech to her to make my moan, 
 And give me eyes her beauty to behold : 
 Or if you vjill not make my flefh a (lone, 
 Make her hard heart seem flejh, that now is none. 
 
 Wilbye's Madrigals. 
 
 SPRING-SONG. 
 
 [1598.] 
 1. 
 
 In pride of May 
 The fields are gay, 
 
 The birds do s-iveetly fing ; 
 So Nature vjould 
 That all things Jhould 
 
 With joy begin the Spring. 
 
 Then, lady dear, 
 
 Do you appear, 
 In beauty like the Spring; 
 
 I dare ivell say, 
 
 The birds that day, 
 More cheerfully vjill fing. 
 
 Weelkes's Ballads and Madrigals. 
 
AN ODE. 
 
 [1598.] 
 
 As it fell upon a day, 
 
 In the merry month of May, 
 
 Sitting in a pleasant /hade, 
 
 Which a grove of myrtles made, 
 
 Beafis did leap, and birds did fing, 
 
 'Trees did grow, and plants did spring, 
 
 Every thing did bani/h moan, 
 
 Save the nightingale alone : 
 
 She, poor bird, as all forlorn, 
 
 Leaned her breafl up-till a thorn, 
 
 And there sang the dolefulT/l ditty, 
 
 That to hear it vjas great pity. 
 
 Fie, fie, fie, novo Jhe would cry, 
 
 Tern, teru, by and by ; 
 
 That to hear her so complain, 
 
 Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 
 
 For her griefs, so lively Jhovsn, 
 
 Made me think upon mine own. 
 
 Ah ! thought I, thou mourn "/} i:i vain ; 
 
 None take pity on thy pain ,• 
 
 Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, 
 
 Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee ; 
 
 King Pandion, he is dead; 
 
 All thy friends are lapped i;i lead ; 
 
 All thy fellow-birds do fing, 
 
 Careless of thy sorrowing. 
 
 Even so, poor bird, like thee, 
 
 None alive vjill pity me. 
 
Whiljl as fickle Fortune smiled. 
 
 Thou and I were both beguiled, 
 
 Every one that flatters thee, 
 
 Is no friend of ?nisery. 
 
 Words are easy, like the wind; 
 
 Faithful friends are hard to find. 
 
 Every ma?i will be thy friend, 
 
 When thou hajl wherewith to spend: 
 
 But if fore of crowns be scant, 
 
 No man nvill supply thy want. 
 
 If that one be prodigal, 
 
 Bountiful they nvill him call; 
 
 And with such-like flattering, 
 
 " Pity but he were a king.'''' 
 
 If he ' be addicl to vice, 
 
 Quickly him they nvill entice.: 
 
 If to women he be bent, 
 
 They have him at commandement ; 
 
 But if Fortune once do frown, 
 
 Then farewell his great renown : 
 
 They that fawned on him before, 
 
 Use his company no more. 
 
 He that is thy friend indeed, 
 
 He nvill help thee in thy need; 
 
 If thou sorrow, he nvill weep, 
 
 If thou wake, he cannot jleep : 
 
 Thus of every grief i?i heart 
 
 He with thee doth bear a part. 
 
 These are certain fgns to know 
 
 Faithful friend from flattering foe. 
 
 Richard Barnefield. 
 
SONG, 
 
 [i 599-1 
 
 ART thou poor, yet haft thou golden Jlumbers? 
 
 O sweet content! 
 Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ? 
 
 O punifhmentl 
 Doll thou laugh to see how fools are vexed 
 To add to golden numbers, golden numbers? 
 O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content! 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace, 
 Honeft labour bears a lovely face ; 
 Then hey nonny, nonny, hey nonny, nonny ! 
 
 Canft drink the waters of the crisped spring ? 
 
 O sweet content! 
 Swimmft thou in wealth, yet fink ft in thine own tears? 
 
 O punijhment ! 
 Then he that patiently wanfs burden bears 
 No burden bears, but is a king, a king! 
 O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content! 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace, 
 Honeft labour bears a lovely face : 
 Then hey nonny , nonny, hey nonny, nonny! 
 
 Thomas Dekkzr. 
 
TO THE SPRING. 
 
 [i 599-] 
 
 Earth now is green, and heaven is blue, 
 Lively Spring, which makes all new, 
 Jolly Spring doth enter; 
 Sweet young sunbeams do subdue 
 Angry, aged Winter. 
 
 Bla/ls are mild, and seas are calm, 
 Every meadow flows with balm, 
 The Earth wears all her riches : 
 Harmonious birds fing such a psalm 
 As ear and heart bewitches. 
 
 Reserve, sweet Spring, this nymph of ours, 
 
 Eternal garlands of thy flowers, 
 
 Green garlands, never wafting; 
 
 In her /hall laft our Staters fair spring, 
 
 No-iv and forever flourifhing, 
 
 As long as heaven is lafling. 
 
 Sir John Davies. 
 
THE CGI' MAIDEN'S CONSENT. 
 
 [i 599-] 
 I. 
 
 O sTsi}% sweet love, see here the place of sporting, 
 These gentle flowers smile sweetly to invite us ; 
 
 And chirping birds are hitherwards resorting, 
 Warbling sweet notes only to delight us. 
 
 Then flay, dear love, for though thou run from me, 
 
 Run ne'er so faji, yet I will follow thee. 
 
 I thought, my love, that I Jbould overtake you ,• 
 Sweet heart, Jit down under this Jhadowed tree, 
 
 And I will promise never to forsake you, 
 So you will grant to me a lover s fee. 
 
 Whereat fhe smiled, and kindly to me said, 
 
 I never meant to live and die a maid. 
 
 Farmer's English Madrigals. 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF PHILLIS. 
 
 [I599-] 
 Fair Phillis I saw fitting all alone, 
 
 Feeding her flock near to the ?nountain fide ; 
 The fhepherds knew not whither fhe was gone, 
 
 But after her her lover, Amyntas, hied. 
 He wandered up and down whilfl fhe was miffing 
 When he found her, then they fell a-kiffing. 
 
 Farmer's English Madrigal?. 
 
 4' 
 
DAMELUS" SONG TO HIS DIAPHENIA. 
 
 [1600.] 
 
 Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly, 
 White as the sun, fair as the lily, 
 
 Heigh ho, how I do love thee! 
 I do love thee as my lambs 
 Are beloved of their dams ,• 
 
 How blejl were I if thou nvouldji prove me I 
 
 Diaphenia, like the spreading roses, 
 'That in thy sweets all sweets encloses, 
 
 Fair sweet, how I do love thee! 
 I do love thee as each fower 
 Loves the sun's life-giving power ; 
 
 For dead, thy breath to life /night move me. 
 
 Diaphenia, like to all things bleffed, 
 When all thy praises are expreffed, 
 
 Dear joy, how I do love thee! 
 As the birds do love the Spring, 
 Or the bees their careful king; 
 
 Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me! 
 
 Henry Constable. 
 
THE NYMPHS, 
 
 MEETING THEIR MAT QUEEN, ENTERTAIN HER IflTH THIS 
 DITTY. 
 
 [1600.] 
 
 I. 
 With fragrant flowers we strew the way, 
 And make this our chief holy-day. 
 For though this clime were blejl of yore, 
 Yet <zvas it never proud before. 
 
 O beauteous queen of second Troy, 
 
 Accept of our unfeigned joy. 
 
 Now tti air is sweeter than sweet balm, 
 And satyrs dance about the palm ; 
 Now Earth with verdure newly dight 
 Gives perfeSi signs of her delight. 
 
 O beauteous queen of second Troy, 
 Accept of our unfeigned joy. 
 
 Now birds record new harmony, 
 And trees do whijlle melody ; 
 Novo every thing that Nature breeds, 
 Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds. 
 
 O beauteous queen of second Troy, 
 
 Accept of our unfeigned joy. 
 
 Thomas Watson. 
 
FALSE DORUS. 
 
 [1600.J 
 
 In de-vu of roses /ieeping 
 Her lovely cheeks, Lycoris sat weeping: 
 Ah, Dorus false I thou haft my heart bereft me, 
 And no-TV, unkind, haft left me. 
 Hear, alas I O hear me I 
 
 Ay me I ay me! 
 Cannot my beauty move thee? 
 Pity, then, pity me, 
 Because I love thee. 
 Ay me ! thou scorn ft the more I pray thee, 
 And this thou doft to (lay me. 
 Ah, do, then, do, kill me and vaunt thee; 
 Yet my ghoft ftill Jhall haunt thee. 
 
 Morley's Madrigals. 
 
 INVOCATION TO NIGHT. 
 
 [1600.] 
 
 Come, you heavy ftates of night, 
 Do my father s spirit right. 
 Soundings baleful let me -borrow, 
 Burthening my song with sorrow. 
 Come, sorrow, come ; her eyes that fings 
 By thee are turned into springs. 
 
Come, you virgins of the night, 
 That in dirges sad delight, 
 Quire my anthems ; I do borrow 
 Gold nor pearl, but sounds of sorrow. 
 Come, sorrow, come ; her eyes that Jings 
 By thee are turned into springs. 
 
 Dowland's Book of Songs. 
 
 TO CYNTHIA. 
 
 [1600.] 
 
 Mr thoughts are winged with hopes, my hopes with love, 
 Mount, love, unto the moon in clearejl flight, 
 
 And say, as /he doth in the heavens move, 
 In earth so wanes and waxes my delight. 
 
 And whisper this, but softly in her ears, 
 
 Hope oft doth hang the head, and truji jhed tears. 
 
 And you, my thoughts, that some miftrujl do carry, 
 If for mi/lrujl my mi/lress you do blame, 
 
 Say, though you alter, yet you do not vary, 
 As /he doth change, and yet remain the same. 
 
 Di/iruji doth enter hearts, but not infecl, 
 
 And love is sweetejl seasoned with suspecl. 
 
If Jhe for this with clouds do mafk her eyes, 
 And make the heavens dark with her disdain, 
 
 With windy Jighs disperse them in the Jkies, 
 Or with thy tears diffolve them into rain. 
 
 Thoughts, hopes, and love return to me no more, 
 
 Till Cynthia Jhine as Jhe hath done before. 
 
 Dovvland's Book of Songs. 
 
 HIS LADY'S GRIEF. 
 
 [1600.] 
 
 / saw my lady weep, 
 
 And sorrow proud to be advanced so 
 In those fair eyes, where all perfedions keep. 
 
 Her face was full of woe, 
 But such a woe, believe me, as wins more hearts, 
 Then mirth can do with her enticing parts. 
 
 Sorrow was there made fair, 
 
 And pajjion wise, tears a delightful thing, 
 Silence beyond all speech a wisdom rare; 
 
 She made her fighs to fmg, 
 And all things with so sweet a sadness move, 
 As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 
 
Of fairer than aught else 
 
 The world can Jhow, leave off in time to grieve 
 Enough, enough, your joyful look excels : 
 
 Tears kill the heart, believe. 
 O, Jlri-ue not to be excellent in woe, 
 Which only breeds your beauties'' overthrow. 
 
 Dowland's Book of Songs. 
 
 MADRIGAL 
 
 [1600.] 
 
 Why are you, ladies, faying, 
 And your lords gone a-Maying : 
 Run apace and meet them, 
 And with your garlands greet them 
 1 Twere pity they Jhould miss you, 
 For they will sweetly kiss you. 
 
 Hark, hark, I hear the dancing, 
 And a nimble morris prancing; 
 The bagpipe and the morris bells, 
 That they are not far hence us tells : 
 Come, let us all go thither, 
 And dance like friends together. 
 
 Weelkes's Madrigal; 
 
MADRIGAL. 
 
 [1600.] 
 
 Cold winter s ice is fled and gone, 
 
 And summer hangs on every tree ,• 
 
 The redbreajl peeps amidji the throng 
 
 Of wood-born birds that wanton be : 
 Each one forgets what they have been, 
 And so doth Phillis, summers queen. 
 
 Weelkes's Madrigals. 
 
 OF CORINNA'S SINGING. 
 
 [1602.] 
 1. 
 When to her lute Corinna fings, 
 Her voice revives the leaden firings. 
 And doth in highejl notes appear, 
 As any challenged echo clear: 
 But when Jhe doth of mourning speak, 
 Even with her Jighs the jirings do break. 
 
 And as her lute doth live or die, 
 
 Led by her pajjions, so muji I: 
 
 For when of pleasure jhe doth Jing, 
 
 My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring: 
 
 But if jhe do of sorrow speak, 
 
 Even from my heart the firings do break. 
 
 Thomas Campion, 
 
MADRIGAL. 
 
 [1602.] 
 
 Give Beauty all her right, 
 
 She^s not to one form tied j 
 Each Jhape yields fair delight, 
 Where her perfeclions bide: 
 Helen, I grant, might pleafing be, 
 And Rosamond was as sweet as // 
 
 Some the quick eye commends, 
 
 Some snivelling lips, and red; 
 Pale looks have many friends, 
 Through sacred sweetness bred. 
 Meadows have flowers that pleasure mo<ve, 
 Though roses are the flowers of love. 
 
 True Beauty is not bound 
 To one unmoved clime: 
 She viflts every ground, 
 And favours every time. 
 Let the old loves with mine compare, 
 My sovereign is as sweet and fair. 
 
 Thomas Campion. 
 4 S 
 
A SONG. 
 
 IN PRAISE OF A BEGGAR'S LIFE. 
 
 [1602.] 
 
 Bright Jhines the sun, play, beggars, play, 
 Here's scraps enough to serve to-day. 
 
 What noise of -viols is so sweet 
 
 As when our merry clappers ring? 
 
 What mirth doth want where beggars meet ? 
 A beggar s life is for a king : 
 
 Eat, drink, and play ; Jleep when we lift, 
 
 Go where we will, so flocks be miffed. 
 Bright Jhines the sun, play, beggars, play, 
 Here's scraps enough to serve to-day. 
 
 The world is ours, and ours alone, 
 For we alone have worlds at will: 
 
 We purchase not, 'tis all our own, 
 
 Both fields and jlreets we beggars Jill : 
 
 Nor care to get, nor fear to keep, 
 
 Did ever break a beggar s Jleep. 
 
 Bright Jhines the sun, play, beggars, play, 
 Here's scraps enough to serve to-day. 
 
 A hundred head of black and white 
 Upon our gowns securely feed ; 
 
 If any dares his majler bite, 
 
 He dies therefor, as sure as creed. 
 49 d 
 
Thus beggars lord it as they please ; 
 
 And only beggars live at ease. 
 
 Bright Jhines the sun, play, beggars, play, 
 Here^s scraps enough to serve to-day. 
 
 Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. 
 
 ODE. 
 
 PETITION TO HAVE HER LEAVE TO DIE. 
 
 [1602.J 
 
 JVhen will the fountain of my tears be dry? 
 
 When will my fighs be spent ? 
 When will defire agree to let me die? 
 When will thy heart relent ? 
 It is not for my life I plead, 
 Since death the way to reji doth lead; 
 But fay for thy consent, 
 Lejl thou be discontent. 
 
 For if myself without thy leave I kill, 
 
 My ghojl <will never reft; 
 So hath it siuorn to work thine only will, 
 And holds that ever bejl. 
 For Jince it only lives by thee, 
 Good reason thou the ruler be: 
 Then give me leave to die, 
 And /bow thy power thereby. 
 
 Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. 
 
t 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 [1602.] 
 
 Mr love in her attire doth fhovo her voit, 
 
 It doth so well become her; 
 For every season fhe hath drejjings Jit, 
 
 For winter, spring, and summer. 
 
 No beauty fhe doth miss, 
 
 When all her robes are on : 
 
 For Beauty s self /he is 
 
 When all her robes are gone. 
 
 Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 [1604.] 
 
 Hold out, my heart, with joy's delights ac cloyed -, 
 Hold out, my heart, and fhovo it, 
 That all the world may know it, 
 
 What sweet content thou lately hafl enjoyed. 
 
 She that, Come, dear, would say, 
 
 Then laugh, a?id smile, and run away, 
 
 And if I Jlayed her would cry, Nay, 
 Fie, for fhame, fie ! 
 
 My true love not regarding, 
 
 Hath given me at length his full rewarding : 
 
•So that unless I tell 
 
 The joys that overfill me, 
 My joys, kept in full well, 
 
 I know will kill me. 
 
 Weelkes's Madrigals. 
 
 THERE IS A GARDEN IN HER FACE. 
 
 [1606.] 
 
 There is a garden in her face, 
 Where roses and white lilies blow, 
 
 A heavenly paradise is that place, 
 Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow. 
 
 There cherries grow that none may buy, 
 
 Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 
 
 Those cherries fairly do enclose 
 
 Of orient pearl a double row), 
 Which when her lovely laughter /hows, 
 
 They look like rose-buds filled with snow : 
 Yet them nor peer nor prince may buy, 
 Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 
 
 Her eyes like angels watch them fill; 
 
 Her brows like bended bows do Jland, 
 Threatening with piercing frowns to kill 
 
 All that approach with eye or hand 
 Those sacred cherries to come nigh, 
 Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. 
 
 Allison's Hour's Recreation in Music. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1606?] 
 
 I do confess thourt smooth and fair, 
 
 And I might have gone near to love thee. 
 
 Had I not found the Jlightefl prayer 
 
 That lips could speak had power to move thee : 
 
 But I can let thee now alone. 
 
 As worthy to be loved by none. 
 
 I do confess thoiirt sweet, yet find 
 Thee such an unthrift of thy svjeets y 
 
 Thy favours are but like the wind, 
 That kijfes every thing it meets ; 
 
 And Jince thou canjl with more than one, 
 
 Thourt worthy to be kijfed by none. 
 
 The ?norning rose, that untouched (lands, 
 
 Armed with her briers, how svoeetly smells 1 
 
 But plucked and flrained through ruder hands, 
 Her sweets no longer with her dwells; 
 
 But scent and beauty both are gone, 
 
 And leaves fall from her one by one. 
 
 Such fate, ere long, vjill thee betide, 
 When thou hajl handled been awhile, 
 
 Like sere Jlowers to be thrown afide : 
 And I will Jigh, while some will smile, 
 
 To see thy love for more than one 
 
 Hath brought thee to be loved by none. 
 
 Sir Robert Ayton. 
 
MADRIGAL. 
 
 [1606.] 
 
 Whither so fafi ? Ah, see the kindly flowers 
 Perfume the air, and all to make thee flay : 
 
 The climbing woodbine, clipping all these bowers, 
 Clips thee likewise, for fear thou pass away : 
 Fortune, our friend, our foe, will not gainsay : 
 
 Stay but awhile, Phcebe no tell-tale is: 
 
 She her Endymion — Fll my Phoebe kiss. 
 
 Bateson's Madrigals. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1607.] 
 
 Pack clouds away, and welcome day, 
 
 With flight we banijh sorrow;; 
 Sweet air, blow) soft, mount, lark, aloft, 
 
 To give my love good-morrow. 
 Wings from the wind to please her mind, 
 
 Notes from the lark Fll borrow ; 
 Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, fing, 
 
 To give my love good-morrow. 
 To give my love good-?norrow, 
 Notes from them both Fll borrow;. 
 
Wake from thy nejl, robin redbreajl, 
 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow ; 
 And from each hill let mujic Jhrill 
 Give my fair love good-morrow. 
 Blackbird, and thrufi), in every bujh, 
 
 Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow, 
 You pretty elves, amongft yourselves, 
 Sing my fair love good-morrovo. 
 To give my love good-morrow, 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow. 
 
 Thomas Heywood. 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 [1608.] 
 
 Upon a hill the bonny boy, 
 
 Sweet Thirjis, sweetly played, 
 And called his lambs their majlers joy ; 
 
 And more he would have said, 
 But love that gives the lover s wings, 
 Withdrew his mind from other things. 
 
 His pipe and he could not agree, 
 
 For Milla was his note: 
 The filly pipe could never get 
 
 This lovely name by rote: 
 With that they both fell on a sound, 
 He fell ajleep, his pipe to ground. 
 
 Weelkes's Airs. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1609.] 
 
 STILL to be neat, fill to be drejl, 
 
 As you were going to a feaji ; 
 
 Still to be powdered, fill perfumed; 
 
 Lady, it is to be presumed, 
 
 Though arfs hid causes are not found, 
 
 All is not sweet, all is not sound. 
 
 Give me a look, glue me a face 
 That makes fimplicity a grace ; 
 Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : 
 Such sweet neglecl more taketh me 
 Than all the adulteries of art ; 
 They ftrike mine eyes, but not my heart. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 TO CELIA. 
 
 [1616.] 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes, 
 
 And I will pledge with mine; 
 Or lea-ue a kiss but in the cup, 
 
 And Vll not look for wine. 
 The thirjl that from the soul doth rise, 
 
 Doth ajk a drink di-vine; 
 But might I of Jo-ue's neclar sup, 
 
 I 'would not change for thine. 
 
/ sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 
 Not so much honouring thee, 
 As gluing it a hope that there 
 
 It could not withered be. 
 But thou thereon didji only breathe, 
 
 And senffl it back to me: 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 
 
 Not of itself, but thee. 
 
 Ben Jons 
 
 TO CELIA, 
 [1616.J 
 
 >~uer 
 
 Kiss me, sweet; the wary lo~. 
 
