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 FUND GIVEN IN 1891 BY 
 
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Cornell University Library 
 PR 1207.S98 
 
 A pageant of Elizabethan poetry, 
 
 3 1924 013 294 545 
 
Cornell University 
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A Pageant of 
 Elizabethan Poetry 
 
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A Pageant of 
 Elizabethan Poetry 
 
 Arranged by 
 
 Arthur Symons 
 
 Bkckie & Son Limited 
 
 London Glasgow Dublin Bombay 
 1906 
 
Sidney, the great love-poet ot that age, and ending 
 witt Sidney, and wittin that circle turning as wittin 
 the limits of an enchantment. The great ritual oi 
 the " Epithalamion " leads through hride-songs, dawn- 
 songs, and slumber-songs to a lullaby which becomes 
 sacred; and that brings us by childish and homely 
 ways to some hymns and pious meditations, which 
 merge into men's thoughts about the hazards oi life 
 and the meaning of the world, with a great battle 
 coming into the midst of these things, for a moral in 
 action; and then we see old age, and hear laments 
 over change and fate, and because " dust hath closed 
 Helen s eye , and the dirges and epitaphs of death, 
 and no inconsolable conclusion. 
 
A PAGEANT OF 
 ELIZABETHAN POETRY 
 
 1 
 
 stake off your teavy trance! 
 
 And leap into a dance 
 Suet as no mortals use to tread: 
 
 Fit only for Apollo 
 To play to, for tke moon to lead, 
 
 And all tte stars to follow! 
 
 Francis Beaumont. 
 
 Orpheus witn nis lute made trees, 
 And tte mountain-tops ttat freeze, 
 
 Bow themselves when lie did sing: 
 To tis music plants and flowers 
 Ever sprung; as sun and showers 
 
 There had made a lasting spring. 
 
 Everything that heard him play. 
 Even the billows of the sea. 
 
 Hung their heads, and then lay by. 
 In sweet music is such art. 
 Killing care and grief of heart 
 
 Fall asleep, or, hearing, die. 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
 (B459) I A 
 
Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet! 
 Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet! 
 There, wrapped in cloud of sorrow, pity move, 
 And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her 
 
 love: 
 But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain. 
 Then burst with sighing in her sight and ne er return 
 
 again ! 
 
 All that I sang still to her praise did tend; 
 
 Still she was first, still she my songs did end: 
 
 Yet she my love and music both doth fly. 
 
 The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy. 
 
 Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight! 
 
 It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for 
 
 ^^' ^^^^^^- Campion. 
 
 Rose-cheeked Laura, come; 
 
 Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's 
 
 Silent music, either other 
 
 Sweetly gracing. 
 
 Lovely forms do flow 
 From concent divinely framed; 
 Heaven is music, and thy beauty's 
 Birth is heavenly. 
 
 These dull notes we sing 
 
 Discords need for helps to grace them. 
 
 Only beauty purely loving 
 
 Knows no discord, 
 
 2 
 
But still moves delight, 
 Like clear springs renewed by flowing, 
 Ever perfect, ever in them- 
 selves eternal. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 Tke Skeplierds' Brawl 
 
 1. We love, and have our loves rewarded. 
 
 2. We love, and are no wnit regarded. 
 
 1. We find most sweet affection's snare. 
 
 2. That sweet, hut sour despairful care. 
 
 1. Who can despair whom hope doth bear? 
 
 2. And who can hope that feels despair? 
 All. As without breath no pipe doth move, 
 
 No music kindly without love. 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 6 
 A Song to trie Maskers 
 
 Come down and dance ye in the toil 
 
 Of pleasure to a heat; 
 But if to moisture, let the oil 
 
 Of roses be your sweat. 
 
 Not only to yourselves assume 
 
 These sweets, but let them fly 
 
 From this to that, and so perfume 
 E'en all the standers by; 
 3 
 
As goddess Isis when ske went 
 Or glided tliroi^ the street, 
 
 Made all that toviched her, with her scent. 
 And whom she touched, turn sweet. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands. 
 
 And then take hands: 
 Courtsied when you have and kissed 
 
 The w^ud w^aves v^hist. 
 Foot it featly here and there; 
 And, sweet sprites, the burthen hear. 
 
 Hark, hark! 
 
 Bow^-w^ow. 
 
 The watch-dogs hark: 
 
 BoW-W^OWi 
 
 Hark, hark! I hear 
 
 The strain of strutting chanticleer 
 
 Cry Cock-a- diddle- do w. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 8 
 
 Sing his praises that doth keep 
 
 Our flocks from harm. 
 Pan, the father of our sheep; 
 
 And arm m arm 
 Tread we softly in a round. 
 Whilst the hollow neighhouring ground 
 Fills the music with her sound. 
 4 
 
Pan, ot, great god Pan, to thee 
 
 Thus io we sing! 
 Thou that keep'st us chaste and free 
 
 As the young spring; 
 Ever he thy honour spoke. 
 From that place the mom is hroke. 
 To that place day doth unyoke! 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
 How should I your true love know 
 
 From another one? 
 By his cockle hat and staff. 
 
 And his sandal shoon. 
 
 He is dead and gone, lady. 
 
 He is dead and gone; 
 At his head a grass-green turf. 
 
 At his heels a stone. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 10 
 
 And will he not come f^in? 
 And will he not come again? 
 
 No, no, he is dead: 
 
 Go to thy death-bed: 
 He never will come again. 
 
 His beard was as white as snow. 
 All flaxen was his poll: 
 
 He is gone, he is gone, 
 And we cast away moan: 
 God ha' mercy on his soul ! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 5 
 
11 
 
 Tke Mad Maid's Song 
 
 Good-morrow to the day so fait, 
 Good-morning, sir, to you; 
 
 Good-morrow to mine own torn nair. 
 Bedabbled with the dew. 
 
 Good-morning to this primrose too, 
 Good-morrow to each maid 
 
 That will with flowers the tomb bestrew 
 Wherein my love is laid. 
 
 Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me. 
 
 Alack and well-a-day! 
 For pity, sir, find out that bee 
 
 Which bore my love away. 
 
 I '11 seek him in your bonnet brave, 
 I '11 seek him in your eyes ; 
 
 Nay, now I think they've made his grave 
 r the bed of strawberries. 
 
 I 11 seek him there ; I know ere this 
 
 The cold, cold earth doth shake him; 
 
 But I will go or send a kiss 
 
 By you, sir, to awake him. 
 
 Pray, hurt him not though he be dead, 
 He knows well who do love him. 
 
 And who with green turfs rear his head, 
 And who do rudely move him. 
 6 
 
He s soft and tender (pray take beed) ; 
 
 Witb bands of cowslips bind bim, 
 And bring bim borne ; but t is decreed 
 
 Tbat I sball never find bim. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 12 
 
 Hey nonny no! 
 
 Men are fools tbat wisb to die! 
 
 Is 't not fine to dance and sing 
 
 Wben tbe bells of deatb do ring? 
 
 Is 't not fine to swim in wine, 
 
 And turn upon tbe toe 
 
 And sing bey nonny no, 
 
 Wben tbe winds blow and tbe seas flow? 
 
 Hey nonny no ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 13 
 
 Tell me wbere is fancy bred. 
 Or in tbe beart or in tbe bead? 
 How begot, bow nourisbed? 
 
 Reply, reply. 
 It is engendered in tbe eyes, 
 Witb gazing fed; and fancy dies 
 In tbe cradle wbere it lies. 
 Let us all ring fancy's knell: 
 I 11 begin it, — Ding, dong, bell. 
 Ding, dong, bell. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 7 
 
14 
 
 Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight 
 Witn feathers like a lady bright, 
 Thou sing'st alone, sitting by night, 
 
 Te whit, te whoo! 
 Thy note, that forth so freely rolls. 
 With shrill command the mouse controls, 
 And sings a dirge for dying souls, 
 
 Te whit, te whoo ! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 15 
 
 Ha ha! ha ha! this world doth pass 
 
 Most merrily, I 11 be sworn ; 
 For many an honest Indian ass 
 Goes for an Unicorn. 
 
 Farra diddle dino; 
 This is idle fino. 
 
 Ty hye! ty hye! sweet delight! 
 
 He tickles this age that can 
 Call TuUia's ape a marmosyte 
 And Leda's goose a swan. 
 
 Farra diddle dino; 
 This is idle fino. 
 
 So so! so so! fine English days! 
 When false play 's no reproach : 
 For he that doth the coachman praise. 
 May safely use the coach. 
 
 Farra diddle dino; 
 This is idle fino. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
16 
 
 Jog on, jog on, tKe foot-patk way, 
 And merrily kent the stile-a: 
 
 A merry teart goes all the day, 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 17 
 
 Why, let the stricken deer go weep, 
 
 The hart ungalled play; 
 For some must watch, while some must sleep: 
 
 So runs the world away. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 18 
 
 CEnone. Fair and fair, and twice so fair, 
 
 As fair as any may be; 
 The fairest shepherd on our green, 
 A love for any lady. 
 Paris. Fair and fair, and twice so fair. 
 
 As fair as any may be; 
 Thy love is fair for thee alone, 
 And for no other lady. 
 CEnone. My love is fair, my love is gay. 
 
 As fresh as bin the flowers in May, 
 And of my love my roundelay, 
 My merry, merry, merry roundelay. 
 Concludes with Cupid's curse: 
 They that do change old love for new, 
 Pray gods they change for worse! 
 Amho Simul. They that do change old love for new. 
 Pray gods they change for worse! 
 9 
 
fie. My Love can pipe, my love can sing, 
 
 My love can many a pretty tning. 
 And of his lovely praises ring 
 My merry, merry roundelays, 
 Amen to Cupid's curse: 
 Ttey that do change old love for new. 
 Pray gods they change for worse ! 
 
 I Simul. They that do change old love for new. 
 Pray gods they change for worse ! 
 
 Peek. 
 
 19 
 
 Come, thou monarch of the vine, 
 Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne! 
 In thy fats our cares be drowned. 
 With thy grapes our hairs be crowned: 
 Cup us, till the world go round. 
 Cup us, till the world go round! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 20 
 
 God Lyaeus, ever young. 
 Ever honoured, ever sung, 
 Stained with blood of lusty grapes, 
 In a thousand lusty shapes. 
 Dance upon the mazer's brim. 
 In the crimson liquor swim; 
 From thy plenteous hand divine. 
 Let a river run with wine: 
 
 God of youth, let this day here 
 
 Enter neither care nor fear. 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
21 
 Anacreontic 
 
 Bom I was to be old, 
 
 And for to die bere: 
 After ttat, in tte mould 
 
 Long for to lie bere. 
 But before tbat day comes 
 
 Still I be bousing, 
 For I know in tbe tombs 
 
 Tbere s no carousing. 
 
 22 
 
 Tke Dead Host's Welcome 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 Tis late and cold; stir up tbe fire; 
 Sit close, and draw tbe table nigber; 
 Be merry, and drink wine tbat s old, 
 A bearty medicine gainst a cold : 
 Your beds of wanton down tbe best, 
 Wbere you sball tumble to your rest; 
 I could wisb you wencbes too. 
 But I am dead, and cannot do. 
 Call for tbe best tbe bouse may ring. 
 Sack, wbite, and claret, let tbem bring, 
 And drink apace, wbile breatb you bave; 
 You'll find but cold drink in tbe grave: 
 Plover, partridge, for your dinner, 
 And a capon for tbe sinner, 
 
lou shall find ready when you re up, 
 \nd your horse shall have his sup: 
 nf elcome, welcome, shall fly round, 
 ^d I shall smile, though under ground. 
 
 Fletcher, 
 
 23 
 A Round 
 
 (V that the Spring hath filled our veins 
 
 With kind and active fire, 
 d made green liveries for the plains. 
 
 And every grove a quire: 
 
 g we a song of merry glee, 
 
 And Bacchus fill the bowl. 
 Then here's to thee; 2. And thou to me 
 
 And every thirsty soul. 
 
 r Care nor Sorrow e'er paid debt, 
 
 Nor never shall do mine; 
 ave no cradle going yet, 
 
 Not I, by this good wine. 
 
 wife at home to send for me. 
 
 No hogs are in my ground, 
 suit in law to pay a fee, 
 
 Then round, old Jockey, round. 
 
 iar sheep that have them, cry we still, 
 But see that no man 'scape 
 To drink of the sherry. 
 That makes us so merry. 
 And plump as the lusty grape. 
 
 Browne. 
 
24 
 Tne Vision 
 
 Mettought I saw, as I did dream in bed, 
 A crawling vine about Anacreon's bead. 
 Flushed was his face; his hairs with oil did shine; 
 And, as he spake, his mouth ran o'er with wine. 
 Tippled he was, and tippling lisped withal; 
 And lisping reeled, and reeling like to fall. 
 A young enchantress close by him did stand, 
 Tapping his plump thighs with a myrtle wand: 
 She smiled; he kissed; and kissing, culled her too, 
 And being cup-shot, more he could not do. 
 For which, methought, in pretty anger she 
 Snatched off his crown, and gave the wreath to me ; 
 Since when, methinks, my brains about do swim. 
 And I am wild and wanton like to him. 
 
 Herrick. 
 25 
 His Farewell to Sack 
 
 Farewell, thou thing, time past so known, so dear 
 To me as blood to life and spirit; near. 
 Nay, thou more near than kindred, friend, man, wife, 
 Male to the female, soul to body; life 
 To quick action, or the warm soft side 
 Of the resigning, yet resisting bride. 
 The kiss of virgins, first fruits of the bed. 
 Soft speech, smooth touch, the lips, the maidenhead: 
 These and a thousand sweets could never be 
 So near or dear as thou wast once to me. 
 
 13 
 
u, the drink ot gods and angels! wine 
 scatter'st spirit and lust, whose purest sliine 
 radiant than the summer's sunbeam shows; 
 way illustrious, brave, and like to those 
 ts we see by night, whose shagged portents 
 ;11 the coming of some dire events, 
 me full flame which with a pride aspires, 
 v^ing about his wild and active fires; 
 :hou, above nectar, divinest soul ! 
 al in thyself, that canst control 
 which subverts whole nature, grief and care, 
 tion of the mind, and damn'd despair, 
 thou alone who, with thy mystic fan, 
 
 st more than wisdom, art, or nature can 
 use the sacred madness and awake 
 rost-bound blood and spirits, and to make 
 
 frantic with thy raptures flashing through 
 oul like lightning, and as active too. 
 aot Apollo can, or those thrice three 
 lian sisters, sing, if wanting thee. 
 :e, Anacreon, both had lost their fame, 
 )t thou not filled them with thy fire and flame. 
 )ean splendour! and thou, Thespian spring! 
 bich sweet swans must drink before they sing 
 
 true paced numbers and their holy lays, 
 h makes them worthy cedar and the bays, 
 vhy, why longer do I gaze upon 
 with the eye of admiration? 
 
 I must leave thee, and enforced must say 
 1 thy witching beauties. Go away, 
 f thy whimpering looks do ask me why, 
 
 know that nature bids thee go, not I. 
 her erroneous self has made a brain 
 pable of such a sovereign 
 
 thy powerful self. Prithee not smile, 
 14 
 
Or smile more inly, lest thy looks beguile 
 
 My vows denounced in zeal, whicli thus much sliow 
 
 thee 
 That I have sworn but by thy looks to know thee. 
 Let others drink thee freely, and desire 
 Thee and their lips espoused, while I admire 
 And love thee, but not taste thee. Let my muse 
 Fail of thy former helps, and only use 
 Her inadulterate strength: what s done by me 
 Hereafter shall smell of the lamp, not thee. 
 
 Herrick 
 
 26 
 The Welcome to Sack 
 
 So soft streams meet, so springs with gladder smiles 
 Meet after long divorcement by the isles; 
 When love, the child of likeness, urgeth on 
 Their crystal natures to a union: 
 So meet stolen kisses, when the moony nights 
 Call forth fierce lovers to their wished delights; 
 So kings and queens meet when desire convinces 
 All thoughts but such as aim at getting princes, 
 As I meet thee. Soul of my lile and lame ! 
 Eternal lamp of love! whose radiant flame 
 Out-glares the heaven's Osiris, and thy gleams 
 Out-shine the splendour of his mid-day beams. 
 Welcome, welcome, my illustrious spouse; 
 Welcome as are the ends unto my vows; 
 Ay! far more welcome than the happy soil 
 The sea-scourged merchant, after all his toil. 
 Salutes with tears of joy; when fires betray 
 The smoky chimneys of his Ithaca. 
 
 IS 
 
Where liast ttou been so long from my embraces, 
 Poor pitied exile? Tell me, did thy graces 
 Fly discontented hence, and for a time 
 Did rather choose to bless another clime? 
 Or went'st thou to this end, the more to move me. 
 By thy short absence, to desire and love thee? 
 Why frowns my sweet? Why won't my saint confer 
 Favours on me, her fierce idolater? 
 Why are those looks, those looks the which have been 
 Time-past so fragrant, sickly now drawn in 
 Like a dull twilight? Tell me, and the fault 
 I '11 expiate with sulphur, hair and salt; 
 And, with the crystal humour of the spring. 
 Purge hence the guilt and kill this quarrelling. 
 Wo't thou not smile or tell me what's amiss? 
 Have I been cold to hug thee, too remiss. 
 Too temperate in embracing? Tell me, has desire 
 To thee-ward died i' the embers, and no fire 
 Left in this raked-up ash-heap as a mark 
 To testify the glowing of a spark? 
 Have I divorced thee only to combine 
 In hot adultery with another wine? 
 True, I confess I left thee, and appeal 
 'Twas done by me more to confirm my zeal 
 And double my affection on thee, as do those 
 Whose love grows more inflamed by being foes. 
 But to forsake thee ever, could there be 
 A thought of such-like possibility? 
 When thou thyself dar'st say thy isles shall lack 
 Grapes before Herrick leaves Canary sack. 
 Thou mak'st me airy, active to be borne, 
 Like Iphiclus, upon the tops of corn. 
 Thou mak'st me nimble, as the winged hours, 
 To dance and caper on the heads of flowers. 
 And ride the sunbeams. Can there be a thing 
 
 i6 
 
Under tte teavenly Isis that can bring 
 
 More love into my life, or can present 
 
 My genius with a fuller blandishment? 
 
 Illustrious idol! could the Egyptian seek 
 
 Help from the garlic, onion, and the leek 
 
 And pay no vows to thee, who wast their best 
 
 God, and far more transcendent than the rest? 
 
 Had Cassius, that weak water-drinker, known 
 
 Thee in thy vine, or had but tasted one 
 
 Small chalice of thy frantic liquor, he. 
 
 As the wise Cato, had approved of thee. 
 
 Had not Jove s son, that brave Tirynthian swain. 
 
 Invited to the Thesbian banquet, ta'en 
 
 Full goblets of thy generous blood, his sprite 
 
 Ne er had kept heat for fifty maids that night. 
 
 Come, come and kiss me; love and lust commends 
 
 Thee and thy beauties; kiss, we will be friends 
 
 Too strong for fate to break us. Look upon 
 
 Me with that full pride of complexion 
 
 As queens meet queens, or come thou unto me 
 
 As Cleopatra came to Antony, 
 
 When her high carriage did at once present 
 
 To the triumvir love and wonderment. 
 
 Sw^ell up my nerves with spirit; let my blood 
 
 Run through my veins like to a hasty flood. 
 
 Fill each part full of fire, active to do 
 
 What thy commanding soul shall put it to; 
 
 And till I turn apostate to thy love. 
 
 Which here I vow to serve, do not remove 
 
 Thy fires from me, but Apollo s curse 
 
 Blast these-like actions, or a thing that s worse, 
 
 When these circumstants shall but live to see 
 
 The time that I prevaricate from thee. 
 
 Call me the son of beer, and then confine 
 
 Me to the tap, the toast, the turf; let wine 
 
 (B469) 17 B 
 
Ne'er stine upon me; may my numbers all 
 Run to a sudden deatt and luneral. 
 And last, when thee, dear spouse, I disavow, 
 Ne er may prophetic Daphne crown my brow. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 27 
 On Himself 
 
 I fear no earthly powers, 
 But care for crowns of flowers; 
 And love to have my beard 
 With wine and oil besmeared. 
 This day I 11 drown all sorrow : 
 Who knows to live to-morrow? 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 28 
 
 Weep you no more, sad fountains; 
 
 What need you flow so fast? 
 Look how the snowy mountains 
 
 Heaven's sun doth gently waste! 
 But my sun's heavenly eyes 
 
 View not your weeping. 
 
 That now lies sleeping 
 Softly, now softly lies 
 
 Sleeping. 
 
 Sleep is a reconciling, 
 
 A rest that peace begets; 
 Doth not the sun rise smiling 
 
 When fair at even he sets? 
 i8 
 
Rest you then, rest, sad eyes! 
 
 Melt not in weeping, 
 
 Wkile she lies sleeping, 
 Softly, now softly lies 
 
 Sleeping. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 29 
 
 Dear, wty should you command me to my rest, 
 When now the night doth summon all to sleep? 
 Methinks this time becometh lovers best; 
 Night was ordained, together friends to keep. 
 How happy are all other living things, 
 Which though the day disjoin by several flight. 
 The quiet evening yet together brings. 
 And each returns unto his love at night 
 thou that art so courteous else to all. 
 Why shouldst thou. Night, abuse me only thus, 
 That every creature to his kind dost call. 
 And yet 'tis thou dost only sever us? 
 Well could I wish it would be ever day. 
 If, when night comes, you bid me go away. 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 30 
 
 Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest. 
 Prince, whose approach peace to all mortals brings. 
 Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings. 
 Sole comforter of minds with grief opprest; 
 Lo, by thy charming rod all breathing things 
 Lie slumbering, with forgetfulness possest. 
 And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wmgs 
 Thou spares, alas ! who cannot be thy guest. 
 
 19 
 
Since I am ttine, come, but with ttat face 
 To inward light which thou art wont to show, 
 With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe; 
 Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace. 
 
 Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath : 
 I long to kiss the image of my death. 
 
 Drummond. 
 
 31 
 Madrigal 
 
 The ivory, coral, gold. 
 
 Of breast, of lips, of hair. 
 
 So lively Sleep doth show to inward sight. 
 
 That wake I think I hold 
 
 No shadow, but my fair: 
 
 Myself so to deceive. 
 
 With long-shut eyes I shun the irksome light. 
 
 Such pleasure thus I have. 
 
 Delighting in false gleams, 
 
 If Death Sleep s brother be. 
 
 And souls relieved of sense have so sweet dreams. 
 That I would wish me thus to dream and die. 
 
 Drummond. 
 
 32 
 
 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, 
 Brother to Death, in silent darkness born. 
 Relieve my languish, and restore the light; 
 With dark forgetting of my care, return! 
 And let the day be time enough to mourn 
 The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth; 
 Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn. 
 Without the torment of the night's untruth 
 
Cease, dreams, tte images of day-desires. 
 To model forth the passions of the morrow; 
 Never let rising sun approve you liars, 
 To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow. 
 Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, 
 And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 
 
 Daniel. 
 33 
 
 Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes. 
 Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose 
 On this afflicted prince; fall like a cloud. 
 In gentle showers; give nothmg that is loud. 
 Or painful to his slumbers; easy, light, 
 And as a purling stream, thou son of Night 
 Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain, 
 Like hollow murmuring wind or silver ram; 
 Into this prince gently, oh, gently slide, 
 And kiss him into slumbers like a bride. 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
 34 
 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? 
 
 0, sweet content! 
 Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? 
 
 0, punishment! 
 Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed 
 To add to golden numbers golden numbers? 
 
 0, sweet content! 0, sweet, 0, sweet content! 
 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace; 
 Honest labour bears a lovely face; 
 Then hey nonny, hey nonny, nonnyl 
 
Canst drink tke waters of the crisped spring? 
 
 0, sweet content! 
 Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? 
 
 0, punishment! 
 Then he that patiently want's burden bears, 
 No burden bears, but is a king, a king! 
 
 0, sweet content! 0, sweet, 0, sweet content! 
 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace; 
 Honest labour bears a lovely face; 
 Then hey nonny, hey nonny, nonny! 
 
 Dekker. 
 
 35 
 
 Ah, sweet Content, where is thy mild abode? 
 
 Is it with shepherds, and light-hearted swams. 
 
 Which sing upon the downs, and pipe abroad, 
 
 Tending their flocks and cattle on the plains? 
 
 Ah, sweet Content, where dost thou safely rest? 
 
 In heaven, with angels? which the praises sing 
 
 Of Him that made, and rules at His behest. 
 
 The minds and hearts of every living thing. 
 
 Ah, sweet Content, where doth thine harbour hold? 
 
 Is it in churches, with religious men. 
 
 Which please the gods with prayers manifold, 
 
 And in their studies meditate it then? 
 
 Whether thou dost in heaven or earth appear. 
 Be where thou wilt: thou wilt not harbour here. 
 
 Bamabe Barnes. 
 
36 
 
 Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content; 
 
 The quiet mind is richer than a crown; 
 Sweet are the nights in careless slumher spent; 
 
 The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown; 
 Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, 
 Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss. 
 
 The homely house that harbours quiet rest. 
 The cottage that affords no pride nor care, 
 
 The mean that grees with country music best. 
 The sweet consort of mirth and music's fare. 
 
 Obscured life sets down a type of bliss; 
 
 A mind content both crown and kingdom is. 
 
 Greene. 
 37 
 
 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; 
 Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, 
 Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, 
 Cuckoo, ]ug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo 1 
 
 The palm and may make country houses gay. 
 Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, 
 And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! 
 
 The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, 
 Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, 
 In every street these tunes our ears do greet, 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! 
 Spring, the sweet Spring! 
 
 Nashe. 
 
 23 
 
38 
 
 What bird so sings, yet so does wail? 
 ! t is tte ravished nightingale. 
 "Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu!" she cries, 
 And still her woes at midnight rise. 
 Brave prick-song ! who is t now we hear ? 
 None hut the lark so shrill and clear; 
 Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings, 
 The morn not waking till she sings. 
 Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat 
 Poor robin redbreast tunes his note! 
 Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing, 
 " Cuckoo", to welcome in the spring! 
 " Cuckoo ", to welcome in the spring! 
 
 Lyly. 
 
 39 
 
 The earth, late choked with showers, 
 
 Is now arrayed in green; 
 Her bosom springs with flowers, 
 
 The air dissolves her teen: 
 The heavens laugh at her glory, 
 Yet bide I sad and sorry. 
 
 The woods are decked with leaves, 
 And trees are clothed gay; 
 
 And Flora, crowned with sheaves, 
 With oaken boughs doth play: 
 
 Where I am clothed with black. 
 
 The token of my wrack. 
 24 
 
The biras upon tne trees 
 
 Do sing with pleasant voices, 
 
 And chant in their degrees 
 
 Their loves and lucky choices: 
 
 When I, whilst they are singing, 
 
 With sighs mine arms am wringing. 
 
 The thrushes seek the shade, 
 
 And I my fatal grave; 
 Their flight to heaven is made, 
 
 My walk on earth I have: 
 They free, I thrall; they jolly, 
 I sad and pensive wholly. 
 
 Lodge. 
 
 40 
 
 The peaceful western wind 
 
 The winter storms hath tamed. 
 
 And Nature in each kind 
 
 The kind heat hath inflamed: 
 The forward huds so sweetly breathe 
 
 Out of their earthy bowers. 
 That heaven, which views their pomp beneath. 
 
 Would fain be decked with flowers. 
 
 See how the morning smiles 
 
 On her bright eastern hill, 
 
 And with soft steps beguiles 
 
 Them that lie slumbering still ! 
 The music-loving birds are come 
 
 From cliffs and rocks unknown 
 To see the trees and briars bloom 
 
 That late were overflown. 
 
 2S 
 
What Saturn did destroy, 
 Love 3 Queen revives again; 
 And now her naked boy- 
 Doth in the fields remain, 
 
 Where he such pleasing change doth view 
 In every living thing. 
 
 As if the world were born anew 
 To gratify the spring. 
 
 If all things life present. 
 Why die my comforts then? 
 Why suffers my content? 
 Am I the worst of men? 
 0, Beauty, be not thou accused 
 
 Too justly in this case! 
 Unkindly if true love be used, 
 
 T will yield thee little grace. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 41 
 To the Virgins, to make much 
 
 of T 
 
 ime 
 
 Gather ye rosebuds while ye may. 
 
 Old time is still a-flying: 
 And this same flower that smiles to-day 
 
 To-morrow will be dying. 
 
 The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, 
 
 The higher he s a-getting. 
 The sooner will his race be run, 
 
 And nearer he s to setting. 
 26 
 
Ttat age is best wkicli is the first, 
 Wnen youtt and blood are warmer; 
 
 But being spent, tbe worse, and worst 
 Times still succeed tbe former. 
 
 Tben be not coy, but use your time. 
 And wbile ye may go marry: 
 
 For baving lost but once your prime 
 You may for ever tarry. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 42 
 
 A Description of tke Spring 
 
 And now all nature seemed in love; 
 Tbe lusty sap began to move; 
 Ne-w juice did stir tbe embracing vines, 
 And birds bad drawn tbeir valentines; 
 The jealous trout that now did lie. 
 Rose at a well-dissembled fly: 
 There stood my friend with patient skill, 
 Attending of bis trembling quiU. 
 Already were the eaves possessed 
 With the swift pilgrim's daubed nest: 
 The groves already did rejoice 
 In Philomel's triumphing voice. 
 The showers were short, the weather mild, 
 The morning fresh, the evening smiled. 
 Joan takes her neat-rubbed pail and now 
 She trips to milk the sand-red cow; 
 Where, for some sturdy football swain, 
 Joan strokes a sillabub or twain. 
 The field and gardens were beset 
 With tulip, crocus, violet; 
 27 
 
And now, though late, the moJest rose 
 Did more than half a blush disclose. 
 Thus all looked gay, all full of cheer. 
 To welcome the new-liveried year. 
 
 Wotton. 
 
 43 
 
 0, the month of May, the merry month of May, 
 So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green! 
 
 0, and then did I unto my true love say. 
 
 Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer s Queen. 
 
 Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale. 
 The sweetest singer in all the forest quire. 
 
 Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love's tale : 
 Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a briar. 
 
 But 0, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo; 
 
 See where she sitteth; come away, my joy: 
 Come away, I prithee, I do not like the cuckoo 
 
 Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy. 
 
 0, the month of May, the merry month of May, 
 So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green; 
 
 And then did I unto my true love say. 
 
 Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 44 
 
 It was a lover and his lass. 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
 That o'er the green corn-field did pass 
 
 In the spring time, the only pretty ring time. 
 When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 28 
 
Between the acres of tte rye. 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 These pretty country folks would lie. 
 
 In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 When hirds do smg, hey ding a ding, ding: 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 This carol they hegan that hour. 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino. 
 
 How that a life was hut a flower 
 
 In spring time, the only pretty ring time. 
 
 When birds do smg, hey ding a ding, ding: 
 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 And therefore take the present time, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; 
 
 For love is crowned with the prime 
 
 In spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 
 When hirds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: 
 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 45 
 
 The Hamadryad's Song 
 
 Pluck the fruit and taste the pleasure. 
 Youthful lordings, of delight; 
 
 Whilst occasion gives you seizure. 
 Feed your fancies and your sight: 
 
 After death, when you are gone, 
 
 Joy and pleasure is there none. 
 
 Here on earth is nothing stable. 
 Fortune's changes well are known; 
 29 
 
Wliilst as youth doth then enahle, 
 Let your seeds of joy be sown: 
 After death, when you are gone, 
 Joy and pleasure is there none 
 
 Feast it freely with your lovers. 
 Blithe and wanton sports do fade. 
 
 Whilst that lovely Cupid hovers 
 Round about this lovely shade: 
 
 Sport it freely one to one, 
 
 After death is pleasure none. 
 
 Now the pleasant spring allureth. 
 And both place and time invites: 
 
 But, alas! what heart endureth 
 To disclaim his sweet delights? 
 
 After death, when we are gone, 
 
 Joy and pleasure is there none. 
 
 Lodge. 
 
 46 
 
 When daffodils begiii to peer, 
 
 With heigh ! the doxy over the dale. 
 
 Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; 
 For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale. 
 
 The white sheet bleaching on the hedge. 
 
 With heigh! the sweet birds, 0, how they sing! 
 
 Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; 
 For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 
 
 The lark, that tirra-lyra chants, 
 
 With heigh ! with heigh ! the thrush and the jay. 
 Are summer songs for me and my aunts. 
 While we lie tumbling in the hay. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 3° 
 
47 
 
 Under the greenwood tree 
 
 Who loves to lie with me, 
 
 And turn his merry note 
 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither: 
 
 Here shall he see 
 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Who doth amhition shun 
 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 shall he see 
 No enemy 
 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 48 
 
 The merry cuckoo, messenger of spring. 
 His trumpet shrill hath thrice already sounded. 
 That warns all lovers wait upon their king. 
 Who now is coming forth with garland crowned. 
 With noise whereof the choir of hirds resounded, 
 Their anthems sweet, devised of love s praise. 
 That all the woods their echoes hack rebounded. 
 As if they knew the meaning of their lays. 
 But mongst them all, which did love s honour raise, 
 No word was heard of her that most it ought; 
 
 31 
 
But she tis precept proudly disobeys. 
 And dotn his idle message set at naught. 
 
 Therefore, love, unless she turn to thee 
 
 Ere cuckoo end, let her a rebel be! 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 49 
 
 New year, forth looking out of Janus gate, 
 
 Doth seem to promise hope of new delight: 
 
 And bidding the old adieu, his passed date 
 
 Bids all old thoughts to die in dumpish spright: 
 
 And, calling forth out of sad winter's night 
 
 Fresh Love, that long hath slept in cheerless bower, 
 
 Wills him awake, and soon about him dight 
 
 His wanton wings and darts of deadly power. 
 
 For lusty Spring now in his timely hour 
 
 Is ready to come forth, him to receive; 
 
 And warns the earth with divers-coloured flower 
 
 To deck herself, and her fair mantle weave. 
 
 Then you, fair flower, in whom fresh youth doth 
 reign. 
 
 Prepare yourself new love to entertain. 
 
 Spenser. 
 50 
 Corinna's Going A-Maying 
 
 Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn 
 Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. 
 See how Aurora throws her fair 
 Fresh-quilted colours through the air: 
 Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see 
 The dew bespangling herb and tree. 
 32 
 
Each flower bas wept and bowed toward tbe east 
 Above an bour since : yet you not dressed ; 
 
 Nay! not so mucb as out of bed? 
 
 Wben all tbe birds bave matins said 
 
 And sung tbeir tbankful bymns, t is sin, 
 
 Nay, profanation to keep in, 
 Wbereas a tbousand virgins on tbis day 
 Spring, sooner tban tbe lark, to fetcb m May. 
 
 Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen 
 
 To come fortb, like tbe spring-time, fresb and green. 
 
 And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
 
 For jewels for your gown or bair: 
 
 Fear not; tbe leaves will strew 
 
 Gems in abundance upon you: 
 Besides, tbe cbildbood of tbe day bas kept. 
 Against you come, some orient pearls unwept; 
 
 Come and receive tbem wbile tbe ligbt 
 
 Hangs on tbe dew-locks of tbe nigbt: 
 
 And Titan on tbe eastern bill 
 
 Retires bimself, or else stands still 
 Till you come fortb. Wasb, dress, be brief in pray- 
 ing: 
 Few beads are best wben once we go a-Maying. 
 
 Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark 
 
 How eacb field turns a street, eacb street a park 
 
 Made green, and trimmed witb trees: see bow 
 Devotion gives eacb bouse a bougb 
 Or brancb: eacb porcb, eacb door ere tbis 
 An ark, a tabernacle is. 
 
 Made up of wbite-tborn neatly interwove; 
 
 As if bere were tbose cooler sbades of love. 
 Can sucb deligbts be in tbe street 
 And open fields and we not see t? 
 
 (B459) 33 
 
Come, we 11 abroad ; and let s obey 
 
 The proclamation made for May: 
 And sin no more, as we bave done, by staying; 
 But, my Corinna, come, let s go a-Maying. 
 
 Tbere s not a budding boy or girl tbis day 
 But is got up, and gone to bring in May. 
 
 A deal of youtb, ere tbis, is come 
 
 Back, and witb wbite-tborn laden, borne. 
 
 Some bave despatched tbeir cakes and cream 
 
 ^Before tbat we bave left to dream: 
 And some bave wept, and wooed, and pligbted trotb. 
 And chose tbeir priest, ere we can cast off sloth : 
 
 Many a green-gown has been given; 
 
 Many a kiss, both odd and even: 
 
 Many a glance too has been sent 
 
 From out the eye, love's firmament; 
 Many a jest told of the keys betraying 
 This night, and locks picked, yet we 're not a-Maying. 
 