 Can your favours keep, and cover, 
 
 When the common courting jay 
 
 All your bounties will betray. 
 
 Kiss again ! no creature comes ; 
 
 Kiss, and score up wealthy sums 
 
 On my lips, thus hardly sundered, 
 
 While you breathe. Firfl glue a hundred, 
 
 Then a thousand, then another 
 
 Hundred, then unto the other 
 
 Add a thousand, and so more; 
 
 Till you equal with the fore, 
 
 All the grass that Rumney yields, 
 
 Or the sands in Chelsea fields, 
 
Or the drops in filver Thames, 
 Or the fiars that gild his jlreams, 
 In the /dent summer-flights, 
 When youths ply their Jiolen delights j 
 That the curious ?nay not know) 
 How to tell ''em as they flow j 
 And the envious, when they find 
 What their number is, be pined. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF CHARIS. 
 
 [1616 ?J 
 
 See the chariot at hand here of Love, 
 
 Wherein my lady rideth ! 
 Each that draws is a swan or a dove, 
 
 And well the car Love guideth. 
 As Jhe goes, all hearts do duty 
 
 Unto her beauty; 
 And, enamoured, do wijh, so they might 
 But enjoy such a fight, 
 That they ftill were to run by her fide, 
 Through swords, through seas, whither Jhe would ride. 
 
 Do but look on her eyes, they do light 
 
 All that Lovers world compriseth ! 
 
 Do but look on her hair, it is bright 
 
 As Love's Jlar when it riseth ! 
 Do but mark, her forehead's smoother 
 
 Than words that soothe her I 
 5S 
 
And from her arched brows, such a grace 
 Sheds itself through the face. 
 As alone there triumphs to the life 
 All the gain, all the good, of the elements'" Jlrife. 
 
 Have you seen but a bright lily grovj, 
 Before rude hands have touched it? 
 Have you marked but the fall o' the snovo, 
 
 Before the soil hath smutched it? 
 Have you felt the voool of beaver ? 
 
 Or svjans dovjn ever? 
 Or have smelt o"" the bud o' the brier ? 
 
 Or the nard in the fire ? 
 Or have tafted the bag of the bee ? 
 O so vjhite f O so soft ! O so svjeet is /he ! 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 THE WOOING SONG OF PANGLORT. 
 
 [1610.] 
 
 Love is the bloffom vjhere there blovus 
 Every thing that lives or gronvs ; 
 Love doth make the heavens to move, 
 And the sun doth burn in love: 
 Love the flrong and vjeak doth yoke, 
 And makes the ivy climb the oak, 
 Under vjhose fhadovjs lions vuild, 
 Softened by love, grovj tame and mild. 
 Love no medicine can appease; 
 He burns the fijhes in the seas : 
 
Not all the /kill his wounds can flanch, 
 
 Not all the sea his fire can quench. 
 
 Love did make the bloody spear 
 
 Once a leavy coat to wear, 
 
 While in his leaves there Jhrouded lay 
 
 Sweet birds, for love that Jing and play ; 
 
 And of all Lovers joyful flame 
 
 I the bud and bloffom am. 
 
 Only bend thy knee to me, 
 
 Thy wooing Jhall thy winning be. 
 
 See, see the flowers that below 
 
 Now as frejh as morning blow;, 
 
 And of all, the virgin rose, 
 
 That as bright Aurora fhows ; 
 
 How> they all unleaved die, 
 
 Loflng their virginity: 
 
 Like unto a summer-fhade , 
 
 But now born, and novo they fade. 
 
 Every thing doth pass away; 
 
 There is danger in delay. 
 
 Come, come gather, then, the rose; 
 
 Gather it, or it you lose. 
 
 All the sand of Tagus* /bore 
 
 In my bosom cafts his ore: 
 
 All the valleys* swimming corn 
 
 To my house is yearly borne : 
 
 Every grape of every vine 
 
 Is gladly bruised to make me wine; 
 
 While ten thousand kings, as proud 
 
 To carry up my train, have bowed, 
 
And a voorld of ladies send me 
 
 In my chambers to attend me: 
 
 All the flars in heaven that Jhine, 
 
 And ten thousand more, are mine. 
 Only bend thy knee to me, 
 Thy vjooing Jhall thy winning be. 
 
 Giles Fletcher. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1610.] 
 
 Do not fear to put thy feet 
 Naked in the river, sweet ; 
 Think not leech, or nevut, or toad, 
 Will bite thy foot, when thou haji trod ; 
 Nor let the water rifing high, 
 As thou wad 'ft in, make thee cry, 
 And sob; but ever live with me, 
 And not a wave Jhall trouble thee. 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1617?] 
 
 Weep no more, nor figh, nor groan, 
 Sorrow calls no time thafs gone; 
 Violets plucked, the sweetejl rain 
 Makes ?iot frejh, nor grow again. 
 
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully, 
 Fate^s hidden ends eyes cannot see; 
 Joys as winged dreams fly faft, 
 Why Jhould sadness longer lafl? 
 Grief is but a voound to vjoe ; 
 Gentleft fair, ?nourn, mourn no 7?io. 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [i6z4 ?] 
 
 ' Tis late and cold ; ftir up the fire ; 
 Sit close, and dravj the table nigher ; 
 Be merry, and drink vjine that's old, 
 A hearty medicine gain ft a cold: 
 Tour beds of wanton down the be (I, 
 Where you fib all tumble to your reft; 
 I could wifh you wenches too, 
 But I am dead, and cannot do. 
 Call for the beft the house may ring, 
 Sack, white, and claret, let them britig, 
 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 finner, 
 Tou /ball find ready when you re up, 
 And your horse /hall have his sup : 
 Welcome, welcome, /ball fly round, 
 And I fall smile, though under ground. 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 6z 
 
SONG. 
 [1624?] 
 
 Take, oh ! take those lips away, 
 That so sweetly were forsworn, 
 
 And those eyes, like break of day, 
 Lights that do miflead the morn I 
 
 But my kijfes 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 ! 
 But firjl set my poor heart free, 
 Bound in those icy chains by thee. 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1624?] 
 
 Drink to-day, a?id drown all sorrow, 
 You fhall perhaps not do it to-morrow : 
 Beji, awhile you have it, use your breath -, 
 There is no drinking after death. 
 
 Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit, 
 There is no cure ''gainfl age but it; 
 It helps the head-ache, cough, and phthific, 
 And is for all diseases phyjic. 
 6^ 
 
Then let us swill, boys, for our health ; 
 Who drinks well loves the common-wealth. 
 And he that will to bed go sober, 
 Falls with the leaf, flill in October. 
 
 John Fletcher. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1624?] 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights, 
 As fhort as are the nights 
 * Wherein you spend your folly ! 
 
 There 's naught in this life sweet, 
 If men were wise to see"t, 
 But only melancholy ! 
 O, sweetefl melancholy! 
 Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, 
 A figh, that, piercing, mortifies ; 
 A look thafs fajlened to the ground, 
 A tongue chained up without a sound ! 
 Fountain heads, and pathless groves, 
 Places which pale PaJJion 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 ; 
 Then fir etch our bones in a flill gloomy valley, 
 Nothing' 's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 
 
 John Fletchei 
 64 
 
MADRIGAL. 
 
 [i6iz.] 
 
 Have 1 found her? O rich finding ! 
 
 Goddess-like for to behold ; 
 Her fair trejfes seemly binding 
 
 In a chain of pearl and gold: 
 Chain me, chain me, oh mojl fair, 
 Chain ?ne to thee with that hair! 
 
 Pilkington's Madrigals. 
 
 [i6iz.] 
 
 Shall I, wafting in despair, 
 
 Die, because a woman s fair ? 
 
 Or make pale my cheeks with care, 
 
 1 'Cause another s rosy are? 
 
 Be Jhe fairer than the day, 
 
 Or the flowery meads in May, 
 
 If Jhe be not so to me, 
 
 What care I how fair Jhe be ? 
 
 Shall my foolijh heart be pined, 
 ''Cause I see a woman kind, 
 Or a well-disposed nature, 
 Joined with a lovely feature ? 
 Be Jhe meeker, kinder, than 
 Turtle-do-ve or pelican, 
 
If (he be not so to me, 
 
 What care I how kind Jhe be ? 
 
 Shall a ''woman s virtues move 
 
 Me to perijh for her love ? 
 
 Or her well-deserving known, 
 
 Make ?ne quite forget mine own ? 
 
 Be Jhe with that goodness blejl, 
 
 Which may gain her name of beji, 
 If Jhe be not such to me, 
 What care I how good Jhe be ? 
 
 ' 'Cause her fortune seems too high, 
 
 Shall I play the fool and die ? 
 
 Those that bear a noble mind, 
 
 Where they want of riches find, 
 
 Think what with them they would do, 
 
 That without them dare to woo : 
 And unless that mind I see, 
 What care I how great Jhe be ? 
 
 Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 
 
 I will ne^er the more despair. 
 
 If (he love me, this believe, 
 
 I will die ere Jhe Jhall grieve : 
 
 If Jhe (light me, when I woo, 
 
 I can scorn, and let her go. 
 For if Jhe be not for me, 
 What care I for whom (he be P 
 
 George Withir. 
 

 [1612.] 
 
 Call for the robin redbreajl and the vjren, 
 
 Since o'er fhady grooves they hover, 
 
 And voith 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 Jhall keep him warm, 
 
 And [vohen gay tombs are robbed) suflain no harm : 
 
 But keep the vjolf far thence, that's foe to men, 
 
 For vjith his nails he'll dig them up again. 
 
 John Webster 
 «~ 
 
 [1616?] 
 
 Hark, novo every thing is jiill; 
 
 The screech-ovol and the vjhiftler Jhrill 
 
 Call upon our dame aloud, 
 
 And bid her quickly don her Jhroud ! 
 
 Much you had of land and rent ; 
 
 Tour length in clay's novj compete?it : 
 
 A long nvar diflurbed your mind; 
 
 Here your perfecl peace is figned. 
 
 Of vohat is 't fools make such vain keeping ? 
 
 Sin their conception, their birth vjeeping, 
 
 Their life a general mijl of error, 
 
 Their death a hideous florm of terror. 
 
 67 
 
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 : 
 
 ""Tis now full tide 'tween night and day, 
 
 End your groan, and come away. 
 
 John Webster. 
 
 [1623.] 
 
 All the flowers of the Spring 
 
 Meet to perfume our burying: 
 
 These have but their growing prime, 
 
 And man does flourijh but his time. 
 
 Survey our progress from our birth ; 
 
 We are set, we grow), we turn, to earth. 
 
 Courts adieu, and all delights, 
 
 All bewitching appetites! 
 
 Sweeteft breath, and clearejl eye, 
 
 Like perfumes, go out and die; 
 
 And consequently this is done 
 
 As Jhadows wait upon the sun. 
 
 Vain the ambition of kings, 
 
 Who seek by trophies and dead things 
 
 To leave a living name behind, 
 
 And weave but nets to catch the wind. 
 
 John Webster. 
 
MADRIGAL. 
 
 [i6ij?J 
 
 O sat, dear life, when /hall those twin-born berries, 
 So lovely ripe, by ?ny rude lips be tajled? 
 
 Shall I not pluck — sweet, say not nay! — those cherries ? 
 O let them not with summers heat be blaftedl 
 
 Nature, thou know\ft, beftowed them free on fhee ; 
 
 Then be thou kind, bejhw them free on me. 
 
 Ward's Madrigals. 
 
 THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. 
 
 [1614.] 
 
 How happy is he born and taught, 
 That ser-veth not another s will: 
 Whose armour is his honeft thought, 
 And Jimple truth his utmojl fkill 
 
 Whose paj/ions not his majlers are; 
 Whose soul is fill prepared for death, 
 Untied unto the world by care 
 Of public fame, or private breath. 
 
 Who e?ivies none that chance doth raise, 
 Nor vice; who never under/lood 
 How deepejl wounds are given by praise; 
 Nor rules of State, but rules of good. 
 
 69 
 
Who hath his life from rumours freed ; 
 Whose conscience is his ftrong retreat ; 
 Whose fate can neither flatterers feed, 
 Nor ruin make oppreffors great. 
 
 Who God doth late and early pray 
 More of his Grace than gifts to lend; 
 And entertains the harmless day 
 With a religious book, or friend. 
 
 This man is freed from servile bands 
 Of hope to rise, or fear to fall : 
 Lord of himself though not of lands, 
 And having nothing, yet hath all. 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton. 
 
 ON HIS MISTRESS, THE i^UEEN OF BOHEMIA. 
 
 [i6zo.] 
 
 You meaner beauties of the night, 
 That poorly satisfy our eyes, 
 
 More by your number than your light, 
 You common people of the Jkies, 
 What are you <ivhen the sun /hall rise ? 
 
 You curious chanters of the ivood, 
 
 That voarble forth Dame Nature 's lays, 
 
 Thinking your pajjions underjlood 
 
 By your weak accents, nuhafs your praise, 
 When Philomel her voice Jhall raise ? 
 
You <vi l e t s that fir ft appear ; 
 
 By your pure purple mantles known, 
 
 Like the proud virgins of the year, 
 As if the Spring were all your own, 
 What are you when the rose is blown ? 
 
 So, when ?ny miftress fhall be seen, 
 In form, and beauty of her mind, 
 
 By virtue firft, then choice, a queen, 
 Tell ?ne, if fhe were not defigned 
 Th" eclipse and glory of her kind ? 
 
 Sir Henry Wotton. 
 
 THE INDIFFERENT. 
 
 [1615?] 
 
 Never more will I proteft 
 To love a woman, but in jeft : 
 For as they cannot be true, 
 So to give each man his due, 
 When the wooing fit is paft, 
 Their affeclion cannot loft. 
 
 Therefore if I chance to meet 
 With a miftress, fair and sweet, 
 She my service fhall obtain, 
 Loving her for love again : 
 
This much liberty I crave, 
 Not to be a conftant Jlave. 
 
 But nvken vje have tried each other, 
 If /be better like another, 
 Let her quickly change for me, 
 Then to change am I as free. 
 He or fhe that loves too long, 
 Sell their freedom for a song. 
 
 Francis Beaumont. 
 
 MADRIGAL. 
 
 [1616.] 
 
 / FEAR not henceforth death, 
 Sith after this departure yet I breathe ; 
 Let rocks, and seas, and vjind, 
 Their highejl treasons Jhovo : 
 Let Jky and earth combined 
 Strive, if they can, to end my life and vuoe ,• 
 Sith grief cannot, me nothing can overthrow : 
 Or if that aught can cause my fatal lot, 
 It vjill be vjhen I hear I am forgot. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
A KISS. 
 
 [1616.J 
 Hark, happy lowers, hark, 
 This firjl and lajl of joys, 
 This sweetener of annoys, 
 This netlar of the gods 
 Ye call a kiss, is with itself at odds ; 
 And half so sweet is not 
 In equal measure got 
 At light of sim, as it is in the dark : 
 Hark, happy lowers, hark. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
 DESIRED DEATH. 
 
 [1631 ?] 
 Dear life, while I do touch 
 These coral ports of bliss, 
 Which fill themselves do kiss, 
 And sweetly ?ne inwite to do as much, 
 All panting in my lips 
 My heart my sense doth leawe, 
 No sense my senses ha we, 
 
 And inward powers do find a Jlrange eclipse ; 
 This death so heawenly well 
 Doth so me please, that I 
 Would newer lo?iger seek in sense to dwell, 
 If that ewen thus I only could but die. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
ro SLEEP. 
 
 [i6ji?] 
 
 How comes it, Sleep, that thou 
 Even kijfes me affords 
 
 Of her, dear her, so far who \f absent now ? 
 How did I hear those words, 
 
 Which rocks might move, and move the pines to bow ? 
 Ay me, before half day 
 Why didfl thou fteal away ? 
 Return, I thine forever will remain, 
 If thou wilt bring with thee that gueft again. 
 
 William Drummond. 
 
 [1616.] 
 
 Shall I tell you whom I love ? 
 
 Hearken the?i awhile to me ; 
 And if such a woman move, 
 
 As I ?iow /hall verffy, 
 Be affured "'tis fhe, or none, 
 That I love, and love, alone. 
 
 Nature did her so much right, 
 As fhe scorns the help of art ,• 
 
 In as many virtues dight 
 
 As e^er yet embraced a heart : 
 
 So much good, so truly tried, 
 
 Some for less were deified. 
 
Wit fie hath, without defire 
 
 To make known how) much fije hath j 
 And her anger flames no higher 
 
 Than may fitly sweeten wrath. 
 Full of pity as ?nay be, 
 Though, perhaps, not so for me. 
 
 Reason mafiers every sense, 
 
 And her virtues grace her birth ; 
 
 Lovely as all excellence, 
 
 Modefl in her mofl of mirth : 
 
 Likelihood enough to prove 
 
 Only worth could kindle love. 
 
 Such fi)e is : and if you know 
 
 Such a one as I have sung; 
 Be fie brown, or fair, or so, 
 
 That fie be but some-while young ,• 
 Be ajfured "'tis fie, or none, 
 That I love, and love alone. 
 
 William Browne. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1620 ?] 
 
 Steer, hither fleer, your winged pines, 
 
 All beaten mariners j 
 Here lie Lovers undiscovered mines, 
 
 A prey to paffengers : 
 Perfumes far sweeter than the befl 
 Which make the phcenix' urn and nefi. 
 
Fear not your Jhips, 
 Nor any to oppose you, save our lips : 
 
 But come on Jhore, 
 Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more. 
 
 For swelling voaves, our panting breajls, 
 
 Where ?iever Jlorms arise, 
 Exchange, and be a-ivhile our guefls ; 
 
 For flars, gaze on our eyes. 
 The compass Love /ball hourly fing, 
 And, as he goes about the ring, 
 
 We voill not miss 
 To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. 
 
 Then come on /bore, 
 Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more. 
 
 William Browne. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1617?] 
 
 1. 
 
 Love is a fickness full of vcoes, 
 
 All remedies refufing ; 
 A plant that voith mojl cutting groves, 
 Moft barren voith beft ujing. 
 Why so ? 
 More voe enjoy it, ?nore it dies ; 
 If not enjoyed, it fighing cries, 
 Heigh ho ! 
 
Love is a torment of the mind, 
 
 A tempeji everlajling : 
 And Jove hath ?nade it of a kind, 
 Not well, nor full nor fajling. 
 Why so? 
 More we enjoy it, ?nore it dies; 
 If not enjoyed, it fighing cries, 
 Heigh ho ! 
 
 Samuel Daniel. 
 
 SONG. 
 [1617?] 
 
 Had Sorrow ever fitter place 
 
 To acl his part, 
 
 Than is my heart, 
 Where it takes up all the space? 
 
 Where is no vein 
 
 "To entertain 
 A thought that wears another face ? 
 
 Nor will I Sorrow ever have 
 
 Therein to be, 
 
 But only thee, 
 To vohom I full pofejjion gave: 
 
 Thou in thy name 
 
 Muji hold the same, 
 Until thou bring it to the grave. 
 
 Samuel Daniel. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1618.J 
 1. 
 
 Rise, lady, miftress, rise! 
 
 The night hath tedious been ; 
 No Jleep hath fallen into my eyes, 
 
 Nor Jlumbers made me Jin : 
 Is not fie a saint then, say, 
 Thought of -whom keeps fin away ? 
 
 Rise, madam, rise, and give ?ne light, 
 
 Who?n darkness fill will cover, 
 And ignorance, darker than the night, 
 
 Till thou smile on thy lover: 
 All want day till thy beauty rise, 
 For the gray ?norn breaks from thine eyes. 
 
 Nathaniel Field. 
 
 THE CRIER. 
 
 [1619.] 
 
 Good folk, for gold or hire, 
 But help me to a crier, 
 For my poor heart is run away, 
 After two eyes that pa fed this way. 
 O yes, O yes, O yes, 
 
If there be any man, 
 
 In town or country, can 
 
 Bring me my heart again, 
 
 Vll please him for his pain ; 
 And by these marks I will you Jhow 
 That only I this heart do owe. 
 
 It is a wounded heart, 
 
 Wherein yet flicks the dart ; 
 Every piece sore hurt throughout it, 
 Faith and troth writ round about it. 
 It was a tame heart, and a dear, 
 
 And never used to roam ; 
 But having got this haunt, I fear 
 
 "" Twill hardly flay at home. 
 For God's sake, walking by the way, 
 
 If you my heart do see, 
 Either impound it for a flray, 
 
 Or send it back to me. 
 
 Michael Drayton. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1620?] 
 
 Ladies, fee from Lovers sweet tale; 
 Oaths fleeped in tears do oft prevail : 
 Grief is infeclious, and the air, 
 Inflamed with flghs, will blafl the fair. 
 Then flop your ears when lovers cry, 
 Lefl yourself weeping with soft eye 
 79 
 
Shall c witk a sorrowing tear repay 
 That pity which you cajl away. 
 
 Young men, flee when Beauty darts 
 Amorous glances at your hearts : 
 A quick eye gives the surer aim, 
 And ladies'' lips have power to maim. 
 No-zv in her lips, now in her eyes, 
 Lapt in a kiss or smile, Love lies; 
 Then flee betimes, for only they 
 Do conquer Love that run away. 
 
 William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke. 
 