 Come, let us go while we are m our prime; 
 And take the harmless folly of the time. 
 
 We shall grow old apace, and die 
 
 Before we know our liberty. 
 
 Our life is short, and our days run 
 
 As fast away as does the sun; 
 And, as a vapour or a drop of rain 
 Once lost, can ne er be found again. 
 
 So when or you or I are made 
 
 A fable, song, or fleeting shade. 
 
 All love, all liking, all delight 
 
 Lies drowned with us in endless night. 
 Then while time serves, and we are but decaying. 
 Come, my Corinna, come, let s go a-Maying. 
 
 Herrick. 
 34 
 
51 
 
 Spring 
 
 Wten daisies pied and violets blue 
 And lady-smocks all silver-wtite 
 
 And cuckoo-buds of yellow bue 
 
 Do paint tbe meadows witb deligbt, 
 
 Tbe cuckoo tben, on every tree, 
 
 Mocks married men; for tbus sings be, 
 Cuckoo ; 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo: word of fear, 
 
 Unpleasing to a married earl 
 
 Wben sbepberds pipe on oaten straws 
 
 And merry larks are plougbmen s clocks, 
 
 Wben turtles tread, and rooks, and daws. 
 And maidens bleacb tbeir summer smocks, 
 
 Tbe cuckoo tben, on every tree. 
 
 Mocks married men; for tbus sings be. 
 Cuckoo ; 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo: word of fear, 
 
 Unpleasing to a married ear! 
 
 Winter 
 
 Wben icicles bang by tbe wall 
 
 And Dick tbe sbepberd blows bis nail 
 
 And Tom bears logs into tbe ball 
 
 And milk comes frozen borne in pail, 
 
 Wben blood is nipped and ways be foul, 
 
 Tben nigbtly sings tbe staring owl, 
 Tu-wbit ; 
 
 Tu-wbo, a merry note, 
 
 Wbile greasy Joan dotb keel tbe pot. 
 35 
 
When all aloud tlie wind doth blow 
 
 And coughing drowns the parson s saw 
 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow 
 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw. 
 
 When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl. 
 Tu-whit ; 
 
 Tu-who, a merry note, 
 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 52 
 
 From you have I been absent in the spring, 
 When proud-pied April dressed in all his trim 
 Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, 
 That heavy Saturn laughed and leaped with him. 
 Yet nor the lays of birds nor the sweet smell 
 Of different flowers in odour and in hue 
 Could make me any summer s story tell, 
 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew ; 
 Nor did I wonder at the lily s white, 
 Nor praise the deep vermilion in the rose; 
 They were but sweet, but figures of delight. 
 Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
 Yet seemed it winter still, and, you away, 
 As with your shadow I with these did play. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 36 
 
53 
 
 My love is strengthened, tliougli more weak in 
 
 seeming; 
 I love not less, though less the show appear: 
 That love is merchandized whose rich esteeming 
 The owner's tongue doth puhlish everywhere. 
 Our love was new and then but in the spring 
 When I was wont to greet it with my lays, 
 As Philomel in summer's front doth sing 
 And stops her pipe in growth of riper days: 
 Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
 Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, 
 But that wild music hurthens every bough 
 And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. 
 Therefore like her I sometime hold my tongue, 
 Because I would not dull you with my song. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 54 
 
 How like a winter hath my absence been 
 From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! 
 What freezmgs have I felt, what dark days seen! 
 What old December's bareness everywhere! 
 And yet this time removed was summer's time. 
 The teeming autumn, big with rich increase. 
 Bearing the wanton burthen of the prime. 
 Like widowed wombs after their lord s decease : 
 Yet this abundant issue seemed to me 
 But hope of orphans and unfathered fruit; 
 For summer and his pleasures wait on thee. 
 And, thou away, the very birds are mute; 
 Or, if they sing, t is with so dull a cheer 
 That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 37 
 
Blow, blow, ttou winter wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 
 As man's ingratitude; 
 Tny toott is not so keen. 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 
 Althougt thy breath be rude. 
 Heigb-bo! sing, beigb-bo! unto tbe green boUy: 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: 
 Then heigh-ho, tbe holly! 
 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
 That dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot: 
 Though thou tbe waters warp. 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 
 As friend remembered not. 
 Heigh-ho! sing, heigh-ho! unto the green holly: 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: 
 Then heigh-ho, the holly! 
 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 56 
 
 Now winter nights enlarge 
 The number of their hours; 
 And clouds their storms discbarge 
 Upon the airy towers. 
 Let now tbe chimneys blaze 
 And cups o'erflow with wine, 
 Let well-tuned words amaze 
 With harmony divine! 
 38 
 
Now yellow waxen lights 
 
 Shall wait on honey love, 
 
 While youthful revels, masques, and courtly sights, 
 
 Sleep's leaden spells remove. 
 
 This time doth well dispense 
 
 With lovers' long discourse; 
 
 Much speech hath some defence, 
 
 Though beauty no remorse. 
 
 All do not all things well; 
 
 Some measures comely tread. 
 
 Some knotted riddles tell. 
 
 Some poems smoothly read. 
 
 The summer hath his joys, 
 
 And winter his delights; 
 
 Though love and all his pleasures are hut toys. 
 
 They shorten tedious nights. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 57 
 Tke Passionate Skepherd to 
 
 kis L 
 
 ove 
 
 Come live with me and be my love. 
 And we will all the pleasures prove 
 That hills and valleys, dales and fields. 
 Woods, or steepy mountain yields. 
 
 And we will sit upon the rocks. 
 Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks 
 By shallow rivers, to whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
 39 
 
And I will make tkee beds of roses, 
 And a tkousand fragrant posies; 
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
 Embroidered all witb leaves of myrtle; 
 
 A gown made of tbe finest wool 
 Wbicb from our pretty lambs we pull; 
 Fair-lined slippers for tbe cold, 
 witb buckles of tbe purest gold; 
 
 A belt of straw and ivy-buds, 
 Witb coral clasps and amber studs; 
 And if tbese pleasures may tbee move. 
 Come live witb me, and be my love. 
 
 Tbe sbepberd-swains sball dance and sing 
 For tby deligbt eacb May-morning; 
 If tbese deligbts tby mind may move, 
 Tben live witb me, and be my love. 
 
 Marlowe. 
 
 58 
 
 To Pkyllis, to Love and Live 
 with Him 
 
 Live, live witb me, and tbou sbalt see 
 Tbe pleasures I '11 prepare for tbee ; 
 Wbat sweets tbe country can afford 
 Sball bless tby bed and bless tby board. 
 Tbe soft, sweet moss sball be tby bed 
 Witb crawling woodbine over-spread; 
 By wbicb tbe silver-sbedding streams 
 Sball gently melt tbee into dreams. 
 40 
 
Thy clotting, next, shall he a gown 
 Made of the fleece's purest down. 
 The tongues of kids shall be thy meat, 
 Their milk thy drink; and thou shalt eat 
 The paste of filberts for thy bread 
 With cream of cowslips buttered; 
 Thy feasting-tables shall he hills 
 With daisies spread and daffodils. 
 Where thou shalt sit, and red-breast by. 
 For meat, shall give thee melody. 
 I '11 give thee chains and carcanets 
 Of primroses and violets. 
 A bag and bottle thou shalt have, 
 That richly wrought, and this as brave; 
 So that as either shall express 
 The wearer s no mean shepherdess. 
 At shearing-times, and yearly wakes, 
 When Themilis his pastime makes. 
 There thou shalt be; and be the wit, 
 Nay, more, the feast, and grace of it. 
 On holidays, when virgins meet 
 To dance the heyes with nimble feet. 
 Thou shalt come forth, and then appear 
 The queen of roses for that year; 
 And having danced, bove all the best, 
 Carry the garland from the rest. 
 In wicker baskets maids shall bring 
 To thee, my dearest shepherdling. 
 The blushing apple, bashful pear. 
 The shame-faced plum, all simpering there. 
 Walk in the groves, and thou shalt find 
 The name of Phyllis in the rind 
 Of every straight and smooth-skin tree; 
 Where kissing that, I 11 twice kiss thee. 
 To thee a sheep-hook I will send, 
 41 
 
Be-pranked with ribands to ttis end, 
 This, this alluring hook might be 
 Less for to catch a sheep tban me. 
 Thou shalt have possets, wassails fine, 
 Not made of ale, but spiced wine. 
 To make tby maids and self free mirth, 
 All sitting near the glittering heartb. 
 Thou shalt have ribands, roses, rings. 
 Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes and strings 
 Of winning colours, that shall move 
 Others to lust, but me to love. 
 These, nay, and more, thine own shall be 
 If thou wilt love, and live with me. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 59 
 Tke River-God's Song 
 
 Do not fear to put thy feet 
 Naked in the river sweet; 
 Think not leech, or newt, or toad. 
 Will bite thy foot, when thou hast trod; 
 Nor let the water rising bigh, 
 As tbou wad'st in, make tbee cry 
 And sob; but ever live witb me, 
 And not a wave sball trouble thee! 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
 42 
 
60 
 Daffodil 
 
 Batte 
 
 Gorbo, as tkou earnest this way, 
 
 By yonder little till, 
 Or as ttou tlirougli the fields did stray, 
 
 Saw'st thou my Daffodil? 
 
 She 's in a frock of Lincoln green, 
 Which colour likes her sight. 
 
 And never hath her beauty seen. 
 But through a veil of white; 
 
 Than roses richer to behold. 
 That trim up lovers' bowers. 
 
 The pansy and the marigold. 
 Though Phoebus' paramours. 
 
 Gorbo 
 
 Thou well describ'st the daffodil; 
 
 It is not full an hour. 
 Since by the spring, near yonder hill, 
 
 I saw that lovely flower. 
 
 Batte 
 
 Yet my fair flower thou didst not meet 
 Nor news of her didst bring, 
 
 And yet my Daffodil s more sweet 
 Than that by yonder spring. 
 43 
 
Gorbo 
 
 I saw a shepkerd that dott keep 
 
 In yonder field of lilies, 
 Was making (as lie fed bis steep) 
 
 A wreath of daffodillies. 
 
 Batte 
 
 Yet, Gorbo, thou delud'st me still, 
 My flower thou didst not see; 
 
 For, know, my pretty Daffodil 
 Is worn of none but me. 
 
 To show itself but near her feet 
 
 No lily is so bold. 
 Except to shade her from the beat. 
 
 Or keep her from the cold. 
 
 Gorbo 
 
 Through yonder vale as I did pass, 
 
 Descending from the hill, 
 I met a smirking bonny lass. 
 
 They call her Daffodil: 
 
 Whose presence, as along she went. 
 
 The pretty flowers did greet. 
 As though their beads they downward bent 
 
 With homage to her feet. 
 
 And all the shepherds that were nigh, 
 
 From top of every bill. 
 Unto the valleys loud did cry. 
 
 There goes sweet Daffodil. 
 44 
 
Batte 
 
 Ay, gentle shepkerd, now witt joy 
 
 Thou all my flocks dost fill. 
 That s she alone, kind shepherd boy; 
 
 Let us to Daffodil. 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 61 
 PLyllida and Corydon 
 
 In the merry month of May, 
 In a mom by break of day, 
 Forth I walked by the woodside 
 Whenas May was in his pride: 
 There I spied all alone 
 Phyllida and Corydon. 
 Much ado there was, God wot! 
 He would love and she would not. 
 She said, never man was true; 
 He said, none was false to you. 
 He said, he had loved her long; 
 She said. Love should have no wrong. 
 Corydon would kiss her then ; 
 She said, maids must kiss no men 
 Till they did for good and all; 
 Then she made the shepherd call 
 All the heavens to witness truth 
 Never loved a truer youth. 
 Thus with many a pretty oath, 
 Yea and nay, and faith and troth, 
 Such as silly shepherds use 
 When they will not Love abuse, 
 45 
 
Love, whicli long liad been deluded, 
 Was with kisses sweet concluded; 
 And Phyllida, witli garlands gay, 
 Was made the Lady of the May. 
 
 Nicholas Breton. 
 
 62 
 Tke Ballad of Dowsabel 
 
 Far in the country of Arden, 
 
 There wonned a knight, hight Cassamen, 
 
 As bold as Isenbras: 
 Fell was he and eager bent, 
 In battle and in tournament. 
 
 As was the good Sir Topas. 
 
 He had, as antique stories tell, 
 A daughter cleped Dowsabel, 
 
 A maiden fair and free: 
 And for she was her father's heir, 
 Full well she was yconned the leir 
 
 Of mickle courtesy. 
 
 The silk well couth she twist and twine. 
 And make the fine march-pine, 
 
 And with the needle work: 
 And she couth help the priest to say 
 His matins on a holyday. 
 
 And sing a psalm in kirk. 
 
 She wore a frock of frolic green. 
 Might well become a maiden queen, 
 Which seemly was to see: 
 46 
 
A hood to that so neat and fine. 
 In colour like the columbine, 
 Ywrought full featously 
 
 Her features all as fresh above. 
 
 As is the grass that grows by Dove, 
 
 And lythe as lass of Kent: 
 Her skin as soft as Lemster wool. 
 As white as snow on Peakish Hull, 
 
 Or swan that swims in Trent. 
 
 This maiden in a mom betime. 
 
 Went forth when May was in the prime, 
 
 To get sweet setywall. 
 The honey-suckle, the harlock. 
 The hly, and the lady-smock. 
 
 To deck her summer hall. 
 
 Thus as she wandered here and there, 
 And picked of the bloomy briar. 
 
 She chanced to espy 
 A shepherd sitting on a bank. 
 Like chanticleer he crowed crank. 
 
 And piped full merrily. 
 
 He learned his sheep, as he him list. 
 When he would whistle in his fist. 
 
 To feed about him round. 
 Whilst he full many a carol sang. 
 Until the fields and meadows rang. 
 
 And that the woods did sound. 
 
 In favour this same shepherd swain 
 Was like the bedlam Tamberlane, 
 Which held proud kings in awe: 
 
 47 
 
But meek as any lamb mought be, 
 And innocent of ill as be 
 
 Wbom bis lewd brotber slaw. 
 
 Tbis sbepberd wore a sbeep-gray cloak, 
 Wbicb was of tbe finest loke 
 
 Tbat could be cut witb sbeer. 
 His mittons were of bauzons skm. 
 His cockers were of cordiwin. 
 
 His bood of miniver. 
 
 His awl and lingel in a tbong. 
 His tar-box on bis broad belt bung. 
 
 His breecb of Cointree blue; 
 Full crisp and curled were bis locks, 
 His brows as wbite as Albion rocks. 
 
 So like a lover true. 
 
 And piping still be spent tbe day. 
 So merry as tbe popinjay, 
 
 Wbicb liked Dowsabel; 
 Tbat would sbe ougbt, or would sbe nougbt, 
 Tbis lad would never from ber tbougbt, 
 
 Sbe in love-longing fell. 
 
 At lengtb sbe tucked up ber frock, 
 Wbite as a lily was ber smock, 
 
 Sbe drew tbe sbepberd nigb : 
 But tben tbe sbepberd piped a good, 
 Tbat all bis sbeep forsook tbeir food, 
 
 To bear bis melody. 
 
 " Tby sbeep," quotb sbe, " cannot be lean, 
 Tbat bave a jolly sbepberd swain, 
 Tbe wbicb can pipe so well." 
 48 
 
" Yea, but," saitli he, " tteir shepherd may, 
 If piping thus he pine away, 
 In love of Dowsabel. " 
 
 " Of love, fond boy, take thou no keep," 
 Quoth she, " look well unto thy sheep, 
 
 Lest they should hap to stray." 
 Quoth he, "So had I done full well, 
 Had I not seen fair Dowsabel 
 
 Come forth to gather May." 
 
 With that she gan to vail her head. 
 Her cheeks were like the roses red, 
 
 But not a word she said; 
 With that the shepherd gan to frown, 
 He threw his pretty pipes adown. 
 
 And on the ground him laid. 
 
 Saith she, " I may not stay till night, 
 And leave my summer hall undight. 
 
 And all for love of thee." 
 " My cote, saith he, " nor yet my fold, 
 Shall neither sheep nor shepherd hold. 
 
 Except thou favour me." 
 
 Saith she, " Yet liever I were dead, 
 Than I should lose my maidenhead. 
 
 And all for love of men." 
 Saith he, " Yet are you too unkind, 
 If in your heart you cannot find 
 
 To love us now and then. 
 
 " And I to thee will he as kind, 
 As Colin was to Rosalind, 
 Of courtesy the flower." 
 
 (B4S9) 49 O 
 
" Then will I be as true, " quoth she, 
 " As ever maiden yet might he, 
 Unto her paramour." 
 
 With that she hent her snow-white knee, 
 Down hy the shepherd kneeled she. 
 
 And him she sweetly kissed. 
 With that the shepherd whooped for joy. 
 Quoth he, " There's never shepherd s hoy 
 
 That ever was so blist. 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 63 
 Doron and Carmela 
 
 Doron. Sit down, Carmela ; here are cohs for kings. 
 
 Sloes hlack as jet or like my Christmas 
 
 shoes, 
 
 Sweet cider which my leathern hottle hrings ; 
 
 Sit down, Carmela, let me kiss thy toes. 
 
 Carmela. Ah Doron! Ah my heart! thou art as 
 white 
 As is my mother's calf or hrinded cow ; 
 Thine eyes are like the slow-worms in the 
 night; 
 Thine hairs resemble thickest of the 
 snow. 
 
 The lines within thy face are deep and 
 clear 
 Like to the furrows of my father's 
 wain; 
 The sweat upon thy face doth oft appear 
 Like to my mother's fat and kitchen- 
 gain. 
 
At, leave my toe, and kiss my lips, my 
 love! 
 My lips are thine, for I have given 
 them thee; 
 Within thy cap 't is thou shalt wear my 
 glove; 
 At "football sport thou shalt my cham- 
 pion he. 
 
 Doron. Cannela dear, even as the golden ball 
 
 That Venus got, such axe thy goodly 
 eyes; 
 When cherries' juice is jumbled therewithal. 
 Thy breath is like the steam of apple- 
 pies. 
 
 Thy lips resemble two cucumbers fair; 
 Thy teeth like to the tusks of fattest 
 swine; 
 Thy speech is like the thunder in the air: 
 Would God, thy toes, thy lips, and all 
 were mine! 
 
 Cannela. Doron, what thing doth move this wishing 
 
 grief? 
 Doron. 'T is Love, Cannela, ah, t is cruel 
 
 Love, 
 That, like a slave and caitiff villain-thief. 
 Hath cut my throat of joy for thy 
 behove. 
 
 Carmela. Where was he bom? 
 Doron. In faith, I know not where; 
 
 But I have heard much talking of his 
 dart: 
 
Ay me, poor man! witk many a tramp- 
 ling tear 
 I leel him wound tte fore-torse of my 
 heart. 
 
 What, do I love? 0, no, I do but talk: 
 What, shall I die for love? 0, no, 
 not so. 
 What, am I dead? 0, no, my tongue 
 doth walk: 
 Come, kiss, Carmela, and confound my 
 woe. 
 
 Carmela. Even with this kiss, as once my father did, 
 I seal the sweet indentures of delight: 
 Before I break my vow the gods forbid, 
 No, not by day, nor yet by darksome 
 night. 
 
 Doron, Even with his garland made of hollyhocks 
 I cross thy brows from every shep- 
 herd's kiss: 
 Heigh-ho, how glad I am to touch thy 
 locks ! 
 My frolic heart even now a freeman is. 
 
 Carmela^ I thank you, Doron, and will think on 
 
 you; 
 
 I love you, Doron, and will wink on you; 
 
 I seal your charter-patent with my thumbs : 
 
 Come, kiss and part, for fear my mother 
 
 comes. 
 
 Greene. 
 
 Sa 
 
64 
 
 Tke Tliird Pastor's Song 
 
 Who can live in heart so glad 
 As the merry country lad? 
 Who upon a fair green haulk 
 May at pleasure sit and walk, 
 And amid the azure skies 
 See the morning sun arise; 
 While he hears in every spring 
 How the hirds do chirp and sing; 
 Or, before the hounds in cry. 
 See the hare go stealing by; 
 Or, along the shallow brook 
 Angling with a baited hook. 
 See the fishes leap and play 
 In a blessed sunny day; 
 Or to hear the partridge call 
 Till she have her covey all; 
 Or to see the subtle fox. 
 How the villain plies the box. 
 After feeding on his prey 
 How he closely sneaks away, 
 Through the hedge and down the furrow 
 Till he gets into his burrow; 
 Then the bee to gather honey. 
 And the little black-haired coney 
 On a bank for sunny place 
 With her forefeet wash her face: 
 Are not these, with thousands moe 
 Than the courts of kings do know. 
 The true pleasing spirit's sights, 
 That may breed true love s delights? 
 S3 
 
But with all tills happiness, 
 To bebold tkat shepherdess 
 To whose eyes all shepherds yield 
 All the fairest of the field, 
 Fair Aglaia, in whose face 
 Lives the shepherd's highest grace; 
 In whose worthy wonder s praise 
 See what her true shepherd says. 
 She is neither proud nor fine. 
 But in spirit more divine; 
 She can neither lour nor leer, 
 But a sweeter smiling cheer; 
 She had never painted face. 
 But a sweeter smiling grace; 
 She can never love dissemble. 
 Truth doth so her thoughts assemble. 
 That when wisdom guides her will 
 She is kind and constant still. 
 All in sum, she is that creature 
 Of that truest comfort's nature 
 That doth show (but in exceedings) 
 How their praises had their breedings. 
 Let then poets feign their pleasure 
 In their fictions of love's treasure; 
 Proud high spirits seek their graces 
 In their idol painted faces; 
 My love s spirit s lowliness. 
 In affection's humbleness, 
 Under heaven no happiness 
 Seeks, but in this shepherdess. 
 For whose sake I say and swear. 
 By the passions that I bear. 
 Had I got a kingly grace, 
 I would leave my kingly place, 
 And in heart be truly glad 
 54 
 
To become a country lad; 
 Hard to lie, and go full bare, 
 And to feed on hungry fare; 
 So I migbt but live to be, 
 Wbere I migbt but sit to see 
 Once a day, or all day long, 
 Tbe sweet subject of my song; 
 In Aglaia's only eyes 
 All my worldly Paradise. 
 
 Nicholas Breton. 
 
 65 
 
 Jack and Joan, tbey tbink no ill. 
 
 But loving live, and merry still; 
 
 Do tbeir week-day's work, and pray 
 
 Devoutly on tbe boly day: 
 
 Skip and trip it on tbe green. 
 
 And belp to cboose tbe Summer Queen; 
 
 Lasb out, at a country feast, 
 
 Tbeir silver penny witb tbe best. 
 
 Well can tbey judge of nappy ale, 
 
 And tell at large a winter tale; 
 
 Climb up to tbe apple loft. 
 
 And turn tbe crabs till tbey be soft. 
 
 Tib is all tbe fatber s joy, 
 
 And little Tom tbe motber's boy. 
 
 All tbeir pleasure is content; 
 
 And care, to pay tbeir yearly rent. 
 
 Joan can call by name ber cows, 
 And deck ber windows witb green bougbs; 
 Sbe can wreatbs and tuttyes make. 
 And trim witb plums a bridal cake. 
 SS 
 
Jack knows what brings gain or loss; 
 And kis long flail can stoutly toss: 
 Makes the hedge which others break; 
 And ever thinks what he doth speak. 
 
 Now, you courtly dames and knights. 
 That study only strange delights; 
 Though you scorn the home-spun gray, 
 And revel in your rich array: 
 Though your tongues dissemble deep, 
 And can your heads from danger keep; 
 Yet, for all your pomp and train, 
 Securer lives the silly swain. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 66 
 
 His Grange, or Private Wealtli 
 
 Though clock. 
 To tell how night draws hence, I 've none, 
 
 A cock 
 I have to sing how day draws on. 
 
 I have 
 A maid, my Prew, by good luck sent 
 
 To save 
 That little Fates me gave or lent. 
 
 A hen 
 I keep, which, creeking day by day, 
 
 Tells when 
 She goes her long white egg to lay. 
 
 A goose 
 I have, which with a jealous ear 
 
 Lets loose 
 Her tongue to tell that danger s near. 
 S6 
 
A lamb 
 I keep (tame) with my morsels fed. 
 
 Whose dam 
 An orphan left him (lately dead). 
 
 A cat 
 I keep, that plays about my house, 
 
 Grown fat 
 With eating many a miching mouse. 
 
 To these 
 A Tracy I do keep whereby 
 
 I please 
 The more my rural privacy; 
 
 Which are 
 But toys to give my heart some ease; 
 
 Where care 
 None is, slight things do lightly please. 
 
 Henick. 
 
 67 
 To Lar 
 
 No more shall I, since I am driven hence. 
 Devote to thee my grains of frankincense; 
 No more shall I from mantle-trees hang down. 
 To honour thee, my little parsley crown ; 
 No more shall I (I fear me) to thee bring 
 My chives of garlic for an offering; 
 No more shall I from henceforth hear a choir 
 Of merry crickets by my country fire. 
 Go where I will, thou lucky Lar stay here, 
 Warm by a glittering chimney all the year. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 5,7 
 
68 
 The Shepkerd's Wife's Song 
 
 At, wtat is Love? It is a pretty thing, 
 As sweet unto a shepherd as a king; 
 
 And sweeter too; 
 For kings have cares that wait upon a crown. 
 And cares can make the sweetest love to frown: 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain. 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 
 
 His flocks are folded, he comes home at night. 
 As merry as a king m his delight; 
 
 And merrier too; 
 For kings hethinjt then what the state require, 
 Where shepherds careless carol by the fire: 
 
 Ah then, ah then. 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain. 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 
 
 He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat 
 His cream and curds as doth a king his meat; 
 
 And blither too; 
 For kings have often fears when they do sup, 
 Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup: 
 
 Ah then, ah then. 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain. 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 
 
 To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween. 
 As is a king in dalliance with a queen; 
 
 More wanton too; 
 For kings have many griefs affects to move, 
 S8 
 
Where shepherds have no greater grief than love: 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 
 
 Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound 
 As doth a king upon his beds of down; 
 
 More sounder too; 
 For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, 
 Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill: 
 
 Ah then, ah then. 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 
 
 Thus with his wife he spends the year as blithe 
 As doth the king at every tide or sithe; 
 
 And blither too; 
 For kings have wars and broils to take in hand. 
 Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land: 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain. 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 
 
 Greene. 
 
 69 
 Perigot and Willy's Roundelay 
 
 Perigot. It fell upon a holy eve, 
 mUy. (Hey-ho, holy day!) 
 
 Perigot. When holy fathers wont to shrieve, 
 Willy. (Now ginneth this roundelay), 
 
 Perigot. Sitting upon a hill so high, 
 mily. (Hey-ho, the high hill !) 
 
 Perigot. The while my flock did feed thereby, 
 Willy. The while the shepherd's self did spill; 
 
 59 
 
Perigot. I saw the bouncing Bellibone, 
 mily. (Hey-ho, Bonnibell!) 
 
 Perigot. Tripping over the dale alone; 
 Willy. (She can trip it very well :) 
 
 Perigot. Well decked in a frock of gray, 
 fVilly. (Hey-ho, gray is greet!) 
 
 Perigot. And in a kirtle of green say 
 Willy. (The green is for maidens meet). 
 
 Perigot. A chapelet on her head she wore, 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, the chapelet!) 
 
 Perigot. Of sweet violets therein was store, 
 Willy. She sweeter than the violet. 
 
 Perigot. My sheep did leave their wonted food, 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, silly sheep!) 
 
 Perigot. And gazed on her as they were wood, 
 Willy. Wood as he that did them keep. 
 
 Perigot. As the bonny lass passed by, 
 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, bonny lass!) 
 
 Perigot. She roved at me with glancing eye, 
 
 Willy. As clear as the crystal glass: 
 
 Perigot. All as the sunny beam so bright 
 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, the sunbeam!) 
 
 Perigot. Glanceth from Phoebus' face forthright, 
 
 Willy. So love into my heart did stream. 
 
 Perigot. Or as the thunder cleaves the clouds, 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, the thunder!) 
 
 Perigot. Wherein the lightsome levin shrouds, 
 Willy. So cleaves thy soul asunder; 
 
 Perigot. Or as Dame Cynthia's silver ray 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, the moonlight!) 
 
 Perigot. Upon the glittering wave doth play, 
 Willy. Such play is a piteous plight: 
 
 60 
 
Perigot. The glance into my heart did glide, 
 
 mily. (Hey-ho. the glider 
 
 Perigot. Therewith my soul was sharply gride; 
 
 Willy. Such -wounds soon waxen wider. 
 
 Perigot. Hasting to wrench the snow out, 
 
 mUy. (Hey-ho, Perigot!) 
 
 Perigot. I left tiie head in my heart-root. 
 
 Willy. It was a desperate shot. 
 
 Perigot. There it rankleth aye more and more, 
 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, Ae arrow!) 
 
 Perigot. Nor can I find salve for my sore: 
 
 Willy. (Love is a cureless sorrow.) 
 
 Perigot. And though my bale with death I hot^t, 
 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, heavy cheer!) 
 
 Perigot. Yet should tlulk lass not from my thought. 
 
 Willy. So you may huy gold too dear. 
 
 Perigot. But whether in painful love 1 pine, 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, piachlng pain!) 
 
 Perigot. Or thrive in wealth, she shall he mine: 
 WiUy. But if thou can her obtain. 
 
 Perigot. And if for graceless grief I die, 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, graceless grief!) 
 
 Perigot. Witness, she slew me with her eye. 
 WiUy. \jet thy folly he the prieL 
 
 Perigot. And you that saw it, simple sheep, 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, the fair Hock!) 
 
 Perigot. For prief thereof my death shall weep 
 WiUy. And moan with many a mock. 
 
 Perigot. So learned I love on a holy eve, 
 Willy. (Hey-ho, holy day!) 
 
 Perigot. That ever since my heart did grieve: 
 WiUy. Now endeth our roundelay. 
 
 Spenser. 
 6i 
 
70 
 The Palmer's Ode 
 
 Old Menalcas, on a day, 
 As in field this shepherd lay, 
 Tuning ol his oaten pipe, 
 Which he hit with many a stripe, 
 Said to Corydon that he 
 Once was young and full of glee. 
 " Blithe and wanton was I then: 
 Such desires follow men. 
 As I lay and kept my sheep. 
 Came the God that hateth sleep, 
 Clad in armour all of fire. 
 Hand in hand with queen Desire, 
 And with a dart that wounded nigh. 
 Pierced my heart as I did lie; 
 That when I woke I gan swear 
 Phyllis beauty's palm did bear. 
 Up I start, forth went I, 
 With her face to feed mine eye; 
 There I saw Desire sit. 
 That my heart with love had hit, 
 Laying forth bright beauty's hooks 
 To entrap my gazing looks. 
 Love I did, and gan to woo. 
 Pray and sigh ; all would not do : 
 Women, when they take the toy, 
 Covet to be counted coy. 
 Coy she was, and I gan court; 
 She thought love was but a sport; 
 Profound hell was in my thought; 
 Such a pain Desire had wrought, 
 62 
 
That I sued with sighs and tears; 
 Still ingrate she stopped her ears. 
 Till my youth I had spent. 
 Last a passion of repent 
 Told me flat, that Desire 
 Was a hrand of love's lire. 
 Which consumeth men in thrall. 
 Virtue, youth, wit, and all. 
 At this saw, hack I start. 
 Beat Desire from my heart, 
 Shook off Love, and made an oath 
 To he enemy to hoth. 
 Old I was when thus I fled 
 Such fond toys as cloyed my head. 
 But this I learned at Virtue's gate. 
 The way to good is never late." 
 
 Greene. 
 
 71 
 
 The ousel cock so hlack of hue. 
 
 With orange-tawny hiU, 
 The throstle with his note so true. 
 
 The wren with little quill. 
 
 The finch, the sparrow, and the jay. 
 
 The plain-song cuckoo gray. 
 Whose note full many a man doth mark 
 
 And dares not answer nay. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 63 
 
72 
 Upon a Fly 
 
 A golden fly one skowed to me, 
 
 Closed in a box of ivory, 
 
 Where both seemed proud: the fly to have 
 
 His burial in an ivory grave; 
 
 The ivory took state to hold 
 
 A corpse as bright as burnished gold. 
 
 One fate hath both, both equal grace; 
 
 The buried, and the burying-place. 
 
 Not Virgil's gnat, to whom the spring 
 
 All flowers sent to s burying ; 
 
 Not Martial's bee, which in a bead 
 
 Of amber quick was buried; 
 
 Nor that fine worm that does inter 
 
 Herself i the silken sepulchre; 
 
 Nor my rare Phil, that lately was 
 
 With lillies tombed up in a glass; 
 
 More honour had than this same fly, 
 
 Dead, and closed up in ivory. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 73 
 To Violets 
 
 Welcome, maids-of-honour, 
 
 You do bring 
 
 In the spring. 
 And wait upon her. 
 64 
 
She has virgins many. 
 
 Fresh and fair; 
 
 Yet you are 
 More sweet than any. 
 
 You 're the maiden posies, 
 And so graced 
 To be placed 
 Fore damask roses. 
 
 Yet, though thus respected. 
 
 By and by 
 
 Ye do lie, 
 Poor girls, neglected. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 74 
 
 To Daffodils 
 
 Fair daffodils, we weep to see 
 
 You haste away so soon; 
 As yet the early-rising sun 
 Has not attained his noon. 
 Stay, stay. 
 Until the hasting day 
 
 Has run 
 But to the evensong; 
 And, having prayed together, we 
 Will go with you along. 
 
 We have short time to stay, as you, 
 We have as short a spring; 
 
 As quick a growth to meet decay. 
 As you, or anything. 
 
 (B469) 6S 
 
We die, 
 As your tours do, and dry 
 
 Away, 
 Like to tte summer's rain; 
 Or as tte pearls of morning's dew, 
 Ne'er to be found again. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 75 
 To Blossoms 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, 
 
 Why do ye fall so fast? 
 
 Your date is not so past 
 But you may stay yet here a while. 
 
 To blush and gently smile; 
 And go at last. 
 
 What! were ye born to be 
 An hour or half's delight. 
 And so to bid good-night? 
 
 'T was pity Nature brought ye forth 
 Merely to show your worth. 
 And lose you quite. 
 
 But you are lovely leaves, where we 
 May read how soon things have 
 Their end, though ne'er so brave: 
 And after they have shown their pride 
 Like you a while, they glide 
 Into the grave. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 66 
 
76 
 To Meadows 
 
 Ye tave been besh and green. 
 
 Ye have been filled witb flowers, 
 
 And ye the walks nave been 
 
 Where maids have spent their hours. 
 
 You have beheld how they 
 With wicker arks did come 
 
 To kiss and bear away 
 
 The richer cowslips home. 
 
 You ve heard them sweetly sing. 
 And seen them in a round: 
 
 Each virgin like a spring. 
 With honeysuckles crowned. 
 
 But now^ w^e see none here 
 Whose silvery feet did tread. 
 
 And with dishevelled hair 
 
 Adorned this smoother mead. 
 
 Like unthrifts, having spent 
 Your stock and needy grown. 
 
 You re left here to lament 
 Your poor estates, alone. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 67 
 
77 
 
 To Primroses Filled witn 
 Morning Dew- 
 Why do ye weep, sweet babes? can tears 
 Speak grief in you, 
 Wbo were but born 
 Just as tbe modest mom 
 Teemed her refreshing dew? 
 Alas! you have not known that shower 
 That mars a flower, 
 Nor felt the unkind 
 Breath of a blasting wind. 
 Nor are ye worn with years. 
 
 Or warped as we, 
 Who think it strange 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 weep; 
 Is it for want of sleep? 
 Or childish lullaby? 
 Or that ye have not seen as yet 
 The violet? 
 Or brought a kiss 
 From that sweetheart to this? 
 No, no, this sorrow shown 
 
 By your tears shed 
 Would have this lecture read: 
 That things of greatest, so of meanest worth. 
 Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth. 
 
 Henick. 
 68 
 
78 
 Tne Primrose 
 
 Ask me why I send you kere 
 
 This sweet Infanta of the year? 
 
 Ask me why I send to you 
 
 This primrose, thus hepearled witt dew?, 
 
 I will whisper to your ears: 
 
 The sweets of love are mixed with tears. 
 