 SONG. 
 [1622.J 
 STAT, bold thoughts, refrain your will, 
 Silent be, and suffer flill. 
 What I not speak, if Jhe be by? 
 Torment ; if you do, you die : 
 Say the flame to rise begin, 
 Tears without may quench within. 
 Better die in easy pain, 
 Suffering, than if not be Jlain. 
 Is there then no remedy? 
 Silence, then I'll welcome thee I 
 And thou, tongue of mine, conceal 
 What the heart mufl not reveal. 
 
 Leonard Digges. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [I6Z2.] 
 
 I. 
 Come buy, you lufty gallants, 
 "These Jimples ivhich I sell : 
 In all our days 'were never seen like these, 
 
 For beauty, jlrength, and smell. 
 Here^s the king-cup, the pansy, with the -violet, 
 The rose that loves the Jhozver, 
 The wholesome gillifo-iver, 
 Both the covj/lip, lily, 
 And the daffadilly, 
 With a thousand in my povjer. 
 
 Here^s golden amaranthus, 
 
 That true love can provoke, 
 Of horehound jlore, and poisoning hellebore, 
 
 With the polipode of the oak : 
 Here^s chafe vervine, and luflful eringo, 
 
 Health-preserving sage, 
 
 And rue, ivhich cures old age, 
 
 With a nvorld of others, 
 
 Making fruitful mothers ,• 
 
 All these attend me as my page. 
 
 Markham and Sampson. 
 81 P 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1626?] 
 Drop golden /bowers, gentle Sleep, 
 And all the angels of the night, 
 Which do us in protection keep, 
 Make this queen dream of delight. 
 Morpheus, be kind a little, and be 
 Deaths now true image, for ^twill prove 
 To this poor queen that thou art he; 
 Her grave is made 1 the bed of love. 
 Thus with sweet sweets can Heaven mix gall, 
 And marriage turn to funeral. 
 
 Thomas Goffe. 
 
 SONG. 
 [1628.] 
 How I laugh at their fond wijh, 
 Whose defire 
 Aims no higher 
 Than the baits of Midas" dijh ! 
 
 What is gold but yellow dirt, 
 
 Which th" unkind 
 
 Heavens refined, 
 When they made us love our hurt ? 
 
 Would to Heaven that I might fieep 
 
 My faint eyes 
 
 In the wise, 
 In the gentle dew of Sleep ! 
 
Whose effeSis do pose us so, 
 
 That we deem 
 
 It does seem 
 Both Death" s brother and his foe. 
 
 This does always with us keep, 
 
 And being dead 
 
 That 'j not fled ; 
 Death is but a longer Sleep. 
 
 Robert Gomersall. 
 
 A SONG, 
 
 FOR THE MUSIC LECTURE. 
 [I633.J 
 
 STRIKE again! O, no, no more, 
 
 I implore; 
 Suck another touch would be 
 
 My dejiiny! 
 What bewitching sounds are these, 
 
 Which so please, 
 As that we begin to fear 
 
 What we hear? 
 Sound yet louder! Raise a tone, 
 
 Which to own 
 The celeflial quire would be 
 
 Suitors f ye. 
 Sound yet louder ! that if Fate 
 
 Make this date 
 
To my years, I yet may die 
 
 Speedily ; 
 And that this ditty, sweetly Jlrong, 
 May be my death and funeral song. 
 
 Robert Gomersall. 
 
 SONG 
 
 [1630.] 
 
 We care not for money, riches, or wealth, 
 Old Sack is our money, old Sack is our health 
 Then let's flock hither, 
 Like birds of a feather, 
 To drink, to fling, 
 To laugh,' to fing, 
 Conferring our notes together, 
 Conferring our notes together. 
 
 Come, let us laugh, let us drink, let us Jing, 
 The Winter with us is as good as the Spring: 
 We care not a feather 
 For wind, or for weather, 
 But night and day 
 We sport and play, 
 Conferring our notes together, 
 Conferring our notes together. 
 
 Thomas Randolph. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1631.] 
 
 Why art thou flow, thou refl of trouble ■, Death, 
 
 To flop a wretctis breath, 
 That calls on thee, and offers her sad heart 
 
 A prey unto thy dart ? 
 I am not young, nor fair ; be, therefore, bold : 
 
 Sorrow hath made me old, 
 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 flrike home, then ; pity unto me, 
 In one Jhort hours delay, is tyranny. 
 
 Philip Massinger. 
 
 VIRTUE. 
 [1631 ?] 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, 
 The bridal of the earth and fly ; 
 The dew Jhall weep thy fall to-night, 
 For thou mufl die. 
 
 Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, 
 Bids the rafh gazer wipe his eye; 
 Thy root is ever in its grave. 
 
 And thou mujl die. 
 
Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
 A box where sweets compared lie; 
 My ?nufic Jhows ye ha-ue your closes, 
 And all muji die. 
 
 Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 
 Like seasoned timber, never gives: 
 But though the whole world turns to coal, 
 Then chiefly lives. 
 
 George Herbert. 
 
 DISDAIN RETURNED. 
 
 [1632.] 
 1. . 
 
 He that loves a rosy cheek, 
 Or a coral lip admires, 
 
 Or, from far-like eyes, doth seek 
 Fuel to ?naintain his fires ; 
 
 As old Time makes these decay, 
 
 So his flames mujl wafle away. 
 
 But a smooth and fteadfajl mind, 
 Gentle thoughts and calm defires, 
 
 Hearts, with equal love combined, 
 Kindle never-dying fires. 
 
 Where these are not, I despise 
 
 Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes. 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1636 f] 
 
 1. 
 
 Ask me no more where Jove befiows, 
 When Jane is paft, the fading rose ; 
 For in your beauty's orient deep, 
 These flowers, as in their causes, Jleep. 
 
 11. 
 
 AJk me no more whither doth fir ay 
 The golden ato?ns of the day ; 
 For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare 
 Those po--iuders to enrich your hair. 
 
 in. 
 AJk ?ne no more whither doth hafte 
 The nightingale when Spring is pafi ; 
 For in your sweet dividing throat 
 She winters, and keeps warm her note. 
 
 IV. 
 
 AJk me no more where those fiars light 
 That downwards fall in dead of night $ 
 For in your eyes they Jit, and there 
 Fixed become as in their sphere. 
 
 v. 
 
 AJk me no ?nore if cafl or wefi 
 The Phoenix builds her spicy nefi ; 
 For unto you at lafi Jhe flies, 
 And in your fragrant bosom dies. 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
SONG. 
 
 C E L I A S r N G I N G. 
 [1636 ?] 
 
 You that think love can convey 
 
 No other way, 
 But through the eyes, into the heart, 
 
 His fatal dart ; 
 Close up those casements, and but hear 
 
 This fir en fing ; 
 
 And on the wing 
 Of her sweet --voice it Jhall appear 
 That love can enter at the ear: 
 Then unveil your eyes, behold 
 
 The curious mould 
 Where that voice dwells; and, as we know, 
 
 When the cocks crow, 
 
 We freely may 
 
 Gaze on the day : 
 So may you, when the mufic's done, 
 Awake and see the rifing sun. 
 
 Thomas Carew. 
 
 SONG. 
 [i6jj.] 
 
 Oh, no more, no more, too late 
 
 Sighs are spent ; the burning tapers 
 
 Of a life as chafe as fate, 
 
 Pure as are unwritten papers, 
 
Are burned out: no heat, no light 
 Now remains ,• 'tis ever night. 
 Love is dead; let lovers'' eyes, 
 Locked in endless dreams, 
 The extreme of all extremes, 
 Ope no more, for now love dies. 
 Now love dies, implying 
 Love's martyrs mujl be ever, ever dying. 
 
 John Ford. 
 
 DIRGE. 
 
 [1631.] 
 
 Glories, pleasures, pomps, delight, and ease, 
 
 Can but please 
 The outward senses, when the mind 
 Is or untroubled, or by peace refined. 
 Crowns may fiourijh and decay, 
 Beauties Jlnne, but fade away. 
 Youth may revel, yet it mujl 
 Lie down in a bed of dujl. 
 Earthly honours fiow and wafte, 
 Time alone doth change and lajl. 
 Sorrows mingled with contents, prepare 
 
 Rejl for care ; 
 Love only reigns in death ; though art 
 Can find no comfort for a broken heart. 
 
 T.ohn Ford. 
 
 8., 
 
SONG. 
 
 
 [1634.] 
 
 
 Sorrow, Sorrow, say where 
 
 dofi thou dwell? 
 
 In the lowefi room of hell. 
 
 
 Art thou born of human race ? 
 
 
 No, no, I have a fierier face ! 
 
 Art thou in city, town, or court 
 
 ? 
 
 I to every place resort. 
 
 
 0, why into the world is Sorrow sent? 
 
 Men afflicled befi repent. 
 
 
 What dofl thou feed on ? 
 
 
 Broken Jleep. 
 
 
 What takejl thou pleasure in? 
 
 
 To weep ; 
 
 
 To figh, to sob, to pine, 
 
 to groan, 
 
 To wring my hands, to 
 
 fit alone. 
 
 when, when /hall Sorrow 
 
 quiet have? 
 
 Never, never, never, never, 
 
 
 Never till [he finds a grave 
 
 
 
 Samuel Rowley. 
 
 TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM 
 
 OF CASTARA. 
 
 [1634.] 
 
 
 Te, blufbing virgins, happy 
 
 are 
 
 hi the chafie nu?inery of her 
 
 breafis ; 
 
 For he'd profane so chafie a 
 
 fair, 
 
 Whoe'er Jhould call them Cupid's nefis. 
 
 90 
 
 
Transplanted thus how bright ye grow, 
 How rich a perfume do ye yield ! 
 In some close garden, cow/lips so 
 Are sweeter than i" 1 the open field. 
 
 In those white cloijlers Hue secure 
 From the rude blafls of wanton breath ; 
 Each hour more innocent and pure, 
 Till you /hall wither into death. 
 
 Then that which living ga-ve you room. 
 Tour glorious sepulchre fhall be : 
 There wants no marble for a tomb, 
 Whose heart hath marble been to ?ne. 
 
 William Habington. 
 
 UPON CASTARA'S DEPARTURE. 
 
 [1634.] 
 
 Voivs are vain. No suppliant breath 
 Stays the speed of swift-heeled Death. 
 Life with her is gone, and I 
 Learn but a new) way to die. 
 See, the flowers condole, and all 
 Wither in my funeral. 
 The bright lily, as if day 
 Parted with her, fades away. 
 
Violets hang their heads, and lose 
 All their beauty That the rose 
 A sad part in sorrow bears, 
 Witness all those dewy tears, 
 Which as pearl, or diamond-like, 
 Swell upon her blufhing cheek. 
 All things mourn. But O, behold 
 How the withered marigold 
 Closeth up now) Jhe is gone, 
 Judging her the setting Sim ! 
 
 William Habington. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1634.] 
 
 StVEET Echo, sweetejl nymph, that li<vft unseen 
 
 Within thy airy Jhe 11, 
 By jlow Meanders margent green, 
 And in the violet-embroidered vale, 
 
 Where the love-lorn nightingale 
 Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well; 
 Canjl thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
 That like ft thy Narcijfus are? 
 O, if thou have 
 Hid them in some fowery cave, 
 Tell me but where, 
 Sweet queen of parley, daughter of the sphere ! 
 So may/} thou be tranflated to the Jkies, 
 And give resoundi?ig grace to all heaven s harmonies. 
 
 John Milton. 
 92 
 
SONG. 
 
 [I6J4-] 
 Sabrina fair, 
 
 Lijien where thou art fitting 
 Under the glaffy, cool, tranjlucent wave, 
 
 In twifted braids of lilies knitting 
 The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair , 
 
 Lijien for dear honour s sake, 
 
 Goddess of the fil-ver lake, 
 Lijien and save. 
 Liflen and appear to us 
 In name of great Oceanus, 
 By tli earth-Jhaking Neptune*s mace, 
 And Tethys* grave majejlic face, 
 By hoary Nereus* wrinkled look, 
 And the Carpathian wizard* s hook, 
 By scaly Triton s winding fell, 
 And old soothsaying Glaucus* spell, 
 By Leucothea 's lovely hands, 
 And her son that rules the ftrands, 
 By Thetis* tinsel-flippered feet, 
 And the songs of Sirens sweet, 
 By dead Parthenope 's dear tomb, 
 And fair Ligea* s golden comb, 
 Wherewith jhe fits on dia?nond rocks, 
 Sleeking her soft alluring locks, 
 By all the nymphs that nightly dance 
 Upon thy Jlr earns with wily glance, 
 Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head 
 From thy coral-paven bed, 
 95 
 
And bridle in thy headlong wave, 
 Till thou our summons answered have. 
 Liften and save. 
 
 John Milton. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1638.] 
 
 While Morpheus thus does gently lay 
 His powerful charge upon each part. 
 
 Making thy spirits even obey 
 
 The fiver charms of his dull art ; 
 
 /, thy Good Angel, from thy fide, 
 As smoke doth from the altar rise, 
 
 Making no noise as it doth glide, 
 
 Will leave thee in this soft surprise; 
 
 in. 
 
 And from the clouds will fetch thee down 
 
 A holy vifion, to express 
 Thy right unto an earthly crown ; 
 
 No power can make this kingdom less. 
 
 But gently, gently, left I bring 
 A ftart in Jleep by sudden flight, 
 
 Flaying aloof, and hovering, 
 Till I am loft unto the fight. 
 

 v. 
 
 This 
 
 is a motion fill and soft : 
 
 So free from noise and cry, 
 
 That 
 
 Jove himself who hears a thought, 
 
 Knows not when we pass by. 
 
 
 Henry Killigrew. 
 
 
 SONG. 
 
 
 [1638.] 
 
 WRY 
 
 1. 
 
 so pale and wan, fond lover ? 
 
 
 Prithee why, so pale ? 
 
 Will, 
 
 nvhen looking well cant move her, 
 
 
 Looking ill prevail? 
 
 
 Prithee why so pale ? 
 
 Why 
 
 11. 
 so dull and mute, young finner ? 
 
 
 Prithee why so mute? 
 
 Will, 
 
 when speaking well cant win her, 
 
 
 Saying nothing do^t? 
 
 
 Prithee why so mute? 
 
 
 in. 
 
 Quit, 
 
 quit for Jhame, this will not move, 
 
 This cannot take her; 
 If of herself /be will not love, 
 Nothing can make her: 
 The devil take her I 
 
 Sir John Suckling. 
 9? 
 
SONG, 
 
 [1640?] 
 
 Out upon it, I have loved 
 Three whole days together; 
 
 And am like to love three more, 
 If it prove fair weather ! 
 
 Time /hall moult away his wings, 
 
 Ere he fhall discover, 
 In the vjhole wide world again, 
 
 Such a conjlant lover. 
 
 But the spite on^t is, no praise 
 
 Is due at all to ?ne : 
 Love with me had made no flays, 
 
 Had it any been but /he. 
 
 Had it any been but /he, 
 
 And that very face, 
 There had been at leaf ere this 
 
 A dozen dozen in her place! 
 
 Sir John Suckling. 
 
OF A MISTRESS 
 
 OF WHOSE AFFECTION HE WAS DOUBTFUL. 
 
 [1639.] 
 
 What though with figures I Jhould raise 
 
 Above all height my miflress'' praise; 
 
 Calling her cheek a blufhing rose, 
 
 The fairejl June Mid e'er disclose j 
 
 Her forehead, lilies ; and her eyes. 
 
 The luminaries of the fkies : 
 
 That on her lips ambrofia grows, 
 
 And from her kijfes neflar flows? 
 
 Too great hyperboles, unless 
 
 She loves me, fhe is no?ie of these. 
 
 But if her heart and her defires 
 
 Do answer mine with equal fires, 
 
 These attributes are then too poor : 
 
 She is all these, and ten times more. 
 
 Thomas Nabbes. 
 
 SONG. 
 [1639.J 
 
 1. 
 
 97 
 
 Unclose those eyelids, and outfhine 
 The brightness of the breaking day ! 
 
 The light they cover is divine; 
 
 Why Jhould it fade so soon away ? 
 
 Stars vanifh so, and day appears ; 
 
 The suns so drowned 1 the morning's tears. 
 
O, let not sadness cloud this beauty, 
 Which if you lose you 7/ ne'er recover ! 
 
 It is not Love's, but Sorrow s duty, 
 To die so soon for a dead lover. 
 
 Bani/h, O, banijh grief, and then 
 
 Our joys voill bring our hopes again. 
 
 Henky Glapthorne. 
 
 98 
 
 OUT OF THE ITALIAN. 
 
 [1640?] 
 1. 
 To thy lover. 
 Dear, discover 
 That s-iveet blujh of thine that Jhameth 
 ( When those roses 
 It discloses) 
 All the jlo-ivers that Nature nameth. 
 
 11. 
 
 In free air 
 
 Flovj thy hair, 
 That no more Summer's befl dreffes 
 
 Be beholden 
 
 For their golden 
 Locks to Phoebus' flaming trejfes. 
 
 in. 
 O deliver 
 Love his quiver ; 
 From thy eyes he /boots his arrows, 
 
Where Apollo 
 Cannot follow, 
 Feathered with his mother s sparrows. 
 
 O envy not 
 
 [That woe die not) 
 Those dear lips whose door encloses 
 
 All the Graces 
 
 In their places, 
 Brother pearls, and fijler roses ! 
 
 v. 
 
 From these treasures 
 
 Of ripe pleasures 
 One bright smile to clear the weathe) 
 
 Earth and heaven, 
 
 Thus made even, 
 Both will be good friends together. 
 
 The air does woo thee, 
 
 Winds cling to thee-, 
 Might a word once fly from out thee, 
 
 Storm and thunder 
 
 Would Jit under, 
 And keep filence round about thee. 
 
 But if Nature" s 
 Common creatures 
 So dear glories dare not borrow, 
 
Yet thy beauty 
 
 Oives a duty 
 
 To my loving, lingering sorrow. 
 
 When to end me 
 Death Jhall send me 
 
 All his terrors to affright me i 
 Thine eyes^ graces 
 Gild their faces, 
 
 And those terrors Jhall delight 
 
 When my dying 
 
 Life is flying, 
 Those svueet airs that often Jle-iv me 
 
 Shall revive me, 
 
 Or reprieve me, 
 And to many deaths rene-iv me. 
 
 Richard Crashaw. 
 
 DIRGE. 
 
 [1640.] 
 
 Noblest bodies are but gilded clay. 
 
 Put a-tuay 
 But the precious Joining rind, 
 The inmojl rottenness remains behind. 
 Kings, on earth though gods they be, 
 Yet in death are vile as ave. 
 
He, a thousand kings before, 
 
 Noiv is vaffal unto more. 
 
 Vermin now insulting lie, 
 
 And dig for diamo?ids in each eye ; 
 
 JVhilJi the sceptre-bearing hand 
 
 Cannot their inroads ivithjiand. 
 
 Here doth one in odours wade, 
 
 By the regal unclion made ; 
 
 While another dares to gnaw 
 
 On that tongue, his people's law. 
 
 Fools, ah ! fools are we that so contrive, 
 
 And do ftri-ue, 
 In each gaudy ornament, 
 Who /hall his corpse in the bejl diJJj present. 
 
 Sicily and Naples : A Tragedy. 
 
 TO CYNTHIA, 
 
 ON CONCEALMENT OF HER BEAUTY. 
 
 [1641.] 
 I. 
 
 Do not conceal thy radiant eyes, 
 The jiar-light of sereneji Jkies ; 
 Left, wanting of their heavenly light, 
 They turn to Chaos'' endless night ! 
 
 n. 
 Do not conceal those treffes fair, 
 The filken snares of thy curled hair; 
 Left, finding neither gold nor ore, 
 The curious Jilk-worm work no more ! 
 
Do not conceal those breajls of thine, 
 More snovu-vjhite than the Apennine ; 
 Left, if there be like sno-tv and froft, 
 The lily be forever loft ! 
 
 Do not conceal that fragrant scent, 
 
 Thy breath, which to all flowers hath lent 
 
 Perfumes ; left, it being suppreft, 
 
 No spices grovj in all the Eaft ! 
 
 Do not conceal thy heavenly voice, 
 Which makes the hearts of gods rejoice; 
 Left, mujic hearing no such thing, 
 The nightingale forget to Jing ! 
 
 Do not conceal, nor yet eclipse 
 
 Thy pearly teeth nvith coral lips; 
 
 Left that the seas cease to bring forth 
 
 Gems vohich from thee have all their tuorth ! 
 
 Do not conceal no beauty, grace, 
 That's either in thy mind or face ; 
 Left virtue overcome by vice 
 Make men believe no Paradise! 
 
 Sir Francis Kinaston. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1642.] 
 
 Morpheus, the humble God, that dwells 
 In cottages a?id smoky cells, 
 Hates gilded roofs, and beds of down $ 
 And though he fears no princess frown, 
 Flies from the circle of a crown. 
 
 Come, I say, thou powerful God, 
 And thy leaden charming rod, 
 Dipped in the Lethean lake, 
 0"er his wakeful temples /hake, 
 Lejl he Jhould Jleep, and never wake. 
 
 Nature, alas I why art thou so 
 
 Obliged to thy greatejl foe ? 
 