 Ask me wty this flower does show 
 So yellow-green, and sickly too? 
 Ask me why the stalk is weak 
 And hending (yet it does not break) ? 
 I will answer: These discover 
 What fainting hopes are in a lover. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 79 
 To tke Nightingale 
 
 Dear quirister, who from those shadows sends. 
 Ere ttat the blushing dawn dare show her light. 
 Such sad lamenting strains, that night attends 
 (Become all ear), stars stay to hear thy plight; 
 If one whose grief even reach of thought transcends, 
 Who ne'er (not in a dream) did taste delight. 
 May thee importune who like case pretends. 
 And seems to joy in woe, in woe s despite ; 
 Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try. 
 And long, long sing) for what thou thus complains, 
 
 69 
 
Sitli, winter gone, tlie sun in dappled sky- 
 Now smiles on meadows, mountains, woods, and 
 plains ? 
 Tke bird, as if my questions did ter move, 
 Witt trembling wings sobbed fortb, I love, I love! 
 
 Drummond. 
 
 80 
 
 Pboebus, arise. 
 And paint tbe sable skies 
 Witb azure, wbite, and red; 
 Rouse Memnon's motber from her Titbon's bed, 
 Tbat sbe tby career may witb roses spread; 
 Tbe nightingales tby commg eacb where sing; 
 Make an eternal spring, 
 
 Give life to this dark world which lieth dead; 
 Spread forth thy golden hair 
 In larger locks than thou was wont before, 
 And, emperor-like, decore 
 With diadem of pearl thy temples fair: 
 Chase hence tbe ugly night. 
 
 Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. 
 This is tbat happy morn, 
 Tbat day, long-wished day, 
 Of all my life so dark 
 (If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn, 
 And fates not hope betray). 
 Which, only wbite, deserves 
 A diamond for ever should it mark: 
 This is the morn should bring unto this grove 
 My love, to hear and recompense my love. 
 Fair king, who all preserves. 
 But show thy blushing beams. 
 And thou two sweeter eyes 
 70 
 
Shalt see, tnan those which hy Peneus' streams 
 Did once thy heart surprise; 
 Nay, suns, which shine as clear 
 As thou when two thou did to Rome appear. 
 Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise; 
 If that ye, winds, would hear 
 A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, 
 Your stormy chiding stay; 
 Let zephyr only breathe. 
 And with her tresses play. 
 Kissing sometimes those purple ports of death. 
 The winds all silent are. 
 And Phoebus in his chair, 
 Ensaffroning sea and air. 
 Makes vanish every star: 
 Night like a drunkard reels 
 Beyond the hills to shun his flaming wheels; 
 The fields with flowers are decked in every hue, 
 The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue: 
 Here is the pleasant place, 
 
 And every thing, save her, who all should grace. 
 
 Drummond. 
 
 81 
 
 I walked along a stream, for pureness rare, 
 
 Brighter than sunshine; for it did acquaint 
 The dullest sight with all the glorious prey 
 That in the pebble-paved channel lay. 
 
 No molten crystal, but a richer mine, 
 Even Nature's rarest alchemy ran there; 
 
 Diamonds resolved, and substance more divine. 
 
 Through whose bright gliding current might appear 
 71 
 
A thousand naked nymphs, whose ivory shine, 
 Enamelling the banks, made them more dear 
 Than ever was that glorious Palace gate 
 Where the day-shining Sun in triumph sate. 
 
 Upon this brim the eglantine and rose, 
 The tamarisk, olive, and the almond tree. 
 
 As kind companions, in one union grows, 
 Folding their twining arms, as oft we see 
 
 Turtle-taught lovers, either other close, 
 Lending to dullness feeling sympathy; 
 
 And as a costly vallance o er a bed. 
 
 So did their garland tops the brook o'erspread. 
 
 Their leaves, that differed both in shape and show. 
 Though all were green, yet difference such in green, 
 
 Like to the checkered bent of Iris' bow. 
 
 Prided the running main, as it had been. . . . 
 
 Marlowe. 
 82 
 The Funeral Rites of tke Rose 
 
 The rose was sick, and smiling died; 
 And, being to be sanctified. 
 About the bed there sighing stood 
 The sweet and flowery sisterhood. 
 Some hung the head, while some did bring, 
 To wash her, water from the spring. 
 Some laid her forth, while other wept, 
 But all a solemn fast there kept. 
 The holy sisters, some among, 
 The sacred dirge and trentall sung. 
 72 
 
But ah ! what sweets smelt everywhere, 
 As heaven had spent all perfumes there. 
 At last, when prayers for the dead 
 And rites were all accomplished. 
 They, weeping, spread a lawny loom 
 And closed her up, as in a tomh. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 83 
 
 A rose, as fair as ever saw the North, 
 Grew in a little garden all alone; 
 A sweeter flower did Nature ne'er put forth. 
 Nor fairer garden yet was ever known; 
 The maidens danced about it morn and noon. 
 And learned hards of it their ditties made; 
 The nimhle fairies hy the pale-faced moon 
 Watered the root and kissed her pretty shade. 
 But well-a-day, the gardener careless grew. 
 The maids and fairies both were kept away. 
 And m a drought the caterpillars threw 
 Themselves upon the hud and every spray. 
 
 God shield the stock! if heaven send no supplies. 
 The fairest blossom of the garden dies. 
 
 Browne. 
 
 73 
 
84 
 Nymphidia 
 
 Tke Court of Fairy 
 
 Old Chaucer dott of Topas tell, 
 Mad Rabelais of Pantagruel, 
 A later tkird of Dowsabel, 
 
 Witk such poor trifles playing; 
 Otters tke like kave laboured at, 
 Some of tkis tking and some of tkat. 
 And many of tkey know not wkat, 
 
 But tkat tkey must be saying. 
 
 Anotker sort tkere be, tkat will 
 Be talking of tke Fairies still. 
 Nor never can tkey kave tkeir fill. 
 
 As tkey were wedded to tkem; 
 No tales of tkem tkeir tkirst can slake, 
 So muck deligkt tkerein tkey take. 
 And some strange tking tkey fain would make. 
 
 Knew tkey tke way to do tkem. 
 
 Tken since no Muse katk been so bold. 
 Or of tke later, or tke old, 
 Tkose elvisk secrets to unfold, 
 
 Wkick lie from otkers' reading. 
 My active Muse to ligkt skall bring 
 Tke Court of tkat proud Fairy King, 
 And tell tkere of tke revelling: 
 
 Jove prosper my proceeding! 
 74 
 
And thou, Nymphidia, gentle Fay, 
 Wkicli, meeting me upon tte way. 
 These secrets didst to me bewray. 
 
 Which now I am in telling; 
 My pretty, light, fantastic maid, 
 I here invoke thee to my aid. 
 That I may speak what thou hast said, 
 
 In numhers smoothly swelling. 
 
 This palace standeth m the air. 
 By necromancy placed there, 
 That it no tempests needs to fear. 
 
 Which way soe er it hlow it ; 
 And somewhat southward toward the noon, 
 Whence lies a way up to the moon. 
 And thence the Fairy can as soon 
 
 Pass to the earth helow it. 
 
 The walls of spiders' legs are made 
 Well mortised and finely laid ; 
 He was the master of his trade 
 
 It curiously that builded; 
 The w^indows of the eyes of cats, 
 And for the roof, instead of slats. 
 Is covered with the skins of hats, 
 
 With moonshine that are gilded. 
 
 Hence Oheron him sport to make. 
 Their rest when weary mortals take. 
 And none hut only fairies wake, 
 
 Descendeth for his pleasure; 
 And Mab, his merry Queen, by night 
 Bestrides young folks that lie upright 
 (In elder times, the mare that bight). 
 
 Which plagues them out of measure. 
 75 
 
Hence sKadows, seeming idle shapes, 
 
 Of little frisking elves and apes 
 
 To earth do make their wanton scapes, 
 
 As hope of pastime hastes them; 
 Which maids think on the hearth they see 
 When fires well-near consumed be. 
 There dancing hays by two and three, 
 
 Just as their fancy casts them. 
 
 These make our girls their sluttery rue, 
 By pinching them both black and blue, 
 And put a penny in their shoe 
 
 The house for cleanly sweeping; 
 And in their courses make that round 
 In meadows and in marshes found. 
 Of them so called the Fairy Ground, 
 
 Of which they have the keeping. 
 
 These when a child haps to be got 
 Which after proves an idiot 
 When folk perceive it thriveth not. 
 
 The fault therein to smother. 
 Some silly, doting, brainless calf 
 That understands things by the half. 
 Say that the Fairy left this aulfe 
 
 And took away the other. 
 
 But listen, and I shall you tell 
 A chance in Fairy that befell, 
 Which certainly may please some well 
 
 In love and arms delighting, 
 Of Oberon that jealous grew 
 Of one of his own Fairy crew. 
 Too well, he feared, his Queen that knew 
 
 His love but ill requiting. 
 76 
 
Pigwi^en was tbis Fairy Kniglit, 
 
 One w^ondrous gracious in tte sigbt 
 
 Of lair Queen Mab. wbicli day and nigbt 
 
 He amorously observed; 
 Wbicb made King Oberon suspect 
 His service took too good effect. 
 His sauciaess and often cbeckt. 
 
 And could have w^isbed bim starved 
 
 Pigwiggen gladly v«rould commend 
 Some token to Queen Mab to send. 
 If sea or land could ougbt bim lend 
 
 Were wortby of ber wearing; 
 At lengtb tbis lover dotb devise 
 A bracelet made of emmets' eyes, 
 A tbing be tbougbt tbat sbe would prize. 
 
 No wbit ber state impairii^ 
 
 And to tbe Queen a letter writes, 
 Wbicb be most curiously mdites, 
 Con]unng ber by all tbe ntes 
 
 Of love, sbe w^ould be pleased 
 To meet bim, ber true servant, wbere 
 Tbey migbt, witbout suspect or fear, 
 Tbemselves to one anotber clear 
 
 And bave tbeir poor bearts eased. 
 
 " At midnigbt tbe appointed bour. 
 And for tbe Queen a fittiag bower," 
 Quotb be, " IS tbat fair cowsbp flower 
 
 On Hipcut bill tbat blowetb: 
 In all your train tbere s not a fay 
 Tbat ever went to gatber may 
 But sbe batb made it, in ber way; 
 
 Tbe tallest tbere tbat growetb.' 
 77 
 
When by Tom Tkumb, a Fairy Page, 
 He sent it, and doth him engage 
 By promise of a mighty wage 
 
 It secretly to carry; 
 Which done, the Queen her maids doth call, 
 And bids them to be ready all: 
 She would go see her summer hall, 
 
 She could no longer tarry. 
 
 Her chariot ready straight is made, 
 Each thing therein is fitting laid. 
 That she by nothing might be stayed, 
 
 For nought must her be letting; 
 Four nimble gnats the horses were, 
 Their harnesses of gossamer. 
 Fly Cranion her charioteer 
 
 Upon the coach-box getting. 
 
 Her chariot of a snail's fine shell, 
 Which for the colours did excel. 
 The fair Queen Mab becoming well. 
 
 So lively was the limning; 
 The seat the soft wool of the bee. 
 The cover, gallantly to see. 
 The wing of a pied butterflee; 
 
 I trow twas simple trimming. 
 
 The wheels composed of crickets' bones. 
 And daintily made for the nonce. 
 For fear of rattling on the stones 
 
 With thistle-down they shod it; 
 For all her maidens much did fear 
 If Oberon had chanced to hear 
 That Mab his Queen should have been there. 
 
 He would not have abode it. 
 78 
 
She mounts ber ctariot with a trice, 
 Nor would she stay, for no advice. 
 Until her maids that were so nice 
 
 To wait on her were fitted; 
 But ran herself away alone, 
 Which when they heard, there was not one 
 But hasted after to he gone. 
 
 As she had been diswitted. 
 
 Hop and Mop and Drop so clear, 
 Pip and Trip and Skip that were 
 To Mab, their sovereign, ever dear. 
 
 Her special maids of honour; 
 Fib and Tib and Pink and Pin, 
 Tick and Quick and Jill and Jin, 
 Tit and Nit and Wap and Win, 
 
 The train that wait upon her. 
 
 Upon a grasshopper they got 
 
 And, what with amble and with trot, 
 
 For hedge nor ditch they spared not, 
 
 But after her they hie them; 
 A cobweb over them they throw. 
 To shield the wind if it should blow. 
 Themselves they wisely could bestow 
 
 Lest any should espy them. 
 
 But let us leave Queen Mab awhile 
 (Through many a gate, o'er many a stile. 
 That now had gotten by this wile), 
 
 Her dear Pigwiggen kissing; 
 And tell how Oberon doth fare. 
 Who grew as mad as any hare 
 When he had sought each place with care 
 
 And found his Queen was missing. 
 79 
 
By grisly Pluto te doth swear, 
 
 He rent his clothes and tore his hair. 
 
 And as he runneth here and there 
 
 An acorn cup he greeteth, 
 Which soon he taketh by the stalk, 
 About his head he lets it walk, 
 Nor doth he any creature balk, 
 
 But lays on all he meeteth. 
 
 The Tuscan poet doth advance 
 The frantic Paladin of France, 
 And those more ancient do enhance 
 
 Alcides in his fury. 
 And others Ajax Telamon, 
 But to this time there hath been none 
 So bedlam as our Oberon, 
 
 Of which I dare assure ye. 
 
 And first encountering with a Wasp, 
 
 He in his arms the fly doth clasp 
 
 As though his breath he forth would grasp 
 
 Him for Pigwiggen taking: 
 " Where is my wife, thou rogue?" quoth he; 
 " Pigwiggen, she is come to thee; 
 Restore her, or thou diest by me!" 
 
 Whereat the poor Wasp quaking. 
 
 Cries, " Oberon, great Fairy King, 
 Content thee, I am no such thing: 
 I am a Wasp, behold my sting!" 
 
 At which the Fairy started; 
 When soon away the Wasp doth go. 
 Poor wretch, was never frighted so; 
 He thought his wings were much too slow, 
 
 erjoyed they so were parted. 
 80 
 
He next upon a Glow-worm light 
 (You must suppose it now was nigtt), 
 Which, for her hinder part was bright, 
 
 He took to he a devil. 
 And furiously doth her assail 
 For carrying fire in her tail; 
 He thrashed her rough coat with his flail; 
 
 The mad King feared no evil. 
 
 " Oh!" quoth the Glow-worm, " hold thy hand, 
 
 Thou puissant King of Fairy-land! 
 
 Thy mighty strokes who may withstand? 
 
 Hold, or of hfe despair I!" 
 Together then herself doth roll. 
 And tumhhng down into a hole. 
 She seemed as black as any coal; 
 
 Which vext away the Fairy. 
 
 From thence he ran into a hive: 
 Amongst the bees he letteth drive. 
 And down their combs begins to rive. 
 
 All likely to have spoiled. 
 Which w^ith their wax his face besmeared, 
 And with their honey daubed his beard: 
 It would have made a man afeared 
 
 To see how^ he was moiled. 
 
 A new adventure him betides; 
 
 He met an Ant, which he bestrides. 
 
 And post thereon away he rides. 
 
 Which with his haste doth stumble. 
 And came full over on her snout; 
 Her heels so threw the dirt about. 
 For she by no means could get out. 
 
 But over him doth tumble. 
 
 (B459) 8r F 
 
And being in tkis piteous case, 
 And all be-slurred bead and face, 
 On runs be in tbis wild-goose cbase, 
 
 As bere and tbere be rambles; 
 Hall blind, against a molebole bit, 
 And for a mountain taking it. 
 For all be was out of bis wit 
 
 Yet to tbe top be scrambles. 
 
 And being gotten to tbe top. 
 
 Yet tbere bimself be could not stop, 
 
 But down on tbe otber side dotb cbop. 
 
 And to tbe foot came rumbling; 
 So tbat tbe grubs, tberein tbat bred, 
 Hearing sucb turmoil overbead, 
 Tbougbt surely tbey bad all been dead; 
 
 So fearful was tbe jumbling. 
 
 And falling down into a lake, 
 Wbicb bim up to tbe neck dotb take. 
 His fury somewbat it dotb slake; 
 
 He calletb for a ferry; 
 Where you may some recovery note, 
 Wbat was bis club be made bis boat. 
 And in bis oaken cup dotb float, 
 
 As safe as in a wberry. 
 
 Men talk of tbe adventures strange 
 Of Don Quisbott, and of tbeir cbange, 
 Tbrougb wbicb be armed oft did range, 
 
 Of Sancba Pancba's travel; 
 But sbould a man tell everything 
 Done by tbis frantic Fairy King, 
 And tbem in lofty numbers sing. 
 
 It well bis wits migbt gravel. 
 82 
 
Scarce set on shore, but tterewitlial 
 He meetetn Puck, whict most men call 
 Hobgoblin, and on Kim dotb fall 
 
 Witb words from frenzy spoken: 
 " Ho, bo, qnodi Hob, " God save tby grace! 
 Wbo drest tbee in this piteoos case? 
 He tbus that spoiled my sovereign's face, 
 
 I would his neck were broken! 
 
 This Puck seems but a dreanung dolt. 
 Still walkii^ like a ragged colt. 
 And oft out of a bush doth bolt. 
 
 Of purpose to deceive us; 
 And leading us makes us to stray. 
 Long \nnter s nights, out of the way; 
 And when we stick in mire and clay. 
 
 Hob doth with laughter leave us. 
 
 " Dear Puck," quoth he, " my wife is gone: 
 As e'er thou lov st King Oberon, 
 Let everythu^ but this alone. 
 
 With vengeance and pursue her; 
 Bring her to me alive or dead. 
 Or that vile thief Pigwiggen's head ; 
 That villain hath defiled my bed. 
 
 He to this folly drew her." 
 
 Quodi Puck, " My li^e, I 'U never lin, 
 But I will thorough thick and thin, 
 Until at length I bring her in; 
 
 My dearest lord, ne'er doubt it 
 Thoroi^h brake, thorough briar. 
 Thorough muck, thoroi^ mire. 
 Thorough water, thorough fire; 
 
 And thus goes Puck about it." 
 83 
 
Tnis tbing Nympliidia overteard, 
 Ttat on tliis mad King had a guard, 
 Not doubting of a great reward 
 
 For first this business broaching; 
 And through the air away doth go, 
 Swift as an arrow from the bow, 
 To let her sovereign Mab to know 
 
 What peril was approaching. 
 
 The Queen bound with Love's powerful'st charm 
 
 Sate with Pigwiggen arm in arm; 
 
 Her merry maids, that thought no harm, 
 
 About the room were skipping; 
 A humble-bee, their minstrel, played, 
 Upon his hautboy, every maid 
 Fit for this revel was arrayed. 
 
 The hornpipe neatly tripping. 
 
 In comes Nymphidia, and doth cry, 
 " My sovereign, for your safety fly, 
 For there is danger but too nigh; 
 
 I posted to forewarn you: 
 The King hath sent Hobgoblin out. 
 To seek you all the fields about. 
 And of your safety you may doubt 
 
 If he but once discern you." 
 
 When, like an uproar in a town. 
 Before them everything went down; 
 Some tore a ruff, and some a gown, 
 
 'Gainst one another justling; 
 They flew about like chaff i' the wind; 
 For haste some left their masks behind; 
 Some could not stay their gloves to find; 
 
 There never was such bustling. 
 84 
 
Fortt ran ttey, by a secret way, 
 Into a brake tbat near tbem lay; 
 Yet mucb tbey doubted there to stay, 
 
 Lest Hob sbould bap to find tbem; 
 He bad a sbarp and piercing sigbt. 
 All one to bim tbe day and nigbt; 
 And therefore were resolved by flight 
 
 To leave this place behind them. 
 
 At length one chanced to find a nut, 
 In the end of which a hole was cut, 
 Which lay upon a hazel root, 
 
 There scattered by a squirrel 
 Which out the kernel gotten had; 
 When quoth this Fay, " Dear Queen, be glad; 
 Let Oberon be ne'er so mad, 
 
 I '11 set you safe from peril. 
 
 " Come all into this nut," quoth she, 
 " Come closely in; be ruled by me; 
 Each one may here a chooser be, 
 
 For room ye need not wrastle: 
 Nor need ye be together heapt;" 
 So one by one therein they crept, 
 And lying down they soundly slept. 
 
 And safe as in a castle. 
 
 Nymphidia, that this while doth watch. 
 Perceived if Puck the Queen should catch 
 That he should be her over-match. 
 
 Of which she well bethought her; 
 Found it must be some powerful charm. 
 The Queen against him that must arm. 
 Or surely he would do her harm. 
 
 For throughly he had sought her. 
 8S 
 
And listening if she aught could hear, 
 That her might hinder, or might fear, 
 But finding still the coast was clear, 
 
 Nor creature had descried her; 
 Each circumstance and having scanned. 
 She came thereby to understand, 
 Puck would be with them out of hand; 
 
 When to her charms she hied her. 
 
 And first her fern-seed doth bestow. 
 
 The kernel of the mistletoe; 
 
 And here and there as Puck should go. 
 
 With terror to affright him. 
 She nightshade straws to work him ill, 
 Therewith her vervain and her dill, 
 That hindereth witches of their will, 
 
 Of purpose to despite him. 
 
 Then sprinkles she the juice of rue, 
 That groweth underneath the yew; 
 With nine drops of the midnight dew. 
 
 From lunary distilling: 
 The molewarp s brain jnixed therewithal ; 
 And with the same the pismire's gall: 
 For she in nothing short would fall. 
 
 The Fairy was so willmg. 
 
 Then thrice under a briar doth creep. 
 Which at both ends was rooted deep. 
 And over it three times she leap. 
 
 Her magic much availing: 
 Then on Proserpina doth call. 
 And so upon her spell doth fall. 
 Which here to you repeat I shall, 
 
 Not in one tittle failing. 
 86 
 
" By tke croaking of tlie frog, 
 By the howling of the dog, 
 By the crying of the hog 
 
 Against the storm arising; 
 By the evening curfew bell. 
 By the doleful dying knell, 
 
 let this my direful spell, 
 
 Hoh, hinder thy surprising! 
 
 " By the mandrake's dreadful groans, 
 By the luhrican's sad moans, 
 By the noise of dead men s hones 
 
 In charnel-houses rattling; 
 By the hissing of the snake. 
 The rustling of the fire-drake, 
 
 1 charge thee thou this place forsake, 
 
 Nor of Queen Mab be prattling! 
 
 " By the whirlwind's hollow sound. 
 By the thunder's dreadful stound, 
 Ydls of spirits underground, 
 
 I charge thee not to fear us; 
 By the screech-owl's dismal note, 
 By the black night-raven's throat, 
 I ckarge thee, Hob, to tear thy coat 
 
 With thorns, if thou come near us! " 
 
 Hei spell thus spoke, she stept aside, 
 Ani in a chink herself doth hide. 
 To lee thereof what would betide. 
 
 For she doth only mind him: 
 Whm presently she Puck espies. 
 And well she marked his gloating eyes, 
 Hov under every leaf he pries. 
 
 In seeking still to find them. 
 87 
 
But once the circle got wittin. 
 
 The charms to work do straight hegin, 
 
 And he was caught as in a gin; 
 
 For as he thus was busy, 
 A pain he in his head-piece feels, 
 Against a stuhbed tree he reels, 
 And up went poor Hobgoblin's heels; 
 
 Alas! his brain was dizzy! 
 
 At length upon his feet he gets, 
 Hobgoblin fumes. Hobgoblin frets; 
 And as again he forward sets, 
 
 And through the bushes scrambles, 
 A stump doth trip him in his pace; 
 Down comes poor Hob upon his face. 
 And lamentably tore his case, 
 
 Amongst the briars and brambles. 
 
 " A plague upon Queen Mab!" quoth he, 
 " And all her maids where'er they be: 
 I think the devil guided me. 
 
 To seek her so provoked!" 
 When stumbling at a piece of wood. 
 He fell into a ditch of mud. 
 Where to the very chin he stood, 
 ' In danger to be choked. 
 
 Now worse than e'er he was before, 
 Poor Puck doth yell, poor Puck doth mar. 
 That waked Queen Mab, who doubted sore 
 
 Some treason had been wrought Ijer: 
 Until Nymphidia told the Queen, 
 What she had done, what she had see*. 
 Who then had well-near cracked her sjleen 
 
 With very extreme laughter. 
 88 
 
But leave we Hob to clamber out, 
 Queen Mab and all ber Fairy rout, 
 And come again to bave a bout 
 
 Witb Oberon yet madding: 
 And witb Pigwiggen now distraught, 
 Wbo mucb was troubled in bis tbougbt, 
 Tbat be so long tbe Queen bad sougbt. 
 
 And tbrougb tbe fields was gadding. 
 
 And as be runs be still dotb cry, 
 
 " King Oberon, I tbee defy, 
 
 And dare tbee bere in arms to try, 
 
 For my dear lady's bonour: 
 For tbat sbe is a Queen rigbt good. 
 In wbose defence I 11 sbed my blood. 
 And tbat tbou in tbis jealous mood 
 
 Hast laid tbis slander on ber." 
 
 And quickly arms bim for tbe field, 
 A little cockle-sbell bis sbield, 
 Wbicb be could very bravely wield. 
 
 Yet could it not be pierced : 
 His spear a bent botb stiff and strong, 
 And well-near of two incbes long: 
 Tbe pile was of a borse-fly's tongue, 
 
 Wbose sbarpness nougbt reversed. 
 
 And puts bim on a coat of mail, 
 
 Wbicb was of a fisb s scale, 
 
 Tbat wben bis foe sbould bim assail. 
 
 No point sbould be prevailing: 
 His rapier was a bornet s sting ; 
 It was a very dangerous tbing, 
 For if be cbanced to burt tbe King, 
 
 It would be long in bealing. 
 89 
 
His helmet was a beetle's tead, 
 Most torrible and full of dread, 
 That able was to strike one dead, 
 
 Yet did it well become him; 
 And for a plume a horse s hair 
 Which, being tossed with the air, 
 Had force to strike his foe with fear, 
 
 And turn his weapon from him. 
 
 Himself he on an earwig set. 
 
 Yet scarce he on his back could get, 
 
 So oft and high he did curvet. 
 
 Ere he himself could settle: 
 He made him turn, and stop, and bound, 
 To gallop and to trot the round. 
 He scarce could stand on any ground. 
 
 He was so full of mettle. 
 
 When soon he met with Tomalin, 
 One that a valiant knight had been, 
 And to King Oberon of kin; 
 
 Quoth he, " Thou manly Fairy, 
 Tell Oberon I come prepared. 
 Then bid him stand upon his guard; 
 This hand his baseness shall reward. 
 
 Let him be ne er so wary. 
 
 " Say to him thus, that I defy 
 His slanders and his infamy. 
 And as a mortal enemy 
 
 Do publicly proclaim him: 
 Withal that if I had mine own, 
 He should not wear the Fairy crown, 
 But with a vengeance should come down. 
 
 Nor we a king should name him. " 
 qo 
 
Triis Tomalin could not abide 
 To near his sovereign vilified; 
 But to the Fairy Court him hied 
 
 (Full furiously he posted). 
 With everything Pigwiggen said: 
 How title to the crown he laid, 
 And in what arms he was arrayed, 
 
 As how himself he hoasted. 
 
 Twixt head and foot, from point to point. 
 He told the arming of each joint, 
 In every piece how neat and quaint, 
 
 For Tomalin could do it: 
 How fair he sat, how sure he rid, 
 As of the courser he hestrid. 
 How managed, and how well he did; 
 The King which listened to it. 
 
 Quoth he, " Go, Tomalin, with speed. 
 Provide me arms, provide my steed. 
 And everything that I shall need; 
 
 By thee I will be guided; 
 To straight account call thou thy wit; 
 See there be wanting not a whit. 
 In everything see thou me fit. 
 
 Just as my foe 's provided. 
 
 Soon flew this news through Fairy-land, 
 Which gave Queen Mab to understand 
 The combat that was then in hand 
 
 Betwixt those men so mighty: 
 Which greatly she began to rue. 
 Perceiving that all Fairy knew, 
 The first occasion from her grew 
 
 Of these affairs so weighty. 
 91 
 
Wherefore attendecl with her maids, 
 
 Through fogs, and mists, and damps she wades. 
 
 To Proserpine the Queen of Shades, 
 
 To treat, that it would please her 
 The cause into her hands to take. 
 For ancient love and friendship s sake, 
 And soon thereof an end to make. 
 
 Which of much care would ease her. 
 
 A while there let we Mab alone. 
 And come we to King Oberon, 
 Who, armed to meet his foe, is gone. 
 
 For proud Pigwiggen crying: 
 Who sought the Fairy King as fast, 
 And had so well his journeys cast. 
 That he arrived at the last. 
 
 His puissant foe espying. 
 
 Stout Tomalin came with the King, 
 Tom Thumb doth on Pigwiggen bring. 
 That perfect were m everything 
 
 To single fights belonging: 
 And therefore they themselves engage 
 To see them exercise their rage 
 With fair and comely equipage, 
 
 Not one the other wronging. 
 
 So like in arms these champions were. 
 As they had been a very pair. 
 So that a man would almost swear 
 
 That either had been either; 
 Their furious steeds began to neigh. 
 That they were heard a mighty way; 
 Their staves upon their rests they lay; 
 
 Yet, ere they flew together, 
 92 
 
Their seconds minister an oatb, 
 Which was indifferent to them both, 
 That on their knightly faith and troth 
 
 No magic them supplied; 
 And sought them that they had no charms 
 Wherewith to work each other's harms, 
 But came with simple open arms 
 
 To have their causes tried. 
 
 Together furiously they ran. 
 
 That to the ground came horse and man, 
 
 The hlood out of their helmets span. 
 
 So sharp were their encounters; 
 And though they to the earth were thrown, 
 Yet quickly they regained their own, 
 Such nimhleness was never shown. 
 
 They were two gallant mounters. 
 
 When in a second course again. 
 
 They forward came with might and main. 
 
 Yet which had better of the twain. 
 
 The seconds could not judge yet; 
 Their shields were into pieces cleft, 
 Their helmets from their heads were reft. 
 And to defend them nothing left. 
 
 These champions would not budge yet. 
 
 Away from them their staves they threw. 
 Their cruel swords they quickly drew, 
 And freshly they the fight renew, 
 
 They every stroke redoubled; 
 Which made Proserpina take heed. 
 And make to them the greater speed. 
 For fear lest they too much should bleed, 
 
 Which wondrously her troubled. 
 93 
 
When to the infernal Styx she goes, 
 She takes the fogs from thence that rose, 
 And in a hag doth them enclose, 
 
 When well she had them hlended. 
 She hies her then to Lethe spring, 
 A bottle and thereof doth bring. 
 Wherewith she meant to work the thing 
 
 Which only she intended. 
 
 Now Proserpine with Mab is gone 
 Unto the place where Oberon 
 And proud Pigwiggen, one to one, 
 
 Both to be slain were likely: 
 And there themselves they closely hide, 
 Because they would not be espied; 
 For Proserpine meant to decide 
 
 The matter very quickly. 
 
 And suddenly unties the poke. 
 Which out of it sent such a smoke, 
 As ready was them all to choke, 
 
 So grievous was the pother; 
 So that the knights each other lost, 
 And stood as still as any post; 
 Tom Thumb nor Tomalin could boast 
 
 Themselves of any other. 
 
 But when the mist 'gan somewhat cease 
 
 Proserpina commandeth peace; 
 
 And that a while they should release 
 
 Each other of their peril; 
 " Which here," quoth she, " I do proclaim 
 To all in dreadful Pluto's name. 
 That as ye will eschew his blame. 
 
 You let me hear the quarrel: 
 94 
 
" But here yourselves you must engage 
 Some wb at to cool your spleenisli rage; 
 Your grievous thirst and to assuage 
 
 That first you drink this liquor, 
 Wtich shall your understanding clear, 
 As plainly snail to you appear; 
 Those things from me that you shall hear 
 
 Conceiving much the quicker." 
 
 This Lethe water, you must know, 
 The memory destroy eth so, 
 That of our weal, or of our woe. 
 
 Is all remembrance blotted; 
 Of it nor can you ever think; 
 For they no sooner took this drink, 
 But nought into their brains could sink 
 
 Of what had them besotted. 
 
 King Oberon forgotten had 
 
 That he for jealousy ran mad. 
 
 But of his Queen was wondrous glad. 
 
 And asked how they came thither: 
 Pigwiggen likewise doth forget 
 That he Queen Mab had ever met. 
 Or that they were so hard beset, 
 
 When they were found together. 
 
 Nor neither of them both had thought 
 That e'er they had each other sought. 
 Much less that they a combat fought. 
 
 But such a dream were loathing: 
 Tom Thumb had got a little sup. 
 And Tomalin scarce kissed the cup, 
 Yet had their brains so sure locked up, 
 
 That they remembered nothing. 
 95 
 
Queen Mat and lier liglit maids, tlie while, 
 Amongst themselves do closely smile, 
 To see the King caught with this wile, 
 
 With one another jesting: 
 And to the Fairy Court they went 
 With mickle joy and merriment. 
 Which thing was done with good intent, 
 
 And thus I left them feasting. 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 85 
 
 Over hill, over dale, 
 
 Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
 Over park, over pale. 
 
 Thorough flood, thorough fire, 
 I do wander every where. 
 Swifter than the moon's sphere; 
 And I serve the fairy queen, 
 To dew her orbs upon the green. 
 The cowslips tall her pensioners be: 
 In their gold coats spots you see; 
 Those be rubies, fairy favours, 
 In those freckles live their savours: 
 I must go seek some dewdrops here 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
 Farewell, thou lob of spirits; I 11 be gone: 
 Our queen and all her elves come here anon. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 96 
 
86 
 
 Now the nungry lion roars, 
 
 And tte wolf behowls tte moon; 
 Wkilst tte teavy ploughman snores, 
 
 All with weary task fordone. 
 Now the wasted brands do glow, 
 
 Whilst the screech-owl, screeching loud, 
 Puts the wretch that lies in woe 
 
 In remembrance of a shroud. 
 Now it is the time of night 
 
 That the graves all gaping wide. 
 Every one lets forth his sprite. 
 
 In the church- way paths to glide: 
 And we fairies, that do run 
 
 By the triple Hecate's team. 
 From the presence of the sun. 
 
 Following darkness like a dream, 
 Now are frolic: not a mouse 
 Shall disturb this hallowed house: 
 I am sent with broom before, 
 To sweep the dust behind the door. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 87 
 
 Where the bee sucks there suck I: 
 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie; 
 
 There I couch when owls do cry. 
 
 On the bat's back I do fly. 
 
 After summer merrily. 
 
 Merrily, merrily shall I live now 
 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 (B469) 97 G 
 
88 
 
 Buzz! quoth tte Blue- Fly, 
 
 Hum! quotli tte Bee; 
 Buzz and Kum! ttey cry, 
 
 And so do we. 
 In his ear! in his nose! 
 
 Thus, — do you see? 
 He eats the Dormouse — 
 
 Else it was he. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 89 
 Song of the Cyclops 
 
 Brave iron, hrave hammer, from your sound 
 
 The art of music has her ground; 
 
 On the anvil thou keep'st time. 
 
 Thy knick-a-knock is a smith's best chime. 
 
 Yet thwick-a-thwack, thwick, thwack-a-thwack, 
 thwack. 
 
 Make our brawny sinews crack: 
 
 Then pit-a-pat, pat, pit-a-pat, pat, 
 
 Till thickest bars be beaten flat. 
 
 We shoe the horses of the sun, 
 Harness the dragons of the moon; 
 Forge Cupid's quiver, bow, and arrows. 
 And our dame's coach that s drawn with sparrows. 
 Till thwick-a-thwack, &c. 
 98 
 
Jove's roaring cannons and his rammers 
 We beat out with our Lemnian hammers; 
 Mars his gauntlet, helm, and spear. 
 And Gorgon shield are all made here. 
 Till thwick-a-thwack, &c. 
 
 The grate which, shut, the day outhars. 
 Those golden studs, which nail the stars, 
 The glohe s case and the axle-tree, 
 Who can hammer these but we? 
 Till thwick-a-thwack, &c. 
 
 A warming-pan to heat earth s bed. 
 Lying i' the frozen zone half-dead; 
 Hob-nails to serve the man i the moon, 
 And sparrowbills to clout Pan's shoon 
 
 Whose work but ours? 
 
 Till thwick-a-thwack, &c. 
 
 Venus' kettles, pots, and pans 
 We make, or else she brawls and bans; 
 Tongs, shovels, and irons have their places. 
 Else she scratches all our faces. 
 Till thwick-a-thwack, &c. 
 
 Dekker. 
 