 Sleep, that is thy beft repaft, 
 
 Tet of death it bears a tafte, 
 
 And both are the same thing at la/}. 
 
 Sir John Denham. 
 
 ioj 
 
 TO ALTHEA. 
 
 FROM PRISON. 
 
 ['642.] 
 
 IV hen Love with unconfined wings 
 Hovers within my gates; 
 
 And my divine Althea brings 
 To whisper at the grates : 
 
When I lie tangled in her hair, 
 
 And fettered to her eye, 
 The birds, that wanton in the air, 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When flowing cups run swiftly round 
 
 With no allaying Thames, 
 Our careless heads with roses bound, 
 
 Our hearts with loyal flames ; 
 When thirfty grief in wine we fleep, 
 
 When healths and draughts go free, 
 Fijhes, that tipple in the deep, 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 When, like committed linnets, I 
 
 With Jhriller throat /ball fing 
 The sweetness, mercy, majefly, 
 
 And glories of my King ; 
 When I jhall 'voice aloud how good 
 
 He is, how great Jhould be, 
 Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, 
 
 Know no such liberty. 
 
 Stone walls do not a prison make, 
 
 Nor iron bars a cage; 
 Minds innocent and quiet take 
 
 That for an hermitage : 
 If I have freedom in my love, 
 
 And in my soul am free, 
 Angels alone, that soar above, 
 
 Enjoy such liberty. 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
SONG. 
 
 TO LUCAS? A. GOING TO THE WARS. 
 
 [1646.] 
 
 Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, 
 
 That from the nunnery 
 Of thy chafe breaft and quiet mind 
 
 To war and arms I fly. 
 
 True, a new mijiress now I chase. 
 
 The firfl foe in the field ; 
 And with a ftronger faith embrace 
 
 A sword, a horse, a field. 
 
 Yet this inconflancy is such 
 
 As you too (hall adore : 
 I could not lo-ue thee, dear, so ?nuch, 
 
 Lo=ved I not Honour more. 
 
 Richard Lovelace. 
 
 A VALEDICTION. 
 
 [1642 ?J 
 Bid me not go where neither sun nor Jhowers 
 
 Do make or cheri/h flowers ; 
 IVhere discontented things in sadness lie, 
 And Nature grieves as I. 
 When I am parted from those eyes, 
 From which my better day doth rise, 
 Though some propitious Power 
 Should plant me in a bower, 
 105 
 
Where amongfl happy lovers I might see 
 
 How fhovoers and sunbeams bring 
 One everlafting Spring, 
 Nor would those fall, nor these Jhine forth to ?ne : 
 Nature herself to him is loft, 
 Who loseth her he honours moft. 
 Then, faireft, to my parting view display 
 
 Tour graces all in one full day : 
 Whose bleffed Jbapes Til snatch and keep, till when 
 
 I do return and view agen : 
 So by this art Fancy /hall Fortune cross, 
 And lovers live by thinking on their loss. 
 
 William Cartwright. 
 
 ON A GIRDLE. 
 
 [i6 4 s.] 
 That which her Jlender waift confined, 
 Shall novo my joyful temples bind; 
 No monarch but would give his crown, 
 His arms might do vjhat this has done. 
 
 It was my heaven s extremeft sphere, 
 The pale which held that lovely deer. 
 My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, 
 Did all within this circle move! 
 
 A narrow compass, and yet there 
 Dwelt all that's good, and all thafs fair. 
 Give me but what this ribbon bound, 
 Take all the reft the sun goes round. 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 106 
 
GO, LOVELY ROSE. 
 
 [1645.] 
 1. 
 Go, lovely Rose! 
 Tell her that vjajies her time and me, 
 
 That now [he knows, 
 When I resemble her to thee, 
 How sweet and fair Jhe seems to be. 
 
 Tell her that V young, 
 And Jhuns to have her graces spied, 
 
 That hadfl thou sprung 
 In deserts, where no ?ne?i abide, 
 Thou mujl have uncommended died. 
 
 Small is the vuorth 
 Of beauty from the light retired ; 
 
 Bid her come forth, 
 Suffer herself to be dejired, 
 And not blujh so to be admired. 
 
 Then die, that Jhe 
 The co?nmon fate of all things rare 
 
 May read in thee; 
 How small a part of Time they /hare 
 That are so vjondrous sweet and fair ! 
 
 Edmund Waller. 
 
THE PASSING-BELL. 
 [1646.] 
 Hark! honjo chimes the pafflng-bell, 
 There's no mufic to a knell: 
 All the other sounds <tve hear 
 Flatter, and but cheat our ear. 
 This doth put us ftill in mind 
 That our flejh mujl be rejigned, 
 And a general filence made, 
 The ivor Id be muffled in a /bade. 
 He that on his pillow lies, 
 Tear-embalmed before lie dies, 
 Carries, like a Jheep, his life 
 To meet the sacrificed s knife, 
 And for Eternity is prejl, 
 Sad bell-wether to the reft. 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
 SONG. 
 [1659.] 
 1. 
 The glories of our blood and ftate 
 
 Are Jhadows, not subflantial things j 
 There is no armour again]} Fate; 
 Death lays his icy hand on kings: 
 Sceptre and crown 
 Muft tumble down, 
 And in the dujl be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
Some men with swords may reap the field, 
 And plant frejh laurels where they kill ; 
 But their flrong nerves at la/l mufl yield j 
 They tame but one another ftill : 
 Early or late 
 They (loop to Fate, 
 And mufl give up their murmuring breath, 
 When they, pale captives, creep to death. 
 
 The garlands wither on your brow, 
 
 Then boafl no ?nore your mighty deeds ; 
 Upon Death 's purple altar novo 
 
 See, where the viclor viclim bleeds: 
 Your fie ads mufl come 
 To the cold tomb; 
 Only the aclions of the ju/l 
 Smell sweet, and blofom in their duft. 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 C E L I A IN LOVE. 
 [1646.] 
 
 / FELT my heart, and found a flame, 
 That for relief and /belter came : 
 I entertained the treacherous gueft, 
 And gave it welcome in my brea/l. 
 
 109 
 
Poor Celia ! whither wilt thou go ? 
 
 To cool in ftreams, or freeze in snow ? 
 
 Or gentle Zephyrus entreat, 
 
 To chill thy flames, and fan thy heat ? 
 
 Perhaps a taper s fading beams 
 
 May die in air, or quench in jlreams ; 
 
 But lo-ue is a myfterious fire, 
 
 Nor can in air or ice expire : 
 
 Nor will this Phoenix be suppreft 
 
 But with the ruin of his neft. 
 
 Martin Lluellin. 
 
 HONOUR. 
 
 [1647.] 
 1. 
 She loves, and she confefes too ; 
 There' 's then at laft no more to do. 
 The happy work^s entirely done, 
 Enter the town which thou haft won ; 
 The fruits of conqueft now begin : 
 Jo Triumphe ! Enter in. 
 
 11. 
 
 Whafs this, ye gods I what can it be? 
 Remains there ftill an enemy ? 
 Bold Honour jlands up in the gate, 
 And would yet capitulate. 
 Ha-ue I overcome all real foes, 
 And Jhall this Phantom me oppose ? 
 
Noisy Nothing ! ftalking Shade ! 
 
 By what witchcraft wert thou made? 
 
 Empty cause of solid harms ! 
 
 But I Jhall find out counter-charms 
 
 Thy airy Devil/hip to remove 
 
 From this circle here of Love. 
 
 Sure I Jhall rid myself of thee, 
 
 By the Nighfs obscurity. 
 
 And obscurer Secrecy. 
 
 Unlike to every other sprite, 
 
 Thou attempt ft not men f affright, 
 
 Nor appear 'ft but in the Light. 
 
 Abraham Cowley. 
 
 CHERR Y- RLPE. 
 
 [1648.] 
 
 Cherrt-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, 
 Full and fair ones, come and buy 
 If so be you a/k ?ne where 
 They do grow, I answer, There, 
 Where my Julia's lips do smile; 
 There^s the land, or cherry-iflc, 
 Whose plantations fully jhow 
 All the year where cherries grow. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
TO MEADOWS. 
 
 [1648.] 
 
 1. 
 Ye have been frefh and green , 
 
 Ye have been filled with flowers ; 
 And ye the walks have been 
 
 Where ?naids have spent their hour 
 
 11. 
 
 Ye have beheld how they 
 With wicker arks did come, 
 
 To kiss and bear away 
 The richer cow flips home. 
 
 in. 
 
 Y^ave heard them sweetly fing, 
 And seen them in a round: 
 
 Each virgin, like a Spring, 
 With honeysuckles crowned. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But now we see none here 
 Whose filvery feet did tread, 
 
 And with difhevelled hair 
 Adorned this smoother mead. 
 
 v. 
 Like unthrifts, having spent 
 
 Your (lock, and needy grown, 
 Y* are left here to lament 
 
 Your poor eflates, alone. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
TO PRIMROSES FILLED WITH MORNING DEW. 
 
 [164s.] 
 
 Why do ye weep, sweet babes ? Can tears 
 Speak grief in you, 
 Who were but born 
 Jufl as the mode/} Morn 
 Teemed her refrejhing dew ? 
 Alas ! ye have not known that Jbower 
 "That mars a flower 5 
 Nor felt th" unkind 
 Breath of a bla/Iing wind ; 
 Nor are ye worn with years, 
 
 Or <zuarped, as we, 
 Who think it ft range to see 
 Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, 
 To speak by tears before ye have a tongue. 
 
 Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known 
 The reason why 
 Ye droop and die. 
 Is it for want of fee p, 
 Or childijh lullaby? 
 Or that ye have not seen as yet 
 The violet? 
 Or brought a kiss 
 From that sweet heart to this ? 
 No, no, tiiis sorrow /I own 
 By your tears /bed, 
 Would have this leclure read : 
 That things of greatejl, so of meane/l worth, 
 Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 11* 
 
TO DAFFODILS. 
 [1648.J 
 
 1 
 
 Fair daffodils, we weep to see 
 
 Tou hafle away so soon: 
 As yet the early-rifing sun 
 Has not attained his noon. 
 Stay, flay, 
 Until the ha/ling day 
 
 Has run 
 But to the even-song; 
 And, having prayed together, we 
 Will go with you along. 
 
 We have Jhort time to flay as you, 
 
 We have as fljort a Sprifig ; 
 As quick a growth to meet decay, 
 As you, or any thing. 
 We die, 
 As your hours do, and dry 
 
 Away 
 Like to the Summer s rain ; 
 Or as the pearls of morning dew, 
 Ne'er to be found again. 
 
 Robert Herrio 
 
TO BLOSSOMS. 
 
 [1648.] 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 
 Why do ye fall so f aft? 
 Tour date is not so paft y 
 
 But you may flay yet here awhile, 
 To blujh and gently smile, 
 And go at laft. 
 
 What, voere ye bom to be 
 
 An hour or half's delight, 
 And so to bid good-night ? 
 
 ""Tvoas pity Nature brought ye forth 
 
 Merely to Jhonxj your tvorth, 
 
 And lose you quite. 
 
 But you are lovely leaves, where <we 
 May read ho-zv soon things have 
 Their end, though ne'er so brave; 
 And after they have fhov.m their pride, 
 Like you, avjhile, they glide 
 Into the grave. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
TO VIRGINS, 
 
 T M A K E M UCH F T I M E. 
 
 [1648.] 
 
 Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, 
 
 Old Time is fill a-flying, 
 And this same flower that smiles to-day, 
 
 To-morrow will be dying. 
 
 The glorious lamp of Heaven, the Sun, 
 
 The higher he's a-getting, 
 The sooner will his race be run, 
 
 And nearer he's to setting. 
 
 That age is bejl 'which is the flrfl, 
 When youth and blood are warmer j 
 
 But being spent, the worse, and wor/l 
 Times flill succeed the former. 
 
 Then be not coy, but use your time, 
 
 And while ye may, go marry ; 
 For having loft but once your prime, 
 
 You may forever tarry. 
 
 Robert Herric:c. 
 
THE NIGHT-PIECE, TO JULIA. 
 
 [1648.] 
 
 1. 
 Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
 The /booting Jlars attend thee ; 
 
 And the elves also, 
 
 Whose little eyes glow 
 Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 
 
 11. 
 
 No Will-o''-th''-Wisp mis-light thee, 
 Nor snake or flow-worm bite thee ; 
 
 But on, o?i thy way, 
 
 Not making a fay, 
 Sir.ce ghofl there^s none to affright thee. 
 
 in. 
 Let not the dark thee cumber-, 
 What though the moon does Jlumber P 
 
 The jlars of the night 
 
 Will lend thee their light, 
 Like tapers clear without number. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 
 Thus, thus to come unto me: 
 
 And when I /hall meet 
 
 Thy fil-uery feet, 
 My soul I'll pour into thee. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 117 
 
TO THE WESTERN WIND. 
 [1648.] 
 
 SiveeT weft em wind, whose luck it is, 
 
 Made rival with the air, 
 To give Perennas Up a kiss, 
 
 And fan her wanton hair, 
 
 Bring me but one, Vll promise thee, 
 
 In/had of common /bowers, 
 Thy wings /ball be embalmed by me, 
 
 And all beset with flowers. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 TO THE WATER- NYMPHS 
 
 DRINKING AT THE FOUNTAIN. 
 
 [1648.: 
 
 I. 
 
 Reach with your whiter hands to me 
 Some cryflal of the spring, 
 
 And I about the cup /ball see 
 Frejb lilies flouri/hi?ig. 
 
 Or else, sweet nymphs, do you but this — 
 
 To tti glass your lips incline, 
 And I /hall see, by that one kiss, 
 
 The water turned to wine! 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
TO ELECTRA. 
 
 [1648.] 
 
 / dare not aft. a kiss, 
 I dare not beg a smile; 
 
 Left, having that or this, 
 
 I might gro-iv proud the ivhile. 
 
 11. 
 No, no, the utmoft Jhare 
 
 Of my defire Jhall be, 
 Only to kiss the air 
 
 'That lately kijfed thee. 
 
 Robert Herrick. 
 
 SONG. 
 [1649; J 
 1. 
 Dear, do not your fair beauty <zvrong, 
 In thinking ftill you are too young ; 
 The rose and lilies in your cheek 
 Flourijh, and no more ripeness seek. 
 
 Tour cherry lip, red, soft, and sweet, 
 Proclaims such fruit for tafte moft meet ; 
 Then lose no time, for Love has <wings, 
 And flies anvay from aged things. 
 
 Thomas May. 
 
THE RETREAT. 
 
 [1650.] 
 Happy those early days, when I 
 Shine d in ?ny a?iget-infancy ! 
 Before I under/hod this place 
 Appointed for my second race, 
 Or taught my soul to fancy aught 
 But a white, celeflial thought: 
 When yet I had not walked above 
 A mile or two from my firjl lo<ve, 
 And looking back, at that Jhort space, 
 Could see a glimpse of his bright face ; 
 When on some gilded cloud, or fower, 
 My gazi?2g soul would dwell an hour, 
 And in those weaker glories spy 
 Some Jhadows of eternity ; 
 Before I taught my tongue to wound 
 My conscience with a finful sound, 
 Or had the black art to dispense 
 A several fin to every sense, 
 But felt through all this flejhly dress 
 Bright /boots of everlajlingness. 
 O how I long to travel back 
 And tread again that ancient track! 
 That I might once more reach that plain, 
 Where fir/l I left my glorious train ; 
 From whence tti enlightened spirit sees 
 That jhady city of palm-trees. 
 But ah, my soul with too much fay- 
 Is drunk, and ft aggers in the way ! 
 
Some men a forward motion love, 
 But I by backward Jhps would move, 
 And when this du/l Jails to the urn, 
 In that Jiate I came return. 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
 THE SHOWER. 
 
 [1650?] 
 
 Waters above, eternal springs, 
 
 The dew that fillers the Dove's wings ! 
 
 O welcome, welcome to the sad I 
 
 Give dry dufl drink, drink that makes glad. 
 
 Many fair evenings, ?nany flowers 
 
 Sweetened with rich and gentle /bowers, 
 
 Have I enjoyed ; and down have run 
 
 Many a fine and fhining sun : 
 
 But never, till this happy hour, 
 
 Was blejl with such an evening jhower ! 
 
 Henry Vaughan. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1650?] 
 
 Come, ye young men, come along, 
 With your mujic, dance, and song ; 
 Bring your lajfes in your hands, 
 For 'tis that which Love commands. 
 
'Then to the Maypole come away, 
 For it is no-iv a holiday. 
 
 It is the choice time of the year, 
 For the violets now appear; 
 No-tv the rose receives its birth, 
 And pretty primrose decks the earth. 
 
 Then to the Maypole come away, 
 
 For it is no-iv a holiday. 
 
 Here each bachelor may choose 
 One that will not faith abuse, 
 Nor repay with cold disdain, 
 Love that Jhould be loved again. 
 
 Then to the Maypole come away, 
 
 For it is no-iv a holiday. 
 
 And when you well reckoned have, 
 What kijfes you your sweethearts gave, 
 Take them all again, and more, 
 It will never ?nake them poor. 
 
 Then to the Maypole come away, 
 
 For it is no-iv a holiday. 
 
 When you thus have spent the time, 
 
 Till the day be pajl its prime, 
 
 To your beds repair at night, 
 
 And dream there of your days delight. 
 
 Then to the Maypole come away, 
 
 For it is now a holiday. 
 
 Robert Co: 
 
THE EXEQUIES. 
 
 [1651.] 
 
 Dr. -iff near, 
 You lovers that complain 
 Of Fortune or Disdain, 
 And to my a/ties lend a tear. 
 Melt the hard marble with your groans, 
 And soften the relentless Jlones, 
 Whose cold embraces the sad subjecl hide, 
 Of all Lows cruelties, and Beauty s pride. 
 
 No verse, 
 No epicedium bring, 
 Nor peaceful requiem fmg, 
 To charm the terrors of my hearse ; 
 No profane numbers mu/l flow ?iear 
 T/ie sacred jilence that dwells here. 
 Vaft griefs are dumb ; softly, O, softly mourn, 
 Lejl you dijiurb the peace attends my urn. 
 
 Yet jlrew 
 Upon my dismal grave 
 Such offerings as you have, 
 Forsaken cypress and sad yew ; 
 For kinder flowers can take no birth, 
 Or growth, from such unhappy earth. 
 Weep only o'er my dufi, and say, Here lies 
 To Love and Fate an equal sacrifice. 
 
 Thomas Stanley. 
 '■I 
 
LOVE ONCE, LOVE EVER. 
 
 [1651.] 
 
 Shall I, hopeless, then pursue 
 
 A fair Jhadow that jlill flies me ? 
 
 Shall I Jlill adore, and woo 
 
 A proud heart that does despise me ? 
 
 I a conjlant love may so, 
 
 But, alas ! a fruitless Jbow. 
 
 Shall I by the erring light 
 
 Of two crojer ftars Jlill sail ? 
 
 That do Jbine, but /bine in spite, 
 Not to guide, but make me fail ? 
 
 I a wandering course may fleer, 
 
 But the harbour ne^er come near. 
 
 Whiljl these thoughts my soul poffess, 
 Reason paj/ion would o^ersway, 
 
 Bidding me my flames suppress, 
 Or di-vert so?ne other way : 
 
 But what reason would pursue, 
 
 That my heart runs counter to. 
 
 So a pilot, bent to make 
 
 Search for some unfound-out land, 
 
 Does with him the magnet take, 
 Sailing to the unknown jlrand : 
 
 But that, Jleer which way he will, 
 
 To the lo-ved North points Jlill. 
 
 Sir Edward Sherburne. 
 124 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1652?] 
 He's great that maflers his own soul, 
 As he whose nod Jhakes either Pole. 
 Not he that kings in chains can bring, 
 But that subdues himself s a king; 
 That's ever in himself at home, 
 And ne"er lets his queen, Reason, roam, 
 On whom all pajjions waiting /land, 
 As handmaids on their lady's hand. 
 He o'er himself triumphing firjl, 
 Dares Chance and Envy do their worf; 
 And keeping fill his own even height, 
 Fall Fortune heavy, fall fie light, 
 He'll never make to th' flanders by 
 Too Iovj a moan, or haughty cry; 
 But wisely can her favjning fight, 
 And then as bravely scorn her spite. 
 Who can deny that such a one 
 Pojfef'es all things, or wants none? 
 And vuhich 0' th' two would you wijh firft, 
 Still to have drink, or ne'er to thirjl ? 
 
 Robert Baron. 
 
 THE ANGLER'S WISH. 
 
 [1653.] 
 
 1. 
 
 / in these fowery meads would be: 
 
 These cryfal Jlreams Jhould solace me 
 
To whose har?nonious bubbling noise 
 I <witk my a?igle would rejoice: 
 Sit here, and see the turtle-dove 
 Court his chafe mate to ails of love. 
 
 Or, on that bank, feel the nvefl wind 
 Breathe health and plenty ; please my mind 
 To see sweet dew-drops hiss these flowers, 
 And then, wa/hed off by April Jhowers : 
 Here, hear ?ny Kenna fing a song ,• 
 There, see a blackbird feed her young ; 
 
 Or a leverock build her nef ; 
 Here, give my weary spirits reft, 
 And raise my low-pitched thoughts above 
 Earth, or what poor mortals love: 
 
 Thus free from law-suits, and the noise 
 Of princes' 1 courts, I would rejoice. 
 