 99 
 
90 
 The Witckes' Sabbatli 
 
 1. Charm 
 
 Dame, dame! the watch is set: 
 Quickly come, we all are met. 
 From the lakes and from the fens. 
 From the rocks and from the dens, 
 From the woods and from the caves. 
 From the churchyards, from the graves, 
 From the dungeon, from the tree 
 That they die on, here are we! 
 
 (Comes she not yet? 
 
 Strike another heat!) 
 
 2. Charm 
 
 The weather is fair, the wind is good: 
 Up, dame, on your horse of wood! 
 Or else tuck up your gray frock. 
 And saddle your goat on your green cock, 
 And make his bridle a hottom of thread 
 To roll up how many miles you have rid. 
 Quickly come away, 
 For we all stay. 
 
 (Nor yet? nay then 
 
 We '11 try her again.) 
 
 3. Charm 
 
 The owl is abroad, the bat and the toad. 
 
 And so is the cat-a-mountain ; 
 The ant and the mole sit both in a hole, 
 
 And the frog peeps out o' the fountain. 
 
Tte dogs ttey do bay, and tlie timbrels play, 
 
 Tbe spindle is now a-turning; 
 Tbe moon it is red, and tbe stars are fled, 
 
 But all tbe sky is a-burning: 
 Tbe ditcb is made, and our nails tbe spade, 
 Witb pictures full, of wax and of wool: 
 Tbeir livers I stick witb needles quick; 
 Tbere lacks but tbe blood to make up tbe flood. 
 Quickly, dame, tben bring your part in! 
 Spur, spur upon little Martin! 
 Merrily, merrily, make bim sail, 
 A worm in bis moutb and a tborn in bis tail, 
 Fire above, and fire below, 
 Witb a wbip in your band to make bim go! 
 (0 now sbe s come ! 
 Let all be dumb.) 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 91 
 The Fay's Marriage 
 
 Mertilla, Claia, Cloris 
 
 j1 Nymph is married to a Fay, 
 Great preparations for the day; 
 All rites of nuptials they recite you, 
 To the bridal and invite you. 
 
 Mertilla 
 
 But will our Tita wed tbis Fay? 
 
 Claia 
 
 Yea, and to-morrow is tbe day. 
 
Mertilla 
 
 But wty slioum ste bestow nerselr 
 Upon ttis dwarf isb fairy elf? 
 
 Claia 
 
 Wty, by her smallness you may fina 
 Tbat sbe is of tbe fairy kind, 
 And therefore apt to cboose ber make 
 Whence she did her beginning take: 
 Besides he s deft and wondrous airy, 
 And of the noblest of the Fairy, 
 Chief of the Crickets of much fame. 
 In Fairy a most ancient name. 
 But to be brief, t is clearly done. 
 The pretty wench is wooed and won. 
 
 Chris 
 
 If this be so, let us provide 
 
 The ornaments to fit our bride; 
 
 For they knowing she doth come 
 
 From us in Elysium, 
 
 Queen Mab will look she should be drest 
 
 In those attires we think our best; 
 
 Therefore some curious things let s give her. 
 
 Ere to her spouse we her deliver. 
 
 Mertilla 
 
 I'll have a jewel for her ear 
 (Which for my sake I'll have her wear), 
 T shall be a dew-drop, and therein 
 Of Cupids I will have a twin. 
 
Wtick struggling, with their wings shall break 
 The bubble, out of which shall leak 
 So sweet a liquor, as shall move 
 Each thing that smells to be in love. 
 
 Claia 
 
 Believe me, girl, this will be fine. 
 And, to this pendent, then take mine: 
 A cup in fashion of a fly. 
 Of the lynx's piercing eye, 
 Wherein there sticks a sunny ray, 
 Shot in through the clearest day. 
 Whose brightness Venus' self did move 
 Therein to put her drink of love, 
 Which for more strength she did distil. 
 The limbeck was a phoenix' quill; 
 At this cup's delicious brink, 
 A fly approaching but to drink, 
 Like amber, or some precious gum. 
 It transparent doth become. 
 
 Chris 
 
 For jewels for her ears she 's sped ; 
 But for a dressing for her head 
 I think for her I'll have a tire 
 That all Fairies shall admire: 
 The yellows in the full-blown rose. 
 Which in the top it doth inclose. 
 Like drops of gold ore shall be hung 
 Upon her tresses, and among 
 Those scattered seeds (the eye to please) 
 The wings of the cantharides: 
 103 
 
Witli some o' tlie rainbow tliat dotli rail 
 Tkose moons in, in tlie peacock s tail : 
 Whose dainty colours, being mixed 
 With the other beauties, and so fixed, 
 Her lovely tresses shall appear 
 As though upon a flame they were. 
 And, to be sure she shall be gay, 
 We 11 take those feathers from the jay ; 
 About her eyes in circlets set, 
 To be our Tita's coronet. 
 
 Mertilla , 
 
 Then, dainty girls, I make no doubt. 
 But we shall neatly send her out: 
 But let s amongst ourselves agree 
 Of what her wedding gown shall be. 
 
 Claia 
 
 Of pansy, pink, and primrose leaves, 
 Most curiously laid on in threaves: 
 And, all embroidery to supply. 
 Powdered with flowers of rosemary; 
 A trail about the skirt shall run, 
 The silk- worm's finest, newly spun; 
 And every seam the nymphs shall sew 
 With the smallest of the spinner's clue: 
 And having done their work, again 
 These to the church shall bear her train: 
 Which for our Tita we will make 
 Of the cast slough of a snake. 
 Which, quivering as the wind doth blow. 
 The sun shall it like tinsel show. 
 104 
 
Claris 
 
 And being led to meet lier mate, 
 
 To make sure that ste want no state, 
 
 Moons from tte peacock's tail we'll snred, 
 
 Witk feathers from the pheasant's head: 
 
 Mixed with the plume of, so high price. 
 
 The precious bird of paradise; 
 
 Which to make up our nymphs shall ply 
 
 Into a curious canopy. 
 
 Borne o'er her head, by our enquiry, 
 
 By elfs, the fittest of the Fairy. 
 
 Mertilla 
 
 But all this while we have forgot 
 
 Her buskins, neighbours, have we not? 
 
 Claia 
 
 We had, for those I 11 fit her now, 
 
 They shall be of the lady-cow: 
 
 The dainty shell upon her back 
 
 Of crimson strewed with spots of black; 
 
 Which as she holds a stately pace, 
 
 Her leg will wonderfully grace. 
 
 Chris 
 
 But then for music of the best. 
 
 This must be thought on for the feast. 
 
 Mertilla 
 
 The nightingale of birds most choice 
 To do her best shall strain her voice; 
 105 
 
And to this bird to make a set, 
 The mavis, merle, and robinet, 
 Tbe lark, tbe linnet, and tbe tbrust, 
 Tbat make a eboir of every busb. 
 But for still music, we will keep 
 Tbe wren, and titmouse, wbicb to sleep 
 Sball sing tbe bride, wben sbe s alone, 
 Tbe rest into tbeir chambers gone. 
 And, like tbose upon ropes tbat walk, 
 On gossamer, from stalk to stalk. 
 The tripping fairy tricks shall play 
 The evening of tbe wedding-day. 
 
 Claia 
 
 But, for the bride-bed, what were fit. 
 That hath not yet been talked of yet. 
 
 Chris 
 
 Of leaves of roses white and red. 
 Shall be tbe covering of her bed: 
 Tbe curtains, valence, tester, all, 
 Sball be tbe flower imperial: 
 And for tbe fringe, it all along 
 With azure harebells shall be hung: 
 Of lilies shall the pillows be. 
 With down stuffed of the butterfly. 
 
 Mertilla 
 
 Thus far we handsomely have gone, 
 Now for our prothalamion, 
 Or marriage-song, of all the rest 
 A thing that much must grace our feast. 
 io6 
 
Let us practise, then, to sing it 
 Ere we before the assembly bring it; 
 We in dialogue must do it; 
 Then, my dainty girls, set to it. 
 
 Claia 
 
 This day must Tita married be. 
 Come, nymphs, this nuptial let us see. 
 
 Mertilla 
 
 But is it certain that ye say? 
 Will she wed the noble Fay? 
 
 Chris 
 
 Sprinkle the dainty flowers with dews, 
 Such as the gods at banquets use: 
 Let herbs and weeds turn all to roses, 
 And make proud the posts with posies: 
 Shoot your sweets into the air, 
 Charge the morning to be fair. 
 
 Claia and Mertilla 
 
 For our Tita is this day 
 To be married to a Fay. 
 
 Claia 
 
 By whom, then, shall our bride be led 
 To the temple to be wed? 
 107 
 
Mertilla 
 
 Only by yourself and I ; 
 
 Who that roomth should else supply? 
 
 Claris 
 
 Come, bright girls, come all together, 
 And bring all your offerings hither, 
 Ye most brave and buxom bevy. 
 All your goodly graces levy, 
 Come in majesty and state 
 Our bridal here to celebrate. 
 
 Mertilla and Claia 
 
 For our Tita is this day 
 Married to a noble Fay. 
 
 Claia 
 
 Whose lot will t be the way to strow. 
 On which to church our bride must go? 
 
 Mertilla 
 
 That I think as fit st of all. 
 To lively Lelipa must fall. 
 
 Chris 
 
 Summon all the sweets that are. 
 To this nuptial to repair; 
 
 Till with their throngs themselves they smother, 
 Strongly stifling one another; 
 And at last they all consume. 
 And vanish in one rich perfume. 
 io8 
 
Mertilla and Claia 
 
 For our Tita is this day 
 Married to a noble Fay. 
 
 Mertilla 
 
 By wtom must Tita married be? 
 T is fit we all to tbat sbould see. 
 
 Claia 
 
 The priest he purposely doth come, 
 The Arch-Flamen of Elysium. 
 
 Chris 
 
 With tapers let the temples shine, 
 Sing to Hymen hymns divine; 
 Load the altars till there rise 
 Clouds from the burnt sacrifice; 
 With your censers sling aloof 
 Their smells, till they ascend the roof 
 
 Mertilla and Claia 
 
 For our Tita is this day 
 Married to a noble Fay. 
 
 Mertilla 
 
 But coming back when she is wed, 
 Who breaks the cake above her head? 
 
 Claia 
 
 That shall Mertilla, for she's tallest, 
 And our Tita is the smallest. 
 109 
 
Chris 
 
 Violins, strike up aloud, 
 
 Ply the gittern, scour the crowd. 
 
 Let the nimble hand belabour 
 
 The whistling pipe, and drumbling tabor: 
 
 To the full the bagpipe rack. 
 
 Till the swelling leather crack. 
 
 Mertilla and Claia 
 
 For our Tita is this day 
 Married to a noble Fay. 
 
 Claia 
 
 But when to dine she takes her seat, 
 What shall be our Tita's meat? 
 
 Mertilla 
 
 The gods this feast, as to begin. 
 Have sent of their ambrosia in. 
 
 Chris 
 
 Then serve we up the straw's rich berry. 
 The respas, and Elysian cherry; 
 The virgin honey from the flowers 
 In Hybla, wrought in Flora's bowers; 
 Full bowls of nectar, and no girl 
 Carouse but in dissolved pearl. 
 
 Mertilla and Claia 
 
 For our Tita is this day 
 Married to a noble Fay. 
 
Claia 
 
 But wten night comes, and slie must go 
 To DeJ, dear nympts, what must we do? 
 
 Mertilla 
 
 In the posset must be brought. 
 
 And points be from the bridegroom caught. 
 
 Cloris 
 
 In masks, in dances, and deught. 
 And rare banquets spent the night; 
 Then about the room we ramble. 
 Scatter nuts, and for them scramble; 
 Over stools and tables tumble. 
 Never think of noise nor rumble. 
 
 Mertilla and Claia 
 
 For our Tita is this day 
 Married to a noble Fay. 
 
 92 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 Hark, all you ladies that do sleep! 
 
 The fairy-queen Proserpina 
 Bids you awake and pity them that weep: 
 You may do in the dark 
 
 What the day doth forbid; 
 Fear not the dogs that bark. 
 Night will have all hid. 
 
But if you let your lovers moan, 
 
 The fairy-queen Proserpina 
 Will send abroad her fairies every one. 
 That shall pinch black and blue 
 
 Your white hands and fair arms 
 That did not kindly rue 
 Your paramours' harms. 
 
 In myrtle arbours on the downs 
 
 The fairy-queen Proserpina, 
 This night by moonshine leading merry rounds, 
 Holds a watch with sweet love, 
 
 Down the dale, up the hill; 
 No plaints nor groans may move 
 Their holy vigil. 
 
 •- 
 All you that will hold watch with love. 
 
 The fairy-queen Proserpina 
 Will make you fairer than Dione's dove; 
 Roses red, lilies white, 
 
 And the clear damask hue, 
 Shall on your cheeks alight: 
 Love will adorn you. 
 
 All you that love or loved before. 
 
 The fairy-queen Proserpina 
 Bids you increase that loving humour more: 
 They that have not fed 
 On delight amorous. 
 She vows that they shall lead 
 Apes in Avernus. 
 
 Campion. 
 
93 
 Hymn to Diana 
 
 Queen and huntress, chaste and fair. 
 
 Now the sun is laid to sleep, 
 Seated in thy silver chair, 
 
 State in wonted manner keep; 
 Hesperus entreats thy light, 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Earth, let not thy envious shade 
 
 Dare itself to interpose; 
 Cynthia's shining orb was made 
 
 Heaven to clear when day did close: 
 Bless us then with wished sight. 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Lay thy bow of pearl apart. 
 
 And thy crystal shining quiver; 
 Give unto the flying hart 
 
 Space to breathe, how short soever: 
 Thou that mak'st a day of night. 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 94 
 The Song of the Sirens 
 
 Steer hither, steer your winged pines, 
 
 All beaten mariners. 
 Here lie Love's undiscovered mines, 
 
 A prey to passengers; 
 (B«9) ri3 H 
 
Perfumes far sweeter than tte best 
 Wkick make the Phoenix' urn and nest. 
 
 Fear not your ships, 
 Nor any to oppose you save our lips, 
 
 But come on shore. 
 Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more. 
 
 For swelling waves our panting breasts, 
 
 Where never storms arise, 
 Exchange; and be awhile our guests: 
 
 For stars gaze on our eyes. 
 The compass love shall hourly sing. 
 And as he goes about the ring. 
 
 We w^iU not miss 
 To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. 
 
 Browne. 
 
 95 
 
 Trie Skepkerd's Song of Venus 
 and Adonis 
 
 Venus fair did ride. 
 Silver doves they drew her 
 By the pleasant lawns, 
 Ere the sun did rise; 
 Vesta's beauty rich 
 Opened wide to view her, 
 Philomel records 
 
 Pleasing harmonies. 
 Every bird of spring 
 Cheerfully did sing, 
 Paphos' goddess they salute. 
 "4 
 
Now Love's Queen so fair 
 
 Had oi mirtli no care; 
 For ter son Lad made ter mute. 
 
 In her breast so tender 
 
 He a shaft did enter, 
 When her eyes beheld a boy; 
 
 Adonis he was named, 
 
 By his mother shamed; 
 Yet he now is Venus' joy! 
 
 Him alone she met. 
 Ready bound for hunting; 
 
 Him she kindly greets. 
 And his journey stays; 
 
 Him she seeks to kiss. 
 No devices wanting; 
 Him her eyes still woo. 
 
 Him her tongue still prays. 
 
 He with blushing red, 
 
 Hangeth down the head; 
 Not a kiss can he afford; 
 
 His face is turned away. 
 
 Silence said her nay, 
 Still she wooed him for a word. 
 
 " Speak," she said, " thou fairest; 
 
 Beauty thou impairest; 
 See me, I am pale and wan: 
 
 Lovers all adore me, 
 
 I for love implore thee; 
 Crystal tears with that down ran. 
 
 Him herewith she forced 
 To come sit down by her, 
 She his neck embraced, 
 Gazing in his face. 
 
He, like one translormed. 
 Stirred no look to eye ter; 
 Every terb did woo bim, 
 
 Growing in tbat place. 
 
 Eacb bird witb a ditty 
 
 Prayed bim for pity, 
 In bebalf ol Beauty's Queen. 
 
 Water's gentle murmur 
 
 Craved bim to love ber; 
 Yet no liking could be seen. 
 
 " Boy," sbe said, " look on me, 
 
 Still I gaze upon tbee. 
 Speak, I pray tbee, my deligbt.' 
 
 Coldly be replied. 
 
 And in briel denied 
 To bestow on ber a sigbt. 
 
 " I am now too young 
 To be won by beauty. 
 
 Tender are my years, 
 I am yet a bud. 
 
 " Fair thou art, " sbe said, 
 " Tben it is tby duty, 
 Wert tbou but a blossom, 
 To effect my good. 
 
 Every beauteous flower 
 
 Boastetb in my power. 
 Birds and beasts my laws effect; 
 
 Myrrba, tby fair motber. 
 
 Most of any otber. 
 Did my lovely bests respect. 
 
 Be witb me deligbted, 
 
 Tbou sbalt be requited. 
 Every nympb on tbee sball tend; 
 
 All tbe gods sball love tbee, 
 ii6 
 
Man shall not reprove ttee; 
 Love timself stall be tky friend. " 
 
 " Wend tnee from me, Venus, 
 I am not disposed; 
 
 Ttou wring'st me too hard, 
 Prittee let me go; 
 
 Fie! wliat a pain it is. 
 Thus to he enclosed! 
 If love begin with labour. 
 It will end in woe. 
 
 " Kiss me, I will leave. 
 
 " Here, a kiss receive. 
 "A short kiss I do it find: 
 
 Wilt thou leave me so? 
 
 Yet thou shalt not go; 
 Breathe once more thy balmy wind 
 
 It smelleth of the myrrh-tree. 
 
 That to the world did bring thee; 
 Never was perfume so sweet. 
 
 When she had thus spoken, 
 
 She gave him a token, 
 And their naked bosoms meet. 
 
 " Now," he said, " let s go, 
 Hark, the hounds are crying. 
 Grisly boar is up, 
 
 Huntsmen follow fast. 
 At the name of boar, 
 Venus seemed dying. 
 Deadly coloured, pale, 
 Roses overcast. 
 "Speak," said she, "no more 
 Of following the hoar. 
 Thou, unfit for such a chase; 
 117 
 
Course tte fearful tare, 
 Venison do not spare. 
 
 If thou wilt yield Venus grace, 
 Shun the boar, I pray thee. 
 Else I still will stay thee. 
 
 Herein, he vowed to please her mind; 
 Then her arms enlarged. 
 Loth she him discharged: 
 
 Forth he went as swift as wind. 
 
 Thetis Phoebus' steeds 
 In the west retained. 
 
 Hunting sport was past; 
 Love her love did seek. 
 
 Sight of him too soon, 
 Gentle queen, she gained; 
 On the ground he lay, 
 
 Blood had left his cheek. 
 
 For an orped swine 
 
 Smit him in the groin, 
 Deadly wound his death did bring; 
 
 Which, when Venus found. 
 
 She fell in a s wound. 
 And, awaked, her hands did wring. 
 
 Nymphs and satyrs skipping, 
 
 Came together tripping. 
 Echo every cry expressed; 
 
 Venus by her power 
 
 Turned him to a flower, 
 Which she weareth in her crest. 
 
 Constable. 
 
 ii8 
 
96 
 To Cupid 
 
 Maidens, wny spare ye? 
 Or wtetker not dare ye 
 
 Correct tte blind shooter? 
 Because wanton Venus, 
 So oit tnat dotn pain us, 
 
 Is ter son's tutor! 
 
 Now in the Spring 
 He proveth his wing. 
 
 The field is his bower; 
 And as the small bee, 
 About flyeth he 
 
 From flower to flower. 
 
 And wantonly roves 
 Abroad in the groves. 
 
 And in the air hovers; 
 Which when it him deweth, 
 His feathers he meweth 
 
 In sighs of true lovers. 
 
 And since doomed by Fate 
 (That well knew his hate) 
 
 That he should be blind, 
 For very despite. 
 Our eyes be his white. 
 
 So wayward his kind. 
 
 If his shafts losing 
 (111 his mark choosing) 
 Or his bow broken, 
 119 
 
Tke moan Venus maketli, 
 And care that she taketh, 
 Cannot be spoken. 
 
 To Vulcan commending 
 
 Her love, and straight sending 
 
 Her doves and her sparrows, 
 With kisses, unto him. 
 And all hut to woo him 
 
 To make her son arrows. 
 
 Telling what he hath done, 
 Saith she, " Right mine own son! 
 
 In her arms him she closes, 
 Sweets on him lans. 
 Laid in down of her swans. 
 
 His sheets, leaves of roses. 
 
 And feeds him with kisses; 
 Which oft when he misses 
 
 He ever is froward: 
 The mother's o'erjoying 
 Makes by much coying 
 
 The child so untoward. 
 
 Yet in a fine net. 
 That a spider set. 
 
 The maidens had caught him; 
 Had she not been near him, 
 And chanced to hear him. 
 
 More good they had taught him. 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 1 20 
 
97 
 
 Cupid ana my Campaspe played 
 
 At cards for kisses, Cupid paid: 
 
 He stakes kis quiver, bow, and arrows. 
 
 His mother s doves, and team of sparrows; 
 
 Loses tliem too; tten down he throws 
 
 The coral of his lip, the rose 
 
 Growing on s cheek (hut none knows how); 
 
 With these, the crystal of his brow, 
 
 And then the dimple of his chin: 
 
 All these did my Campaspe win. 
 
 At last he set her both his eyes; 
 
 She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
 
 Love! has she done this for thee? 
 
 What shall, alas! become of me? 
 
 Lyly. 
 
 98 
 Tke Bag of the Bee 
 
 About the sweet bag of a bee 
 
 Two cupids fell at odds. 
 And whose the pretty prize should be 
 
 They vowed to ask the gods. 
 
 Which Venus hearing, thither came. 
 And for their boldness stripped them, 
 
 And, taking thence from each his flame. 
 With rods of myrtle whipped them. 
 
 Which done, to still their wanton cries. 
 When quiet grown she d seen them. 
 
 She kissed, and wiped their dove-like eyes. 
 And gave the bag between them. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
99 
 The Shower of Blossoms 
 
 Love in a stower of blossoms came 
 
 Down, and half drowned me with the same: 
 
 The blooms that fell were white and red; 
 
 But with such sweets commingled, 
 
 As whether, this, I cannot tell 
 
 My sight was pleased more, or my smell: 
 
 But true it was, as I rolled there, 
 
 Without a thought of hurt or fear. 
 
 Love turned himself into a bee. 
 
 And with his javelin wounded me: 
 
 From which mishap thus use I make, 
 
 where most sweets are, there lies a snake; 
 
 Kisses and favours are sweet things; 
 
 But those have thorns and these have stings. 
 
 Herrick. 
 100 
 
 Charon and Philomel; A 
 Dialogue Sung 
 
 Philomel. Charon! gentle Charon! let me woo 
 thee 
 By tears and pity now to come unto me. 
 Charon. What voice so sweet and charming do I 
 hear? 
 Say what thou art. 
 Philomel. I prithee first draw near. 
 
 Charon. A sound I hear, but nothing yet can see; 
 Speak, where thou art. 
 
Philomel. Cliaron, pity me! 
 
 I am a tird, and tkougt no name I tell, 
 My warbling note will say I m Philomel. 
 Charon. Wkat's ttat to me? I waft not fish nor 
 fowls, 
 Nor beasts (fond thing), but only human 
 souls. 
 Philomel. Alas for me! 
 
 Charon. Shame on thy witching note 
 
 That made me thus hoist sail and bring my 
 
 boat: 
 But I '11 return ; what mischief brought thee 
 hither? 
 Philomel. A deal of love and much, much grief to- 
 gether. 
 Charon. What's thy request? 
 Philomel. That since she's now beneath 
 
 Who fed my life, I 11 follow her in death. 
 Ci^aro«. And is that all? I'm gone. 
 Philomel. By love I pray thee. 
 
 Charon. Talk not of love; all pray, but few souls 
 
 pay me. 
 Philomel. I 'U give thee vows and tears. 
 Charon. Can tears pay scores 
 
 For mending sails, for patching boat and 
 oars? 
 Philomel. I '11 beg a penny, or I 11 sing so long 
 
 Till thou shalt say I've paid thee with a 
 song. 
 Charon. Why then begin ; and all the while we make 
 Our slothful passage o'er the Stygian Lake, 
 Thou and I'll sing to make these dull shades 
 
 merry. 
 Who else with tears would doubtless drown 
 my ferry. Herrick. 
 
 123 
 
101 
 The Argument of his Book 
 
 I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers. 
 
 Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers; 
 
 I sing of May-poles, bock-carts, wassails, wakes. 
 
 Of bridegrooms, brides, and of tbeir bridal-cakes; 
 
 I write of youtb, of love, and bave access 
 
 By tbese to sing of cleanly wantonness; 
 
 I sing of dews, of rains, and piece by piece 
 
 Of balm, of oil, of spice, and ambergris; 
 
 I sing of times trans-sbifting, and I write 
 
 How roses first came red and lilies wbite; 
 
 I write of groves, of twiligbts, and I sing 
 
 Tbe Court of Mab, and of tbe fairy king; 
 
 I write of bell; I sing (and ever sball) 
 
 Of beaven, and bope to bave it after all. 
 
 Herrick 
 
 102 
 His Prayer to Ben Jonson 
 
 Wben I a verse sball make. 
 Know I bave prayed tbee, 
 
 For old religion's sake, 
 Saint Ben, to aid me. 
 
 Make tbe way smootb for me, 
 
 Wben I, tby Herrick, 
 Honouring tbee, on my knee 
 
 Offer my lyric. 
 124 
 
Candles I 11 give to thee, 
 
 And a new altar, 
 And thou. Saint Ben, shalt bi 
 
 Writ in my Psalter. 
 
 le 
 
 Henick. 
 
 103 
 
 To the Memory of my beloved 
 Master, William Shakespeare, 
 and. what he hath left us 
 
 To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, 
 Am I thus ample to thy hook and fame; 
 While I confess thy writing to be such. 
 As neither man nor Muse can praise too much. 
 T is true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways 
 Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; 
 For silliest ignorance on these may light. 
 Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; 
 Of blind affection, which doth ne'er advance 
 The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance; 
 Or crafty malice might pretend this praise. 
 And think to ruin, where it seemed to raise. 
 These are, as some infamous bawd, or whore. 
 Should praise a matron; what would hurt her more? 
 But thou art proof against them, and, indeed, 
 Above the ill-fortune of them, or the need. 
 I, therefore, will begin: Soul of the age! 
 The applause! delight! and wonder of our stage! 
 My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by 
 Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie 
 
A little farther off, to make ttee room: 
 Thou art a monument without a tomb, 
 And art alive still, while thy hook doth live 
 And we have wits to read, and praise to give. 
 That I not mix thee so, my hrain excuses, 
 I mean with great, hut disproportioned Muses; 
 For if I thought my judgment were of years, 
 I should commit thee surely with thy peers. 
 And tell how far thou didst our Lily outshine. 
 Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line. 
 And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, 
 From thence to honour thee, I will not seek 
 For names: hut call forth thundering Eschylus, 
 Euripides, and Sophocles to us, 
 Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordoua dead. 
 To live again, to hear thy huskin tread. 
 And shake a stage; or, when thy socks were on. 
 Leave thee alone for the comparison 
 Of all that insolent Greece, or haughty Rome 
 Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. 
 Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, 
 To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. 
 He was not of an age, hut for all time! 
 And all the Muses still were in their prime. 
 When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm 
 Our ears, or like a Mercury to charm ! 
 Nature herself was proud of his designs. 
 And joyed to wear the dressing of his lines! 
 Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, 
 As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. 
 The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, 
 Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; 
 But antiquated and deserted lie. 
 As they were not of nature's family. 
 Yet must I not give nature all; thy art, 
 
 126 
 
My gentle Stakespeare, must enjoy a part: 
 
 For tbougli tbe poet's matter nature be, 
 
 His art dott give the fashion: and, that he 
 
 Who casts to write a living line, must sweat 
 
 (Such as thine are), and strike the second heat 
 
 Upon the Muse s anvil; turn the same, 
 
 And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; 
 
 Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn; 
 
 For a good poet s made, as well as born. 
 
 And such wert thou! Look how the father's face 
 
 Lives in his issue, even so the race 
 
 Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines 
 
 In his well turned, and true filed lines; 
 
 In each of which he seems to shake a lance, 
 
 As brandished at the eyes of ignorance. 
 
 Sweet Swan of Avon, what a sight it were 
 
 To see thee in our water yet appear. 
 
 And make those flights upon the banks of Thames, 
 
 That so did take Eliza, and our James! 
 
 But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere 
 
 Advanced, and made a constellation there! 
 
 Shine forth, thou star of poets, and with rage. 
 
 Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage. 
 
 Which, since thy flight from hence, hath mourned 
 
 like night. 
 And despairs day, but for thy volume s light. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 12J 
 
104 
 
 To Live Merrily and to Trust 
 to Good Verses 
 
 Now is tlie time for mirtt, 
 
 Nor cheek or tongue be dumb; 
 
 For, witb the flowery earth, 
 The golden pomp is come. 
 
 The golden pomp is come; 
 
 For now each tree does wear, 
 Made of her pap and gum, 
 
 Rich beads of amber here. 
 
 Now reigns the rose, and now 
 The Arabian dew besmears 
 
 My uncontrolled brow 
 And my retorted hairs. 
 
 Homer, this health to thee. 
 
 In sack of such a kind 
 That it would make thee see 
 
 Though thou wert ne er so blind. 
 
 Next, Virgil I '11 call forth 
 To pledge this second health 
 
 In wine, whose each cup 's worth 
 An Indian commonwealth. 
 
 A goblet next I 11 drink 
 
 To Ovid, and suppose, 
 Made he the pledge, he'd think 
 
 The world had all one nose. 
 
 138 
 
Then tnis immensive cup 
 
 Of aromatic wine, 
 Catullus, I quaff up 
 
 To that terse muse of thine. 
 
 Wild I am now with heat: 
 Bacchus, cool thy rays! 
 
 Or, frantic, I shall eat 
 
 Thy thyrse and bite the bays. 
 
 Round, round the roof does run, 
 
 And, being ravished thus, 
 Come, I will drink a tun 
 
 To my Propertius. 
 
 Now, to TibuUus, next 
 
 This flood I drink to thee: 
 
 But stay, I see a text 
 
 That this presents to me. 
 
 Behold, TibuUus lies 
 
 Here burnt, whose small return 
 Of ashes scarce suffice 
 
 To fill a little urn. 
 
 Trust to good verses then; 
 
 They only will inspire 
 When pyramids, as men. 
 
 Are lost i' the funeral fire. 
 
 And when all bodies meet 
 
 In Lethe to be drowned. 
 Then only numbers sweet 
 
 With endless life are crowned. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 (B469) 129 I 
 
Missing Page 
 
Missing Page 
 
109 
 
 Wlien in the ctronicle of wasted time 
 I see descriptions of the fairest wignts, 
 And beauty making beautiful old rhyme 
 In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights, 
 Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 I see their antique pen would have expressed 
 Even such a beauty as you master now. 
 So all their praises are but prophecies 
 Of this our time, all you prefiguring; 
 And, for they looked but with divining eyes. 
 They had not skill enough your worth to sing: 
 For we, which now behold these present days. 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 110 
 
 Give beauty all her right. 
 
 She's not to one form tied; 
 
 Each shape yields fair delight. 
 
 Where her perfections 'bide. 
 Helen, I grant, might pleasing be; 
 And Rosamond was as sweet as she. 
 
 Some the quick eye commends; 
 
 Some swelling lips and red; 
 
 Pale looks have many friends. 
 
 Through sacred sweetness bred. 
 Meadows have flowers that pleasure move, 
 Though roses are the flowers of love. 
 132 
 
Free beauty is not bound 
 
 To one unmoved clime: 
 
 Sbe visits every ground, 
 
 And favours every time. 
 Let tbe old loves witb mine compare, 
 My Sovereign is as sweet and fair. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Beauty sat batbing by a spring, 
 
 Wbere fairest sbades did bide ber, 
 Tbe winds blew calm, tbe birds did sing, 
 
 Tbe cool streams ran beside ber. 
 My wanton tbougbts enticed mine eye 
 
 To see wbat was forbidden: 
 But better memory said Fie, 
 
 So vain desire was cbidden. 
 Hey nonny, nonny, &c. 
 
 Into a slumber tben I fell. 
 
 And fond imagination 
 Seemed to see, but could not tell 
 
 Her feature or ber fasbion. 
 But even as babes in dreams do smile 
 
 And sometimes fall a-weeping. 
 So I awaked as wise tbat wbile 
 
 As wben I fell a-sleeping. 
 Hey nonny, nonny, &c. 
 
 Anthony Munday. 
 
 133 
 
112 
 Rosaline 
 
 Lite to tte clear in tigtest sphere 
 
 Where all imperial glory shines, 
 Of selfsame colour is her hair 
 
 Whether unfolded or in twines: 
 Heigh-ho, fair Rosaline! 
 Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, 
 
 Repining heaven by every wink; 
 The gods do fear whenas they glow, 
 
 And I do tremble when I think: 
 Heigh-ho, would she were mine! 
 
 Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud 
 
 That beautifies Aurora's face, 
 Or like the silver crimson shroud 
 
 That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace: 
 Heigh-ho, fair Rosaline! 
 Her lips are like two budded roses 
 
 Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh. 
 Within whose bounds she balm encloses 
 
 Apt to entice a deity: 
 
 Heigh-ho, would she were mine! 
 
 Her neck like to a stately tower 
 
 Where Love himself imprisoned lies, 
 To watch for glances every hour 
 From her divine and sacred eyes: 
 Heigh-ho, fair Rosaline! 
 Her paps are centres of delight. 
 
 Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame, 
 Where Nature moulds the dew of light 
 134 
 
To leed perfection with tte same: 
 Heigh-lio, would she were mine! 
 
 With orient pearl, with ruby red, 
 
 With marhle white, with sapphire blue, 
 Her body every way is fed. 
 
 Yet soft in touch and sweet in view: 
 Heigh-ho, fair Rosaline! 
 Nature herself her shape admires; 
 
 The gods are wounded in her sight; 
 And Love forsakes his heavenly fires 
 
 And at her eyes his brand doth light: 
 Heigh-ho, would she were mine! 
 
 Then muse not. Nymphs, though I bemoan 
 
 The absence of fair Rosaline, 
 Since for her fair there's fairer none. 
 
 Nor for her virtues so divine: 
 Heigh-ho, fair Rosaline! 
 Heigh-ho, my heart! would God that she 
 
 were mine! 
 
 Lodge. 
 
 113 
 Samela 
 
 Like to Diana in her summer weed. 
 
 Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, 
 
 Goes fair Samela. 
 Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed 
 When washed by Arethusa fount they he. 
 
 Is fair Samela. 
 I3S 
 
As fair Aurora in ner morning gray. 
 Decked with the ruddy glister of her love 
 
 Is fair Samela. 
 Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day 
 Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move, 
 
 Shines fair Samela. 
 Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, 
 Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory 
 
 Of fair Samela. 
 Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams; 
 Her brows bright arches framed of ebony: 
 
 Thus fair Samela 
 Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, 
 And Juno in the show of majesty: 
 
 For she's Samela. 
 Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view, 
 For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity. 
 
 Yield to Samela. 
 
 Greene. 
 
 114 
 Madrigal 
 
 Like the Idalian queen. 
 Her hair about her eyne. 
 
 With neck and breast's ripe apples to be seen, 
 At first glance of the morn. 
 In Cyprus gardens gathering those fair flowers 
 Which of her blood were born, 
 I saw, but fainting saw, my paramours. 
 The Graces naked danced about the place. 
 The winds and trees amazed 
 With silence on her gazed; 
 136 
 
The ilowers did smile, like those upon her face, 
 And as their aspen stalks those fingers band, 
 That she might read my case, 
 A hyacinth I wished me in her hand. 
 
 Drummond. 
 
 115 
 
 To Julia, in Her Dawn, or 
 )reak 
 
 Daybi 
 
 By the next kindling of the day, 
 
 My Julia, thou shalt see. 
 Ere Ave-Mary thou canst say 
 
 I '11 come and visit thee. 
 
 Yet ere thou counsel'st with thy glass, 
 
 Appear thou to mine eyes 
 As smooth, and nak'd, as she that was 
 
 The prime of paradise. 
 
 If blush thou must, then blush thou through 
 
 A lawn, that thou mayst look 
 As purest pearls, or pebbles do 
 
 When peeping through a brook. 
 