 Or, with my Bryan, and a book, 
 Loiter long days near Shawford brook : 
 There fit by him, and eat my meat, 
 There see the sun both rise and set: 
 There bid good-morntng to next day, 
 There meditate my time away : 
 And angle on, and beg to have 
 A quiet paffage to a welcome grave. 
 
 Izaak Walton. 
 iz6 
 
AMINTOR'S WELL- A- D AY. 
 
 [1653.] 
 
 Chloris, now thou art fled away, 
 
 Amintors Jheep are gone aflray, 
 
 And all the joy he took to see 
 
 His pretty lambs run after thee, 
 Is gone, is gone, and he a I way 
 Sings nothing now but well-a-day ! 
 
 His oaten pipe, that in thy praise 
 Was wont to Jing such roundelays, 
 Is thrown away, and not a swain 
 Dares pipe, or fmg, within his plain j 
 ""Tis death for any now to say 
 One word to him but well-a-day ! 
 
 The May-pole wliere thy little feet 
 
 So roundly did in measures ?neet, 
 
 Is broken down, and no content 
 
 Comes near Amintor fince you went. 
 All that I e-ver heard him say, 
 Was Chloris, Chloris, nvell-a-day ! 
 
 Upon these banks you used to tread, 
 He e-uer fince hath lain his head, 
 And whispered there such pining woe, 
 As not a blade of grass will grow. 
 O Chloris, Chloris, come away, 
 And hear A?nintors well-a-day .' 
 
 H. Hughes. 
 
TO AMANDA, 
 
 LEAVING HIM ALONE. 
 [I6SM 
 
 What bufiness calls thee hence, and calls not me ? 
 My bufiness ever is to wait on thee ; 
 Therefore wherever you go, 
 
 I muft go too ; 
 Whatever your bufiness is, 
 Be it that, or this, 
 Yet Jlill my bufiness is to wait on you. 
 Nay, prithee, my dearefl, why 
 
 So coy and Jhy ? 
 Yes, yes, you "11 come agen, 
 
 But, prithee, when ? 
 Here mufl I mope alone, 
 Whilfl you some other love, 
 Or, in your cabinet above, 
 Some letters doat upon, 
 Which teach you how to say me Nay. 
 But know, Amanda, if too long you fay, 
 My soul /ball vanifh into air, 
 And haunt and dodge thee everywhere. 
 ' Tis ft when thou tah f Heaven from me, 
 Thou take at leaf my soul with thee. 
 
 N. Hookes. 
 
 123 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1654.] 
 
 Solitude, of friends the befl, 
 
 And the bejl companion ; 
 
 Mother of truths, and brought at leaji 
 
 Every day to bed of one ; 
 
 In this fo-zvery man/ion 
 
 I contemplate hovu the rose 
 
 Stands upon thorns, hovj quickly goes 
 
 The dismaying jejfamine : 
 
 Only the soul, vohich is divine, 
 
 No decay of beauty knovjs. 
 
 The World is Beauty's Mirror. Floavers, 
 
 In their firjl virgin purity, 
 
 Flatterers both of the nose and eye — 
 
 To he cropped by paramours 
 
 Is their beji of dejliny : 
 
 And those nice darlings of the land, 
 
 Which seemed heaven s painted bo-iv to scorn, 
 
 And bloomed the envy of the mom, 
 
 Are the gay trophy of a hand. 
 
 Sir Richard Fanshavv. 
 
 129 
 
SONG. 
 [1654.] 
 STILL-BORN Silence, thou that art 
 Floodgate of the deeper heart ; 
 Offspring of a heavenly kind ; 
 Frojl o' tli mouth, and thavo d' tlC mind; 
 Secrecy s confident, and he 
 That makes religion Myjiery : 
 Admiration s speaking 'ft tongue, — 
 Leave thy desert fijades, among 
 Reverend hermits'' hallowed cells, 
 Where retired]/} Devotion dwells: 
 With thy enthujiasms come ; 
 Seize this maid, and make her dumb. 
 
 Richard Flecknoe. 
 
 ON CHLORIS WALKING IN THE SNOW. 
 
 [1654.] 
 / saiv fair Chloris vjalk alone, 
 When feathered rain came softly dovjn ; 
 Then Jove descended from his tower, 
 To vooo her in a Jilver Jhovjer. 
 The wanton snovo flew to her breajl, 
 Like little birds into their nejl ; 
 But overcome voith whiteness there, 
 For grief it thawed into a tear : 
 Then falling do-ivn her garment hem, 
 To deck her, froze into a gem. 
 
 Wit's Recreations. 
 
 1 jo 
 
IJl 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1657.] 
 1. 
 Tell me no more how fair Jhe is, 
 
 I iia<ve no mind to hear 
 The (lory of that diflant bliss 
 
 I ne<ve t r Jhall come near : 
 By sad experience I hanje found 
 That her perfeclion is my wound. 
 
 And tell me not how fond I am 
 
 To tempt a daring fate, 
 From whence no triumph e<ver came, 
 
 But to repent too late: 
 There is some hope ere long I may 
 In Jilence dote myself away. 
 
 I ajk no pity, lo~ue, from thee, 
 
 Nor will thy juflice blame, 
 So that thou wilt not enijy me 
 
 The glory of my flame : 
 Which crowns my heart whenever it dies, 
 In that it falls her sacrifice. 
 
 Henry King, Bijhop of Chichrfte; 
 
FAIR T SONG. 
 [1658.] 
 
 Come, follow, follow me, 
 You, fairy elves that be, 
 Which circle on the green, 
 Come, follow) Mab, your Queen. 
 Hand in hand lefs dance around, 
 For this place is fairy ground. 
 
 When mortals are at reft, 
 And snoring in their neft, 
 Unheard, and unespied, 
 Through keyholes we do glide 5 
 0-ver tables, ftools, and Jhel-ves, 
 We trip it with our fairy elves. 
 
 And if the house be foul 
 With platter, difti, or bowl, 
 Up flairs we nimbly creep, 
 And find the Jluts afleep : 
 There we pinch their arms and thighs 
 None escapes, nor none espies. 
 
 But if the house be swept, 
 And from uncleanness kept, 
 We praise the household maid, 
 And duly Jhe is paid j 
 For we use, before we go, 
 To drop a tefler in her /hoe. 
 
 IJ2 
 
Upon a 7nufhroorns head 
 
 Our table-cloth we spread $ 
 
 A grain of rye or wheat 
 
 Is manchet which we eat] 
 Pearly drops of dew we drink, 
 In acorn-cups filled to the brink. 
 
 The brains of nightingales, 
 
 With uncluous fat of snails, 
 
 Between two cockles Jlewed, 
 
 Is meat thafs eajily chewed; 
 Tails of --worms, and marrow) of mice, 
 Do make a difh thafs wondrous nice. 
 
 The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, 
 
 Serve us for our minjirelsy $ 
 
 Grace said, we dance awhile, 
 
 And so the time beguile; 
 And if the moon doth hide her head, 
 The glow-worm lights us home to bed. 
 
 On tops of dewy grass 
 
 So nimbly do we pass, 
 
 The young and tender ftalk 
 
 Ne^er bends when we do walk: 
 Yet in the morning may be seen 
 Where we the night before have been. 
 
 Mysteries of Love and Eloquenxe. 
 
 135 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1660.] 
 
 Cupid all his arts did prove 
 
 To invite my heart to love; 
 
 But I alvoays did delay 
 
 His mild summons to obey. 
 
 Being deaf to all his charms. 
 
 Straight the god ajfumes his ar?ns : 
 
 With his bovo and quiver, lie 
 
 Takes the field to duel me. 
 
 Armed like Achilles, I 
 
 With my Jhield alone defy 
 
 His bold challenge ; as he cafl 
 
 His golden darts, I as fajl 
 
 Catched his arrows in my fin eld; 
 
 Till I made him leave the field : 
 
 Fretting and disarmed then, 
 
 The angry god returns agen 
 
 All his fia?nes ; "Jhad of a dart, 
 
 Throvcs himself into my heart : 
 
 Useless I my Jhield require, 
 
 When the fort is all on fire ; 
 
 I in vain the field did vjin, 
 
 Novj the ene?7iy''s vjithin. 
 
 Thus betrayed, at lajl I cry, 
 
 Love, thou hajl the vitlory. 
 
 Thomas Ford. 
 
 134 
 
TO THE INCONSTANT CYNTHIA. 
 
 [1660.] 
 1. 
 
 Tell ?ne once, dear, how it does prove 
 
 That I so 7?iuch forsworn could be ? 
 
 I never swore always to love, 
 
 I only vowed ftill to love thee. 
 
 And art thou novo what thou wert then, 
 Unsworn unto by other men ? 
 
 In thy fair breaft, and once-fair soul, 
 I thought my vows were writ alone ; 
 But others' 1 oaths so blurred the scroll, 
 That I no ?nore could read my own. 
 And am I Jlill obliged to pay, 
 When you had thrown the bond away ? 
 
 Nor mujl we only part in joy, 
 Our tears as well mujl be unkind: 
 Weep you, that could such truth de/lroy, 
 And I that could such falseness find. 
 
 Thus we 7nu(l unconcerned remain 
 
 In our divided joys and pain. 
 
 Yet we may love, but on this different score, 
 You, 'tvhat I am, I, what you were before. 
 
 Sir Robert Howard. 
 iJ5 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1661.] 
 
 1. 
 Come, Somnus, vjith thy potent charms. 
 And seize this captive in thy arms ; 
 And sweetly drop on every sense 
 Thy soul-refrejhing influence. 
 His fight, smell, hearing, touch, and tafle, 
 Unto thy peace do thou bind fajh 
 
 On working brains, at school all day, 
 At night thou doll be/lo-iv a play ; 
 And troubled minds thou dojl set free j 
 Thou mak ]/l both friends and foes agree : 
 All are alike, who live by breath, 
 In thee, and in thy brother Death. 
 
 Fhilonax Lovekin. 
 
 SONG. 
 [1664.] 
 1. 
 Ladies, though to your conquering eyes 
 Love owes his chiefe/l 'viclories, 
 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. 
 
II. 
 
 Then rack not lovers with disdain, 
 Left Love on you revenge their pain ; 
 Tou are not free because you ""re fair, 
 The boy did not his mother spare; 
 Though beauty be a killing dart, 
 It is no armour for the heart. 
 
 Sir George Etherege. 
 
 THE RESOLVE. 
 
 [1664.] 
 1. 
 Tell ?ne not of a face that's fair, 
 
 Nor lip nor cheek that's red; 
 Nor of the treffes of her hair, 
 
 Nor curls in order laid: 
 Nor of a rare seraphic voice, 
 
 That like an angel fings : 
 Though if I were to take my choice, 
 
 I vjould have all these things. 
 But if thou wilt have me love, 
 
 And it muft be a /he, 
 The only argument can move, 
 
 Is, that Jhe will love me. 
 
 11. 
 
 The glories of your ladies be 
 
 But metaphors of things ; 
 And but resemble what we see 
 Each common objetl brings. 
 157 
 
Roses out-red their lips and cheeks, 
 
 Lilies their whiteness /lain : 
 What fool is he that Jbadoivs seeks, 
 
 And may the sub/lance gain ? 
 Then if thou Ht have me love a lass, 
 
 Let it be one that's kind; 
 Else Vm a servant to the glass 
 
 That's with Canary lined. 
 
 Alexander Brome. 
 
 ON CLARET. 
 
 [1664.] 
 
 Within this bottle's to be seen 
 A scarlet liquor, that has been 
 
 Born of the royal Vine ; 
 We but nick-name it when we call 
 It Gods'" drink, -who drink none at all- 
 No higher name than Wine. 
 t 
 ' Tis ladies" liquor : here one might 
 
 Fea/l both his eye and appetite, 
 
 With beauty and witJi tajle ; 
 Cherries and roses, wliich you seek 
 Upon your miftress" lip and cheek, 
 Are here together placed. 
 
 Phyficians may prescribe their whey, 
 To purge our reins and brains away, 
 And clarify the bloody 
 138 
 
That cures one sickness with another, 
 This routs by wholesale altogether, 
 And drowns them in a flood. 
 
 This poets makes, else how could I 
 Thus ramble into poetry, 
 
 Nay, and write sonnets too ? 
 If there' 's such power in junior wines, 
 To make one venture upon lines, 
 
 What could Canary do ? 
 
 Then squeeze the veffeVs bowels out, 
 And deal it faithfully about, — 
 
 Crown each hand with a brimmer: 
 Since we^re to pass through this Red Sea, 
 Our noses /ball our pilots be, 
 
 And every soul a swi?nmer ! 
 
 Alexander Brome. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 THE SOLDIER GOING TO THE FIELD. 
 
 [1666?] 
 
 Preserve thy fighs, unthrifty girl, 
 
 To purify the air: 
 Thy tears to thread i?iftead of pearl 
 
 On bracelets of thy hair. 
 
 Tlte trumpet makes the echo hoarse, 
 And wakes the louder drum ; 
 
 Expense of grief gains no remorse, 
 When sorrow Jhould be dumb. 
 
For I mufl go where lazy Peace 
 
 Will hide her drowsy head, 
 And, for the sport of kings, increase 
 
 The number of the dead ! 
 
 But firji Vll chide thy cruel theft. 
 
 Can I in war delight, 
 Who being of my heart bereft 
 
 Can have no heart to fight ? 
 
 Thou know/l the sacred laws of old 
 
 Ordained a thief Jhould pay, 
 To quit him of his theft, seven-fold 
 
 What he had flolen away. 
 
 Thy payment /hall but double be : 
 
 O then with speed refign 
 My own seduced heart to me, 
 
 Accompanied with thine. 
 
 Sir William Davenant. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1666 ?] 
 
 The lark now leaves his watery ne/l, 
 And climbing /hakes his dewy wings ; 
 
 He takes this window for the Ea/l, 
 And to implore your light he fings. 
 
 Awake, awake, the morn will never rise 
 
 Till /he can dress her beauty at your eyes. 
 i 4 o 
 
The merchant bows unto the seaman" s fiar, 
 The ploughman from the sun his season takes ; 
 
 But fill the lover wonders what they are, 
 Who look for day before his miftress wakes. 
 
 Awake, awake, break through your veils of lawn, 
 
 Then draw your curtains, and begin the dawn. 
 
 Sir William Davenant. 
 
 141 
 
 TO CHLORIS. 
 
 [1670?] 
 
 Farewell, my sweet, until I come, 
 Improved in merit, for thy sake, 
 
 With characlers of honour home, 
 
 Such as thou canjl not then but take. 
 
 To loyalty my love mujl bow, 
 My honour too calls to the field, 
 
 Where, for a lady's bujk, I now 
 Mujl keen and Jlurdy iron wield. 
 
 Yet, when I rufh into those arms, 
 Where death and danger do combine, 
 
 I Jhall less subjecl be to harms, 
 
 Than to those killing eyes of thine. 
 
 Since I could live in thy disdain, 
 Thou art so far become my Fate, 
 
 That I by nothing can be (lain, 
 Until thy sentence speaks my date. 
 
But if I seem to fall in war, 
 
 T" 1 excuse the murder you commit, 
 
 Be to my memory ju/l, so far 
 
 As in thy heart f acknowledge it. 
 
 That's all I ajk ; which thou mujl give 
 To him, that, dying, takes a pride 
 
 It is for thee, and would not Hue, 
 Sole Prince of all the world befide. 
 
 Charles Cotton. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1670?] 
 
 1. 
 Phil lis, men say that all my vows 
 
 Are to thy fortune paid; 
 Alas ! my heart he little knows 
 - JFho thinks ?ny love a trade. 
 
 11. 
 Were I of all these -woods the lord, 
 
 One berry from thy hand 
 More real pleasure would afford 
 
 Than all my large command. 
 
 in. 
 My humble love has learned to live 
 
 On what the niceji maid, 
 Without a. conscious blujh, may give 
 Beneath the myrtle-Jhade. 
 
 Sir Charles Ssdley, 
 

 SONG. 
 
 
 [1670?] 
 
 
 Nor, Celia, that I jufter am, 
 
 Or better than the reft, 
 For I would change each hour like them, 
 
 Were not my heart at reft. 
 
 
 But I am tied to very thee, 
 By every thought I have; 
 
 Thy face I only care to see, 
 Thy heart I only crave. 
 
 
 All that in woman is adored 
 In thy dear self I find ; 
 
 For the whole sex can but afford 
 The handsome, and the kind. 
 
 
 Why then Jbould I seek farther (lore, 
 
 And ftill make love anew? 
 
 When change itself can give no more, 
 
 "Tis easy to be true. 
 
 Sir Charles Sedley. 
 
 
 OUT OF LTCOPHRON. 
 
 
 [1670 ?] 
 
 145 
 
 What /ball become of Man so wise, 
 
 When he dies F 
 
 None can tell 
 Whether he goes to Heaven or Hell: 
 
Or, after a few moments dear, 
 He disappear, 
 And at loft 
 Perijh entirely like a beajl. 
 But women, wine, and mirth, we know, 
 Are all the joys he has below ; 
 Then let us ply those joys we have, 
 *Tis vain to think beyond the grave. 
 Out of our reach the gods have laid 
 
 Of time to come the event, 
 And laugh to see the fools afraid 
 Of what the knaves invent. 
 
 Sir Charles Sedley. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1671.] 
 
 Come, Chloris, hie we to the bower, 
 To sport us ere the day be done: 
 
 Such is thy power that every flower 
 Will ope to thee as to the sun. 
 
 And if a flower but chance to die 
 
 With my Jighs" blajl, or mine eyes'" rain, 
 
 Thou canjl revive it with thine eye, 
 And with thy breath make sweet again. 
 
The wanton suckling, and the 'vine, 
 
 Will jlrive for th" honour, who firji may 
 
 With their green arms encircle thine, 
 To keep the burning sun away. 
 
 The Academy of Compliments. 
 
 LOVE'S BRAVO. 
 
 [1674.] 
 
 Why Jhould we mur?nur, why repine, 
 
 Phyllis, at thy fate, or mine? 
 Like prisoners, why do we these fetters Jhake, 
 
 Which neither thou, nor I, can break? 
 There is a better way to baffle Fate, 
 
 If mortals would but mind it, 
 And 'tis not hard to find it : 
 Who would be happy, mujl be desperate. 
 
 He mujl despise those Jlars that fright 
 Only fools that dread the night ; 
 
 Time and Chance he mujl out-brave; 
 
 He that crouches is their flaw. 
 
 Thus the wise Pagans, ill at ease, 
 Bravely chaflised their surly Deities. 
 
 Thomas Flatman. 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1675.] 
 Cupid, I scorn to beg the art 
 
 From thy imaginary throne, 
 To learn to wound another s heart, 
 
 Or how to heal my own. 
 
 If fhe be coy, my airy mind 
 
 Brooks not a fiege ; if Jhe be kind, 
 
 She pro-ues my scorn that was my wonder; 
 
 For towns that yield I hate to plunder. 
 
 Lo-ue is a game ; hearts are the prize ; 
 Pride keeps the flakes, art throws the dice ; 
 
 When either^ s won, 
 
 The game is done. 
 Lo--ue is a co-ward, hunts the flying prey, 
 But when it once flands flill, Lo<ve runs away. 
 
 Sir Francis Fane. 
 
 UNCERTAIN LOVE. 
 
 [1676.] 
 
 The labouring man that plants and sows, 
 
 His certain times of profit knows ; 
 
 Seamen the roughefl tempefl scorn, 
 
 Hoping at la/l a rich return. 
 
 But ?7iy too much loved Cello's mind 
 
 Is more inconftant and unkind 
 
 Than flormy weather, sea, or wind. 
 
 146 
 
Now with ajfured hope raised high, 
 I think no man so bleji as I ; 
 Hope, that a dying saint may o c wn, 
 To see and hear her speak alone. 
 What if I snatch one kiss, or more ? 
 Where Heaven glues a wealthy Jlore, 
 "Tis to be bounteous to the poor. 
 
 But ere my swifteft thought can thence 
 
 Convey a blejjing to my sense, 
 
 My hope like fairy treasurers gone, 
 
 Although I 7iever made it known. 
 
 From all untruth my heart is clean, 
 
 No other love can enter in ; 
 
 Tet Celiacs ne^er will come agen. 
 
 Thomas Duffett. 
 
 THE MOWER TO THE GLOW-WORMS. 
 
 [1677? J 
 
 Ye living lamps, by whose dear light 
 The nightingale does fit so late, 
 And Jludying all the summer night, 
 Her matchless songs does meditate; 
 
 Ye country comets, that portend 
 No war nor princess funeral, 
 Shining unto no other end 
 Than to presage the grasses fall; 
 
Te glow-nvorms, whose officious flame 
 To wandering mowers Jbows the way, 
 That in the night have loft their aim, 
 And after foolijh flres do ftray : 
 
 Tour courteous lights in vain ye wafte, 
 Since Juliana here is come ; 
 For /he my mind hath so displaced, 
 That I Jhall never find my home. 
 
 Andrew Marvell. 
 
 LOVE AND LIFE. 
 
 [1678 ?] 
 All my paft life is mine no more, 
 
 The flying hours are gone ,• 
 Like tranjitory dreams given o y er, 
 Whose images are kept in jlore 
 
 By Memory alone. 
 
 The time that is to come is not, 
 How can it then be mine? 
 
 The present moment' 's all my lot; 
 
 And that, as faji as it is got, 
 Phyllis, is only thine. 
 
 Then talk not of inconjlancy, 
 
 False hearts, and broken vows ; 
 If I, by miracle, can be 
 This livelong minute true to thee, 
 ""Tis all that Heaven allows. 
 
 John Wilmot, Earl of Rochcftc 
 j 48 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1680?] 
 
 From all uneasy pajjions free, 
 Revenge, ambition, jealousy, 
 Contented I had been too blejl, 
 If Love and you had let me refl. 
 Yet that dull life I now despise j 
 
 Safe from your eyes 
 I feared no griefs, but then I found no joys. 
 
 Amidjl a thousand kind defires, 
 Which beauty moves and love inspires, 
 Such pangs I feel of tender fear, 
 No heart so soft as mine can bear. 
 Yet Til defy the vjorji of harms ; 
 
 Such are your charms, 
 "Tis voorth a life to die vjithin your arms. 
 
 John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1696.] 
 
 
 Celia is cruel; Sylvia, thou, 
 
 
 I mufl confess, art kind; 
 
 
 But in her cruelty, I vovj, 
 
 
 I more repose can find. 
 
 
 For 0, thy fancy at all games does fly, 
 
 
 Fond of address, and vjilling to comply.' 
 
 149 
 
 
Thus he that lo-ves mufl be undone, 
 
 Each way on rocks we fall ; 
 Either you will be kind to none, 
 
 Or, worse, be kind to all. 
 Vain are our hopes, and endless is our care: 
 We mufl be jealous, or we mufl despair. 
 
 Robert Gould. 
 
 AN INCANTATION. 
 [1696.] 
 1. 
 Choose the darkefl part o' tlC groove, 
 Such as ghofls at noonday love. 
 Dig a trench, and dig it nigh 
 Where the bones of Laius lie ; 
 Altars raised of turf or flone, 
 Will the infernal powers ha-ue none. 
 Answer me, if this be done ? 
 'Tis done. . 
 
 Is the sacrifice ?nade fit ? 
 Draw her backward to the pit : 
 Draw the barren heifer back: 
 Barren let her be, and black. 
 Cut the curled hair that grows 
 Full betwixt her horns and brows: 
 And turn your faces from the sun. 
 Answer me, if this be done ? 
 ''Tis done. 
 150 
 
Pour in blood, and blood-like wine, 
 
 To Mother Earth and Proserpine: 
 
 Mingle milk into the flream ; 
 
 Fea/l the ghofls that love the fleam : 
 
 Snatch a brand from funeral pile : 
 
 Toss it in, to make them boil; 
 
 And turn your faces from the sun. 
 
 Answer me, if this be done P 
 
 ""Tis done. 
 
 John Dryden. 
 
 ODE ON SOLITUDE. 
 
 [lyoz.j 
 
 Happy the man 'whose wifl> and care 
 
 A few paternal acres bound ; 
 
 Content to breathe his native air 
 
 In his own ground. 
 
 Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 
 
 Whose flocks supply him with attire : 
 Whose trees in summer yield him /hade, 
 In winter fire. 
 
 Bleffed who can unconcernedly find 
 
 Hours, days, and years, flide soft away, 
 In health of body, peace of mind, 
 ££uiet by day j 
 
Sound Jleep by night ; ftudy mid ease 
 
 Together mixed ; sweet recreation : 
 
 And innocence, which moft does please, 
 
 With meditation. 
 
 Thus let me live, unseen, unknown, 
 
 Thus unlamented let me die: 
 
 Steal from the world, and not a flone 
 
 Mark where I lie. 
 
 Alexander Pope. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [i 7 c6.] 
 
 If wine and mufic have the power 
 
 To ease the fickness of the soul, 
 
 Let Phoebus every firing explore, 
 
 And Bacchus fill the sprightly bowl. 
 
 Let them their friendly aid employ, 
 
 To make my Chloe's absence light; 
 
 And seek for pleasure, to deftroy 
 
 The sorrows of this livelong night. 
 
 But [he to-morrow will return ; 
 Venus, be thou to-morrow great; 
 
 Thy myrtles firow, thy odours bum, 
 
 And meet thy favourite nymph in fiate. 
 
 Kind goddess, to no other powers 
 
 Let us to-morrows blefiings own; 
 
 Thy darling loves /hall guide the hours, 
 
 And all the day be thine alone. 
 
 Mathevv Prior. 
 
 151 
 
DIRGE IN CTMBELINE. 
 
 [I747-] 
 To fair Fideles grafly tomb 
 
 Soft maids and village hinds fall bring 
 Each opening s-tueet of earliejl bloom, 
 
 And rifle all the breathing Spring. 
 
 No 'ivailing ghoft fall dare appear, 
 
 To --vex voith jhrieks this hallowed grove ; 
 
 But Jhepherd lads affemble here, 
 
 And melting virgins ovjn their love. 
 
 No ^withered vjitch /hall here be seen ; 
 
 No goblifis lead their nightly crevu : 
 The female fays fall haunt the green, 
 
 And dress thy grave vjith pearly dew. 
 
 The redbreajl oft, at evening hours, 
 
 Shall kindly lend his little aid, 
 With hoary moss, and gathered flovjers, 
 
 To deck the ground vohere thou art laid. 
 
 When hovjling nvinds, and beating rain, 
 
 In tempejh fake the sylvan cell ; 
 Or, midjl the chase, on every plain, 
 
 The tender thought on thee fall dvuell $ 
 
 Each lonely scene fall thee reflore ,• 
 
 For thee the tear be duly fed ; 
 Beloved till life can charm no more, 
 
 And mourned till Pity's self be dead! 
 
 William Collins. 
 
A BACCHANALIAN 
 
 [1769?] 
 
 What is nvar and all its joys ? 
 Useless mischief, empty noise. 
 What are arms and trophies ivon P 
 Spangles glittering i?i the sun. 
 Rosy Bacchus, give me wine, 
 Happiness is only thine! 
 
 What is love vuithout the bo-ivl ? 
 ' Tis a languor of the soul : 
 Crowned with ivy, Ve?ius charms, 
 Ivy courts me to her arms. 
 Bacchus, give me love and wine, 
 Happiness is only thine! 
 
 Thomas Chatterton. 
 
 A RED, RED ROSE. 
 
 [1794O 
 
 O Mr luve's like a red, red rose, 
 That's newly sprung in June; 
 
 O my luve's like the melodie, 
 That's sweetly played in tune. 
 
 As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, 
 
 So deep in luve am I; 
 And I will luve thee Jlill, my dear, 
 
 Till a" the seas gang dry. 
 
Till a the seas gang dry, my dear. 
 
 And the rocks melt wi the sun, 
 I will lu<ve thee ftill, my dear, 
 
 While the sands o" life Jhall run. 
 
 And fare thee weel, my only luve, 
 
 And fare thee weel awhile ; 
 And I will come again, my luve, 
 
 Though it 'were ten thousand mile I 
 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 SONG. 
 [I797-] 
 Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell, 
 Left a blacker charm compel I 
 So Jhall the midnight breezes swell 
 With thy deep long-lingering knell. 
 
 And at evening evermore, 
 
 In a chapel on the Jhore, 
 
 Shall the chanter, sad and saintly, 
 
 Tellow tapers burning faintly, 
 
 Doleful majfes chant for thee, 
 
 Miserere Domine ! 
 
 Hark ! the cadence dies away 
 
 On the quiet moonlight sea : 
 The boatmen reft their oars and say, 
 
 Miserere Domine I 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 
 
CHORAL SONG. 
 
 [1817.] 
 
 Up, up ! ye dames, ye lajfes gay ! 
 
 To the meadows trip away. 
 
 ""Tis you mufl tend, the flocks this morn, 
 
 And scare the small birds from the corn. 
 
 Not a soul at home may flay : 
 
 For the fhepherds mufl go 
 
 With lance and bow 
 To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. 
 
 Leave the hearth and leave the house 
 To the cricket and the mouse: 
 Find grannam out a sunny seat, 
 With babe and lambkin at her feet. 
 Not a soul at home may flay : 
 
 For the Jhepherds mufl go 
 
 With lance and bow 
 To hunt the wolf in the woods to-day. 
 
 Samuel Taylor Coleridge. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1806?] 
 
 There's not a look, a word of thine, 
 
 My soul hath e^er forgot ; 
 Thou ne"er haft bid a ringlet (hine, 
 Nor given thy locks one graceful twine, 
 Which I remember not. 
 156 
 
There never yet a murmur fell 
 
 From that beguiling tongue. 
 Which did not, with a lingering swell, 
 Upon my charmed senses dwell, 
 Like songs from Eden sung. 
 
 Ah, that I could, at once, forget 
 
 All, all that haunts ?ne so ; 
 And yet, thou witching girl, and yet, 
 To die were sweeter than to let 
 Thy loved remembrance go. 
 
 No ; if this flighted heart mujl see 
 
 Its faithful pulse decay, 
 O let it die, remembering thee, 
 And, like the burnt aroma, be 
 
 Consumed in sweets away ! 
 
 Thomas Moore. 
 
 [1806.] 
 O Nightingale! thou surely art 
 A creature of a "fiery heart :" 
 These notes of thine, they pierce and pierce , 
 Tumultuous harmony and fierce I 
 Thou Jingfi as if the God of wine 
 Had helped thee to a Valentine; 
 A song in mockery and despite 
 Of jhades, and dews, and fdent night ; 
 And fteady bliss, and all the loves 
 Now Jleeping in these peaceful groves. :' 
 
/ heard a Stock-dove fing or say 
 His homely tale, this 'very day; 
 His 'voice was buried among trees. 
 Yet to be come at by the breeze: 
 He did not cease ; but cooed, and cooed ; 
 And somewhat penjively he wooed: 
 He sang of love, with quiet blending, 
 Slow to begin, and never ending; 
 Of serious faith, and inward glee ; 
 That was the song, — the song for me ! 
 
 William Wordsworth. 
 
 TO THE LADY ANNE HAMILTON. 
 
 [1811J 
 
 Too late I flayed — forgive the crime, 
 
 Unheeded flew the hours ; 
 How) noiseless falls the foot of Time, 
 
 That only treads on flowers ! 
 
 What eye with clear account remarks 
 
 The ebbing of his glass, 
 When all its sands are diamond-sparks, 
 
 That dazzle as they pass ? 
 
 Ah, who to sober measurement 
 
 Timers happy swiftness brings, 
 
 When birds of Paradise have lent " 
 
 Their plumage for his wings ? 
 
 Hon. William Robert Spencer. 
 15S 
 
SONG' 
 
 [1814.] 
 
 Young men will love thee more fair and more faf; 
 
 Heard ye so merry the little bird fing? 
 Old mens love the longefl will laf, 
 
 And the throfle-cock 's head is under his wing. 
 
 'The young ma?is wrath is like light ftraw on fire ; 
 
 Heard ye so merry the little bird Jing ? 
 But like red-hot feel is the old mans ire, 
 
 And the throfle-cock" s head is under his wing. 
 
 The young man will brawl at the evening board; 
 
 Heard ye so merry the little bird fing? 
 But the old man will draw at the dawning the sword, 
 
 And the throfle-cock'' s head is under his wing. 
 
 Sir Walter Scott. 
 
 [1815.] 
 IVasTed, weary, wherefore fay, 
 Wreftling thus with earth and clay? 
 From the body pass away ; 
 
 Hark ! the mass is singing. 
 
 From thee doff thy mortal weed, 
 Mary Mother be thy speed, 
 Saints to help thee at thy need; 
 Hark ! the knell is ringing. 
 
 '59 
 
Fear not snow-drift driving fafl, 
 Sleet, or hail, or levin blaft; 
 Soon the Jhroud Jhall lap thee fafl, 
 And the Jleep be on thee cajl 
 
 That /hall ne^er know waking. 
 
 Hajh thee, hafte thee, to be gone, 
 Earth flits fafl, and time draws on ; 
 Gasp thy gasp, and groan thy groan, 
 Day is near the breaking. 
 
 Sir V/alter Scott. 
 
 SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. 
 
 [1814.] 
 1. 
 She walks in beauty, like the night 
 
 Of cloudless climes and flarry Jkies ; 
 And all that \f befl of dark and bright 
 
 Meet in her aspeff and her eyes: 
 Thus mellowed to that tender light 
 Which heaven to gaudy day denies. 
 
 One fhade the more, one ray the less, 
 Had half impaired the nameless grace, 
 
 Which waves in every raven tress 
 Or softly lightens o^er her face ; 
 
 When thoughts serenely sweet express 
 
 How pure, how dear their dwelling-place ! 
 [So 
 
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow, 
 
 So soft, so calm, jet eloquent, 
 The smiles that win, the tints that glow, 
 
 But tell of days in goodness spent, 
 A mind at peace nvith all below, 
 
 A heart whose lo-ve is innocent! 
 
 Lord Byron. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [iSiy.J 
 
 Think not of it, sweet one, so, 
 
 Give it not a tear; 
 Sigh thou mayjl, and bid it go 
 
 Any — anywhere. 
 
 Do not look so sad, sweet one, 
 
 Sad and fadingly ; 
 Shed one drop ( and only one | , 
 
 O, 'twas born to die ! 
 
 Still so pale ? then, dearejl, weep, 
 Weep, — Fll count the tears ; 
 
 For each I <zvill invent a bliss 
 For thee in after years. 
 
 Brighter has it left thine eyes 
 
 Than a sunny rill; 
 And thy whispering melodies 
 
 Are more tender jlill. 
 
Yet, as all things mourn awhile 
 
 At fleeting bliffes, 
 
 Let us too j but be our dirge 
 
 A dirge of kijfes. 
 
 John Keats. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 [iSiS.] 
 
 Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port, 
 
 Away with old Hock and Madeira ,• 
 Too earthly are ye for my sport ; 
 
 Here's a be-verage brighter and clearer. 
 Inftead of a pitiful rummer, 
 My wine overbrims a whole Summer : 
 
 My bowl is the Jky, 
 
 And I drink at my eye, 
 
 Till I feel in the brain 
 
 A Delphian pain, 
 Then follow, my Caius, then follow ; 
 
 On the green of the hill 
 
 We will drink our fill 
 
 Of golden sunfhine 
 
 Till our brains intertwine 
 With the glory and grace of Apollo ! 
 
 John Keats. 
 
SONG 
 
 [1819.] 
 False frie?id, *wilt thou smile, or weep, 
 When my life is laid ajleep? 
 Little cares for a smile or a tear 
 The clay-cold corpse upon the bier; 
 
 Farewell! Heigh hoi 
 
 What is this whispers low? 
 There is a snake in thy smile, my dear, 
 And bitter poison within thy tear. 
 
 Sweet Sleep ! were death like to thee, 
 Or if thou could/i mortal be, 
 I would close these eyes of pain; 
 When to wake? Never again. 
 
 O World! farewell ! 
 
 Li flen to the pafjing-bell ! 
 It says, thou and I mujl part, 
 With a light and a heavy heart. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 [182.0.] 
 
 1. 
 
 The fountains mingle with the river. 
 
 And the rivers with the ocean; 
 The winds of heaven mix forever 
 With a sweet emotion : 
 
 163 
 
Nothing in the world is Jingle \ 
 All things by a law divine 
 
 In one another's being mingle— 
 Why not I with thine? 
 
 See the mountains kiss high heaven, 
 
 And the waves clasp one another 
 No fifter flower 'would be forgiven, 
 
 If it disdained its brother : 
 And the sunlight clasps the earth, 
 
 And the moonbeams kiss the sea : 
 What are all these kiflings worth, 
 
 If thou kiss not me ? 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [Ita.] 
 
 Rarelt, rarely, comefl thou. 
 
 Spirit of Delight ! 
 Wherefore hajl thou left me now) 
 
 Many a day and night ? 
 Many a weary night and day 
 ' Tis fince thou art fled away. 
 
 How Jhall ever one like me 
 Win thee back again ? 
 
 With the joyous and the free 
 Thou wilt scoff at pain. 
 
 164 
 
Spirit false ! thou haft forgot 
 All but those who need thee not. 
 
 As a lizard with the Jhade 
 
 Of a trembling leaf 
 Thou nvith sorrow; art dismayed ,• 
 
 Even the fighs of grief 
 Reproach thee, that thou art not near, 
 And reproach thou wilt not hear. 
 
 Let me set my mournful ditty 
 
 To a merry measure; 
 Thou wilt never come for pity. 
 
 Thou wilt come for pleasure : 
 Pity then will cut away 
 Those cruel wings, and thou wilt ft ay. 
 
 I love all that thou loveft, 
 
 Spirit of Delight ! 
 The frejh Earth in new leaves dreft, 
 
 And the ftarry night ; 
 Autumn evening, and the morn 
 When the golden mifts are born. 
 
 I love snow, and all the forms 
 
 Of the radiant froft ,• 
 / love waves, and winds, and ftorms, 
 
 Every thing almoft 
 Which is Nature's, and may be 
 Untainted by mans misery. 
 
 i6s 
 
/ love tranquil solitude, 
 
 And such society 
 As is quiet, wise, and good ; 
 
 Between thee and ?ne 
 What difference ? but thou do /I poffess 
 The things I seek, not love them less. 
 
 I love Love — though he has wings, 
 
 And like light can jlee ; 
 But, above all other things, 
 
 Spirit, I love thee: 
 Thou art love and life ! O come, 
 Make once ?nore my heart thy home. 
 
 Percy Bvsshe Shelley. 
 
 SONG TO MAT. 
 [1S20?] 
 
 May! Queen of bloffoms, 
 And fulfilling fiowers, 
 
 With what pretty mujic 
 
 Shall we charm the hours ? 
 
 Wilt thou have pipe and reed 
 
 Blown in the open mead? 
 
 Or to the lute give heed 
 In the green bowers? 
 
 Thou hajl no need of us, 
 Or pipe or wire, 
 
 That haft the golden bee 
 Ripened with fire : 
 
And many thousand more 
 Songjhrs, that thee adore, 
 Filling Eart/fs graffy floor 
 With new defire. 
 
 Thou Iiajl thy ?nighty herds, 
 
 Tame, and free livers ; 
 Doubt not, thy mufic too 
 
 In the deep rivers : 
 And the whole plu?ny flight 
 Warbling the day and night — 
 Up at the gates of light, 
 See, the lark quivers ! 
 
 When with the jacinth 
 Coy fountains are trcffed; 
 
 And for the mournful bird 
 Greenwoods are dreffed, 
 
 That did for Tereus pine ; 
 
 Then jball our so?igs be thine, 
 
 To whom our hearts incline : 
 May, be thou blefed! 
 
 Lord Thurlow. 
 
 SONG TO THE EVENING STAR 
 
 [I8 M .] 
 
 i. 
 
 STAR that br'mgefl home the bee, 
 And settfl the weary labourer free ! 
 If any ftar Jhed peace, ^tis thou, 
 That sendfl it from above, 
 167 
 
Appearing when Heavens breath and brow 
 Are sweet as hers we love. 
 
 Come to the luxuriant Jkies, 
 Whiljl the landscape's odours rise, 
 Whilfl far-off lowing herds are heard, 
 
 And songs when toil is done, 
 From cottages whose smoke unflirred 
 
 Curls yellow in the sun. 
 
 hi. 
 
 Star of lows soft interviews, 
 Parted lovers on thee muse; 
 Their remembrancer in Heaven 
 
 Of thrilling vows thou art, 
 Too delicious to be riven 
 
 By absence from the heart. 
 
 Thomas Campbell. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1825.] 
 I. 
 The swallow leaves her nejl, 
 The soul my vjeary breaji ; 
 But therefore let the rain 
 
 On my grave 
 Fall pure ; for why complain ? 
 Since both will come again 
 O'er the wave. 
 
The wind dead leaves and snow- 
 Doth hurry to and fro ; 
 And, once, a day Jhall break 
 
 O'er the wave, 
 When a Jiorm of ghojh Jhall Jhake 
 The dead, until they wake 
 
 In the grave. 
 
 Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 
 
 DIRGE. 
 
 [iSzs-J 
 If thou wilt ease thy heart 
 Of love and all its smart, 
 Then Jleep, dear, Jleep ,• 
 And not a sorrow 
 Hang any tear on your eyelajhes ,• 
 
 Lie flill and deep, 
 Sad soul, until the sea-wave wa/hes 
 The rim o' the sun to-morrow, 
 In eajlern jky. 
 
 But wilt thou cure thy heart 
 Of love and all its smart ? 
 Then die, dear, die; 
 *'Tis deeper, sweeter, 
 Than on a rose-bank to lie dreaming 
 
 With folded eye ; 
 And then alone, amid the beaming 
 
 Of lovers flars, thou ^lt ?neet Iter 
 In eajlern Jky. 
 
 Thomas Lovei.l Beddoes. 
 
 169 
 
A SONG. 
 