 As lilies shrined in crystal, so 
 
 Do thou to me appear; 
 Or damask roses when they grow 
 
 To sweet acquaintance there. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
116 
 
 Upon Julia's Hair Filled witk 
 Dew 
 
 Dew sat on Julia's tair 
 
 And spangled too, 
 Like leaves tliat laden are 
 
 Witt trembling dew: 
 
 Or glittered to my sigtt, 
 
 As wlien tlie beams 
 Have tbeir reflected ligbt 
 
 Danced by tbe streams. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 117 
 upon Her Feet 
 
 Her pretty feet 
 Like snails did creep 
 A little out, and tben, 
 As if tbey played at Bo-Peep, 
 Did soon draw in again. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 X38 
 
118 
 Upon Her Eyes 
 
 Clear are ter eyes, 
 
 Like purest skies, 
 Discovering from ttence 
 
 A baby tbere 
 
 That turns eacb sphere 
 Like an Intelhgence. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 119 
 
 You little stars that live in skies 
 
 And glory in Apollo's glory. 
 In whose aspects conjoined lies 
 
 The heaven's will and nature's story, 
 Joy to be likened to those eyes, 
 
 Which eyes make all eyes glad or sorry; 
 For, when you force thoughts from above, 
 These over-rule your force by Love. 
 
 And thou, Love, which in these eyes 
 Hast married reason with affection. 
 
 And made them saints of beauty's skies. 
 Where joys are shadows of perfection, 
 
 Lend me thy wings that Imay rise 
 Up not by worth but by election; 
 
 For I have vowed, in strangest fashion. 
 
 To love and never seek compassion. 
 
 Fulke Grevilkj Lord Brooke. 
 139 
 
120 
 
 So saitt my fair and beautitul Lycoris, 
 
 When now and men slie talketn 
 
 Witt me of Love: 
 
 " Love is a sprite tnat walketn, 
 
 Tliat soars and flies, 
 
 And none alive can hold him, 
 
 Nor touch him, nor hehold him. 
 
 Yet when her eye she turneth, 
 
 I spy where he sojourneth: 
 
 In her eyes there he flies. 
 
 But none can catch him 
 
 Till from her lips he fetch him. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 121 
 
 Those eyes that set my fancy on a fire. 
 
 Those crisped hairs that hold my heart in chains. 
 Those dainty hands which conquered my desire. 
 
 That wit which of my thoughts doth hold the 
 reins : ■ 
 Then, Love, be judge, what heart may therewith 
 
 stand 
 Such eyes, such head, such wit, and such a hand? 
 Those eyes for clearness doth the stars surpass. 
 
 Those hairs obscure the brightness of the sun. 
 Those hands more white than ever ivory was. 
 
 That wit even to the skies hath glory won. 
 eyes that pierce our hearts without remorse ! 
 
 hairs of right that wear a royal crown! 
 hands that conquer more than Caesar s force ! 
 
 wit that turns huge kingdoms upside down! 
 
 Anonymous. 
 140 
 
122 
 
 I saw my Lady weep, 
 And Sorrow proud to be advanced so 
 In tbose fair eyes where all perfections keep. 
 
 Her face was full of woe, 
 But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts 
 Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. 
 
 Sorrow was there made fair. 
 And Passion wise; Tears a delightful thing; 
 Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare; 
 
 She made her sighs to sing, 
 And all things with so sweet a sadness move 
 As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 
 
 fairer than aught else 
 The world can show, leave off in time to grieve. 
 Enough, enough: your joyful look excels: 
 
 Tears kill the heart, believe. 
 strive not to be excellent in woe, 
 Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow. 
 
 123 
 
 Brown is my Love, but graceful: 
 And each renowned whiteness 
 Matched with thy lovely brown loseth its brightness 
 
 Fair is my Love, but scornful: 
 Yet have I seen despised 
 Dainty white lilies, and sad flowers well prized. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 141 
 
124 
 
 On His Mistress, tke Queen 
 of Boliemia 
 
 You meaner beauties of tke nigtt, 
 
 That poorly satisfy our eyes 
 
 More by your number tban your ligbt, 
 
 You common people of tbe skies; 
 
 Wbat are you wten tbe moon sball rise? 
 
 You curious cbanters of tbe wood, 
 
 Tbat warble fortb Dame Nature's lays, 
 
 Thinking your passions understood 
 
 By your weak accents; wbat's your praise, 
 
 When Philomel her voice shall raise? 
 
 You violets that first 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 my mistress shall be seen 
 In form and beauty of her mind, 
 By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, 
 Tell me if she were not designed 
 The eclipse and glory of her kind? 
 
 Wotton. 
 
 142 
 
125 
 The Triumph 
 
 See the cnariot 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 she goes, all hearts do duty 
 
 Unto her heauty ; 
 And, enamoured, do wish, so they might 
 
 But enjoy such a sight. 
 That they still were to run by her side. 
 Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. 
 
 Do hut look on her eyes, they do light 
 
 All that Love's world compriseth! 
 Do hut look on her hair, it is bright 
 
 As Love's star when it riseth! 
 Do hut mark, her forehead 's smoother 
 
 Than words that soothe her! 
 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' strife. 
 
 Have you seen but a bright lily grow. 
 Before rude hands have touched it? 
 Have you marked but the fall o' the snow 
 
 Before the soil hath smutched it? 
 Have you felt the wool of beaver? 
 Or swan s down ever? 
 H3 
 
Or tave smelt o' tte bud o' the briar? 
 
 Or tbe nard in tbe fire? 
 Or bave tasted tbe bag of tbe bee? 
 so wbite! so soft! so sweet is sbe! 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 126 
 
 Awake, tbou spring of speaking grace! mute rest 
 
 becomes not tbee ! 
 Tbe fairest women, wbile tbey sleep, and pictures, 
 equal be. 
 come and dwell in love's discourses. 
 
 Old renewing, new creating! 
 T^e words wbicb tby ricb tongue discourses. 
 Are not of tbe common rating. 
 
 Tby voice is as an ecbo clear wbicb Music dotb 
 
 beget, 
 Tby speecb is as an oracle wbicb none can counter- 
 feit: 
 For tbou alone, witbout offending. 
 
 Hast obtained power of encbanting; 
 And I could bear tbee witbout ending, 
 Otber comforts never wanting. 
 
 Some little reason brutisb lives witb buman glory 
 
 sbare ; 
 But language is our proper grace,' from wbicb tbey 
 severed are. 
 As brutes in reason man surpasses, 
 Men in speecb excel eacb otber: 
 If speecb be tben tbe best of graces, 
 Do it not in slumber smotber ! 
 
 Campion. 
 144 
 
127 
 Damelus' Song of his Diaphenia 
 
 Diapnenia, like the daffadowndilly, 
 White as tte sun, fair as tbe lily. 
 
 Heigh-ho, how I do love "thee ! 
 I do love thee as my lambs 
 Are heloved of their dams: 
 
 How hlest were I if thou wouldst prove me! 
 
 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 flower 
 Loves the sun's life-giving power; 
 
 For dead, thy breath to life might move me. 
 
 Diaphenia like to all things blessed 
 When all thy praises are expressed, 
 
 Dear joy, how I do love thee! 
 As the birds do love the spring. 
 Or the bees their careful king: 
 
 Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me! 
 
 Constable. 
 128 
 
 Love me not for comely grace. 
 For my pleasing eye or face. 
 Nor for any outward part: 
 No, nor for a constant heart! 
 For these may fail or turn to ill: 
 So thou and I shall sever. 
 
 (B469) 145 K 
 
Keep therefore a true woman's eye, 
 And love me still, but know not wby! 
 So nast tbou tke same reason still 
 To doat upon me ever. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 . 129 
 
 Wky presumes tliy pride on tkat that must so 
 
 private be, 
 Scarce that it can good be called, though it seems best 
 
 to thee. 
 Best of all that Nature framed or curious eye can 
 
 see? 
 
 Tis thy beauty, foolish Maid, that like a blossom 
 
 grows ; 
 Which who views no more enjoys than on a bush a 
 
 rose. 
 That, by many's handling, fades: and thou art one 
 
 of those. 
 
 If to one thou shalt prove true, and all beside reject. 
 Then art thou but one man s good, which yields a 
 
 poor effect: 
 For the commonest good by far deserves the best 
 
 respect. 
 
 But if for this goodness thou thyself wilt common 
 
 make. 
 Thou art then not good at all: so thou canst no way 
 
 take 
 But to prove the meanest good or else all good 
 
 forsake. 
 
 146 
 
Be not tlien of beauty proud, but so her colours bear 
 Tbat tbey prove not stains to ber, tbat tbem for 
 
 grace sbould wear: 
 So sbalt tbou to all more fair tban tbou wert born 
 
 appear. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 130 
 
 Do not, do not prize tby beauty at too bigb a rate. 
 Love to be loved wbilst tbou art lovely, lest tbou love 
 too late; 
 Frowns print wrinkles in tby brows. 
 At wbicb spiteful age dotb smile; 
 Women m tbeir froward vows 
 Glorying to beguile. 
 
 Wert tbou tbe only world's admired tbou canst love 
 
 but one, 
 And many bave before been loved, tbou art not 
 loved alone: 
 Couldst tbou speak witb beavenly grace, 
 
 Sappbo migbt witb tbee compare; 
 Blusb tbe roses in tby face, 
 Rosamond was as fair. 
 
 Pride is tbe canker tbat consumetb beauty in ber 
 
 prime, 
 Tbey tbat deligbt in long debating feel tbe curse of 
 time: 
 All tbings witb tbe time do cbange, 
 
 Tbat will not tbe time obey; 
 Some even to tbemselves seem strange 
 Tborougb tbeir own delay. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 '47 
 
131 
 
 Since brass, nor stone, nor eartk, nor Doundless sea, 
 But sad mortality o'er-sways their power. 
 How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, 
 Whose action is no stronger than a flower? 
 0, how shall summer's honey breath hold out 
 Against the wreckful siege of battering days. 
 When rocks impregnable are not so stout. 
 Nor gates of steel so strong; but Time decays? 
 fearful meditation! where, alack. 
 Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? 
 Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back? 
 Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? 
 0, none, unless this miracle have might. 
 That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 132 
 
 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore. 
 So do our minutes hasten to their end; 
 Each changing place with that which goes before. 
 In sequent toil all forwards do contend. 
 Nativity, once in the main of light. 
 Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crowned, 
 Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight. 
 And Time that gave doth now his gift confound. 
 Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth 
 And delves the parallels in beauty's brow. 
 Feeds on the rarities of nature s truth. 
 And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow: 
 And yet to times in hope my verse shall stand, 
 Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 148 
 
133 
 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be old. 
 
 For as you were when first your eye I eyed, 
 
 Sucli seems your beauty still. Tbree winters' cold 
 
 Have from the forests shook three summers' pride. 
 
 Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turned 
 
 In process of the seasons have I seen. 
 
 Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burned, 
 
 Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 
 
 Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand. 
 
 Steal from his figure and no pace perceived; 
 
 So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 
 
 Hath motion and mine eye may be deceived : 
 
 For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred; 
 
 Ere you were born was beauty s summer dead. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 134 
 
 Where are all thy beauties now, all hearts enchaining? 
 Whither are thy flatterers gone with all their feigning ? 
 All fled! and thou alone still here remaining! 
 
 Thy rich state of twisted gold to bays is turned ! 
 Cold, as thou art, are thy loves, that so much burned ! 
 Who die in flatterers' arms are seldom mourned. 
 
 Yet, in spite of envy, this be still proclaimed, 
 
 That none worthier than thyself thy worth hath 
 
 blamed ; 
 When their poor names are lost, thou shalt live 
 
 famed. 
 
 149 
 
When thy story, long time hence, shall he perused. 
 
 Let the hlemish of thy rule he thus excused, 
 
 " None ever lived more just, none more ahused . 
 
 Campion. 
 135 
 
 Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew. 
 Whose short refresh upon the tender green 
 Cheers for a time, hut till the sun doth show. 
 And straight t is gone, as it had never heen. 
 Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish. 
 Short is the glory of the hlushing rose, 
 The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish, 
 Yet which, at length, thou must he forced to lose. 
 When thou, surcharged with hurthen of thy years. 
 Shall hend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth. 
 And that in Beauty's lease, expired, appears 
 The date of age, the kalends of our death: 
 
 But, ah ! no more, this must not be foretold. 
 For women grieve to think they must be old. 
 
 Daniel. 
 136 
 
 Lawn as white as driven snow; 
 Cyprus black as e'er was crow; 
 Gloves as sweet as damask roses; 
 Masks for faces and for noses; 
 Bugle bracelet, necklace amber. 
 Perfume for a lady's chamber; 
 Golden quoifs and stomachers. 
 For my lads to give their dears: 
 ISO 
 
Pins and poking-sticks of steel. 
 
 What maids lack from head to heel: 
 
 Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; 
 
 Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry: 
 
 Come buy. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 137 
 
 Still to be neat, still to be drest, 
 As you were going to a feast; 
 Still to be powdered, still perfumed: 
 Lady, it is to be presumed. 
 Though art s hid causes are not found, 
 All IS not sweet, all is not sound. 
 
 Give me a look, give me a face 
 
 That makes simplicity a grace; 
 
 Robes loosely flowing, hair as free: 
 
 Such sweet neglect more taketh me 
 
 Than all the adulteries of art; 
 
 They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 138 
 
 DeligKt in Disorder 
 
 A sweet disorder in the dress 
 Kindles m clothes a wantonness: 
 A lawn about the shoulders thrown 
 Into a fine distraction: 
 An erring lace which here and there 
 Enthrals the crimson stomacher: 
 151 
 
A cuff neglectful, and thereby 
 
 Ribbons to flow confusedly: 
 
 A winning wave, deserving note, 
 
 In tbe tempestuous petticoat: 
 
 A careless sboe-string, in wbose tie 
 
 I see a wild civility: 
 
 Do more bewitcb me tban when art 
 
 Is too precise in every part. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 139 
 Art above Nature: To Julia 
 
 When I behold a forest spread 
 With silken trees upon thy head, 
 And when I see that other dress 
 Of flowers set in comeliness; 
 When I behold another grace 
 In the ascent of curious lace. 
 Which like a pinnacle doth show 
 The top, and the top-gallant too: 
 Then, when I see thy tresses bound 
 Into an oval, square, or round. 
 And knit in knots far more than I 
 Can tell by tongue, or true-love tie; 
 Next, when those lawny films I see 
 Play with a wild civility, 
 And all those airy silks to flow, 
 Alluring me, and tempting so: 
 I must confess mine eye and heart 
 Dotes less on Nature than on Art. 
 
 Herrick. 
 152 
 
140 
 
 My Love in her attire doth show her wit, 
 
 It doth so well hecome her; 
 For every season she hath dressings fit, 
 For Winter, Spring, and Summer. 
 No heauty she doth miss 
 
 When all her robes are on: 
 But Beauty's self she is 
 
 When all her robes are gone. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 141 
 Upon Julia's Clotlies 
 
 Whenas in silks my Julia goes, 
 
 Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows 
 
 The liquefaction of her clothes. 
 
 Next, when I cast mine eyes and see 
 That brave vibration each way free; 
 how that glittering taketh me! 
 
 Herrick. 
 142 
 
 The Transfiguration 
 
 Immortal clothing I put on 
 So soon as, Julia, I am gone 
 To mine eternal mansion. 
 IS3 
 
Thou, thou art here, to human sight 
 Clothed all with incorrupted light; 
 But yet how more admiredly bright 
 
 Wilt thou appear, when thou art set 
 
 In thy refulgent thronelet, 
 
 That shin'st thus in thy counterfeit! 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 143 
 
 mistress mine, where are you roaming? 
 0, stay and hear; your true love s coming. 
 
 That can sing both high and low: 
 Trip no further, pretty sweeting; 
 Journeys end in lovers meeting. 
 
 Every wise man's son doth know. 
 
 What is love? Tis not hereafter; 
 Present mirth hath present laughter; 
 
 What's to come is still unsure: 
 In delay there lies no plenty; 
 Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, 
 
 Youth's a stuff will not endure. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 144 
 Tke Night- Piece: To Julia 
 
 Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee. 
 The shooting-stars attend thee; 
 
 And the elves also. 
 
 Whose little eyes glow 
 Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 
 IS4 
 
No Will-o' -the- Wisp misliglit thee, 
 Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee; 
 
 But on, on thy way 
 
 Not making a stay, 
 Since ghost there s none to affright thee. 
 
 Let not the dark thee cumber: 
 
 What though the moon does slumber? 
 
 The stars of the night 
 
 Will lend thee their light 
 Like tapers clear without number. 
 
 Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 
 Thus, thus to come unto me; 
 
 And when I shall meet 
 
 Thy silvery feet 
 My soul I 11 pour into thee. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 145 
 
 Love's god is a boy. 
 
 None but cowherds regard him, 
 
 His dart IS a toy. 
 
 Great opinion hath marred him; 
 
 The fear of the wag 
 
 Hath made him so brag; 
 
 Chide him, he'll fly thee 
 
 And not come nigh thee. 
 Little boy, pretty knave, shoot not at random. 
 For if you hit me, slave, I 11 tell your grandam. 
 
 Fond love is a child 
 
 And his compass is narrow, 
 
 Young fools are beguiled 
 
 With the fame of his arrow; 
 I5S 
 
He daretb not strike 
 
 If his stroke mislike: 
 
 Cupid, do you hear me? 
 
 Come not too near me. 
 Little boy, pretty knave, hence I beseech you. 
 For if you hit me, knave, in faith I 11 breech you. 
 
 The ape loves to meddle 
 
 When he finds a man idle, 
 
 Else is he a-flirting 
 
 Where his mark is a-courting; 
 
 When women grow^ true 
 
 Come teach me to sue. 
 
 Then I '11 come to thee. 
 
 Pray thee, and woo thee. 
 Little boy, pretty knave, make me not stagger. 
 For if you hit me, knave, I '11 call thee beggar. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 146 
 
 Tell me, dearest, what is love? 
 Tis a lightning from above; 
 Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire, 
 Tis a boy they call Desire. 
 Tis a grave. 
 Gapes to have 
 Those poor fools that long to prove. 
 
 Tell me more, are women true? 
 Yes. some are, and some as you. 
 
 Some are willing, some are strange, 
 Since you men first taught to change. 
 And till troth 
 Be in both. 
 All shall love, to love anew. 
 iS6 
 
Tell me more yet, can they grieve? 
 Yes, and sicken sore, but live. 
 And be wise, and delay. 
 When you men are as wise as they 
 Then I see. 
 Faith will be, 
 Never till they both believe. 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
 147 
 
 What then is love but mourning? 
 What desire, but a self -burning ? 
 Till she, that hates, doth love return. 
 Thus will I mourn, thus will I sing, 
 " Come away! come away, my darling! 
 
 Beauty is but a blooming. 
 
 Youth m his glory entombing; 
 
 Time hath a while, which none can stay: 
 
 Then come away, while thus I sing, 
 
 " Come away! come away, my darling!' 
 
 Summer in winter ladeth; 
 Gloomy night heavenly light shadeth: 
 Like to the morn, are Venus flowers; 
 Such are her hours: then will I sing, 
 " Come away! come away, my darling! 
 
 Campion. 
 
 IS7 
 
148 
 
 Turn all tliy thoughts to eyes, 
 
 Turn all thy hairs to ears, 
 
 Change all thy friends to spies. 
 
 And all thy joys to fears: 
 
 True love will yet be free, 
 In spite of jealousy. 
 
 Turn darkness into day. 
 Conjectures into truth. 
 Believe what the envious say, 
 Let age interpret youth : 
 
 True love will yet be free. 
 In spite of jealousy. 
 
 Wrest every word and look. 
 
 Rack every hidden thought. 
 Or fish with golden hook; 
 True love cannot be caught. 
 
 For that will still be free. 
 In spite of jealousy. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 149 
 
 Turn I my looks unto the skies. 
 Love with his arrows wounds mine eyes; 
 If so I gaze upon the ground. 
 Love then in every flower is found; 
 Search I the shade to fly the pain, 
 He meets me in the shade again; 
 Wend I to walk in sacred grove, 
 Even there I meet with sacred Love; 
 iS8 
 
Ii so I bain me in the spring, 
 
 Even on tke bank I bear bim sing; 
 
 If so I meditate alone, 
 
 He will be partner of my moan; 
 
 If so I mourn, be weeps witb me. 
 
 And wbere I am tbere be will be. 
 
 Wbenas I talk of Rosalind 
 
 Tbe god from coyness waxetb kind. 
 
 And seems in self-same flames to fry 
 
 Because be loves as well as I. 
 
 Sweet Rosalind, for pity rue. 
 
 For wby tban Love I am more true: 
 
 He, if be speed, will quickly fly. 
 
 But in tby love I live and die. 
 
 Lodge. 
 
 150 
 
 Love winged my bopes and taugbt me bow to fly 
 Far from base eartb, but not to mount too bigb : 
 
 For true pleasure 
 
 Lives in measure, 
 
 Wbicb if men forsake, 
 Blinded tbey into folly run and grief for pleasure 
 take. 
 
 But my vain bopes, proud of tbeir new-taugbt fligbt, 
 Enamoured sought to woo tbe sun's fair light, 
 Whose rich brightness 
 Moved tbeir lightness 
 To aspire so high 
 That all scorched and consumed with fire now 
 drown d in woe they lie. 
 IS9 
 
\nd none but Love their woeful hap did rue, 
 For Love did know that their desires were true; 
 Though Fate frowned 
 And now drowned 
 They in sorrow dwell, 
 [t was the purest light of heaven for whose fair love 
 they fell. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 151 
 
 Love guards the roses of thy lips 
 And flies about them like a bee; 
 
 If I approach he forward skips, 
 And if I kiss he stingeth me. 
 
 Love in thine eyes doth build his bower. 
 And sleeps within his pretty shrine; 
 
 And if I look the boy will lower. 
 
 And from their orbs shoot shafts divine. 
 
 Love works thy heart within his fire. 
 And in my tears doth firm the same; 
 
 And if I tempt it will retire. 
 
 And of my plaints doth make a game. 
 
 Love, let me cull her choicest flowers: 
 And pity me, and calm her eye; 
 
 Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers; 
 Then will I praise thy deity. 
 
 But if thou do not, Love, I 11 truly serve her 
 In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her. 
 
 Lodge. 
 1 60 
 
152 
 Montanus' Sonnet 
 
 Phoebe sat, 
 
 Sweet she sat, 
 Sweet sat PnoeDe when I saw her, 
 
 White her brow, 
 
 Coy her eye; 
 Brow and eye how much you please me! 
 
 Words I spent, 
 
 Sighs I sent; 
 Sighs and words could never draw her. 
 
 Oh my love. 
 
 Thou art lost 
 Since no sight could ever ease thee. 
 
 Phoebe sat 
 
 By a fount. 
 Sitting by a fount I spied her: 
 
 Sweet her touch, 
 
 Rare her voice; 
 Touch and voice what may distain you? 
 
 As she sang, 
 
 I did sigh. 
 And by sighs whilst that I tried her, 
 
 Oh mine eyes! 
 
 You did lose 
 Her first sight, whose want did pain you. 
 
 Phoebe's flocks 
 White as wool. 
 Yet were Phoebe's locks more whiter. 
 
 (B459) l6l L 
 
Pboebe's eyes 
 
 Dove-like, mild, 
 Dove-like eyes, both mild and cruel; 
 
 Montan swears, 
 
 In your lamps 
 He will die for to deliglit lier. 
 
 Pkoebe, yield. 
 
 Or I die: 
 Stall true hearts be fancy's fuel? 
 
 153 
 
 Lodge 
 
 Wbo is Sylvia? what is she. 
 
 That all our swains commend her? 
 
 Holy, fair and wise is she; 
 
 The heaven such grace did lend her, 
 
 That she might admired be. 
 
 Is she kind as she is fair? 
 
 For beauty lives with kindness. 
 Love doth to her eyes repair. 
 
 To help him of his blindness. 
 And, being helped, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Sylvia let us sing. 
 
 That Sylvia is excelling: 
 She excels each mortal thing 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling: 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 162 
 
154 
 
 Love in my bosom, like a bee, 
 
 Dotb suck bis sweet: 
 Now witb bis wings be plays witb me, 
 
 Now witb bis feet. 
 Witbin mine eyes be makes bis nest, 
 His bed amidst my tender breast; 
 My kisses are bis daily feast. 
 And yet be robs me of my rest: 
 
 Ab! wanton, will ye? 
 
 And if I sleep, tben percbetb be 
 
 Witb pretty fligbt, 
 And makes bis pillow of my knee 
 
 Tbe livelong nigbt. 
 Strike I my lute, be tunes tbe string; 
 His music plays if so I sing; 
 He lends me every lovely tbing. 
 Yet cruel be my beart dotb sting: 
 
 Wbist, wanton, still ye! 
 
 Else I witb roses every day 
 
 Will wbip you bence, 
 And bind you, wben you long to play. 
 
 For your offence. 
 I 11 sbut mine eyes to keep you in ; 
 I '11 make you fast it for your sin ; 
 I 11 count your power not wortb a pin. 
 Alas! wbat bereby sball I win. 
 
 If be gainsay me? 
 
 Wbat if I beat tbe wanton boy 
 Witb many a rod? 
 163 
 
He will repay me witli annoy, 
 
 Because a god. 
 Tnen sit ttou safely on my knee; 
 Then let thy bower my hosom he; 
 Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee; 
 Cupid, so thou pity me, 
 
 Spare not, hut play thee! 
 
 Lodgt 
 
 155 
 
 On a day — alack the day! — 
 Love, whose month is ever May, 
 Spied a hlossom passing fair 
 Playing in the wanton air: 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 All unseen, can passage find; 
 That the lover, sick to death. 
 Wish himself the heaven's hreath. 
 Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow: 
 Air, would I might triumph so! 
 But, alack, my hand is sworn 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn: 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet. 
 Youth so apt to pluck a sweet! 
 Do not call it sin in me. 
 That I am forsworn to thee; 
 Thou for whom Jove would swear 
 Juno but an Ethiope were; 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 Turning mortal for thy love. 
 
 Shakespeare 
 164 
 
156 
 
 " Maids are simple," some men say, 
 " They, forsooth, will trust no men." 
 
 But should they men's wills obey. 
 Maids are very simple then. 
 
 Truth, a rare flower now is grown. 
 Few men wear it in their hearts; 
 
 Lovers are more easily known 
 By their follies than deserts. 
 
 Safer may we credit give 
 
 To a faithless wandering Jew 
 Than a young man's vows helieve 
 
 When he swears his love is true. 
 
 Love they make a poor blind child. 
 But let none trust such as he : 
 
 Rather than to he beguiled. 
 
 Ever let me simple be. Campion. 
 
 157 
 
 " Art tbou that she than whom no fairer is? 
 Art thou that she desire so strives to kiss?" 
 
 " Say I am: how then? 
 
 Maids may not kiss 
 
 Such wanton-humoured men." 
 
 " Art thou that she the world commends for wit? 
 Art thou so wise and makest no use of it? " 
 
 " Say I am: how then? 
 
 My wit doth teach me shun 
 
 Such foolish, foolish men." Anonymous. 
 i6s 
 
158 
 
 " Open tlie door! Who s ttere wittin? 
 The fairest of thy mother's kin, 
 
 come, come, come abroad 
 And hear the shrill birds sing. 
 
 The air with tunes that load! 
 It is too soon to go to rest. 
 The sun s not midway yet to west: 
 
 The day doth miss thee 
 And will not part until it kiss thee. 
 
 " Were I as fair as you pretend. 
 Yet to an unknown, seld-seen friend 
 I dare not ope the door: 
 
 To hear the sweet birds sing 
 
 Oft proves a dangerous thing. 
 The sun may run his wonted race 
 And yet not gaze on my poor face; 
 
 The day may miss me: 
 Therefore depart, you shall not kiss me. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 159 
 
 Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch 
 One of her feathered creatures broke away. 
 Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch 
 In pursuit of the thing she would have stay. 
 Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase. 
 Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent 
 To follow that which flies before her face, 
 Not prizing her poor infant s discontent; 
 So runn st thou after that which flies from thee. 
 Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind; 
 i66 
 
But if thou catch thy hope, turn back to me, 
 And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind: 
 
 So will I pray that thou mayst have thy ' ' Will , 
 If thou turn back, and my loud crying still. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 160 
 
 To nothing fitter can I thee compare 
 Than to the son of some rich penny-father, 
 Who, having now brought on his end with care, 
 Leaves to his son all he had heaped together. 
 This new rich novice, lavish of his chest, 
 To one man gives, doth on another spend. 
 Then here he riots, yet, amongst the rest,. 
 Haps to lend some to one true honest friend. 
 Thy gifts thou in obscurity doth waste. 
 False friends thy kindness, born but to deceive thee; 
 Thy love that is on the unworthy placed; 
 Time hath thy beauty, which with age will leave thee ; 
 Only that little which to me was lent, 
 I give thee back when all the rest is spent. 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 161 
 
 If I hope, I pine; if I fear, I faint and die; 
 So, between hope and fear, I desperate lie. 
 Looking for joy to heaven, whence it should come: 
 But hope is blind; joy, deaf; and I am dumb. 
 Yet I speak and cry; but, alas, with words of woe: 
 And joy conceives not them that murmur so. 
 He that the ears of joy will ever pierce. 
 Must sing glad notes, or speak in happier verse. 
 
 Campion. 
 167 
 
162 
 
 Tbrice toss these oaken ashes in tbe air, 
 Tbrice sit ttou mute in this enchanted chair. 
 And thrice three times tie up this true love s knot, 
 And murmur soft " She will, or she will not. 
 
 Go hurn these poisonous weeds in yon blue lire, 
 These screech-owl's feathers and this prickling briar. 
 This cypress gathered at a dead man s grave. 
 That all thy fears and cares an end may have. 
 
 Then come, you Fairies, dance with me a round, 
 Melt her hard heart with your melodious sound. 
 In vain are all the charms I can devise : 
 She hath an art to break them with her eyes. 
 
 Campion. 
 163 
 
 Marvel not. Love, though I thy power admire, 
 Ravished a world beyond the farthest thought. 
 And knowing more than ever hath been taught, 
 That I am only starved in my desire: 
 Marvel not, Love, though I thy power admire, 
 Aiming at things exceeding all perfection. 
 To wisdom's self to minister direction. 
 That I am only starved in my desire: 
 Marvel not. Love, though I thy power admire. 
 Though my conceit I further seem to bend 
 Than possibly invention can extend. 
 And yet am only starved m my desire: 
 
 If thou wilt wonder, here s the wonder. Love, 
 That this to me doth yet no wonder prove. 
 
 Drayton. 
 i68 
 
164 
 
 Beliold a wonder liere! 
 
 Love hatli received bis signt, 
 Which many hundred year 
 
 Hath not heheld the light. 
 
 Such heams infused be 
 
 By Cynthia in his eyes, 
 As first have made him see 
 
 And then have made him wise. 
 
 Love now no more will weep 
 For them that laugh the while, 
 
 Nor wake for them that sleep. 
 Nor sigh for them that smile. 
 
 So powerful is the Beauty 
 That Love doth now hehold, 
 
 As love is turned to Duty 
 
 That s neither blind nor bold. 
 
 Thus Beauty shows her might 
 
 To be of double kind; 
 In giving Love his sight 
 
 And striking Folly blind. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 165 
 
 My Love hound me with a kiss 
 That I should no longer stay; 
 
 When I felt so sweet a bliss 
 I had less power to part away: 
 
 Alas! that women do not know 
 
 Kisses make men loath to go. 
 i6g 
 
Yes, she knows it but too well, 
 For I heard when Venus' dove 
 
 In her ear did softly tell 
 
 That kisses were the seals or love: 
 
 muse not then though it be so, 
 
 Kisses make men loath to go. 
 
 Wherefore did she thus inflame 
 
 My desires, heat my blood. 
 Instantly to quench the same 
 
 And starve whom she had given food? 
 Ay, ay, the common sense can show^. 
 Kisses make men loath to go. 
 
 Had she bid me go at first 
 
 It would ne'er have grieved my heart 
 Hope delayed had been the worst; 
 
 But ah to kiss and then to part! 
 How deep it struck, speak, gods ! you know 
 Kisses make men loath to go. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 166 
 
 A woman s looks 
 
 Are barbed hooks. 
 
 That catch by art 
 
 The strongest heart 
 When yet they spend no breath; 
 
 But let them speak. 
 
 And sighing break 
 
 Forth into tears. 
 
 Their words are spears 
 That wound our souls to death. 
 170 
 
Tte rarest wit 
 
 Is made forget, 
 
 And like a child 
 
 Is oft beguiled 
 Witt love s sweet-seeming bait; 
 
 Love w^itn his rod 
 
 So like a god 
 
 Commands tbe mind; 
 
 We cannot find. 
 Fair sbows bide foul deceit. 
 
 Time, tbat all tbings 
 In order brings, 
 Hatb taugbt me bow 
 To be more slow 
 
 In giving faitb to speecb. 
 Since women's words 
 No trutb affords, 
 And wben tbey kiss 
 Tbey tbink by tbis 
 
 Us men to over-reacb. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 167 
 
 Her fair inflaming eyes, 
 
 Cbief autbors of my cares, 
 I prayed in bumblest wise 
 
 Witb grace to view my tears: 
 Tbey bebeld me broad awake, 
 But, alas, no rutb would take. 
 
 Her lips witb kisses ricb. 
 And words of fair deligbt, 
 171 
 
I fairly did beseecb, 
 
 To pity my sad plight: 
 
 But a voice from them brake forth 
 As a whirlwind from the north. 
 
 Then to her hands I fled, 
 
 That can give heart and all; 
 To them I long did plead, 
 And loud for pity call: 
 
 But, alas, they put me off. 
 With a touch worse than a scoff. 
 
 So back'I straight returned. 
 
 And at her breast I knocked; 
 Where long in vain I mourned, 
 Her heart so fast was locked: 
 Not a word could passage find, 
 For a rock enclosed her mind. 
 
 Then down my prayers made way 
 
 To those most comely parts, 
 That make her fly or stay. 
 As they affect deserts: 
 
 But her angry feet, thus moved, 
 Fled with all the parts I loved. 
 
 Yet fled they not so fast. 
 As her enraged mind: 
 Still did I after haste, 
 Still was I left behind; 
 
 Till I found 'twas to no end 
 With a Spirit to contend. 
 
 Campion. 
 172 
 
168 
 
 " Say, Love, if ever ttou didst find 
 A woman with a constant mind. " 
 " None but one. " 
 " And wtat should that rare mirror be?" 
 
 Some goddess or some queen is She." 
 She, She, She, and only She, 
 She only queen of love and beauty. 
 
 But could thy fiery poisoned dart 
 At no time touch her spotless heart. 
 
 Nor come near?" 
 " She is not subject to Love's bow: 
 Her eye commands, her heart saith ' No '." 
 No, no, no, and only No, 
 One No another still doth follow. 
 
 " How might I that fair wonder know 
 That mocks desire with endless ' No ' ? " 
 
 " See the moon 
 That ever m one change doth grow. 
 Yet still the same: and She is so.' 
 So, so, so, and only So! 
 From heaven her virtues she doth borrow 
 
 " To her, then, yield thy shafts and bow 
 That can command affection so. 
 
 Love is free: 
 So are her thoughts that vanquish thee. 
 There is no queen of Love but She. ' 
 She, She, She, and only She, 
 She only queen of love and beauty. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 173 
 
Missing Page 
 
Missing Page 
 
171 
 
 If fathers knew but now to leave 
 
 Tteir children wit as they do wealth, 
 
 And could constrain them to receive 
 
 That physic which brings perfect health, 
 
 The world would not admiring stand 
 
 A woman s face and woman s hand. 
 
 Women confess they must obey. 
 
 We men will needs he servants still; 
 
 We kiss their hands, and what they say 
 We must commend, be t ne er so ill : 
 
 Thus we, like fools, admiring stand 
 
 Her pretty foot and pretty hand. 
 
 We blame their pride, which we increase 
 By making mountains of a mouse; 
 
 We praise because we know we please; 
 Poor women are too credulous 
 
 To think that we admiring stand 
 
 Or foot, or face, or foolish hand. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 172 
 
 Silly boy, 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines 
 
 clearly ; 
 Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love 
 
 so dearly. 
 Shortly wilt thou mourn when all thy pleasures are 
 
 bereaved ; 
 Little knows he how to love that never was deceived. 
 
 176 
 
Tlnis is thy first maiden flame, ttat triumphs yet 
 
 unstained ; 
 AH is artless now you speak, not one word, yet, is 
 
 feigned ; 
 All is heaven that you hehold, and all your thoughts 
 
 are blessed; 
 But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath 
 
 his Cressid. 
 