 [ifes-3 
 A CYPRESS-BOUGH, and a rose-nxreath s-uceet, 
 A ^wedding-robe ; and a nvindiitg-Jheet, 
 A bridal-bed and a bier. 
 Thine be the kijfes, maid, 
 
 And smiling Love's alarms ; 
 And thou, pale youth, be laid 
 In the grave" s cold arms. 
 Each in his o-ivn charms, 
 
 Death and Hymen both are here; 
 So up with scythe and torch, 
 And to the old church porch, 
 While all the bells ring clear: 
 And rosy, rosy the bed Jhall bloom, 
 And earthy, earthy heap up the tomb. 
 
 No-iv tremble dimples on your cheek, 
 S-zveet be your lips to tafie and speak, 
 For he voho kijfes is near: 
 By her the bride-god fair, 
 
 In youthful ponder and force ; 
 By him the grizard bare, 
 Pale knight on a pale horse, 
 To vooo him to a corpse. 
 
 Death and Hymen both are here; 
 So up with scythe and torch, 
 And to the old church porch, 
 While all the bells ring clear: 
 And rosy, rosy the bed jhall bloom, 
 And earthy, earthy heap up the tomb. 
 
 Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 
 170 
 

 BALLAD. 
 
 
 [1826 ?] 
 
 
 Spring it is cheery ', 
 
 
 Winter is dreary, 
 
 
 Green leaves hang, but the brown muft fly ,• 
 
 
 When he 'j forsaken, 
 
 
 Withered and Jhaken, 
 
 
 What can an old man do but die? 
 
 
 Love ivill not clip him, 
 
 
 Maids tvill not lip him, 
 
 
 Maud and Marian pass him by j 
 
 
 Youth it is sunny, 
 
 
 Age has no honey : 
 
 
 What can an old man do but die? 
 
 
 June it njoas jolly, 
 
 
 for its folly! 
 
 
 A danciiig leg and a laughing eye; 
 
 
 Youth may be filly, 
 
 
 Wisdom is chilly : 
 
 
 What can an old man do but die? 
 
 
 Friends they are scanty, 
 
 
 Beggars are plenty, 
 
 
 If he has followers, I kno-tv <zvhy ; 
 
 
 GohVs in his clutches, 
 
 
 (Buying him crutches!} 
 
 
 What can an old man do but die? 
 
 
 Thomas Hoop. 
 
 I 7 I 
 
 
BALLAD. 
 
 [1826?] 
 
 IT was not in the winter 
 Our lo-ving. lot was cajl : 
 It was the time of roses — 
 We plucked them as we pajfed ! 
 
 That churiijh season never frowned 
 On early lo-vers yet : 
 O, no — the world was newly crowned 
 With flowers when we met. 
 
 ' Twas twilight, and I bade you go, 
 
 But jiill you held me fajl ; 
 
 It was the time of roses — 
 
 We plucked them as we pajfed ! 
 
 Thomas Hood. 
 
 NEPHON'S SONG. 
 
 [1827.] 
 
 Lady and gentlemen fays, come buy ! 
 No peddler has such a rich packet as I. 
 
 Who wants a gown 
 
 Of purple fold. 
 Embroidered down 
 
 The seams with gold ? 
 
 See here! — a Tulip richly laced 
 To please a royal fairy s tafte ! 
 172 
 
Who wants a cap 
 
 Of crimson grand ? 
 By great good hap 
 Vve one on hand: 
 
 Look, sir I — a Cock"s-comb, flowering red, 
 % Tis juji the thing, sir, for your head! 
 
 Who wants a frock 
 
 Of vejlal hue ? 
 Or snowy smock ? 
 Fair maid, do you ? 
 
 O me! — a Lady smock so white! 
 Tour bosom" s self is not more bright ! 
 
 Who wants to sport 
 
 A fender limb ? 
 Vve every sort 
 Of hose for him : 
 
 Both scarlet, ftriped, and yellow ones : 
 The Woodbine makes such pantaloons! 
 
 Who wants— { hu/h ! hujh ! ) 
 
 A box of paint ? 
 "Twill give a blujh, 
 Tet leave no taint: 
 
 This Rose with natural rouge is filed, 
 From its own dewy leaves diftilled. 
 
 Then lady and gentlemen fays, come buy ! 
 Tou never will meet such a merchant as I. 
 
 George Darley. 
 
 i75 
 
A SERENADE. 
 
 [iS*7.J 
 I. 
 Awake thee, my Lady-love I 
 
 Wake thee, and rise I 
 The sun through the bower peeps 
 Into thine eyes ! 
 
 ii. 
 Behold how the early lark 
 
 Springs from the corn ! 
 Hark, hark how the flower-bird 
 
 Winds her wee horn ! 
 
 in. 
 The swallows glad Jhriek is heard 
 
 All through the air I 
 The flock-dove is murmuring 
 
 Loud as Jbe dare! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Apollo^s winged bugleman 
 
 Cannot contain, 
 But peals his loud trumpet-call 
 
 Once and again ! 
 
 Then wake thee, my Lady-love! 
 
 Bird of my bower ! 
 
 The sweetejl and Jleepiejl 
 
 Bird at this hour! 
 
 George Darley. 
 
[i8jo: 
 
 Swet,T in her green dell the flower of beauty flumbers, 
 Lulled by the faint breez.es Jighing through her hair ; 
 
 Sleeps /he, and hears not the melancholy numbers 
 Breathed to my sad lute amid the lonely air! 
 
 Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming, 
 
 To wind round the willow-banks that lure him from above $ 
 
 O that, in tears from my rocky prison ftreaming, 
 I, too, could glide to the bower of my love ! 
 
 Ah, when the woodbines with Jleepy arms have wound her, 
 Opes Jhe her eyelids at the dream of my lay, 
 
 Lillening, like the dove, while the fountains echo round her, 
 To her lojl mate"s call in the forejls far away ! 
 
 Come, then, my bird ! for the peace thou ever bcareft, 
 
 Still Heaven s meffenger of comfort to me j • 
 Come ! this fond bosom, my faitJifullejl, my faireft, 
 
 Bleeds with its death-wound — but deeper yet for thee ! 
 
 George Darley. 
 i75 
 
THE CAVALIER'S SONG. 
 [18*7.] 
 A steed! a JJeed of matchlejfe speede ! 
 
 A s-ivord of metal keene ! 
 Al else to noble heartes is droffe, 
 
 Al else on earth is meane. 
 The neighynge of the war-horse provide, 
 
 The ro-ivleinge of the drum, 
 The clangour of the trumpet loavde, 
 
 Be soundes from heaven that come. 
 And, O ! the thundering preffe of knightes, 
 When as their war-cry es svjelle, 
 May tole from heaven an angel bright, 
 And rovose a fiend from hell. 
 
 Then ?nounte ! then moicnte, brave Gallants all, 
 
 And don your helmes amaine ; 
 Deathe"s couriers, Fame and Honour, call 
 
 Us to the field againe. 
 No (hrevoifh tears Jhal fill our eye, 
 
 If lien the svuord-hilt' 's in our hand; 
 Heart-zvhole voe' '11 parte, and no whit Jighe 
 
 For the fayrefi of the land. 
 Let piping swaine, and craven wight, 
 
 Thus vceepe and puling crye ; 
 Our bufineffe is like men to fighte, 
 
 And, like to Heroes, die! 
 
 William Motherwell. 
 176 
 
SONG. 
 
 [IS}}.] 
 
 She is not fair to outward •■view, 
 
 As many maidens be $ 
 Her loveliness I never knew; 
 
 Until Jhe smiled on me : 
 O, then I saw her eye was bright, 
 A well of love, a spring of light. 
 
 But now her looks are coy and cold y 
 
 To mine they ne'er reply ; 
 And yet I cease not to behold 
 
 The love-light in her eye: 
 Her very frowns are better far 
 Than smiles of other maidens are ! 
 
 Hartley Coleridge. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [i8} 4 .] 
 
 Down lay in a nook my lady's brdch, 
 And said. My feet are sore, 
 
 I cannot follow with the pack 
 A-hunting of the boar. 
 
 And though the horn sounds never so clear 
 With the hounds in loud uproar, 
 
 Yet I mufl flop and lie down here, 
 Because my feet are sore. 
 
The huntsman when he heard the same, 
 What answer did he gi-ve P 
 
 The dog that's lame is much to blame \ 
 He is not fit to Hue. 
 
 Hk.nry Taylor. 
 
 THE BLACKBIRD. 
 
 [1835.] 
 
 MORNING. 
 
 Golden bill! Golden bill ! 
 
 Lo, the peep of day j 
 All the air is cool and fill, 
 From the elm-tree on the hill 
 
 Chant away: 
 While the moon drops down the weft, 
 Like thy ?nate upon her neft, 
 And the Jlars before the sun, 
 Melt like snow-fakes, one by one: 
 Let thy loud and welcome lay 
 
 Pour along 
 Few notes but ftrong. 
 
 E V E N IN G. 
 
 Jet-bright wing ! Jet-bright wing ! 
 
 Flit across the sunset glade; 
 Lying there in wait to Jing, 
 Lift en with thy head awry, 
 Keeping time with twinkling eye, 
 
 While from all the woodland /bade 
 
 17s 
 
Birds of every plume and note 
 
 Strain the throat, 
 
 Till both hill and valley ring, 
 
 And the warbled minjlrelsy, 
 
 Ebbing, flowing like the sea, 
 
 Claims brief interludes from thee : 
 
 Then, with fimple swell and fall, 
 
 Breaking beautiful through all, 
 
 Let thy Pan-like pipe repeat 
 
 Few) notes but sweet. 
 
 James Montgomery 
 
 A PHANTASY. 
 
 [I8j6.] 
 
 Feed her with the leaves of Love, 
 [Love, the rose, that bloffoms here'.) 
 Mufic, gently round her move! 
 Bind her to the cypress near I 
 Weave Iter round and round, 
 With Jkeins of filken sound I 
 " Tis a little flricken deer, 
 Who doth from the hunter fly, 
 And comes here to droop, — to die, 
 Lgnorant of her wound! 
 
 Soothe her with sad Jiories, 
 
 O poet, till Jhe Jleep ! 
 
 Dreams, come forth with all your g< 
 
 Night, breathe soft and deep! 
 
Mufic, round her creep ! 
 
 If Jhe fteal anvay to weep, 
 
 Seek her out, — and, when you find her, 
 
 Gentle, gentlejl Mujic, wind her 
 
 Round and round, 
 
 Round and round, 
 
 With your bands of soft eft sound : 
 
 Such as we, at nightfall, hear 
 
 In the wizard foreft near, 
 
 When the charmed Maiden fings 
 
 At the wizard springs! 
 
 Bryan Waller Procter. 
 
 THE FAREWELL OF THE SOLDIER 
 
 [1836.] 
 
 / love thee, I hue thee, 
 
 Far better than wine; 
 But the curse is above me, — 
 
 Though never be mine I 
 
 As the blade wears the scabbard, 
 
 The billow the Jhore, 
 So sorrow doth fret me 
 
 For evermore. 
 
 Fair beauty, I leave thee, 
 To conquer ?ny heart: 
 
 VII see thee, Ell bless thee, 
 And then — depart. 
 
Let me take, ere I vanijh, 
 
 One look of thine eyes, — 
 One smile for remembrance, 
 
 For life soon flies ! 
 
 And now for the fortune 
 
 That hangeth above; 
 To bury, in battle, 
 
 My dream of love ! 
 
 Bryan Waller Procter. 
 
 A BRIDAL DIRGE. 
 
 [1836.] 
 
 Weave no more the marriage chain! 
 
 All unmated is the lover; 
 Death has taen the place of Pain ; 
 Love doth call on Love in vain: 
 
 Life and years of hope are over ! 
 
 No more want of marriage bell ! 
 
 No more need of bridal favour ! 
 Where is Jhe to wear them well ? 
 You, befide the lover, tell! 
 
 Gone— with all the love he gave her ! 
 
 Paler than the jlone jhe lies, 
 
 Colder than the winter s morning! 
 
 Wherefore did Jhe thus despise 
 
 [She with pity in her eyes) 
 
 Mothers care, and lovers warning? 
 (i 
 
Youth and beauty,— /ball they not 
 
 Lajl beyond a brief to-morrow ? 
 No : a prayer, and then forgot ! 
 This the true/l lovers lot; 
 
 This the sum of human sorrow ! 
 
 Bryan Walter Proctef. 
 
 A BACCHANALIAN SONG. 
 
 [1836.] 
 1. 
 Sing ! — Who fings 
 
 To her who weareth a hundred rings? 
 Ah, who is this lady fine ? 
 The Vine, boys, the Vine I 
 The mother of mighty Wine. 
 A roamer is jhe 
 O'er avail and tree, 
 And sometimes very good company. 
 
 Drink! — Who drinks 
 To Iter who blujheth and never thinks? 
 Ah, who is this maid of thine ? 
 The Grape, boys, the Grape I 
 O, never let her escape 
 Until /be be turned to Wine! 
 For better is /he 
 Than Vine can be, 
 And very, very good company! 
 J82 
 
Dream ! — Who dreams 
 
 Of the God that governs a thousand flreams ? 
 Ah, nvho is this Spirit fine P 
 "Tis Wine, boys, "'tis Wine! 
 God Bacchus, a friend of mine. 
 O, better is he 
 Than grape or tree, 
 And the befl of all good company ! 
 
 Bryan Waller Procter. 
 
 SONG. 
 [1841.] 
 1. 
 You'll love me yet I and I can tarry 
 Your love's protracled growing: 
 June reared that bunch of flovoers you carry 
 From seeds of April's sovoing. 
 
 11. 
 / plant a he artful novj — some seed 
 At lea ft is sure to fir ike 
 And yield — what you "11 not pluck, indeed, 
 Not love, but, may be, like ! 
 
 You'll look at lea/l on Love's remains, 
 A grave" s one violet : 
 Your look ? that pays a thousand pains. 
 What's death? — -you'll love me yet I 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 is; 
 
1 8 4 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1841.] 
 
 The year's at the Spring, 
 And day *j at the morn ; 
 Morning 'j at seven $ 
 The hill-fide" 's dew-pearled : 
 The lark's on the wing ,• 
 The snail 's o# M^- /^or# j 
 God's in His heaven — 
 All's right with the world! 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1842.] 
 The Moth's kiss, firft ! 
 Kiss me as if you made believe 
 You were not sure, this eve, 
 How my face, your flower, had pursed 
 Its petals up j so, here and there 
 You brujb it, till I grow aware 
 Who wants me, and wide open bur ft. 
 
 The Bee's kiss, now ! 
 
 Kiss me as if you entered gay 
 
 My heart at some noonday, 
 
 A bud that dares not disallow 
 
 The claim, so all is rendered up, 
 
 And pajjively its /battered cup 
 
 Over your head to Jleep I bow. 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
THE LOST MISTRESS. 
 
 [1845.] 
 
 All's over, then — does truth sound bitter ■, 
 
 As one at firji believes ? 
 Hark, ''tis the sparrows' 1 good-night twitter 
 
 About jour cottage eaves ! 
 
 And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly, 
 
 I noticed that to-day ; 
 One day more burjls them open fully 
 
 — You know the red turns gray. 
 
 To-morrow we meet the same then, deareft? 
 
 May I take your hand in mine ? 
 Mere friends are we, — well, friends the ?nereft 
 
 Keep much that Vll rejign : 
 
 For each glance of that eye so bright and black, 
 Though I keep with heart's endeavour, — 
 
 Tour voice, when you wijh the snow-drops back, 
 Though it flays in my soul forever ! 
 
 Robert Browning. 
 
 RONDEAU. 
 
 [1844.] 
 
 Jen nt kijfed me when we met, 
 
 Jumping from the chair Jhe sat in ; 
 
 Time, you thief, who love to get 
 Sweets into your lift, put that in : 
 
 18s 
 
Say Dm weary, say Dm sad, 
 
 Say that health and wealth ha-ue mijfed me, 
 
 Say Vm grooving old, but add, 
 
 Jenny kijfed me. 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 CUPID SWALLO WED . 
 
 A PARAPHRASE FROM THE ANTHOLOGY. 
 
 [1S44.J 
 
 T'OTHER day, as I was twining 
 
 Roses, for a crown to dine in, 
 
 What, of all things, mid/l the heap 
 
 Should I light on, fajl ajleep, 
 
 But the little desperate elf, 
 
 "The tiny traitor, Love himself! 
 
 By the wings I pinched him up 
 
 Like a bee, and in a cup 
 
 Of my ovine I plunged and sank him, 
 
 And what dye think I did ? — / drank him. 
 
 Faith, I thought him dead. Not he! 
 
 There he Hues with tenfold glee; 
 
 A?id now this moment with his wings 
 
 I feel him tickling my heart-firings. 
 
 Leigh Hunt. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1346.] 
 
 One year ago my path was green, 
 
 My footjlep light, ?ny brow serene ; 
 
 Alas ! and could it ha<ve been so 
 
 One year ago F 
 
There 
 
 is a lo-ve that is to laft 
 
 
 
 When the hot days of youth are 
 
 pa ft: 
 
 
 Such I 
 
 ove did a sweet maid bejhw 
 
 
 
 One year ago. 
 
 
 
 I took 
 
 a leaflet from her braid 
 
 
 
 And gave it to another maid. 
 
 
 
 Love ! 
 
 broken Jhould have been 
 One year ago. 
 
 thy bo 
 
 IV 
 
 
 Walter Savage 
 
 Landor. 
 
 
 -+- 
 
 
 
 
 SONG. 
 
 
 
 [1846.] 
 
 / LOVE to hear that men are bound 
 By your enchanting links of sound : 
 I lo-ve to hear that none rebel 
 Againjl your beauty s filent spell. 
 I know not whether I ?nay bear 
 To see it all, as well as hear; 
 And never flail I clearly know 
 Unless you nod and tell me so. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1846.] 
 
 LiTTle it inter efls me how 
 Some insolent usurper now 
 
 Divides your narrow chair j 
 
 187 
 
Little heed I whose hand is placed 
 {No, nor how far) around your waift, 
 Or paddles in your hair. 
 
 A time, a time there may have been 
 
 ( Ah ! and there was ) when every scene 
 
 Was brightened by your eyes. 
 And dare you ajk what you have done ? 
 My answer, take it, is but one — 
 
 The weak have taught the wise. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 [1846.] 
 
 Often have I heard it said 
 That her lips are ruby-red. 
 Little heed I what they say, 
 I have seen as red as they. 
 Ere fbe smiled on other men, 
 Real rubies were they then. 
 
 When Jhe kijfed me once in play, 
 Rubies were less bright than they, 
 And less bright were those which Jljone 
 In the palace of the Sun. 
 Will they be as bright again ? 
 Not if kijfed by other men. 
 
 Walter Savage Landor. 
 
THE AGE OF WISDOM. 
 
 [is 4 6.j 
 
 1. 
 
 Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin, 
 
 That newer has known the barber's Jhear, 
 All your wi/h is woman to win, 
 This is the way that boys begin, — 
 Wait till you come to Forty Tear. 
 
 Curly gold locks cower foolijb brains, 
 
 Billing and cooing is all your cheer; 
 Sighing and finging of midnight flrains, 
 Under Bonny belTs window-panes, — 
 Wait till you come to Forty Tear ! 
 
 Forty times over let Michaelmas pass, 
 
 Grizzling hair the brain doth clear — 
 Then you kno-iv a boy is an ass, 
 Then you know the worth of a lass, 
 Once you have come to Forty Tear. 
 
 Pledge ?ne round, I bid ye declare, 
 
 All good fellows whose beards are gray, 
 Did not the fairejl of the fair 
 Common grow and wearisome ere 
 Ever a month was pajl away ? 
 
 .3:; 
 
The redde/l lips that e-ver have kijfed, 
 The brighteji eyes that e-ver have Jbone, 
 
 May pray and whisper, and we not lift, 
 
 Or look away, and never be miffed, 
 Ere yet ever a month is gone. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Gillian" s dead, God reft her bier ; 
 
 How I loved her twenty years syne ! 
 Marianas married, but I fit here 
 Alone and merry at Forty Tear, 
 
 Dipping my nose in the Gascon wine. 
 
 William Makepeace Thackeray. 
 
 SONG. 
 [1846.] 
 O, THAT we two were Maying 
 Down the ftream of the soft Spring breeze j 
 Like children with <violets playing 
 In the Jhade of the whispering trees. 
 
 O, that we two sat dreaming 
 
 On the sward of some Jheep-trimmed down, 
 
 Watching the white mift fteam'vig 
 
 Over river and mead and town. 
 
 O, that we two lay Jleep'mg 
 
 In our neft in the churchyard sod, 
 
 With our limbs at reft on the quiet Earth's breaft, 
 
 And our souls at home with God! 
 
 Charles Kingsley. 
 19c 
 
SONG. 
 
 [1856. j 
 
 The world goes up, and the 'world goes down, 
 
 And the sunjhine follows the rain : 
 And yejierdays sneer and yejierdays frown 
 
 Can never come over again, 
 Sweet wife, 
 
 No, never come over again. 
 
 For woman is war?n though man be cdd, 
 
 And the flight will hallow the day ; 
 Till the heart which at even was weary and old, 
 Can rise in the morning gay, 
 
 Sweet wife, 
 To its work in the morning gay. 
 
 Charles Kingslev. 
 
 [184S ?] 
 