 Thy well-ordered locks ere long shall rudely hang 
 
 neglected ; 
 And thy lively pleasant cheer read grief on earth 
 
 dejected. 
 Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made 
 
 thy heart so holy. 
 And with sighs confess, in love that too much faith 
 
 is folly. 
 
 Yet be just and constant still! Love may beget a 
 
 wonder, 
 Not unlike a summer s frost, or winter s fatal 
 
 thunder. 
 He that holds his sweetheart true, unto his day of 
 
 dying. 
 Lives, of all that ever breathed, most worthy the 
 
 envying. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 173 
 
 If thou long'st so much to learn, sweet boy, what 'tis 
 
 to love. 
 Do but fix thy thought on me and thou shalt quickly 
 
 prove. 
 
 (B469) 177 M 
 
Little suit, at lirst, sball win, 
 
 Way to thy abashed desire, 
 But then will I hedge thee in 
 
 Salamander-like with fire! 
 
 With thee dance I will, and sing, and thy lond 
 
 dalliance hear; 
 We the grovy hills will climh, and play the wantons 
 there ; 
 
 Other whiles we'll gather flowers, 
 
 Lying dallying on the grass; 
 And thus our delightful hours 
 
 Full of waking dreams shall pass. 
 
 When thy joys were thus at height, my love should 
 
 turn from thee; 
 Old acquaintance then should grow as strange as 
 strange might he; 
 
 Twenty rivals thou shouldst find. 
 
 Breaking all their hearts for me. 
 While to all I 11 prove more kind 
 And more forward than to thee. 
 
 Thus, thy silly youth, enraged, would soon my love 
 
 defy; 
 But, alas, poor soul, too late! dipt wings can never 
 fly. 
 
 Those sweet hours which we had past. 
 
 Called to mind, thy heart would hum; 
 And couldst thou fly ne er so fast. 
 
 They would make thee straight return. 
 
 Campion. 
 178 
 
174 
 
 Break now, my teart, and die! no, slie may 
 
 relent. 
 Let my despair prevail ! stay, hope is not spent. 
 Should she now fix one smile on thee, where were 
 despair? 
 The loss is but easy, which smiles can repair. 
 A stranger would please thee, if she were as fair. 
 
 Her must I love or none, so sweet none breathes as 
 
 she; 
 The more is my despair, alas, she loves not me! 
 But cannot time make way for love through ribs of 
 steel? 
 The Grecian, enchanted all parts but the heel. 
 At last a shaft daunted, which his heart did feel. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 175 
 
 Blame not my cheeks, though pale with love they be ; 
 The kindly heat unto my heart is flown, 
 To cherish it that is dismayed by thee, 
 Who art 90 cruel and unsteadfast grown: 
 For Nature, called for by distressed hearts, 
 Neglects and quite forsakes the outward parts. 
 
 But they whose cheeks with careless blood are 
 
 stained, 
 Nurse not one spark of love within their hearts; 
 
 179 
 
And, wnen tney woo, ttey speak with passion 
 
 feigned, 
 For tkeir fat love lies in tbeir outward parts: 
 But in tkeir breasts, wkere Love his court should 
 
 hold. 
 Poor Cupid sits and blows his nails for cold. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 176 
 
 Never love unless you can 
 
 Bear with all the faults of man: 
 
 Men sometimes will jealous be. 
 
 Though but little cause they see; 
 
 And hang the head, as discontent. 
 
 And speak what straight they will repent. 
 
 Men that but one saint adore. 
 Make a show of love to more: 
 Beauty must be scorned in none, 
 Though but truly served in one: 
 For what is courtship, but disguise? 
 True hearts may have dissembling eyes. 
 
 Men, when their affairs require, 
 Must a while themselves retire. 
 Sometimes hunt, and sometimes hawk, 
 And not ever sit and talk. 
 If these and such like you can bear. 
 Then like, and love, and never fear! 
 
 Campion. 
 i8o 
 
177 
 
 Thus I resolve, and time tatli taugtt me 90, 
 Since ske is fair and ever kind to me, 
 
 Thougli ste be wild and wanton-like in stow. 
 Those little stains in youth I will not see. 
 
 That she he constant, heaven I oft implore: 
 
 If prayers prevail not, I can do no more. 
 
 Palm-tree the more you press, the more it grows; 
 
 Leave it alone it will not much exceed. 
 Free beauty if you strive to yoke, you lose: 
 
 And for affection, strange distaste you breed. 
 What Nature hath not taught, no Art can frame: 
 Wild born be wild still, though by force you tame. 
 
 Campion. 
 178 
 
 When love on time and measure makes his ground. 
 Time that must end, though love can never die, 
 
 T is love betwixt a shadow and a sound, 
 A love not in the heart but in the eye; 
 
 A love that ebbs and flows, now up, now down, 
 
 A morning's favour and an evening's frown. 
 
 Sweet looks show love, yet they are but as beams; 
 
 Fair words seem true, yet they are but as wind ; 
 Eyes shed their tears, yet are but outward streams; 
 
 Sighs paint a shadow in the falsest mind. 
 Looks, words, tears, sighs show love when love they 
 
 leave ; 
 False hearts can weep, sigh, swear, and yet deceive. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 i8i 
 
179 
 
 For her gait if ste oe walking. 
 Be she sitting I desire her 
 For her state's sake, and admire her 
 For her wit if she be talking. 
 
 Gait and state and wit approve her; 
 
 For which all and each I love her. 
 
 Be she sullen, I commend her 
 
 For a modest. Be she merry. 
 
 For a kind one her prefer I. 
 
 Briefly everything doth lend her 
 
 So much grace and so approve her. 
 That for everything I love her. 
 
 Browne. 
 
 180 
 Tke Sun Rising 
 
 Busy old fool, unruly Sun, 
 Why dost thou thus. 
 Through windows, and through curtains, call on us? 
 Must to thy motions lovers seasons run? 
 Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide 
 Late school-hoys and sour prentices. 
 Go tell court-huntsmen that the king wiU ride. 
 Call country ants to harvest offices; 
 Love, all alike, no season knows nor cume. 
 Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time. 
 
 182 
 
Thy beams 9o reverend and strong 
 
 Why shouldst thou think? 
 I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, 
 But that I would not lose her sight so long. 
 
 If her eyes have not blinded thine. 
 
 Look, and to-morrow late tell me. 
 Whether both the Indias of spice and mine 
 Be where thou left'st them, or lie here with me. 
 Ask for those kings whom thou saw'st yesterday, 
 And thou shaft hear, " All here in one bed lay . 
 
 She's all states, and all princes I; 
 
 Nothing else is; 
 Princes do but play us; compared to this, 
 All honour's mimic, all wealth alchemy. 
 
 Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we. 
 
 In that the world's contracted thus; 
 Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be 
 To warm the world, that's done in warming us. 
 Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere; 
 This bed thy centre is, these walls thy sphere. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 181 
 
 Rudely thou wrongest my dear heart's desire, 
 In finding fault with her too portly pride: 
 The thing which I do most in her admire, 
 Is of the world unworthy most envied: 
 For in those lofty looks is close implied 
 Scorn of base things, and sdain of foul dishonour. 
 Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide, 
 That loosely they ne dare to look upon her. 
 
 «83 
 
Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour, 
 
 That boldened innocence hears in her eyes; 
 
 And her fair countenance, hke a goodly banner, 
 
 Spreads in defiance of all enemies. 
 
 Was never in this world aught worthy tried, 
 Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride. 
 
 Spenser. 
 182 
 
 In that proud port, which her so goodly graceth, 
 Whiles her fair face she rears up to the sky. 
 And to the ground her eyelids low emhaseth, 
 Most goodly temperature ye may descry; 
 Mild humbless, mixed with awful majesty. 
 For, looking on the earth whence she was horn. 
 Her mind rememhereth her mortality, 
 Whatso is fairest shall to earth return. 
 But that same lofty countenance seems to scorn 
 Base thing, and think how she to heaven may climh; 
 Treading down earth as loathsome and forlorn. 
 That hinders heavenly thoughts with drossy slime. 
 
 Yet lowly still vouchsafe to look on me; 
 
 Such lowliness shall make you lofty be. 
 
 Spenser. 
 183 
 
 The glorious portrait of that Angel's face. 
 Made to amaze weak men s confused skill. 
 And this world's worthless glory to emhase, 
 What pen, what pencil, can express her fill? 
 184 
 
For, ttougli ne colours could devise at will, 
 And eke his learned tand at pleasure guide. 
 Lest, trembling, it his workmanship should spill; 
 Yet many wondrous things there are beside: 
 The sweet eye-glances, that like arrows glide. 
 The charming smiles, that rob sense from the heart, 
 The lovely pleasance, and the lofty pride. 
 Cannot expressed be by any art. 
 
 A greater craftsman s hand thereto doth need. 
 That can express the life of things indeed. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 184 
 
 Was it the work of nature or of art. 
 
 Which tempered so the feature of her face. 
 
 That pride and meekness, mixed by equal part. 
 
 Do both appear to adorn her beauty s grace ? 
 
 For with mild pleasance, which doth pride displace. 
 
 She to her love doth lookers eyes allure; 
 
 And, with stem countenance, back again doth chase 
 
 Their looser looks that stir up lusts impure; 
 
 With such strange terms her eyes she doth inure. 
 
 That with one look she doth my life dismay, 
 
 And with another doth it straight recure; 
 
 Her smile me draws; her frown me drives away. 
 
 Thus doth she train and teach me with her looks; 
 
 Such art of eyes I never read in books. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 i8S 
 
185 
 
 Tnrice nappy she, that is so well assured 
 Unto herself, and settled so in heart, 
 That neither will for better be allured, 
 Ne feared with worse to any chance to start; 
 But, like a steady ship, doth strongly part 
 Tbe raging waves, and keeps her course aright; 
 Ne aught for tempest doth from it depart, 
 Ne aught for fairer weather's false delight. 
 Such self-assurance need not fear the spite 
 Of grudgmg foes, ne favour seek of friends: 
 But, in the stay of her own steadfast might, 
 Neither to one herself nor other bends. 
 
 Most happy she, that most assured doth rest; 
 
 But he most happy, who such one loves best. 
 
 Spenser. 
 186 
 
 Away with these self-loving lads 
 Whom Cupid's arrow never glads; 
 Away, poor souls, that sigh and weep 
 In love of those that lie asleep ; 
 For Cupid is a meadow-god. 
 And forceth none to kiss the rod. 
 
 Sweet Cupid's shafts, like Destiny, 
 Do causeless good or ill decree: 
 Desert is born 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. 
 i86 
 
My songs they be of Cyntnia s praise, 
 I wear her rings on holy-days, 
 In every tree I write her name. 
 And every day I read the same. 
 Where honour Cupid s rival is. 
 There miracles are seen of his. 
 
 If Cynthia crave her ring of me, 
 I hlot her name out of the tree; 
 If doubt do darken things held dear. 
 Then well fare nothing once a year; 
 For many run, but one must win: 
 Fools only hedge the cuckoo in. 
 
 The worth that worthiness should move 
 
 Is love, that is the bow of Love; 
 
 And love as well the foster can 
 
 As can the mighty nobleman. 
 
 Sweet saint, 'tis true, you worthy be. 
 
 Yet without love nought worth to me. 
 
 Fulke Grevilky Lora Brooke. 
 
 187 
 
 Love is a sickness full of woes, 
 
 All remedies refusing; 
 A plant that with most cutting grows, 
 Most barren with best using. 
 
 Why so? 
 More we enjoy it, more it dies; 
 If not enjoyed, it sighing cries. 
 
 Heigh-ho ! 
 187 
 
Love is a torment of the mind, 
 
 A tempest everlasting; 
 And Jove hath made it of a kind 
 Not well, nor full nor fasting. 
 
 Why so? 
 More we enjoy it, more it dies; 
 If not enjoyed, it sighing cries, 
 
 Heigh-ho ! 
 
 Duniel. 
 188 
 
 Florimel's Ditty 
 
 How in my thoughts shall I contrive 
 
 The image I am framing. 
 Which is so far superlative, 
 
 As 'tis beyond all naming? 
 I would Jove of my counsel make, 
 
 And have his judgment in it, 
 But that I douht he would mistake 
 
 How rightly to hegin it. 
 It must be builded in the air. 
 
 And tis my thoughts must do it, 
 And only they must be the stair 
 
 From earth to mount me to it. 
 For of my sex I frame my lay. 
 
 Each hour ourselves forsaking, 
 How should I then find out the way, 
 
 To this my undertaking. 
 When our weak fancies working still. 
 
 Yet changing every minute, 
 Will show that it requires some skill. 
 
 Such difficulties in it? 
 We would things, yet we know not what, 
 
 And let our will be granted, 
 i88 
 
Yet instantly we find in that 
 
 Something untliought of wanted. 
 Our joys and hopes such shadows are 
 
 As with our motions vary, 
 Which when we oft have fetched from far, 
 
 With us they never tarry. 
 Some worldly cross doth still attend 
 
 What long we have been spinning. 
 And ere we fully get the end. 
 
 We lose of our beginning. 
 Our policies so peevish are 
 
 That with themselves they wrangle. 
 And many times become the snare 
 
 That soonest us entangle; 
 For that the love we bear our friends. 
 
 Though ne'er so strongly grounded, 
 Hath in it certain oblique ends, 
 
 If to the bottom sounded; 
 Our own well wishing making it 
 
 A pardonable treason. 
 For that it is derived from wit. 
 
 And underpropped with reason. 
 For our dear selves' beloved sake, 
 
 Even in the depth of passion. 
 Our centre though ourselves we make 
 
 Yet is not that our station; 
 For whilst our brows ambitious be, 
 
 And youth at hand awaits us, 
 It is a pretty thing to see 
 
 How finely beauty cheats us; 
 And whilst with time we trifling stand 
 
 To practise antique graces, 
 Age with a pale and withered hand 
 
 Draws furrows in our faces. 
 
 Drayton. 
 189 
 
189 
 A Woman's Heart 
 
 faithless world, and thy most faithless part, 
 
 A woman s heart ! 
 The true shop of variety, where sits 
 
 Nothing but fits 
 And fevers of desire, and pangs of love, 
 
 Which toys remove. 
 Why was she bom to please? or I to trust 
 
 Words writ in dust. 
 Suffering her eyes to govern my despair. 
 
 My pain for air; 
 And fruit of time rewarded with untruth, 
 
 The food of youth? 
 Untrue she was; yet I believed her eyes. 
 
 Instructed spies, 
 Till I was taught that love was but a school 
 
 To breed a fool. 
 Or sought she more, by triumphs of denial, 
 
 To make a trial 
 How far her smiles commanded my weakness? 
 
 Yield and confess! 
 Excuse no more thy folly; but, for cure. 
 
 Blush and endure 
 As well thy shame as passions that were vain; 
 
 And think, 'tis gain. 
 To know that love lodged in a woman's breast 
 
 Is but a guest. 
 
 Wotton. 
 
 190 
 
190 
 Oi Women 
 
 If women could be fair, and yet not fond, 
 Or ttat tteir love were firm, not fickle, still, 
 I would not marvel that ttey make men bond 
 By service long to purchase tbeir good will; 
 But when I see how frail those creatures are, 
 I muse that men forget themselves so far. 
 
 To mark the choice they make, and how they change. 
 How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan, 
 Unsettled still, like haggards wild, they range. 
 These gentle birds that fly from man to man; 
 Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist. 
 And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list? 
 
 Yet, for disport, we fawn and flatter both. 
 To pass the time when nothing else can please; 
 And train them to our lure with subtle oath. 
 Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease: 
 And then we say, when we their fancy try. 
 To play with fools, what a fool was I ! 
 
 Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford. 
 
 191 
 
 Follow a shadow, it still flies you; 
 
 Seem to fly it, it will pursue: 
 So court a mistress, she denies you; 
 
 Let her alone, she will court you ; 
 Say are not women truly, then. 
 Styled but the shadows of us men? 
 191 
 
At morn and even shades are longest; 
 
 At noon tney are or stort, or none: 
 So men at weakest, they are strongest, 
 
 But grant us perfect, they're not known. 
 Say are not women truly, then. 
 Styled but the shadows of us men ? 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 192 
 
 Shall I, wasting in despair, 
 Die because a woman 's fair ? 
 Or make pale my cheeks with care 
 Cause another's rosy are? 
 Be she fairer than the day. 
 Or the flowery meads in May, 
 If she think not well of me. 
 What care I how fair she be? 
 
 Shall my silly heart be pined 
 Cause I see a woman kind? 
 Or a well-disposed nature 
 Joined with a lovely feature? 
 Be she meeker, kinder, than 
 Turtle-dove or pelican. 
 If she be not so to me. 
 What care I how kind she be? 
 
 Shall a woman's virtues move 
 Me to perish for her love? 
 Or her well-deservings known 
 Make me quite forget my own? 
 X92 
 
Be she witk that goodness blest 
 Which may merit name of best. 
 If she be not such to me, 
 What care I how good she be? 
 
 Cause her fortune seems too high. 
 Shall I play the fool and die? 
 She that bears a noble mind. 
 If not outward helps she find, 
 Thinks what with them he would do 
 Who without them dares her woo; 
 And unless that mind I see, 
 What care I how great she be? 
 
 Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 
 I will ne er the more despair ; 
 If she love me, this believe, 
 I will die ere she shall grieve; 
 If she slight me when I woo, 
 I can scorn and let her go; 
 For if she be not for me. 
 What care I for whom she be? 
 
 Wither. 
 
 193 
 
 Shall I tell you whom I love? 
 Hearken then awhile to me; 
 And if such a woman move, 
 As I now shall versify , 
 Be assured 'tis she or none 
 That I love, and love alone. 
 
 Nature did her so much right, 
 As she scorns the help of Art; 
 In as many virtues dight 
 As e'er yet embraced a heart. 
 (B459) 193 
 
So much good so truly tried, 
 Some for less were deified. 
 
 Wit she tatli without desire 
 
 To make known how much she hath; 
 
 And her anger flames no higher 
 
 Than may fitly sweeten wrath. 
 
 Full of pity as may be, 
 
 Though perhaps not so to me. 
 
 Reason masters every sense. 
 And her virtues grace her birth: 
 Lovely as all excellence. 
 Modest in her most of mirth: 
 Likelihood enough to prove. 
 Only worth could kindle love. 
 
 Such she is: and if you know 
 Such a one as I have sung; 
 Be she brown, or fair, or so. 
 That she be but somewhat young; 
 Be assured, 'tis she, or none. 
 That I love, and love alone. 
 
 Browne. 
 
 194 
 
 Wkat Kind of Mistress He 
 Would Have 
 
 Be the mistress of my choice 
 Clean in manners, clear in voice; 
 Be she witty, more than wise, 
 Pure enough, though not precise; 
 194 
 
Be slie showing in lier dress 
 Like a civil wilderness; 
 Ttat tte curious may detect 
 Order in a sweet neglect; 
 Be she rolling in her eye, 
 Tempting all the passers-hy; 
 And each ringlet of her hair 
 An enchantment, or a snare 
 For to catch the lookers-on; 
 But herself held fast hy none. 
 Let her Lucrece all day he, 
 Thais in the night to me. 
 Be she such as neither will 
 Famish me nor overfill. 
 
 195 
 
 Hemck. 
 
 Love who will, for I'll love none. 
 There's fools enough beside me: 
 
 Yet if each woman have not one, 
 Come to me where I hide me. 
 
 And if she can the place attain. 
 
 For once I'll be her fool again. 
 
 It is an easy place to find, 
 
 And women sure should know it; 
 Yet thither serves not every wind, 
 
 Nor many men can show it: 
 It is the storehouse, where doth lie 
 All women's truth and constancy 
 
 If the journey he so long. 
 No woman will adventer; 
 I9S 
 
But dreading her weak vessel s wrong. 
 
 The voyage will not enter: 
 Then may she sigh and lie alone. 
 In love with all, yet loved of none. 
 
 Browne. 
 196 
 On Love 
 
 Love hade me ask a gilt. 
 
 And I no more did move 
 But this, that I might shift 
 
 Still with my clothes my love: 
 That favour granted was: 
 
 Since which, though I love many, 
 Yet it so comes to pass 
 
 That long I love not any. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 197 
 Tke Indifferent 
 
 I can love hoth fair and hrown; 
 
 Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want 
 
 betrays ; 
 Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks emd 
 
 plays; 
 Her whom the country formed, and whom the town; 
 Her who believes, and her who tries; 
 Her who still weeps with spongy eyes. 
 And her who is dry cork, and never cries. 
 
 196 
 
I can love her, and ner. and yon, and you; 
 I can love any, so sbe be not true. 
 
 Will no other vice content yon? 
 
 WiU it not serve your turn to do as did your 
 
 mothers? 
 Or liave you all old vices spent and now would find 
 
 out others? 
 Or doth a fear that men are true torment you? 
 we are not, be not you so ; 
 Let me — ^and do yon — twenty know; 
 Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go. 
 Must I, who came to travel thorough you. 
 Grow your lixed subject, because you are true? 
 
 Venus heard me sigh this song; 
 
 And by love s sweetest part, variety, she swore. 
 
 She heard not diis till now; it should be so no more. 
 
 She went, examined, and returned ere long. 
 
 And said, " Alas! some two or three 
 
 Poor heretics in love there be. 
 
 Which think to stablish dangerous constancy. 
 
 But I have told them, ' Since you will be true. 
 
 You shall be true to them who re false to you. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 198 
 Community 
 
 Good we must love, and must hate iU, 
 For ill is ill, and good good still; 
 But there are things indifferent, 
 197 
 
Wliich we may neither liate, nor love, 
 But one, and tlien another prove, 
 As we stall find our fancy bent. 
 
 If tten at first wise Nature had 
 Made women either good or bad, 
 
 Then some we might hate, and some choose; 
 But since she did them so create. 
 That we may neither love, nor hate, 
 
 Only this rests, all all may use. 
 
 If they were good, it would be seen; 
 Good is as visible as green, 
 
 And to all eyes itself betrays. 
 If they were bad, they could not last; 
 Bad doth itself and others waste; 
 
 So they deserve nor blame, nor praise. 
 
 But they are ours as fruits are ours; 
 He that but tastes, he that devours. 
 
 And he that leaves all, doth as well; 
 Changed loves are but changed sorts of meat; 
 And when he hath the kernel eat. 
 
 Who doth not fling away the shell? 
 
 Donne. 
 
 199 
 To Virgins 
 
 Hear, ye virgins, and I'll teach 
 What the times of old did preach 
 Rosamond was in a bower 
 Kept, as Danae in a tower: 
 198 
 
But yet love, who subtle is, 
 Crept to tbat, and came to this. 
 Be ye locked up like to tbese. 
 Or the rick Hesperides, 
 Or ttose babies in your eyes. 
 In tbeir crystal nunneries; 
 Notwithstanding love will win. 
 Or else force a passage in: 
 And as coy be as you can. 
 Gifts will get ye, or the man. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 200 
 
 Upon Love, by Way oi 
 Question and Answer 
 
 I bring ye love: Quest. Wbat will love do? 
 
 ^ns. Like and dislike ye. 
 I bring ye love: Quest. Wbat will love do? 
 
 ■^fis. Stroke ye to strike ye. 
 I bring ye love: Quest. Wbat will love do? 
 
 Ans. Love will befool ye. 
 I bring ye love: Quest. Wbat will love do? 
 
 Ans. Heat ye to cool ye. 
 I bring ye love: Quest. Wbat will love do? 
 
 Ans. Love gifts will send ye. 
 I bring ye love: Quest. Wbat will love do? 
 
 Ans. Stock ye to spend ye. 
 I bring ye love: Quest. Wbat will love do? 
 
 Ans. Love will fulfil ye. 
 I bring ye love: Quest. Wbat will love do? 
 
 Ans. Kiss ye to kill ye. 
 
 Herrick. 
 199 
 
201 
 
 Tke Skepkerd's Description 
 of Love 
 
 Meliboeus. Sheplierd, what's love, I pray ttee tell? 
 Faustus. It is tLat fountain and that well 
 
 Where pleasure and repentance dwell; 
 It is perhaps that sauncing hell 
 
 That tolls all into heaven or hell; 
 And this is love, as I heard tell. 
 
 Meliboeus. Yet what is love, I prithee say? 
 Faustus. It is a work on holiday; 
 
 It is December matched with May, 
 When lusty bloods, in fresh array, 
 Hear ten months after of the play; 
 And this is love, as I hear say. 
 
 Meliboeus. Yet what is love, good shepherd, sain? 
 Faustus. It is a sunshine mixed with rain; 
 It is a tooth-ache, or like pain; 
 It is a game where none doth gain; 
 
 The lass saith no, and would full fain; 
 And this is love, as I hear sain. 
 
 Meliboeus. Yet, shepherd, what is love, I pray? 
 Faustus. It is a yea, it is a nay, 
 
 A pretty kind of sporting fray; 
 It is a thing will soon away; 
 
 Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye 
 
 may; 
 And this is love, as I hear say. 
 200 
 
Meliboeus. Yet wtat is love, good shepherd, show? 
 Faustus. A thing that creeps; it cannot go; 
 A prize that passeth to and fro ; 
 A thing for one, a thing for moe; 
 And he that proves shall find it so; 
 And, shepherd, this is love, I trow. 
 
 Raleigh. 
 
 202 
 
 Kind are her answers. 
 But her performance keeps no day; 
 
 Breaks time, as dancers 
 From their own music when they stray. 
 
 All her free favours 
 And smooth words wing my hopes in vain. 
 did ever voice so sweet but only feign? 
 Can true love yield such delay. 
 Converting joy to pain? 
 
 Lost is our freedom, 
 When we suhmit to women so: 
 
 Why do we need them 
 When, in their best they work our woe? 
 
 There is no wisdom 
 Can alter ends, by Fate prefixt. 
 why is the good of man with evil mixt? 
 Never were days yet called two. 
 
 But one night went betwixt. 
 
 Campion. 
 
^U3 
 
 While tliat tlie sun witli tis beams hot 
 
 Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain, 
 Philon, the shepherd, late forgot. 
 Sitting beside a crystal fountain 
 In shadow of a green oak-tree. 
 Upon his pipe this song played he: 
 Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love! 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu. Love! 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 So long as I was in your sight, 
 
 I was your heart, your soul, your treasure; 
 And evermore you sobbed and sighed. 
 Burning in flames beyond all measure. 
 Three days endured your love for me. 
 And it was lost in other three. 
 Adieu, Love! adieu. Love! untrue Love! 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love! 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 Another shepherd you did see. 
 
 To whom your heart was soon enchained; 
 Full soon your love was leapt from me, 
 Full soon my place he had obtained: 
 Soon came a third your love to win; 
 And we were out, and he was in. 
 Adieu, Love! adieu. Love! untrue Love! 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love! 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 Sure, you have made me passing glad 
 That you your mind so soon removed, 
 
 202 
 
Before ttat I the leisure had 
 
 To cnoose you for my best beloved: 
 For all my love was passed and done 
 Two days, before it was begun. 
 
 Adieu, Love! adieu, Love! untrue Love! 
 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love! adieu, Love! 
 
 Your mind is ligbt, soon lost for new love. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 204 
 
 Once did I love and yet I live, 
 
 Tbough love and trutb be now forgotten; 
 Tben did I joy, now do I grieve 
 
 Tbat boly vows must now be broken. 
 
 Hers be tbe blame tbat caused it so. 
 Mine be tbe grief tbougb it be mickle; 
 
 Sbe sball bave sbame, I cause to know 
 Wbat 'tis to love a dame so fickle. 
 
 Love ber tbat list, I am content 
 
 For tbat cbameleon-like sbe cbangetb. 
 
 Yielding sucb mists as may prevent 
 
 My sigbt to view ber wben sbe rangetb. 
 
 Let bim not vaunt tbat gains my loss, 
 
 For wben tbat be and time batb proved ber, 
 
 Sbe may bim bring to Weeping-Cross: 
 I say no more, because I loved her. 
 
 jifionymous. 
 203 
 
205 
 
 Once did my tliouglits bott ebb and flow, 
 
 As passion did tbem move; 
 Once did I bope, straight fear again, — 
 
 And tben I was in love. 
 
 Once did I waking spend tbe nigbt, 
 And tell bow many minutes move; 
 
 Once did I wisbing waste tbe day, — 
 And tben I was in love. 
 
 Once, by my carving true love's knot, 
 
 Tbe weeping trees did prove 
 Tbat wounds and tears were botb our lot, — 
 
 And tben I was in love. 
 
 Once did I breatbe another's breatb 
 
 And in my mistress move, 
 Once was I not mine own at all, — 
 
 And tben I was in love. 
 
 Once wore I bracelets made of bair, 
 
 And collars did approve. 
 Once wore my clotbes made out of wax, — 
 
 And tben I was m love. 
 
 Once did I sonnet to my saint. 
 
 My soul in numbers move. 
 Once did I tell a thousand lies, — 
 
 And tben I was in love. 
 
 Once in my ear did dangling bang 
 
 A little turtle-dove. 
 Once, in a word, I was a fool, — 
 
 And tben I was in love. Anonymous. 
 
 204 
 
206 
 
 No'w nave I leamea with much ado at last 
 
 By true disdain to kill desire; 
 This was the mark at which I shot so fast. 
 
 Unto this height I did aspire: 
 Proud Love, now^ do thy worst and spare not. 
 For thee and all thy shafts I care not. 
 
 What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind? 
 
 What hie to quicken dead desire? 
 I count thy words and oaths as light as wind, 
 
 I feel no heat m all thy fire: 
 Go, change thy bow and get a stronger. 
 Go, hreak thy shafts and buy thee longer. 
 
 In vain thou hait'st thy hook with beauty s blaze. 
 
 In vain thy wanton eyes allure; 
 These are but toys for them that love to gaze, 
 
 I know what harm thy looks procure: 
 Some strange conceit must be devised. 
 Or thou and all thy skill despised. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 207 
 
 Now let her change and spare not! 
 Since she proves strange I care not: 
 Feigned love charmed so my delight 
 That still I doted on her sight. 
 But she is gone, new^ joys embracing 
 And my desires disgracing. 
 
 When did I err in blindness. 
 Or vex her with unkindness? 
 205 
 
If my cares served lier alone, 
 Why is she thus untimely gone? 
 True love abides to the hour of dying: 
 False love is ever flying. 
 
 False! then, farewell for ever! 
 Once false proves faithful never: 
 He that boasts now of thy love, 
 Shall soon my present fortunes prove. 
 Were he as fair as bright Adonis, 
 Faith is not had, where none is. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 208 
 
 Dear, if I with guile would gild a true intent, 
 Heaping flatteries that in heart were never meant: 
 Easily could I then obtain 
 
 What now in vain I force; 
 Falsehood much doth gain. 
 
 Truth yet holds the better course. 
 
 Love forbid that through dissembling I should thrive. 
 Or in praising you myself of truth deprive! 
 Let not your high thoughts debase 
 
 A simple truth in me: 
 Great is Beauty's grace. 
 Truth is yet as fair as she! 
 
 Praise is but the wind of pride, if it exceeds; 
 Wealth, prized in itself, no outward value needs. 
 Fair you are, and passing fair; 
 You know it, and 'tis true: 
 Yet let none despair 
 
 But to find as fair as you. Campion. 
 
 206 
 
209 
 
 Go and catcli a falling star. 
 
 Get with cliild a mandrake root. 
 Tell me where all past years are. 
 Or w^ho cleft the devil's foot. 
 Teach me to hear mermaids singing. 
 Or to keep off envy's stinging. 
 And find 
 What wind 
 Serves to advance an honest mind. 
 
 If thou be'st horn to strange sights. 
 
 Things invisible to see. 
 Ride ten thousand days and nights. 
 
 Till age snow white hairs on thee. 
 Thou, w^hen thou return st, wilt tell me 
 And swear, 
 No w^here 
 Lives a w^oman true and fair. 
 
 If thou find'st one, let me know; 
 Such a pilgrimage were sweet. 
 Yet do not, I would not go, 
 
 Though at next door we might meet. 
 Though she were true when you met her, 
 And last till you write your letter, 
 Yet she 
 Will be 
 False, ere I come, to two or three. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 207 
 
210 
 
 How easily wert thou cbained, 
 Fond teart, by favours feigned! 
 Why lived tliy hopes in grace, 
 Straight to die disdained? 
 But since thou art now beguiled 
 By love that falsely smiled, 
 In some less happy place 
 Mourn alone exiled! 
 My love still here increaseth, 
 And with my love my grief. 
 While her sweet bounty ceaseth, 
 That gave my woes relief. 
 Yet 'tis no woman leaves me. 
 For such may prove unjust; 
 A goddess thus deceives me. 
 Whose faith who could mistrust? 
 
 A goddess so much graced, 
 That Paradise is placed 
 In her most heavenly breast, 
 Once by love embraced: 
 But love, that so kind proved, 
 Is now from her removed, 
 Nor will he longer rest 
 Where no faith is loved. 
 If powers celestial wound us 
 And will not yield relief. 
 Woe then must needs confound us, 
 For none can cure our grief. 
 No wonder if I languish 
 Through burden of my smart: 
 It IS no common anguish 
 From Paradise to part. Campion. 
 
 208 
 
211 
 
 So quick, so tot, so mad is thy fond suit, 
 So rude, so tedious grown, in urging me. 
 
 That fain I would, with loss, make thy tongue mute. 
 And yield some little grace to quiet thee: 
 
 An hour with thee I care not to converse. 
 
 For I would not be counted too perverse. 
 
 But roofs too hot would prove for me all fire; 
 
 And hills too high for my unused pace; 
 The grove is charged with thorns and the bold briar; 
 
 Gray snakes the meadows shroud in every place: 
 A yellow frog, alas, will fright me so. 
 As I should start and tremble as I go. 
 
 Since then I can on earth no fit room find. 
 In heaven I am resolved with you to meet: 
 
 Till then, for hope's sweet sake, rest your tired mind 
 And not so much as see me in the street: 
 
 A heavenly meeting one day we shall have. 
 
 But never, as you dream, in bed, or grave. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 212 
 Myra 
 
 I, with whose colours Myra dressed her head, 
 I, that wear posies of her own hand-making, 
 
 I, that mine own name in the chimneys read 
 By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking: 
 
 Must I look on, in hope time coming may 
 
 With change bring back my turn again to play? 
 (B«9) 209 o 
 
I, that on Sunday at tbe cturch-stile found 
 
 A garland sweet, witt true love-knots in flowers, 
 
 Wkich I to wear about mine arms was bound, 
 Tbat each of us might know that all was ours: 
 
 Must I now lead an idle life in wishes. 
 
 And follow Cupid for his loaves and fishes? 
 
 I, that did wear the ring her miother left, 
 I, for whose love she gloried to be blamed, 
 
 I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft, 
 I, who did make her blush when I was named: 
 
 Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft, and go naked. 
 
 Watching with sighs, till dead love be awaked? 
 
 I, that when drowsy Argus fell asleep, 
 Like jealousy o'erwatched with desire. 
 
 Was ever warned modesty to keep. 
 
 While her breath speaking kindled Nature s fire : 
 
 Must I look on a-cold, while others warm them? 
 
 Do Vulcan's brothers in such fine nets arm them? 
 
 Was it for this that I might Myra see 
 
 Washing the water with her beauties white? 
 
 Yet would she never write her love to me; 
 
 Thinks wit of change while thoughts are in delight? 
 
 Mad girls must safely love, as they may leave; 
 
 No man can print a kiss; lines may deceive. 
 
 Fulke Grevilky Lord Brooke. 
 
213 
 The Blossom 
 
 Little think'st thou, poor flower, 
 Wnom I ve watcned six or seven days. 
 And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour 
 Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise. 
 And now dost laugh and triumph on this hough, 
 
 Little think'st thou. 
 That it will freeze anon, and that I shall 
 To-morrow find thee fallen, or not at all. 
 
 Little think'st thou, poor heart. 
 That lahourest yet to nestle thee. 
 
 And think'st by hovering here to get a part 
 
 In a forbidden or forbidding tree, 
 
 And hop'st her stiffness by long siege to bow, 
 Little think'st thou. 
 
 That thou to-morrow, ere that sun doth wake. 
 
 Must with this sun and me a journey take. 
 
 But thou which lovest to be 
 Subtle to plague thyself, wilt say, 
 
 Alas! if you must go, what's that to me? 
 
 Here lies my business, and here I will stay; 
 
 You go to friends, whose love and means present 
 Various content 
 
 To your eyes, ears, and taste, and every part; 
 
 If then your body go, what need your heart? 
 
 Well then, stay here; but know. 
 
 When thou hast stayed, and done thy most, 
 
 A naked thinking heart, that makes no show, 
 
 Is to a woman but a kind of ghost. 
 
How stall she know my heart; or having none, 
 
 Know thee for one? 
 Practice may make her know some other part; 
 But take my word, she doth not know a heart. 
 
 Meet me at London, then, 
 Twenty days hence, and thou shalt see 
 Me fresher, and more fat, hy being with men. 
 Than if I had stayed still with her and thee. 
 For God's sake, if you can, he you so too; 
 I will give you 
 .There to another friend, whom we shall find 
 As glad to have my hody as my mind. 
 
 Donne. 
 214 
 
 Farewell, dear love! since thou wilt needs he gone: 
 Mine eyes do show my life is almost done. 
 
 — Nay I will never die, 
 
 So long as I can spy; 
 
 There be many mo 
 
 Though that she do go. 
 There be many mo, I fear not; 
 Why, then, let her go, I care not. 
 
 Farewell, farewell! since this I find is true, 
 I will not spend more time m wooing you. 
 
 — But I will seek elsewhere 
 
 If I may find her there 
 
 Shall I bid her go? 
 
 What and if I do? 
 Shall I bid her go and spare not? 
 no, no, no, no, I dare not. 
 
 212 
 
Ten ttousand times farewell! yet stay awtile. 
 
 Sweet, kiss me once, sweet kisses time beguile. 
 — I nave no power to move: 
 How now, am I in love! — 
 Wilt thou needs be gone? 
 Go then, all is one. 
 
 Wilt thou needs be gone ? bie tbee ! 
 
 Nay; stay, and do no more deny me. 
 
 Once more farewell! I see " Loth to depart 
 Bids oft adieu to her that holds my heart: 
 
 But seemg I must lose 
 
 Thy love which I did choose, 
 
 Go thy ways for me, 
 
 Since it may not be: 
 Go thy ways for me, but whither 
 Go? — oh, but where I may come thither. 
 
 What shall I do? my love is now departed. 
 She is as fair as she is cruel-hearted: 
 
 She would not be entreated 
 
 With prayers oft repeated. 
 
 If she come no more, 
 
 Shall I die therefore? 
 If she come no more, w^hat care 1 : 
 — Faith, let her go, or come, or tarry. 
 
 Anonymom. 
 
 215 
 
 Though your strangeness frets my heart, 
 
 Yet may not I complain : 
 You persuade me, 'tis but art. 
 
 That secret love must feign. 
 213 
 
If another you affect, 
 'T is but a show, to avoid suspect. 
 Is this fair excusing? 0, no! all is abusing! 
 
 Your wished sight if I desire, 
 
 Suspicions you pretend: 
 Causeless you yourself retire. 
 
 While I in vain attend. 
 This a lover whets, you say. 
 Still made more eager by delay. 
 Is this fair excusing? 0, no! all is abusing! 
 
 When another holds your hand, 
 You swear I hold your heart: 
 
 When my rivals close do stand. 
 And I sit far apart, 
 
 I am nearer yet than they. 
 
 Hid in your bosom, as you say. 
 Is this fair excusing? 0, no! all is abusing! 
 
 Would my rival then I were, 
 
 Or else your secret friend: 
 So much lesser should I fear. 
 
 And not so much attend. 
 They enjoy you, every one. 
 Yet I must seem your friend alone. 
 Is this fair excusing? 0, no! all is abusing! 
 
 Campion. 
 
 314 
 
216 
 
 Tnink st ttou to seduce me tten with words ttat 
 
 have no meaning? 
 Parrots so can learn to prate, our speecli by pieces 
 
 gleaning : 
 Nurses teacli tkeir children so about tbe time of 
 
 weaning. 
 
 Learn to speak first, then to woo: to wooing, mucb 
 
 pertainetb : 
 He that courts us wanting art, soon falters when be 
 
 feign etb. 
 Looks asquint on bis discourse, and smiles, wben be 
 
 complametb. 
 
 Skilful anglers hide their books, fit baits for every 
 
 season ; 
 But with crooked pins fish thou, as babes do, that 
 
 want reason: 
 Gudgeons only can be caught with such poor tricks of 
 
 treason. 
 
 Ruth forgive me, if I erred from human heart's com- 
 passion, 
 
 Wben I laughed sometimes too much to see thy 
 foolish fashion: 
 
 But, alas, who less could do that found so good 
 
 occasion ! 
 
 Campion. 
 
 2IS 
 
217 
 To his Rival 
 
 Her loved I most, 
 
 By thee that s lost, 
 Though she were won with leisure; 
 
 She was my gain. 
 
 But to my pain 
 Thou spoil'st me of my treasure. 
 
 The ship full fraught 
 
 With gold, far sought. 
 Though ne'er so wisely helmed, 
 
 May suffer wrack 
 
 In sailing hack 
 By tempest overwhelmed. 
 
 But she, good sir. 
 
 Did not prefer 
 You, for that I was ranging; 
 
 But for that she 
 
 Found faith in me, 
 And she loved to he changing. 
 
 Therefore boast not 
 
 Your happy lot. 
 Be silent now you have her; 
 
 The time I knew 
 
 She slighted you, 
 When I was in her favour. 
 
 None stands so fast 
 But may be cast 
 By fortune, and disgraced: 
 216 
 
Once did I wear 
 Her gaiter ttere 
 Wnere you ner glove nave placed. 
 
 I tad the vow 
 
 That thou hast now 
 And glances to discover 
 
 Her love to me. 
 
 And she to thee 
 Reads hut old lessons over. 
 
 She hath no smile 
 
 That can heguile. 
 But as my thought I know it; 
 
 Yea, to a hair. 
 
 Both when and where 
 And how she will bestow it. 
 
 What no-w is thine 
 
 Was only mine. 
 And first to me was given ; 
 
 Thou laugh st at me, 
 
 I laugh at thee. 
 And thus we two are even. 
 
 But I'll not mourn, 
 
 But stay my turn. 
 The wind may come ahout, sir. 
 
 And once again 
 
 May bring me in 
 And help to bear you out, sir. 
 
 Drayton. 
 217 
 
21^ 
 
 Chop-Clierry 
 
 Tkou gav'st me leave to kiss, 
 Tkou gav'st me leave to woo; 
 
 Thou mad'st me think, by this 
 And that, thou lov'dst me too. 
 
 But I shall ne'er forget 
 
 How, for to make thee merry, 
 
 Thou mad'st me chop, hut yet 
 Another snapped the cherry. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 219 
 A Canzonet to his Coy Love 
 
 I pray thee, leave, love me no more, 
 
 Call home the heart you gave me, 
 I hut in vain that saint adore. 
 
 That can, but will not save me: 
 These poor half kisses kill me quite; 
 
 Was ever man thus served? 
 Amidst an ocean of delight. 
 
 For pleasure to be starved. 
 
 Show me no more those snowy breasts 
 With azure riverets branched. 
 
 Where whilst mine eye with plenty feasts. 
 Yet is my thirst not stanched. 
 218 
 
Tantalus, thy pains ne'er tell, 
 By me thou art prevented; 
 
 T is nothing to be plagued in hell, 
 But thus in heaven tormented. 
 
 Clip me no more m those dear arms. 
 
 Nor thy life s comfort call me ; 
 0, these are hut too powerful charms. 
 
 And do but more enthrall me. 
 But see how patient I am grown, 
 
 In all this coil about thee; 
 Come, nice thing, let thy heart alone; 
 
 I cannot live without thee. 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 220 
 
 Take, 0, take those lips away. 
 
 That so sweetly were forsworn; 
 And those eyes, the break of day. 
 
 Lights that do mislead the morn; 
 But my kisses bring again, brmg again; 
 Seals of love, but sealed in vain, sealed in vain. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 221 
 
 Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more, 
 
 Men were deceivers ever. 
 One foot in sea and one on shore. 
 
 To one thing constant never: 
 Then sigh not so, but let them go. 
 
 And be you blithe and bonny. 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 
 Into Hey nonny, nonny. 
 219 
 
Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, 
 
 Of dumps so dull and beavy; 
 The fraud of men was ever so, 
 
 Since summer first was leavy: 
 Tten sigh not so, hut let them go, 
 
 And he you hlithe and honny. 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 
 Into Hey nonny, nonny. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 222 
 Tke Message 
 
 Send home my long strayed eyes to me. 
 Which, 0! too long have dwelt on thee; 
 Yet since there they have learned such ill. 
 Such forced fashions. 
 And false passions, 
 That they be 
 Made hy thee 
 Fit for no good sight, keep them still. 
 
 Send home my worthless heart again. 
 Which no unworthy thought could stain; 
 But if it he taught by thine 
 To make jestings 
 Of protestings. 
 
 And break both 
 Word and oath, 
 Keep it, for then 'tis none of mine. 
 
 Yet send me back my heart and eyes. 
 That I may know, and see thy lies, 
 
And may laugh and joy, when thou 
 Art in anguish 
 And dost languish 
 For some one 
 That will none, 
 Or prove as false as thou art now. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 223 
 
 When thou must home to shades of underground, 
 
 And there arrived, a new admired guest, 
 
 The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round. 
 
 White lope, blithe Helen, and the rest. 
 
 To hear the stories of thy finished love 
 
 From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move ; 
 
 Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights. 
 
 Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make. 
 
 Of tourneys and great challenges of knights. 
 
 And all those triumphs for thy beauty s sake : 
 
 When thou hast told these honours done to thee. 
 
 Then tell, tell, how thou didst murder me. 
 
 Campion. 
 224 
 The Prokibition 
 
 Take heed of loving me; 
 At least remember, I forbade it thee; 
 Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste 
 Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears. 
 By being to thee then what to me thou wast; 
 But so great joy our life at once outwears. 
 
 221 
 
Then, lest thy love by my death frustrate be, 
 If tbou love me, take beed of loving me. 
 
 Take heed of hating me. 
 Or too much triumph in the victory; 
 Not that I shall be mine own officer, 
 And hate with hate again retaliate; 
 But thou wilt lose the style of conqueror, 
 If I, thy conquest, perish by thy hate. 
 Then, lest my being nothing lessen thee. 
 If thou hate me, take heed of hating me. 
 
 Yet love and hate me too; 
 So these extremes shall ne'er their office do; 
 Love me, that I may die the gentler way; 
 Hate me, because thy love's too great for me: 
 Or let these two, themselves, not me, decay; 
 So shall I live thy stage, not triumph be. 
 Lest thou thy love and hate, and me undo, 
 let me live, yet love and hate me too. 
 
 Donne. 
 225 
 
 There's nothing grieves me, but that age should haste. 
 
 That in my days I may not see thee old. 
 
 That where those two clear sparkling eyes are placed, 
 
 Only two loopholes then I might behold: 
 
 That lovely, arched, ivory, polished brow 
 
 Defaced with wrinkles, that I might but see; 
 
 Thy dainty hair, so curled and crisped now. 
 
 Like grizzled moss upon some aged tree; 
 
 Thy cheek, now flush with roses, sunk and lean, 
 
 Thy lips with age as any wafer thin, 
 
 222 I 
 
Tby pearly teeth out of tty head so clean, 
 That, when thou feed'st, thy nose shall touch thy 
 chin. 
 These lines that now thou scornst, which should 
 
 delight thee. 
 Then would I make thee read, hut to despite thee. 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 226 
 
 Why should your fair eyes, with such sovereign 
 
 grace, 
 Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit. 
 Whilst I in darkness, m the self-same place, 
 Get not one glance to recompense my merit? 
 So doth the plowman gaze the wandering star, 
 And only rest contented with the light. 
 That never learned what constellations are, 
 Beyond the hent of his unknowing sight. 
 why should beauty, custom to obey. 
 To their gross sense apply herself so ill? 
 Would God I were as ignorant as they. 
 When I am made unhappy by my skill! 
 Only compelled on this poor good to boast, 
 Heavens are not kind to them that know them 
 most. 
 
 Drayton. 
 227 
 
 You're not alone when you are still alone: 
 God, from you that I could private he! 
 Since you one were, I never since was one; 
 Since you in me, my self since out of me. 
 Transported from my self into your being, 
 Though either distant, present yet to either; 
 223 
 
Senseless with too much joy, each other seeing, 
 And only ahsent when we are together. 
 Give me myself, and take yourself again; 
 Devise some means hut how I may forsake you; 
 So much is mine that doth with you remain. 
 That taking what is mine, with me I take you 
 You do bewitch me: that I could fly 
 From my self you, or from your own self I ! 
 
 Drayton. 
 228 
 
 Ring out your hells, let mourning shows be spread ; 
 For Love is dead. 
 All love is dead, infected 
 With plague of deep disdain; 
 Worth, as not worth, rejected. 
 And Faith, fair scorn doth gain. 
 
 From so ungrateful fancy, 
 
 From such a female frenzy. 
 
 From them that use men thus, 
 
 Good Lord, deliver us! 
 
 Weep, neighbours, weep, do you not hear it said 
 That Love is dead? 
 His deathbed, peacock's folly; 
 His winding-sheet is shame; 
 His will, false-seeming holy; 
 His sole executor, blame. 
 From so ungrateful fancy. 
 From such a female frenzy. 
 From them that use men thus, 
 Good Lord, deliver us! 
 224 
 
Let dirge be sung, and trentals rightly read, 
 , For Love is dead. 
 Sir Wrong tis tomb ordainetb, 
 My mistress' marble beart; 
 Wbicb epitapb containetb, 
 " Her eyes were once bis dart . 
 From so ungrateful fancy, 
 From sucb a female frenzy, 
 From tbem tbat use men tbus, 
 Good Lord, deliver us! 
 
 Alas! I lie; rage batb tbis error bred, 
 Love is not dead. 
 
 Love is not dead, but sleepetb 
 
 In ber unmatched mind, 
 
 Wbere sbe bis counsel keepetb, 
 
 Till due desert sbe find. 
 
 Tberefore from so vile fancy, 
 To call sucb wit a frenzy, 
 Wbo love can temper tbus. 
 Good Lord, deliver us! 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 229 
 
 Harden now tby tired beart, witb more tban flinty 
 
 rage! 
 Ne'er let ber false tears bencefortb tby constant grief 
 
 assuage ! 
 Once true bappy days tbou saw'st wben sbe stood 
 
 firm and kind, 
 Botb as one tben lived and beld one ear, one tongue, 
 
 one mind: 
 But now tbose brigbt bours be fled, and never may 
 
 return ; 
 Wbat tben remains but ber untrutbs to mourn? 
 
 ( B 469 ) 225 P 
 
Silly traitoress, wlio shall now tliy careless tresses 
 
 place ? 
 Who thy pretty talk supply, whose ear thy music 
 
 grace? 
 Who shall thy bright eyes admire? what lips triumph 
 
 with thine? 
 Day by day who'll visit thee and say: "Thou art 
 
 only mine ? 
 Such a time there was, God wot, hut such shall never 
 
 be: 
 Too oft, I fear, thou wilt remember me. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 230 
 Tke Apparition 
 
 When by thy scorn, murderess, I am dead. 
 
 And that thou think'st thee free 
 
 From all solicitation from me. 
 
 Then shall my ghost come to thy bed. 
 
 And thee, feigned vestal, in worse arms shall see: 
 
 Then thy sick taper will begin to wink. 
 
 And he, whose thou art then, being tired before, 
 
 Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think 
 
 Thou call st for more. 
 And, in false sleep, will from thee shrink: 
 And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou 
 Bathed in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie 
 
 A verier ghost than I. 
 What I will say, I will not tell thee now, 
 Lest that preserve thee; and since my love is spent, 
 I 'd rather thou shouldst painfully repent. 
 Than by my threatenings rest still innocent. 
 
 Donne. 
 226 
 
231 
 
 An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still. 
 Wherewith, alas, I have heen long possesst; 
 Which ceaseth not to tempt me to each ill. 
 Nor give me once but one poor minute s rest. 
 In me it speaks, whether I sleep or wake. 
 And when hy means to drive it out I try. 
 With greater torments then it me doth take. 
 And tortures me in most extremity. 
 Before my face it lays down my despairs. 
 And hastes me on unto a sudden death; 
 Now tempting me to drown myself in tears. 
 And then in sighing to give up my hreath. 
 Thus am I still provoked to every evil. 
 By this good wicked spirit, sweet angel devil. 
 
 Drayton. 
 232 
 
 The expense of spirit m a waste of shame 
 Is lust in action; and till action, lust 
 Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame. 
 Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust. 
 Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight. 
 Past reason hunted, and no sooner had 
 Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait 
 On purpose laid to make the taker mad; 
 Mad in pursuit and in possession so; 
 Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; 
 A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; 
 Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream. 
 
 All this the world well knows; yet none knows 
 well 
 
 To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 227 
 
233 
 
 Thou blina man's mark, thou fool's self-chosen snare, 
 Fond fancy's scum, and dregs of scattered thought; 
 Band of all evils, cradle of causeless care, 
 Thou web of will, whose end is never wrought; 
 Desire, Desire, I have too dearly bought, 
 With prize of mangled mind, thy worthless ware; 
 Too long, too long asleep thou hast me brought, 
 Who should my mind to higher things prepare. 
 But yet in vain thou hast my ruin sought; 
 In vain thou mad'st me to vain things aspire; 
 In vain thou kindlest all thy smoky fire; 
 For virtue hath this better lesson taught: 
 Within myself to seek my only hire. 
 Desiring nought, but how to kill Desire. 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 234 
 
 Leave me, Love, which reachest but to dust; 
 And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things; 
 Grow rich in that which never taketh rust; 
 Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings. 
 Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might 
 To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be; 
 Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light. 
 That doth both shine and give us sight to see. 
 take fast hold; let that light be thy guide 
 In this small course which birth brings out to death; 
 And think how evil becometh him to slide. 
 Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath. 
 Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see: 
 Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me. 
 
 Sidney. 
 228 
 
235 
 
 Doubt you to wtom my Muse tliese notes intendeth, 
 Whicli now my breast o'ercharged to music lendetb? 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due: 
 Only in you my song begins and endetb. 
 
 Wbo batb tbe eyes wbicb marry state witb pleasure ? 
 Wbo keeps tbe key of Nature's cbiefest treasure? 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due: 
 Only for you tbe beaven forgat all measure. 
 
 Wbo batb tbe lips, wbere wit in fairness reignetb? 
 Wbo womankind at once botb decks and stametb? 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due: 
 Only by you Cupid bis crown maintainetb. 
 
 Wbo batb tbe feet, wbose step of sweetness plantetb ? 
 Wbo else, for wbom Fame wortby trumpets wantetb? 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due: 
 Only to you ber sceptre Venus grantetb. 
 
 Wbo batb tbe breast, wbose milk dotb passions 
 
 nourisb ? 
 Wbose grace is sucb, tbat wben it cbides dotb 
 
 cberisb ? 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due: 
 Only tbrougb you tbe tree of life dotb flourisb. 
 
 Wbo batb tbe band, wbicb witbout stroke subduetb? 
 Wbo long dead beauty witb increase renewetb? 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due: 
 Only at you all envy bopeless ruetb. 
 
 229 
 
Wlio hatli tte liair, wtich, loosest, fastest tietk? 
 Who makes a man live then glad when he aieth ? 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due: 
 Only of you the flatterer never lieth. 
 
 Who hath the voice, which soul from senses sunders? 
 Whose force but yours the holts of beauty thunders? 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due: 
 Only with you not miracles are wonders. 
 
 Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth, 
 Which now my breast o'ercharged to music lendeth? 
 To you, to you, all song of praise is due: 
 Only in you my song begins and endeth. 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 236 
 
 Only Joy, now here you are. 
 Fit to hear and ease my care. 
 Let my whispering voice obtain 
 Sweet reward for sharpest pain; 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me. 
 " No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. 
 
 Night hath closed all in her cloak. 
 Twinkling stars love-thoughts provoke, 
 Danger hence, good care doth keep, 
 Jealousy itself doth sleep; 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me. 
 " No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. 
 
 Better place no wit can find, 
 Cupid's yoke to loose or bind; 
 230 
 
These sweet flowers on fine bed too, 
 Us in their hest language woo; 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me. 
 " No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. 
 
 This small light the moon bestows 
 Serves thy beams but to disclose, 
 So to raise my hap more high; 
 Fear not else, none can us spy; 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me. 
 " No, no, no, no, my dear, let be." 
 
 That you heard was but a mouse, 
 
 Dumb Sleep holdeth all the house; 
 
 Yet asleep methinks they say, 
 
 " Young fools, take time while you may ; 
 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me. 
 
 " No, no, no, no, my dear, let be." 
 
 Niggard time threats, if we miss 
 
 This large offer of our bliss, 
 
 Long stay ere he grant the same: 
 
 Sweet, then, while each thing doth frame. 
 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me. 
 
 " No, no, no, no, my dear, let be." 
 
 Your fair mother is abed. 
 Candles out, and curtains spread; 
 She thinks you do letters write; 
 Write, but let me first endite: 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me. 
 " No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.' 
 
 Sweet, alas, why strive you thus? 
 Concord better fitteth us; 
 231 
 
Leave to Mars the force of liancls, 
 Your power in your beauty stands; 
 Take me to thee, and thee to me. 
 " No, no, no, no, my dear, let be.' 
 
 Woe to me, and do you swear 
 Me to hate? but I forbear; 
 Cursed be my destinies all. 
 That brought me so high to fall; 
 Soon with my death I will please thee. 
 " No, no, no, no, my dear, let be. " 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 237 
 
 In a grove most rich of shade, 
 
 Where birds wanton music made. 
 
 May, then young, his pied weeds showing. 
 
 New perfumed with flowers fresh growing; 
 
 Astrophel with Stella sweet 
 Did for mutual comfort meet, 
 Both within themselves oppressed. 
 But e^h in the other blessed. 
 
 Him great harms had taught much care. 
 Her fair neck a foul yoke bare; 
 But her sight his cares did banish 
 In his sight her yoke did vanish. 
 
 Wept they had, alas, the while, 
 But now tears themselves did smile, 
 While their eyes, by love directed, 
 Interchangeably reflected. 
 232 
 
Sigli tliey did, but now betwixt 
 Sigbs of woe were glad sigbs mixt; 
 Witb arms crossed, yet testifying 
 Restless rest, and living dying. 
 
 Tbeir ears hungry of eacb word 
 Wbicb tbe dear tongue would afford; 
 But tbeir tongues restrained from walking, 
 Till tbeir bearts bad ended talking. 
 
 But wben tbeir tongues could not speak, 
 Love itself did silence break: 
 Love did set bis lips asunder, 
 Tbus to speak in love and wonder. 
 
 " Stella, sovereign of my joy, 
 Fair triumpber of annoy; 
 Stella, star of beavenly fire, 
 Stella, loadstar of desire; 
 
 " Stella, in wbose sbining eyes 
 
 Are tbe ligbts of Cupid's skies, 
 
 Wbose beams, wbere tbey once are darted, 
 
 Love tberewitb is straight imparted; 
 
 " Stella, wbose voice, wben it speaks. 
 Senses all asunder breaks; 
 Stella, wbose voice, wben it singetb. 
 Angels to acquaintance bringetb; 
 
 " Stella, in wbose body is 
 Writ eacb character of bliss; 
 Wbose face all, all beauty passetb. 
 Save tby mind, wbicb yet surpassetb; 
 233 
 
" Grant, grant; but speech, alas, 
 Fails me, fearing on to pass: 
 Grant — me, what am I saying? 
 But no fault there is in praying. 
 
 " Grant, dear! on knees I pray 
 (Knees on ground he then did stay), 
 " That, not I, hut since I love you. 
 Time and place for, me may move you. 
 
 " Never season was more fit. 
 Never room more apt for it; 
 Smiling air allows my reason; 
 These birds sing: now use the season. 
 
 " This small wind, which so sweet is. 
 See how it the leaves doth kiss; 
 Each tree in his best attiring, 
 Sense of love to love inspiring. 
 
 " Love makes earth the water drink, 
 Love to earth makes water sink; 
 And, if dumb things be so witty. 
 Shall a heavenly grace want pity?" 
 
 There his hands, in their speech, fain 
 Would have made tongue's language plain; 
 But her hands, his hands repelling. 
 Gave repulse, all grace excelling. 
 
 Then she spake; her speech was such. 
 As not ears, but heart did touch; 
 While such wise she love denied, 
 As yet love she signified. 
 ■234 
 
" Astrophel," said she, " my love, 
 
 Cease, in these effects, to prove; 
 
 Now be still, yet still believe me. 
 
 Thy grief more than death would grieve me. 
 
 "If that any thought in me 
 Can taste comfort but of thee. 
 Let me, fed with hellish anguish. 
 Joyless, hopeless, endless languish. 
 
 " If those eyes you praised, he 
 Half so dear as you to me, 
 Let me home return, stark blinded 
 Of those eyes, and blinder minded. 
 
 " If to secret of my heart, 
 
 I do any wish impart. 
 
 Where thou art not foremost placed, 
 
 Be both wish and I defaced. 
 
 " If more may be said, I say 
 All my bliss in thee I lay; 
 If thou love, my love content thee. 
 For all love, all faith is meant thee. 
 
 " Trust me, while I thee deny, 
 In myself the smart I try; 
 Tyrant Honour doth thus use thee, 
 Stella's self might not refuse thee. 
 
 " Therefore, dear, this no more move, 
 Lest, though I leave not thy love, 
 Which too deep in me is framed, 
 I should blush when thou art named." 
 23s 
 
Therewithal away she went, 
 Leaving him to passion, rent 
 With what she had done and spoken. 
 That therewith my song is broken. 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 238 
 
 dear life, when shall it he 
 That mine eyes thine eyes may see, 
 And in them thy mmd discover. 
 Whether absence have had force 
 Thy remembrance to divorce 
 From the image of the lover? 
 
 Or if I myself find not. 
 
 After parting, ought forgot, 
 
 Nor debarred from Beauty s treasure, 
 
 Let no tongue aspire to tell 
 
 In what high joys I shall dwell; 
 
 Only Thought aims at the pleasure. 
 
 Thought, therefore, I will send thee 
 To take up the place for me; 
 Long I will not after tarry; 
 There, unseen, thou mayest be bold. 
 Those fair wonders to behold. 
 Which in them my hopes do carry. 
 
 Thought see thou no place forbear. 
 Enter bravely everywhere. 
 Seize on all to her belonging; 
 But if thou wouldst guarded be. 
 Fearing her beams, take with thee 
 Strength of liking, rage of longing. 
 236 
 
Think or that most grateful time 
 When my leaping heart will climb 
 In thy lips to have his hiding, 
 There those roses for to kiss, 
 Which do breathe a sugared bliss, 
 Opening rubies, pearls dividmg. 
 
 Think of my most princely power, 
 When I blessed shall devour 
 With my greedy lickorous senses 
 Beauty, music, sweetness, love, 
 While she doth against me prove 
 Her strong darts but weak defences. 
 
 Think, think of those dallyings. 
 When with dovelike murmurings, 
 With glad moaning, passed anguish. 
 We change eyes, and heart for heart 
 Each to other do depart. 
 Joying till joy makes us languish. 
 
 my Thought, my thoughts surcease, 
 
 Thy delights my woes increase, 
 
 My life melts with too much thinking; 
 
 Think no more, but die in me, 
 
 Till thou shalt revived be. 
 
 At her lips my nectar drinking. 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 239 
 
 Who is it that this dark night, 
 Underneath my window plaineth? 
 It is one who from thy sight, 
 Being, ah! exiled, disdaineth 
 Every other vulgar light. 
 237 
 
Wty, alas! and are you ne? 
 Be not yet tkose fancies ctanged? 
 Dear, when you find ctange in me. 
 Though from me you be estranged, 
 Let my change to ruin be. 
 
 Well, in absence this will die; 
 Leave to see, and leave to wonder. 
 Absence sure will help, if I 
 Can learn how myself to sunder 
 From what in my heart doth lie. 
 
 But time will these thoughts remove: 
 Time doth work what no man knoweth. 
 Time doth as the subject prove. 
 With time still the affection groweth 
 In the faithful turtle dove. 
 
 What if you new beauties see! 
 Will not they stir new affection? 
 I will think they pictures be 
 (Image-like, of saints perfection) 
 Poorly counterfeiting thee. 
 
 But your reason's purest light 
 Bids you leave such minds to nourish ! 
 Dear, do reason no such spite; 
 Never doth thy beauty flourish 
 More than in my reason's sight. 
 
 But the wrongs love bears will make 
 Love at length leave undertaking. 
 No, the more fools it do shake, 
 In a ground of so firm making 
 Deeper still they drive the stake. 
 238 
 
Peace, I think that some give ear; 
 Come no more, lest I get anger. 
 Bhss, I will my hliss forhear; 
 Fearing, sweet, you to endanger; 
 But my soul shall harbour there. 
 
 Well, be gone; be gone, I say. 
 
 Lest that Argus eyes perceive you. 
 
 unjust Fortune's sway, 
 
 Which can make me thus to leave you. 
 
 And from louts to run away. 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 240 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds 
 
 Admit impediments. Love is not love 
 
 Which alters when it alteration finds. 
 
 Or bends w^ith the remover to remove: 
 
 0, no ! it is an ever-fixed mark 
 
 That looks on tempests and is never shaken; ■ 
 
 It IS the star to every wandering bark. 
 
 Whose worth's unknown, although his height be 
 
 taken. 
 Love s not Time s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 Within his bending sickle's compass come ; 
 Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
 But bears it out even to the edge of doom. 
 
 If this be error and upon me proved, 
 
 I never writ, nor no man ever loved. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 239 
 
The Bargain 
 
 My true love liath my heart, and I have his. 
 By just exchange one for another given: 
 I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, 
 There never was a better bargain driven: 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 His heart in me keeps him and me in one. 
 
 My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides: 
 
 He loves my heart, for once it was his ow^n, 
 
 I cherish his because in me it bides: 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 Sidney. 
 242 
 
 As you came from the holy land 
 
 Of Walsinghame, 
 Met you not with my true love 
 
 By the way as you came? 
 
 How shall I know your true love. 
 
 That have met many one. 
 As I went to the holy land, 
 
 That have come, that have gone? 
 
 She is neither white nor brown. 
 
 But as the heavens fair; 
 There is none hath a form so divine 
 
 In the earth or the air. 
 
 240 
 
Sucb a one did I meet, good sir, 
 
 Suet an angelic face, 
 Wlio like a queen, like a nympli, did appear, 
 
 By ker gait, by ter grace. 
 
 Slie hatli left me here cJl alone. 
 
 All alone, as unknown. 
 Who sometimes did me lead with herself, 
 
 And me loved as her own. 
 
 What's the cause that she leaves you alone, 
 
 And a new way doth take. 
 Who loved you once as her owrn. 
 
 And her joy did you make? 
 
 I have loved her all my youth. 
 
 But now old, as you see: 
 Love likes not the falling fruit 
 
 From the withered tree. 
 
 Know that Love is a careless child. 
 
 And forgets promise past; 
 He is blind, he is deaf when he list. 
 
 And in faith never fast. 
 
 His desire is a dureless content 
 
 And a trustless joy; 
 He is won with a world of despair. 
 
 And is lost with a toy. 
 
 Of womenkind such indeed is the love, 
 
 Or the word love abused. 
 Under which many childish desires 
 
 And conceits are excused. 
 ( B 459 ) 241 g 
 
But true love is a durable fire, 
 
 In the mind ever burning. 
 Never sick, never old, never dead, 
 
 From itself never turning. 
 
 Raleigh. 
 
 2A?> 
 Tke Undertaking 
 
 I have done one braver thing 
 
 Than all the Worthies did; 
 And yet a braver thence doth spring, 
 
 Which is, to keep that hid. 
 
 It were but madness now to impart 
 
 The skill of specular stone. 
 When he, which can have learned the art 
 
 To cut it, can find none. 
 
 So, if I now should utter this. 
 
 Others — ^because no more 
 Such stuff to work upon, there is — 
 
 Would love but as before. 
 
 But he who loveliness within 
 Hath found, all outward loathes, 
 
 For he who colour loves, and skin. 
 Loves but their oldest clothes. 
 
 If, as I have, you also do 
 Virtue in woman see, 
 242 
 
And dare love that, and say so too, 
 And forget the He and She; 
 
 And if this love, though placed so, 
 From profane men you hide. 
 
 Which will no faith on this bestow, 
 Or, if they do, deride; 
 
 Then you have done a braver thing 
 Than all the Worthies did; 
 
 And a braver thence will spring. 
 Which is, to keep that hid. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 244 
 
 To Anthea, wko may Command 
 him Anytking 
 
 Bid me to live, and I will live 
 
 Thy Protestant to be. 
 Or bid me love, and I will give 
 
 A loving heart to thee. 
 
 A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 
 
 A heart as sound and free 
 As in the whole world thou canst find. 
 
 That heart I 11 give to thee. 
 
 Bid that heart stay, and it will stay 
 
 To honour thy decree: 
 Or bid it languish quite away, 
 
 And t shall do so for thee. 
 
 243 
 
Bid me to weep, and I will weep 
 
 While I have eyes to see: 
 And, having none, yet I will keep 
 
 A heart to weep for thee. 
 
 Bid me despair, and I'll despair 
 
 Under that cypress-tree: 
 Or hid me die, and I will dare 
 
 E'en death to die for thee. 
 
 Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 
 
 The very eyes of me: 
 And hast command of every part 
 
 To live and die for thee. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 245 
 
 Being your slave, what should I do but tend 
 Upon the hours and times of your desire? 
 I have no precious time at all to spend. 
 Nor services to do, till you require. 
 Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour 
 Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you. 
 Nor think the bitterness of absence sour 
 When you have bid your servant once adieu; 
 Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
 Where you may be, or your affairs suppose. 
 But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought 
 Save, where you are how happy you make those. 
 So true a fool is love that in your will. 
 Though you do anything, he thinks no ill. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 244 
 
246 
 
 Absence, tear thou my protestation 
 
 Against tty strengtli, 
 
 Distance, and length; 
 Do what thou canst for alteration. 
 
 For hearts of truest mettle 
 
 Absence doth join and time doth settle. 
 
 Who loves a mistress of such quality, 
 
 His mind hath found 
 
 Affection's ground 
 Beyond time, place, and all mortality; 
 
 To hearts that cannot vary 
 
 Absence is present. Time doth tarry. 
 
 My senses want their outward motion, 
 
 Which now within 
 
 Reason doth win, 
 Redoubled by her secret notion; 
 
 Like rich men that take pleasure 
 
 In hiding more than handling treasure. 
 
 By absence this good means I gain. 
 
 That I can catch her, 
 
 Where none can watch her. 
 In some close corner of my brain; 
 
 There I embrace and kiss her, 
 
 And so I both enjoy and miss her. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 24s 
 
247 
 
 Love me or not, love her I must or die; 
 Leave me or not, follow ber, needs must L 
 that her grace would my wished comforts give ! 
 How rich in her, how happy should I live ! 
 
 All my desire, all my delight should he, 
 Her to enjoy, her to unite to me: 
 Envy should cease, her would I love alone: 
 Who loves by looks is seldom true to one. 
 
 Could I enchant, and that it lawful were. 
 Her would I charm softly that none should hear. 
 But love enforced rarely yields firm content; 
 So would I love that neither should repent. 
 
 Campion. 
 248 
 
 Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part. 
 
 Nay, I have done, you get no more of me. 
 
 And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, 
 
 That thus so cleanly I myself can free. 
 
 Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 
 
 And when we meet at any time again, 
 
 Be it not seen in either of our brows 
 
 That we one jot of former love retain. 
 
 Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, 
 
 When, bis pulse failing. Passion speechless lies. 
 
 When Faith is kneeling by bis bed of death. 
 
 And Innocence is closing up bis eyes. 
 
 Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over. 
 From death to life thou might' st him yet recover. 
 
 Drayton. 
 246 
 
249 
 
 Fain would I cliange that note 
 
 To wtict fond love hath charmed me 
 Long, long to sing by rote, 
 
 Fancying that that harmed me: 
 Yet when this thought doth come, 
 
 Love is the perfect sum 
 
 Of all delight", 
 I have no other choice 
 Either for pen or voice 
 
 To sing or write. 
 
 Love, they wrong thee much 
 That say thy sweet is bitter, 
 
 When thy ripe fruit is such 
 
 As nothing can he sweeter 
 Fair house of ]oy and bliss, 
 Where truest pleasure is, 
 
 I do adore thee; 
 
 1 know thee what thou art, 
 I serve thee with my heart, 
 
 And fall before thee. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 250 
 
 Shall I look to ease my grief? 
 No, my sight is lost with eying: 
 
 Shall I speak and beg relief? 
 
 No, my voice is hoarse with crying: 
 What remains but only dying? 
 247 
 
Love and I of late did part, 
 
 But the boy, my peace envying. 
 