 Thy voice is heard through rolling drums, 
 
 That beat to battle where he /lands ; 
 Thy face across his fancy comes, 
 
 And gives the battle to his hands : 
 A ?nome?it, while the trumpets blow, 
 
 He sees his brood about thy knee; 
 The next, like fire he meets the foe, 
 
 And jlrikes him dead for thine and thee. 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
[1848?] 
 
 As through the land at eve we went, 
 
 And plucked the ripened ears, 
 We fell out, my wife and I, 
 O nve fell out, I know not why, 
 
 And kijfed again with tears. 
 
 For -when we came where lies the child 
 
 We loft in other years, 
 There above the little grave, 
 O there above the little grave, 
 
 We kijfed again with tears. 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 [1848?] 
 
 SweeT and low, sweet and low), 
 
 Wind of the weft em sea, 
 Low, low, breathe and blow, 
 
 Wind of the weftern sea ! 
 Over the rolling waters go, 
 Come from the dying moon, and blow. 
 
 Blow him again to me : 
 While ?ny little one, while my pretty one, Jleeps. 
 
 Sleep and reft, Jleep and reft, 
 
 Father will come to thee soon; 
 Reft, reft, on mother's breaft, 
 
 Father will come to thee soon-, 
 192 
 
Father will come to his babe in the nefi, 
 Silver sails ail out of the west 
 Under the fiver moon : 
 Sleep, my little one, Jleep, my pretty one, Jleep. 
 
 Alfred Tennyson. 
 
 [1850 ?] 
 
 Come not when I am dead, 
 
 To drop thy fooli/h tears upon my grave, 
 To trample round ?ny fallen head, 
 
 And vex the unhappy dufl thou wouldjl not save. 
 There let the voind sweep, and the plover cry, 
 But thou, go by. 
 
 Child, if it vjere thine error or thy crime, 
 
 I care no longer, being all unblefl : 
 Wed whom thou wilt, but I am Jick of Time, 
 
 And I dejire to reft. 
 Pass on, weak heart, and leave me where I lie: 
 
 Go by, go by. Alfred Tennvson . 
 
 THE SENTENCES. 
 
 [1S56.J 
 Thais, my hearths no match for thine: 
 
 Wajle not thy warmth on me ; but go 
 Seek out some chillier spirit ; mine 
 
 AJks not another fire, but snow. 
 
 i93 
 
The lack of lovely pride in her 
 
 Who Jlrives to please, my pleasure numbs ; 
 And Jf ill the maid I mojl prefer 
 
 Whose care to please with pleafing comes. 
 
 Coventry Patmore. 
 
 THE REVELATION. 
 
 [1856.] 
 
 An idle Poet, here and there, 
 
 Looks round him, but, for all the refl, 
 The voorld, unfathomably fair, 
 
 Is duller than a voitlings jejl. 
 Love nvakes men, once a lifetime each ; 
 
 They lift their heavy lids, and look ; 
 And lo, vohat one svjeet page can teach 
 
 They read voith joy, then Jhut the book : 
 And some give thanks, and some blaspheme, 
 
 And mofl forget ; but, either vjay, 
 That and the Child's unheeded dream 
 
 Is all the light of all their day. 
 
 Coventry Patmore. 
 
 194 
 
INDEX OF IVRITERS 
 
 AND 
 
 PUB LIC A TIONS. 
 
 Ayton, Sir Robert 1570-1638 
 
 Barnefield, Richard 1574-16 — 
 
 Baron, Robert 1630-16 — 
 
 Beaumont, Francis 1 586—1 616 
 
 Beddoes, Thomas Lovell 1803-1849 
 
 Breton, Nicholas 1555-1624 
 
 Brome, Alexander 1 620-1 666 
 
 Browne, William 1 590-1645 
 
 Browning, Robert 1812- 
 
 Buckingham, John Sheffield, Duke of 1645-1720 
 
 Burns, Robert 1759-1796 
 
 Byron, George Gordon Noel 1788-1824 
 
 Campbell, Thomas 1 777-1 844 
 
 Campion, Thomas 1575 ?-i6- 
 
 Carew, Thomas 1 589-1 639 
 
 Cartwright, William 1611-1643 
 
 Chatterton, Thomas 1752-1770 
 
 Coleridge, Hartley 1796-1849 
 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor 1772-1834 
 
 Collins, William 1720- 17 59 
 
 Constable, Henry 1568 ?-i6o4? 
 
 Cotton, Charles 1630-1687 
 
 19S 
 
Cowley, Abraham 1 618-1667 
 
 Cox, Robert 17th Century 
 
 Crashaw, Richard 161 5 ?-i65o? 
 
 Daniel, Samuel 1562-1619 
 
 Darley, George 178 5-1 849 
 
 Davenant, Sir William 1 605-1 668 
 
 Davies, Sir John 1570-1626 
 
 Dekker, Thomas 15 1639 - ? 
 
 Denham, Sir John 1615-1668 
 
 Digges, Leonard 1 588-1 63 5 
 
 Donne, John 1 573-1 631 
 
 Drayton, Michael 1 563—1 631 
 
 Drummond, William 1585-1649 
 
 Drvden, John 1 631-1700 
 
 Duffett, Thomas 17th Century 
 
 Etherege, Sir George i636?-i694? 
 
 Fane, Sir Francis 17th Century 
 
 Fanshaw, Sir Richard 1 607-1 666 
 
 Field, Nathaniel 15 1638 ? 
 
 Flatman, Thomas 1633 ?-i668 
 
 Flecknoe, Richard 17th Century 
 
 Fletcher, Giles 1588 ?-i 623 
 
 Fletcher, John 1 576-1 625 
 
 Ford, John 1 5 8 6-1 640 ? 
 
 Ford, Thomas 17th Century 
 
 Glapthorne, Henry 17th Century 
 
 Goffe, Thomas 1 592-1 627 
 
 GoMERSALL, ROBERT I 6oO— I 646 
 
 Gould, Robert 17th Century 
 
 Greene, Robert 1 560-1 592 
 
 Greville, Fulke, Lord Brooke 1554-1628 
 
 196 
 
Habington, William 1605— 1654 
 
 Harington, John 1534-1582 
 
 Herbert, George 1 593-1632 
 
 Herrick, Robert 1591-1674 
 
 Heywood, Thomas I58o?-i649? 
 
 Hood, Thomas 1798-1845 
 
 Hookes, N 17th Century 
 
 Howard, Sir Robert 1622— 1698 
 
 Hughes, H 17th Century 
 
 Hunt, Leigh 1784— 1859 
 
 Jonson, Ben 1574-1637 
 
 Keats, John 1795-1821 
 
 Killigrew, Henry 1612-1688? 
 
 Kinaston, Sir Francis 15 1642? 
 
 King, Henry, Bijbop of Chic heft er 1591— 1669 
 
 Kingsley, Charles 1819- 
 
 Lluellin, Martin 17th Century 
 
 Lodge, Thomas 1556-1625 
 
 Lovekin, Philonax 17th Century 
 
 Lovelace, Richard 1 61 8-1 658 
 
 Lyly, John 1554-1600 
 
 Markham, Gervase 17th Century 
 
 Marlowe, Christopher 1562-1593 
 
 Marvell, Andrew 1620— 1678 
 
 Massinger, Philip 1 5 84-1 640 
 
 May, Thomas 1595— 1650 
 
 Milton, John 1608— 1674 
 
 Montgomery, James 1771-1854 
 
 Moore, Thomas 1779-18 52 
 
 Motherwell, William I 797 _I ^35 
 
 197 
 
Nabbes, Thomas 1612 ?-i645 
 
 Nash, Thomas 1564?-! 601 ? 
 
 Patmore, Coventry 1823- 
 
 Peele, George 1552 ?-i 597 ? 
 
 Pembroke, William Herbert, Earl of 1580-1630 
 
 Pope, Alexander 1688-1744 
 
 Prcr, Mathew 1664-1721 
 
 Procter, Bryan Waller ("Barry Cornwall") i"8~- 
 
 Raleigh, Sir Walter 1552-1618 
 
 Randolph, Thomas 1605-1634 
 
 Rochester, John Wilmot, Earl of 1647-1680 
 
 Rowley, Samuel 17th Century 
 
 Sampson, William 17th Century 
 
 Scott, Sir Walter 1771-1832 
 
 Sedley, Sir Charles 1639-1701 
 
 Shakespeare, William 15 64-1 616 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe 1792— 1822 
 
 Sherburne, Sir Edward 1618-1702 
 
 Shirley, James 1596- 1666 
 
 Sidney, Sir Philip 1554— 1586 
 
 Spencer, Hon. William Robert 1770-1834 
 
 Stanley, Thomas 1625 ?-i678 
 
 Suckling, Sir John 1 608-1 641 ? 
 
 Surrey, Henry Howard, Earl of 1517-1547 
 
 Taylor, Henry... 19th Century 
 
 Tennyson, Alfred 1810- 
 
 Thackeray, William Makepeace 1811-1863 
 
 Thurlow, Edward, Lord , 19th Century 
 
 Vaughan, Henry 1621-1695 
 
 198 
 
Waller, Edmund 
 
 Walton, Izaak 
 
 1605- 
 
 1593- 
 1560- 
 
 15 
 
 1588- 
 1770- 
 1568- 
 *5 3- 
 
 1687 
 1683 
 
 16— 
 1667 
 1850 
 1639 
 
 1542 
 
 Watson, Thomas 
 
 Webster, John 
 
 Wither, George 
 
 Wordsworth, William 
 
 Wotton, Sir Henry 
 
 Wyatt, Sir Thomas 
 
 Academy of Compliments. 
 
 
 
 Allison's Hour's Recreation in Music 
 
 
 
 Bateson's Madrigals. 
 
 
 
 Byrd's Songs. 
 
 
 
 Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. 
 
 
 
 Dowland's Book of Songs. 
 
 
 
 Farmer's English Madrigals. 
 
 
 
 Morley's Madrigals. 
 
 
 
 Musica Transalpina. 
 
 
 
 Mysteries of Love and Eloquence. 
 Pilkington's Madrigals. 
 
 
 
 Sicily and Naples : a Tragedy. 
 
 
 
 Ward's Madrigals. 
 
 
 
 Weelkes's Airs. 
 
 
 
 Weelkes's Ballads. 
 
 
 
 Weelkes's Madrigals. 
 
 
 
 Wilbye's Madrigals. 
 
 
 
 Wit's Recreations. 
 
 
 
 i 99 
 
 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 A cypress-bough, and a rose-wreath sweet 170 
 
 Adieu ; farewell earth's bliss 19 
 
 All my paft life is mine no more 148 
 
 All's over, then — does truth sound bitter 185 
 
 All the flowers of the Spring 68 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus >. 1 
 
 An idle Poet, here and there 194 
 
 Art thou poor, yet haft thou golden (lumbers f 38 
 
 As it fell upon a day 36 
 
 Afk me no more where Jove beftows 87 
 
 A fteed ! a fteed of matchleffe speede ! 176 
 
 As through the land at eve we went 192 
 
 Awake thee, my Lady-love ! ... 174 
 
 Away with these self-loving lads 5 
 
 Bid me not go where neither sun nor fliowers 105 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind 1 25 
 
 Bright fhines the sun, play, beggars, play 49 
 
 Call for the robin redbreaft and the wren 67 
 
 Gelia is cruel ; Sylvia, thou 149 
 
 Change me, O Heaven ! into the ruby ftone ( 35 
 
 Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry : m 
 
 Chloris, now thou art fled away 1 27 
 
 Choose the darkeft part o 1 th' grove i 50 
 
 Cold winter's ice is fled and gone , -. 47 
 
 Come away, come away, death 28 
 
 Come buy, you lufty gallants 81 
 
 Come, Chloris, hie we to the bower 144 
 
 Come, follow, follow me 132 
 
 Come live with me, and be my love 17 
 
 Come not when I am dead : : 193 
 
 200 
 
PAGE 
 
 Come, Somnus, with thy potent charms 136 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands 30 
 
 Come, ye young men, come along 121 
 
 Come, you heavy ftates of night 43 
 
 Cupid all his arts did prove 134 
 
 Cupid and my Campaspe played 7 
 
 Cupid, I scorn to beg the art 146 
 
 Dear, do not your fair beauty wrong 119 
 
 Dear life, while I do touch 73 
 
 Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly 41 
 
 Do not conceal thy radiant eyes 101 
 
 Do not fear to put thy feet 61 
 
 Down lay in a nook my lady's brach 177 
 
 Draw near, you lovers that complain 123 
 
 Drink to-day, and drown all sorrow 63 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes 56 
 
 Drop golden fhowers, gentle Sleep 82 
 
 Earth now is green, and heaven is blue 39 
 
 Fair daffodils, we weep to see 114 
 
 Fair Phillis I saw fitting all alone 40 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree 115 
 
 False friend, wilt thou smile, or weep 163 
 
 Farewell, my sweet, until I come 14 1 
 
 Feed her with the leaves of Love 179 
 
 From all uneasy paffions free 149 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies 29 
 
 Gather ye rose-buds while ye may 116 
 
 Give Beauty all her right 48 
 
 Give place, ye lovers, here before 2 
 
 Glories, pleasures, pomps, delight, and ease 89 
 
 Golden bill ! Golden bill ! 178 
 
 Go, lovely Rose ! 107 
 
 Good folk, for gold or hire , 78 
 
 Had Sorrow ever fitter place 77 
 
 Happy the man whose wifh and care 151 
 
 201 
 
PACK 
 
 Happy those early days, when I 120 
 
 Hark, happy lovers, hark 73 
 
 Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate fings 29 
 
 Hark, how chimes the paffing-bell 10S 
 
 Hark, now every thing is ftill 67 
 
 Have I found her r O rich finding! 65 
 
 Hear, sweet spirit, hear the spell 155 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights 64 
 
 Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port 162 
 
 Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee 117 
 
 He 's great that mailers his own soul 125 
 
 He that loves a rosy cheek 86 
 
 Hold out, my heart, with joy's delights accloyed 51 
 
 Ho, pretty page, with the dimpled chin 189 
 
 How comes it, Sleep, that thou 74 
 
 How happy is he born and taught 69 
 
 How I laugh at their fond wifh 82 
 
 I dare not aflc a kiss 119 
 
 I do confess thou 'rt smooth and fair 53 
 
 I fear not henceforth death 7 2 
 
 I felt my heart, and found a flame 109 
 
 If thou wilt ease thy heart 169 
 
 If wine and mufic have the power 152 
 
 I in these flowery meads would be 125 
 
 I love thee, I love thee 180 
 
 I love to hear that men are bound 187 
 
 In dew of roses fteeping 43 
 
 In pride of May 35 
 
 In thg merry month of May 15 
 
 I saw fair Chloris walk alone 1 3° 
 
 I saw my lady weep 45 
 
 It was not in the winter I7 2 
 
 Jenny killed me when we met 1S5 
 
 Kiss me, sweet ; the wary lover 57 
 
 Ladies, flee from Love's sweet tale 79 
 
 Ladies, though to your conquering eyes 136 
 
 202 
 
PAGB 
 
 Lady and gentlemen fays, come buy ! 172, 
 
 Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting 3 3 
 
 Lady, your words do spite me ■,, 
 
 Like as from heaven the dew full softly fhowering 9 
 
 Little it interefts me how. 
 
 187 
 
 Love in my bosom like a bee ! t 
 
 Love is a fickness full of woes 76 
 
 Love is the bloffom where there blows 50 
 
 Love me not for comely grace 34 
 
 May ! Queen of bloffoms 166 
 
 Morpheus, the humble God, that dwells 103 
 
 My love in her attire doth fhow her wit 51 
 
 My thoughts are winged with hopes, my hopes with love 44 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his 5 
 
 Never more will I proteft 71 
 
 Nobleft bodies are but gilded clay 100 
 
 Not, Celia, that I jufler am 14} 
 
 Often have I heard it said iSS 
 
 Oh, no more, no more, too late gg 
 
 O miftress mine, where are you roaming I .. 27 
 
 O my luve's like a red, red rose 1 54 
 
 On a day, (alack the day !) 23 
 
 On a hill there grows a flower 16 
 
 One year ago my path was green 186 
 
 O Nightingale ! thou surely art 157 
 
 O say, dear life, when fhall those twin-born berries 69 
 
 O Sorrow, Sorrow, say where doft thou dwell ? 90 
 
 O flay, sweet love, see here the place of sporting 40 
 
 O, that we two were Maying igo 
 
 Out upon it, I have loved 96 
 
 Over hill, over dale 23 
 
 Pack clouds away, and welcome day 54 
 
 Pan's Syrinx was a girl indeed 8 
 
 Paffions are likened beft to floods and ftreams 1 3 
 
 Phillis, men say that all my vows 142 
 
 Preserve thy fighs, unthrifty girl 139 
 
 203 
 
PAGK 
 
 Rarely, rarely, comeft thou if>4 
 
 Reach with your whiter hands to me 118 
 
 Rise, lady, miftress, rise ! 78 
 
 Sabrina fair 93 
 
 See the chariot at hand here of Love 5§ 
 
 Shall I, hopeless, then pursue 114 
 
 Shall I tell you whom I love I 74 
 
 Shall I, wafting in despair 65 
 
 She is not fair to outward view 177 
 
 She loves, and fhe confeffes too no 
 
 She walks in beauty, like the night 160 
 
 Sigh no more, ladies, figh no more 26 
 
 Sing!— Who fings 182 
 
 Sitting by a river's fide 21 
 
 Sleep, fleep, mine only jewel 9 
 
 Solitude, of friends the beft 129 
 
 Spring it is cheery 171 
 
 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant King 21 
 
 Star that bringeft home the bee 167 
 
 Stay, bold thoughts, refrain your will 80 
 
 Steer, hither fteer, your winged pines 75 
 
 Still-born Silence, thou that art 1 30 
 
 Still to be neat, ftill to be dreft 56 
 
 Strike again ! O, no, no more 83 
 
 Sweet and low, sweet and low 192 
 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright 85 
 
 Sweet Echo, sweeteft nymph, that liv'ft unseen 92 
 
 Sweeteft love, I do not go 31 
 
 Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty flumbers 175 
 
 Sweet weftern wind, whose luck it is 118 
 
 Take, oh ! take those lips away 2S, 6} 
 
 Tell me no more how fair fhe is 131 
 
 Tell me not of a face that's fair 137 
 
 Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind 105 
 
 Tell me once, dear, how it does prove 135 
 
 Tell me where is fancy bred 24 
 
 Thais, my heart's no match for thine 193 
 
 That which her flender waift confined 106 
 
 204 
 
PAGE 
 
 The fountains mingle with the river 163 
 
 The glories of our blood and flate 108 
 
 The labouring man that plants and sows 146 
 
 The lark now leaves his watery nefl 140 
 
 The Moth's kiss, firft ! 184 
 
 There is a garden in her face 52 
 
 There is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy 34 
 
 There's not a look, a word of thine 156 
 
 The swallow leaves her nefl 168 
 
 The world goes up, and the world goes down 191 
 
 The year's at the Spring ... 184 
 
 Think not of it, sweet one, so 161 
 
 Thy voice is heard through rolling drums 191 
 
 'Tis late and cold ; ftir up the fire 62 
 
 To fair Fidele's graffy tomb 153 
 
 Too late I flayed — forgive the crime 158 
 
 T' other day, as I was twining 186 
 
 To thy lover 98 
 
 Unclose those eyelids, and outfhine 97 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 25 
 
 Upon a hill the bonny boy 55 
 
 Up, up ! ye dames, ye lafies gay ! 1 56 
 
 Vows are vain. No suppliant breath 91 
 
 Wafted, weary, wherefore flay 1 59 
 
 Waters above, eternal springs 121 
 
 Weave no more the marriage chain ! 181 
 
 We care not for money, riches, or wealth S4 
 
 Weep no more, nor figh, nor groan 61 
 
 What bird so fings, yet so does wail ? 7 
 
 What bufiness calls thee hence, and calls not me 1 128 
 
 What is war, and all its joy s ? 154 
 
 What pleasure have great princes 10 
 
 What fhall become of Man so wise 143 
 
 What thing is love ? for sure love is a thing 17 
 
 What though with figures I fhould raise 97 
 
 Whence comes my love ? O heart, disclose ! 4 
 
 When Love with unconfined wings 103 
 
 205 
 
PAGfi 
 
 When to her lute Corinna fings 47 
 
 When will the fountain of my tears be dry ? 50 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck 1 30 
 
 While Morpheus thus does gently lay 94 
 
 Whither so faft ? Ah, see the kindly flowers 54 
 
 Why are you, ladies, flaying 46 
 
 Why art thou flow, thou reft of trouble, Death S5 
 
 Why do ye weep, sweet babes ? Can tears nj 
 
 Why fhould we murmur, why repine 145 
 
 Why so pale and wan, fond lover ? 95 
 
 With fragrant flowers we ftrew the way 42 
 
 Within this bottle's to be seen 138 
 
 Ye, blufhing virgins, happy are 90 
 
 Ye have been frefh and green I U 
 
 Ye living lamps, by whose dear light 147 
 
 You'll love me yet ! and I can tarry 183 
 
 You meaner beauties of the night 70 
 
 Young men will love thee more fair and more faft 159 
 
 You that think love can convey 88 
 
 THE END. 
 
 206 
 

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