 Like a Partliian threw his dart 
 
 Backward, and did wound me flying: 
 What remains but only dying? 
 
 She whom then I looked on. 
 My remembrance beautifying, 
 
 Stays with me though I am gone, 
 Gone, and at her mercy lying: 
 What remains but only dying? 
 
 Shall I try her thoughts and write? 
 No, I have no means of trying: 
 
 If I should, yet at first sight 
 
 She would answer with denying: 
 What remains but only dying? 
 
 Thus my vital breath doth waste. 
 And, my blood with sorrow drying. 
 
 Sighs and tears make life to last 
 For a while, their place supplying: 
 What remains but only dying? 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 251 
 
 There is none, none but you. 
 That from me estrange your sight, 
 
 Whom mine eyes affect to view 
 Or chained ears hear with delight. 
 248 
 
Otlier beauties others move, 
 
 In you I all graces lini; 
 Sucli is the effect of love. 
 
 To make them happy that are kind. 
 
 Women in frail beauty trust. 
 
 Only seem you fair to me: 
 Yet prove truly kind and just. 
 
 For that may not dissembled be. 
 
 Sweet, afford me then your sight, 
 That, surveying all your looks. 
 
 Endless volumes I may write 
 
 And fill the world with envied books: 
 
 Which when after-ages view. 
 All shall wonder and despair, 
 
 Woman to find man so true. 
 Or man a woman half so fair. 
 
 CampioH. 
 
 252 
 The Canonization 
 
 For God s sake hold your tongue, and let me love; 
 
 Or chide my palsy, or my gout; 
 
 My five grey hairs, or ruined fortune flout; 
 With wealth your state, your mind with arts improve; 
 
 Take you a course, get you a place. 
 
 Observe his Honour, or his Grace; 
 Or the king s real, or his stamped face 
 
 Contemplate; what you will, approve, 
 
 So you will let me love. 
 249 
 
Alas! alas! wlio 's injured by my love? 
 
 What mercliant's ships have my sighs drowned ? 
 
 Who says my tears have overflowed his ground r 
 When did my colds a forward spring remove? 
 
 When did the heats which my veins fill 
 
 Add one more to the plaguy hill? 
 Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still 
 
 Litigious men, which quarrels move, 
 
 Though she and I do love. 
 
 Call s what you will, we are made such hy love ; 
 
 Call her one, me another fly, 
 
 We're tapers too, and at our own cost die. 
 And we in us find the eagle and the dove. 
 
 The phoenix riddle hath more wit 
 
 By us; we two heing one, are it; 
 So, to one neutral thing both sexes fit. 
 
 We die and rise the same, and prove 
 
 Mysterious by this love. 
 
 We can die by it, if not live by love, 
 
 And if unfit for tomb and hearse 
 
 Our legend be, it will be fit for verse; 
 And if no piece of chronicle we prove, 
 
 We'll build in sonnets pretty rooms; 
 
 As well a well-wrought urn becomes 
 The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs. 
 
 And by these hymns all shall approve 
 
 Us canonized for love; 
 
 And thus invoke us, "You, whom reverend love 
 Made one another s hermitage ; 
 You, to whom love was peace, that now is rage ; 
 250 
 
Wlio did tte whole world's soul contract, and drove 
 
 Into tne glasses of your eyes; 
 
 So made sucb mirrors, and sucn spies. 
 That they did all to you epitomize — 
 
 Countries, towns, courts heg from ahove 
 
 A pattern of your love.' 
 
 Donne. 
 
 2S^ 
 Tke Good-Morrow 
 
 I wonder, hy my troth, what thou and I 
 
 Did, till w^e loved? 'were w^e not w^eaned till then? 
 
 But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? 
 
 Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers den? 
 
 'T was so ; but this, all pleasures fancies he ; 
 
 If ever any beauty I did see. 
 
 Which I desired, and got, t was but a dream of thee. 
 
 And now^ good-morrow to our ^iraking souls. 
 
 Which watch not one another out of fear; 
 
 For love all love of other sights controls. 
 
 And makes one little room an everywhere. 
 
 Let sea-discoverers to new^ worlds have gone; 
 
 Let maps to other w^orlds on -worlds have shown; 
 
 Let us possess one w^orld; each hath one, and is one. 
 
 My face in thine eye, thine in mme appears, 
 And true plain hearts do in the faces rest; 
 Where can we find two better hemispheres 
 Without sharp north, without declining west? 
 
 251 
 
Whatever dies, was not mixed equally; 
 If our two loves be one, or tkou and I 
 Love so alike tliat none can slacken, none can die. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 254 
 
 Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! 
 
 Though thou be black as night, 
 
 And she made all of light, 
 Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! 
 
 Follow her whose light thy light depriveth; 
 
 Though here thou livest disgraced, 
 
 And she in heaven is placed. 
 Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth! 
 
 Follow those pure beams whose beauty burneth, 
 
 That so have scorched thee. 
 
 As thou still black must be. 
 Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth. 
 
 Follow her! while yet her glory shineth: 
 
 There comes a luckless night, 
 
 That will dim all her light; 
 And this the black unhappy shade divineth. 
 
 Follow still! since so thy fates ordained; 
 
 The sun must have his shade, 
 
 Till both at once do fade; 
 The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained. 
 
 Campion. 
 252 
 
255 
 
 At ker fair tanJs how tave I grace entreated, 
 
 With prayers oft repeated! 
 
 Yet still my love is thwarted: 
 Heart, let her go, for she '11 not be converted. 
 
 Say, shall she go? 
 
 Oh, no, no, no, no, no! 
 She is most fair, though she he marhle-hearted. 
 
 How often have my sighs declared mine anguish. 
 
 Wherein I daily languish! 
 
 Yet still she doth procure it: 
 Heart, let her go, for I cannot endure it. 
 
 Say, shall she go? 
 
 0, no, no, no, no, no! 
 She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it. 
 
 The trickling tears that down my cheeks have flowed 
 
 My love have often showed; 
 
 Yet still unkind I prove her: 
 Heart, let her go, for nought I do can move her. 
 
 Say, shall she go? 
 
 0, no, no, no, no, no! 
 Though me she hate I cannot choose hut love her. 
 
 But shall I still a true affection owe her. 
 
 Which prayers, sighs, tears do show her. 
 
 And shall she still disdain me? 
 Heart, let her go, if they no grace can gain me. 
 
 Say, shall she go? 
 
 0, no, no, no, no, no! 
 She made me hers, and hers she will retain me. 
 
 253 
 
But if the love tnat hatli and still doth hum me 
 
 No love at length return me. 
 
 Out of my thoughts I 11 set her : 
 Heart, let her go, heart, I pray thee, let her. 
 
 Say, shall she go? 
 
 0, no, no, no, no, no! 
 Fixed in the heart, how can the heart forget her? 
 
 But if I weep and sigh and often wail me 
 
 Till tears, sighs, prayers fail me. 
 
 Shall yet my love persever? 
 Heart, let her go, if she will right thee never. 
 
 Say, shall she go? 
 
 0, no, no, no, no, no! 
 Tears, sighs, prayers fail, hut true love lasteth ever. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 256 
 
 Come, come, my hfe s delight, 
 
 Let me not in languor pine! 
 Love loves no delay; thy sight. 
 
 The more enjoyed, the more divine: 
 come, and take from me 
 The pain of heing deprived of thee! 
 
 Thou all sweetness dost enclose. 
 
 Like a little world of hliss. 
 Beauty guards thy looks: the rose 
 
 In them pure and eternal is. 
 Come, then, and make thy flight 
 As swift to me as heavenly light. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 354 
 
257 
 
 Sweetest love, I do not go, 
 
 For weariness of thee, 
 Nor in tope tte world can snow 
 
 A fitter love for me; 
 But since that I 
 At the last must part, 't is best, 
 Thus to use myself in jest 
 
 By feigned deaths to die. 
 
 Yesternight the sun went hence, 
 
 And yet is here to-day; 
 He hath no desire nor sense. 
 
 Nor half so short a way; 
 Then fear not me. 
 But believe that I shall make 
 Speedier journeys, since I take 
 
 More wmgs and spurs than he. 
 
 how feeble is man s power. 
 
 That if good fortune fall, 
 Cannot add another hour. 
 
 Nor a lost hour recall; 
 But come had chance. 
 And we join to it our strength. 
 And we teach it art and length. 
 
 Itself o'er us to advance. 
 
 When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not wind. 
 
 But sigh'st my soul away; 
 When thou weep'st, unkindly kind, 
 
 My life's blood doth decay. 
 It cannot be 
 That thou lovest me as thou say'st, 
 
If in tliine my life ttou waste, 
 Tkat art tke best of me. 
 
 Let not thy divining heart 
 Borethink me any ill; 
 
 Destiny may take thy part, 
 And may thy fears fulfil. 
 But think that we 
 
 Are hut turned aside to sleep, 
 
 They who one another keep 
 Alive, ne'er parted he. 
 
 258 
 
 Donne. 
 
 My sweetest Leshia, let us live and love; 
 
 And though the sager sort our deeds reprove. 
 
 Let us not weigh them: heaven's great lamps do dive 
 
 Into their west, and straight again revive: 
 
 But soon as once set is our little light. 
 
 Then must we sleep one ever-during night. 
 
 If all would lead their lives in love like me, 
 Then bloody swords and armour should not be; 
 No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move. 
 Unless alarm came from the camp of love: 
 But fools do live, and waste their little light. 
 And seek with pain their ever-during night. 
 
 When timely death my life and fortune ends. 
 
 Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends; 
 
 But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come 
 
 And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb: 
 
 And, Leshia, close up thou my little light. 
 
 And crown with love my ever-during night. 
 
 Campion. 
 
259 
 To Celia 
 
 Drink to me only witt ttine eyes, 
 
 And I will pledge with mine; 
 Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 
 
 And I '11 not look for wine. 
 The thirst that from the soul doth rise, 
 
 Doth ask a drink divine: 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
 
 I would not change for thine. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath. 
 
 Not so much honouring thee, 
 As giving it a hope that there 
 
 It could not withered be. 
 But thou thereon didst only breathe. 
 
 And sent'st it back to me: 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 
 
 Not of itself, but thee. 
 
 Ben Jonson. 
 
 260 
 The Invitation 
 
 Live with me still, and all the measures 
 Played to by the spheres I '11 teach thee ; 
 
 Let's but thus dally, all the pleasures 
 
 The moon beholds, her man shall reach thee. 
 
 (B469) 257 R 
 
Dwell in mine arms, aloft we 11 nover, 
 And see fields of armies fighting: 
 
 0, part not from me ! I '11 discover 
 
 There all the books of fancy s writing. 
 
 Be but my darling, age to free thee 
 From her curse, shall fall a-dying; 
 
 Call me thy empress. Time to see thee 
 Shall forget his art of flying. 
 
 Dekker. 
 
 261 
 To Oenone 
 
 What, conscience, say is it in thee, 
 
 When I a heart had one. 
 To take away that heart from me, 
 
 And to retain thy own? 
 
 For shame or pity now incline 
 
 To play a loving part; 
 Either to send me kindly thine, 
 
 Or give me back my heart. 
 
 Covet not both; but if thou dost 
 Resolve to part with neither, 
 
 Why! yet to show that thou art just 
 Take me and mine together. 
 
 Herrick. 
 258 
 
262 
 The Legacy 
 
 When last I died, (and, dear, I die 
 
 As often as from ttee I go, 
 
 Thougli it be but an bour ago. 
 
 And lovers' bours be full eternity) 
 
 I can remember yet, tbat I 
 
 Sometbing did say, and sometbing did bestow; 
 
 Tbougb I be dead, wbicb sent me, I migbt be 
 
 Mine own executor and legacy. 
 
 I beard me say, " Tell ber anon, 
 
 Tbat myself," tbat is you, not I, 
 
 " Did kill me," and wben I felt me die, 
 
 I bid me send my beart, wben I was gone; 
 
 But I alas! could tbere find none; 
 
 Wben I bad ripped, and searcbed wbere bearts sbould 
 
 be. 
 It killed me again, tbat I wbo still was true 
 In life, in my last will sbould cozen you. 
 
 Yet I found sometbing like a beart. 
 
 But colours it, and corners bad ; 
 
 It was not good, it was not bad. 
 
 It was entire to none, and few bad part; 
 
 As good as could be made by art 
 
 It seemed, and tberefore for our loss be sad. 
 
 I meant to send tbat beart instead of mine, 
 
 But 0! no man could bold it, for twas tbine. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 259 
 
263 
 
 Stall I come, sweet love, to thee, 
 Wten tte evening beams are set? 
 
 Skall I not excluded be? 
 
 Will you find no feigned let? 
 
 Let me not, for pity, more. 
 
 Tell tbe long bours at your door! 
 
 Wbo can tell what thief or foe. 
 
 In the covert of the night, 
 For his prey will work my woe. 
 
 Or through wicked foul despite? 
 So may I die unredrest, 
 Ere my long love be possest. 
 
 But to let such dangers pass. 
 
 Which a lover's thoughts disdain, 
 
 'Tis enough in such a place 
 To attend love's joys in vain. 
 
 Do not mock me in thy bed, 
 
 While these cold nights freeze me dead. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 264 
 The Dream 
 
 Dear love, for nothing less than thee 
 Would I have broke this happy dream; 
 
 It was a theme 
 For reason, much too strong for fantasy. 
 Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yet 
 My dream thou brokest not, but continued'st it. 
 260 
 
Thou art so true ttat thoughts of thee suffice 
 To make dreams truths, and fahles histories; 
 Enter these arms, for since thou thought st it best, 
 Not to dream all my dream, let s act the rest. 
 
 As lightning, or a taper's light. 
 
 Thine eyes, and not thy noise waked me; 
 
 Yet I thought thee 
 (For thou lovest truth) an angel, at first sight; 
 But when I saw thou saw st my heart. 
 And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art. 
 When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew st 
 
 when 
 Excess of joy would wake me, and camest then, 
 I must confess, it could not choose but be 
 Profane, to think thee anything but thee. 
 
 Coming and staying showed thee, thee. 
 But rising makes me doubt, that now 
 
 Thou art not thou. 
 That love is weak where fear s as strong as he; 
 T is not all spirit, pure and brave. 
 If mixture it of fear, shame, honour have; 
 Perchance as torches, which must ready be. 
 Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me; 
 Thou camest to kindle, go'st to come; then I 
 Will dream that hope again, but else would die. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 261 
 
265 
 Pliyllida's Love-call 
 
 Phyllida. Corydon, arise, my Corydon, 
 
 Titan stinetk clear. 
 Corydon. Wto is it that callett Corydon, 
 
 Wko is it ttat I tear? 
 Phyllida. Phyllida, tty true love, callett ttee, 
 
 Arise then, arise then; 
 
 Arise and keep thy flock with me. 
 Corydon. Phyllida, my true love, is it she? 
 
 I come then, I come then, 
 
 I come and keep my flock with thee^ 
 
 Phyllida. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon, 
 
 Eat them for my sake. 
 Corydon. Here s my oaten pipe, my lovely one. 
 
 Sport for thee to make. 
 Phyllida. Here are threads, my true love, fine as silk. 
 
 To knit thee, to knit thee, 
 
 A pair of stockings white as milk. 
 Corydon. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat. 
 
 To make thee, to make thee, 
 
 A honnet to withstand the heat. 
 
 Phyllida. I will gather flowers, my Corydon, 
 
 To set in thy cap. 
 Corydon. I will gather pears, my lovely one. 
 
 To put in thy lap. 
 Phyllida. I will huy my true love garters gay, 
 For Sundays, for Sundays, 
 To wear ahout his legs so tall. 
 262 
 
Corydon. I will buy my true love yellow say, 
 For Sundays, for Sundays, 
 
 To wear about ber middle small. 
 
 Phyltida. Wben my Corydon sits on a bill 
 
 Making melody — 
 Corydon. Wben my lovely one goes to ber wbeel, 
 
 Singing cbeerily — 
 Phyllida. Sure metbinks my true love dotb excel 
 
 For sweetness, for sweetness, 
 
 Our Pan, tbat old Arcadian knigbt. 
 Corydon. And metbinks my true love bears tbe bell 
 
 For clearness, for clearness, 
 
 Beyond tbe nympbs tbat be so brigbt. 
 
 Phyllida. Had my Corydon, my Corydon, 
 
 Been, alack, ber swain — 
 Corydon. Had my lovely one, my lovely one. 
 
 Been in Ida plain — 
 Phyllida. Cyntbia Endymion bad refused. 
 
 Preferring, preferring. 
 
 My Corydon to play witbal. 
 Corydon. Tbe queen of love bad been excused, 
 
 Bequeatbing, bequeatbing. 
 
 My Pbyllida tbe golden ball. 
 
 Phyllida. Yonder comes my motber, Corydon, 
 
 Wbitber sball I fly? 
 Corydon. Under yonder beecb, my lovely one, 
 
 Wbile sbe passetb by. 
 
 Phyllida. Say to ber tby true love was not bere: 
 
 Remember, remember. 
 
 To-morrow is anotber day. 
 263 
 
Corydon. Doubt me not, my true love, do not fear: 
 Farewell then, farewell then. 
 Heaven keep our loves alway. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 266 
 
 See, see, mine own sweet jewel, 
 What I have for my darling: 
 A robin red-breast and a starling. 
 These I give both in hope to move thee; 
 Yet thou say'st I do not love thee. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 267 
 
 Fain I would, but oh I dare not, 
 
 Speak my thoughts at full to praise her: 
 
 " Speak the best," cries Love, " and spare not; 
 Thy speech can no higher raise her: 
 
 Thy speech than thy thoughts are lower. 
 
 Yet thy thoughts doth not half know her." 
 
 Anonymous. 
 268 
 
 How many new years have grown old 
 Since first your servant old was new! 
 
 How many long hours have I told 
 
 Since first my love was vowed to you! 
 
 And yet, alas ! she doth not know 
 
 Whether her servant love or no. 
 264 
 
How many walls as white as snow, 
 And windows clear as any glass, 
 
 Have I conjured to tell you so, 
 Whict faithfully performed was! 
 
 And yet you '11 swear you do not know 
 
 Whether your servant love or no. 
 
 How often hath my pale lean face, 
 With true characters of my love. 
 
 Petitioned to you for grace. 
 
 Whom neither sighs nor tears can move! 
 
 cruel, yet do you not know 
 
 Whether your servant love or no? 
 
 And wanting oft a hetter token, 
 
 I have heen fain to send my heart. 
 
 Which now your cold disdain hath broken. 
 Nor can you heal 't by any art: 
 
 look upon 't, and you shall know 
 
 Whether your servant love or no. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 269 
 
 Night, jealous Night, repugnant to my measures ! 
 
 Night so long desired, yet cross to my content! 
 There's none but only thou that can perform my 
 pleasures, 
 
 Yet none but only thou that hindereth my intent. 
 
 Thy beams, thy spiteful beams, thy lamps that burn 
 too brightly. 
 Discover all my trains, and naked lay my drifts, 
 26s 
 
That night hy night I hope, yet fail my purpose 
 nightly; 
 Thy envious glaring gleam defeateth so my shifts. 
 
 Sweet Night, withhold thy heams, withhold them till 
 to-morrow ! 
 Whose joy's in lack so long a hell of torment 
 breeds. 
 Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night, do not prolong my 
 sorrow ; 
 Desire is guide to me, and Love no lodestar needs. 
 
 Let sailors gaze on Stars and Moon so freshly shin- 
 ing; 
 Let them that miss the way be guided by the light ; 
 I know my Lady's bower, there needs no more divin- 
 ing; 
 Affection sees in dark, and Love hath eyes by 
 night. 
 
 Dame Cynthia, couch awhile! hold in thy horns for 
 shining, 
 And glad not lowering Night with thy too glorious 
 rays; 
 But be she dim and dark, tempestuous and repining. 
 That in her spite my sport may work thy endless 
 praise. 
 
 And when my will is wrought, then, Cynthia, shine, 
 good lady. 
 All other nights and days in honour of that night, 
 That happy, heavenly night, that night so dark and 
 shady. 
 Wherein my Love had eyes that lighted my de- 
 light. Anonymous. 
 266 
 
270 
 
 Let me not Chloris tbink, because 
 
 She hatb envasselled me. 
 That ter beauty can give laws 
 
 To otters that are free. 
 I was made to he the prey 
 
 And booty of her eyes: 
 In my bosom, she may say. 
 
 Her greatest kingdom lies. 
 
 Though others may her brow adore. 
 
 Yet more must I that therein see far more 
 
 Than any other s eyes have power to see ; 
 
 She IS to me 
 
 More than to any others she can be. 
 
 I can discern more secret notes 
 
 That in the margin of her cheeks Love quotes 
 
 Than any else besides have art to read; 
 
 No looks proceed 
 
 From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed. 
 
 then why 
 
 Should she fly 
 
 From him to whom her sight 
 
 Doth add so much above her might? 
 
 Why should not she 
 
 Still joy to reign m me? 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 267 
 
271 
 
 Sweet love, mine only treasure, 
 For service long unfeigned 
 Wherein I nougKt kave gained. 
 
 Vouchsafe tkis little pleasure, 
 To tell me in wliat part 
 My Lady keeps my keart. 
 
 If in ter tair so slender, 
 
 Like golden nets entwined 
 Wkict fire and art have 'fined, 
 
 Her thrall my heart I render 
 For ever to abide 
 With locks so dainty tied. 
 
 If in her eyes she bind it. 
 
 Wherein that fire was framed 
 By which it is enf lamed, 
 
 I dare not look to find it: 
 I only wish it sight 
 To see that pleasant light. 
 
 But if her breast have deigned 
 With kindness to receive it, 
 I am content to leave it 
 
 Though death thereby were gained. 
 Then, Lady, take your own 
 That lives by you alone. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 s68 
 
272 
 
 Why canst thou not, as others do, 
 Look on me with unwounding eyes? 
 
 And yet look sweet, hut yet not so ; 
 Smile, but not in killing wise; 
 
 Arm not thy graces to confound ; 
 
 Only look, but do not wound. 
 
 Why should mine eyes see more in you 
 Than they can see in all the rest? 
 
 For I can others' beauties view 
 And not find my heart opprest. 
 
 be as others are to me. 
 
 Or let me be more to thee. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 273 
 A Conjuration to Electra 
 
 By those soft tods of wool 
 With which the air is full; 
 By all those tinctures there. 
 That paint the hemisphere; 
 By dews and drizzling rain 
 That swell the golden grain; 
 By all those sweets that be 
 r the flowery nunnery; 
 By silent nights, and the 
 Three forms of Hecate; 
 By all aspects that bless 
 The sober sorceress, 
 269 
 
While juice slie strains, and pith 
 To make her philters with; 
 By time that hastens on 
 Things to perfection; 
 And hy yourself, the best 
 Con]urement of the rest: 
 my Electra! be 
 In love with none, but me. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 274 
 Tke Ecstasy 
 
 Where, like a pillow on a bed, 
 
 A pregnant bank swelled up, to rest 
 
 That violet s reclining head, 
 
 Sat we two, one another s best. 
 
 Our hands were firmly cemented 
 
 By a fast balm, which thence did spring; 
 
 Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread 
 Our eyes upon one double string. 
 
 So to engraft our hands, as yet 
 
 Was all the means to make us one; 
 
 And pictures in our eyes to get 
 Was all our propagation. 
 
 As, twixt two equal armies. Fate 
 
 Suspends uncertain victory. 
 Our souls, which to advance their state 
 
 Were gone out, hung twixt her and me. 
 270 
 
And whilst our souls negotiate ttere, 
 
 We like sepulchral statues lay; 
 All day, the same our postures were, 
 
 And we said nothing, all the day. 
 
 If any, so by love refined. 
 
 That he soul's language understood. 
 And by good love were grown all mind, 
 
 Within convenient distance stood, 
 
 He, though he knew not which soul spake. 
 Because hoth meant, hoth spake the same. 
 
 Might thence a new concoction take, 
 And part far purer than he came. 
 
 This ecstasy doth unperplex 
 
 ; (We said) and tell us what we love; 
 We see by this, it was not sex; 
 
 We see, w^e saw not, what did move: 
 
 But as all several souls contain 
 
 Mixture of things they know not what, 
 
 Love these mixed souls doth mix again. 
 And makes hoth one, each this, and that. 
 
 A single violet transplant. 
 
 The strength, the colour, and the size, 
 All which before was poor and scant. 
 
 Redoubles still, and multiplies. 
 
 When love with one another so 
 
 Interanimates two souls. 
 That abler soul, which thence doth flow, 
 
 Defects of loneliness controls. 
 271 
 
We then, who are this new soul, know. 
 Of what we are composed, and made, 
 
 For the atomies of which we grow 
 
 Are souls, whom no change can invade. 
 
 But, alas! so long, so far. 
 
 Our bodies why do we forbear? 
 
 They are ours, though not we; we are 
 The intelligences, they the spheres. 
 
 We owe them thanks, because they thus 
 Did us, to us, at first convey. 
 
 Yielded their senses' force to us. 
 Nor are dross to us, but allay. 
 
 On man heaven's influence works not so, 
 But that it first imprints the air; 
 
 For soul into the soul may flow. 
 Though it to body first repair. 
 
 As our blood labours to beget 
 Spirits, as like souls as it can; 
 
 Because such fingers need to knit 
 
 That subtle knot, which makes us man; 
 
 So must pure lovers souls descend 
 To affections, and to faculties. 
 
 Which sense may reach and apprehend, 
 Else a great prince in prison lies. 
 
 To our bodies turn we then, that so 
 
 Weak men on love revealed may look; 
 
 Love's mysteries in souls do grow. 
 But yet the body is his book. 
 272 
 
And if some lover, sucn as we, 
 Have heard this dialogue of one. 
 
 Let him still mark us, he shall see 
 
 Small change when we re to bodies grown. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 275 
 Tke Plioenix and the Turtle 
 
 Let the bird of loudest lay, 
 
 On the sole Arabian tree, 
 
 Herald sad and trumpet be. 
 
 To whose sound chaste wings obey. 
 
 But thou shrieking harbinger. 
 Foul precurrer of the fiend. 
 Augur of the fever's end, 
 To this troop come thou not near! 
 
 From this session interdict 
 Every fowl of tyrant wing, 
 Save the eagle, feathered king: 
 Keep the obsequy so strict. 
 
 Let the priest in surplice white, 
 That defunctive music can. 
 Be the death-divining swan. 
 Lest the requiem lack his right. 
 
 And thou treble-dated crow. 
 That thy sable gender makest 
 With the breath thou givest and takest, 
 Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. 
 
 (B4S9) 273 S 
 
Here tte antliem doth commence; 
 Love and constancy is dead; 
 Phoenix and the turtle fled 
 In a mutual flame from hence. 
 
 So they loved, as love in twain 
 Had the essence but in one; 
 Two distincts, division one: 
 Number there in love was slain. 
 
 Hearts remote, yet not asunder; 
 Distance, and no space was seen 
 Twixt the turtle and his queen: 
 But in them it were a wonder. 
 
 So between them love did shine, 
 That the turtle saw his right 
 Flaming in the phoenix' sight; 
 Either was the other's mine. 
 
 Property was thus appalled. 
 That the self was not the same; 
 Single nature s double name 
 Neither two nor one was called. 
 
 Reason, in itself confounded, 
 Saw division grow together. 
 To themselves yet either neither. 
 Simple were so well compounded, 
 
 That it cried. How true a twain 
 Seemeth this concordant one! 
 Love hath reason, reason none. 
 If what parts can so remain. 
 
 274 
 
Wtereupon it made ttis ttrene 
 To the phoenix and the dove, 
 Co-supremes and stars of love. 
 As chorus to their tragic scene. 
 
 Tk 
 
 renos 
 
 Beauty, truth, and rarity, 
 Grace in all simplicity. 
 Here enclosed in cinders lie. 
 
 Death is now the phoenix' nest: 
 And the turtle s loyal breast 
 To eternity doth rest. 
 
 Leaving no posterity: 
 
 'T was not their infirmity. 
 
 It was married chastity. 
 
 Truth may seem, but cannot be: 
 Beauty brag, but 't is not she ; 
 Truth and beauty buried be. 
 
 To this urn let those repair 
 That are either true or fair; 
 For these dead birds sigh a prayer. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 275 
 
276 
 The Relic 
 
 When my grave is broke up again 
 
 Some second guest to entertain, 
 
 (For graves kave learned ttat woman-tead, 
 
 To be to more ttan one a bed) 
 And be tbat digs it, spies 
 A bracelet of brigbt bair about tbe bone. 
 
 Will not be let us alone, 
 And tbink tbat tbere a loving couple lies, 
 Wbo tbougbt tbat tbis device migbt be some way 
 To make tbeir souls at tbe last busy day 
 Meet at tbis grave, and make a little stay? 
 
 n tbis fall in a time, or land, 
 Wbere mass-devotion dotb command, 
 Tben be tbat digs us up will bring 
 Us to tbe bisbop or tbe king. 
 To make us relics; tben 
 Tbou sbalt he a Mary Magdalen, and I 
 
 A something else thereby; 
 All women shall adore us, and some men. 
 And, since at such times miracles are sought, 
 I would have that age by this paper taught 
 What miracles we harmless lovers wrought. 
 
 First we loved well and faithfully. 
 Yet knew not what we loved, nor why; 
 Difference of sex we never knew. 
 No more than guardian angels do; 
 Coming and going we 
 Perchance migbt kiss, but not between those meals ; 
 Our hands ne er touched tbe seals, 
 276 
 
Wtict nature, injured by late law, sets free. 
 These miracles we did; but now alas! 
 All measure, and all language, I sbould pass, 
 Should I tell wbat a miracle sbe was. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 277 
 The Anniversary 
 
 All kings, and all tbeir favourites. 
 
 All glory of honours, beauties, wits. 
 The sun itself, which makes time, as they pass. 
 Is elder by a year now than it was 
 When thou and I first one another saw. 
 All other things to their destruction draw, 
 
 Only our love hath no decay; 
 This no to-morrow hath, nor yesterday; 
 Running it never runs from us aw^ay. 
 But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day. 
 
 Two graves must hide thine and my corse; 
 
 If one might, death w^ere no divorce. 
 Alas! as well as other princes, we 
 (Who prince enough m one emother be) 
 Must leave at last in death these eyes and ears. 
 Oft fed with true oaths, and with sweet salt tears; 
 
 But souls where nothing dwells but love 
 (All other thoughts being inmates) then shall prove 
 This or a love increased there above. 
 When bodies to their graves, souls from their graves 
 remove. 
 
 277 
 
And tben we shall be ttrougtly blest; 
 
 But now no more tban all tbe rest. 
 Here upon eartb we re kings, and none but we 
 Can be suck kings, nor of such subjects be. 
 Who is so safe as we? where none can do 
 Treason to us, except one of us two. 
 
 True and false fears let us refrain, 
 Let us love nobly, and live, and add again 
 Years and years unto years, till we attain 
 To write threescore; this is the second of our reign. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 278 
 
 The glorious image of the Maker's beauty. 
 My sovereign saint, the idol of my thought, 
 Dare not henceforth, above the bounds of duty, 
 To accuse of pride, or rashly blame for aught. 
 For being, as she is, divinely wrought. 
 And of the brood of Angels heavenly bom; 
 And with the crew of blessed Saints uphrought, 
 Each of which did her with their gifts adorn; 
 The bud of joy, the blossom of the mom. 
 The beam of light, whom mortal eyes admire; 
 What reason is it then but she should scorn 
 Base things, that to her love too bold aspire? 
 
 Such heavenly forms ought rather worshipped be. 
 Than dare be loved by men of mean degree. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 278 
 
279 
 
 Since first I saw your face I resolved to tonour and 
 
 renown ye; 
 If now I be disdained I wish my keart had never 
 
 known ye. 
 What? I that loved and you that liked shall we 
 
 begin to wrangle? 
 No, no, no, my heart is fast, and cannot disentangle. 
 
 If I admire or praise you too much, that fault you 
 may forgive me. 
 
 Or if my hands had strayed but a touch, then justly 
 might you leave me. 
 
 I asked you leave, you bade me love; is t now a 
 time to chide me? 
 
 No, no, no, I '11 love you still what fortune e'er be- 
 tide me. 
 
 The sun whose beams most glorious are rejecteth no 
 
 beholder. 
 And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor 
 
 eyes the bolder: 
 Where beauty moves, and wit delights, and signs of 
 
 kindness bind me. 
 There, there ! where'er I go I 11 leave my heart 
 
 behind me. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 280 
 
 When like an eaglet I first found my love, 
 For that the virtue I thereof would know, 
 Upon the nest I set it forth, to prove 
 If it were of that kingly kind or no: 
 279 
 
But it no sooner saw my sun appear, 
 But on ner rays witli open eyes it stood, 
 To show tbat I had hatched it for the air. 
 And rightly came from that brave-mounting brood. 
 And, when the plumes were summed with sweet de- 
 sire 
 To prove the pinions, it ascends the skies; 
 Do what I could, it need'sly would aspire 
 To my soul's sun, those two celestial eyes. 
 
 Thus from my breast, where it was bred alone, 
 
 It after thee is like an eaglet flown. 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 281 
 
 Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to 
 
 show, 
 That She, dear She, might take some pleasure of my 
 
 pain; 
 Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make 
 
 her know, 
 Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain; 
 I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe. 
 Studying mventions fine, her wits to entertain; 
 Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would 
 
 flow 
 Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburned 
 
 brain. 
 But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's 
 
 stay; 
 Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's 
 
 blows ; 
 
 280 
 
And others feet still seemed but strangers in my 
 
 way. 
 Tnus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my 
 throes, 
 Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite, 
 " Fool, said my Muse to me, " look in thy 
 heart, and write!" 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 282 
 
 In truth, Love, with what a boyish kind 
 Thou dost proceed m thy most serious ways, 
 That when the heaven to thee his best displays 
 Yet of that best thou leav'st the best behind. 
 For, like a child that some fair book doth find, 
 With gilded leaves or coloured vellum plays. 
 Or, at the most, on some fair picture stays. 
 But never heeds the fruit of writer's mind; 
 So when thou saw'st in Nature's cabinet 
 Stella, thou straight look'st babies m her eyes, 
 In her cheek's pit thou didst thy pitfold set. 
 And in her breast bo-peep or couching lies. 
 
 Playing and shining in each outward part; 
 
 But, fool, seek st not to get into her heart. 
 
 Sidney. 
 283 
 
 Alas, have I not pain enough, my friend. 
 Upon whose breast a fiercer gripe doth tire 
 Than did on him who first stole down the fire. 
 While Love on me doth all his quiver spend; 
 
 281 
 
But with your rhutarl) words ye must contend 
 To grieve me worse in saying, that Desire 
 Doth plunge my well-formed soul even in the mire 
 Of sinful thoughts, which do in ruin end? 
 If that be sin which doth the manners frame, 
 Well stayed with truth in word and faith of deed, 
 Ready of wit, and fearing nought but shame; 
 If that be sin which in fixt hearts doth breed 
 A loathing of all loose unchastity, 
 Then love is sin, and let me sinful be! 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 284 
 
 The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness 
 Bewray itself in my long settled eyes. 
 Whence those same fumes of melancholy rise. 
 With idle pains and missing aim, do guess. 
 Some that know how my spring I did address. 
 Deem that my Muse some fruit of knowledge plies; 
 Others, because the Prince my service tries, 
 Think that I think state errors to redress. 
 But harder judges judge ambition s rage. 
 Scourge of itself, still climbing slippery place. 
 Holds my young brain captived in golden cage. 
 fools, or overwise: alas, the race 
 
 Of all my thoughts hath neither stop nor start. 
 But only Stella's eyes and Stella's heart. 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 282 
 
285 
 
 Though dusty wits do scorn astrology, 
 And fools can think those lamps of purest light, 
 Whose number, ways, greatness, eternity, 
 Promising wonders, wonder do invite. 
 To have for no cause birthright in the sky 
 But for to spangle the black weeds of night; 
 Or for some brawl which in that chamber high 
 They should still dance to please a gazer's sight: 
 For me, I do Nature unidle know. 
 And know great causes great effects procure; 
 And know those bodies high reign on the low. 
 And if these rules did fail, proof makes me sure. 
 Who oft fore-judge my after- following race. 
 By only those two stars in Stella's face. 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 286 
 
 With how sad steps, Moon, thou climb'st the skies ! 
 
 How silently, and with how wan a face! 
 
 What, may it be that even in heavenly place 
 
 That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? 
 
 Sure, if that long with love-acquainted eyes 
 
 Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover s case; 
 
 I read it in thy looks; thy languisht grace, 
 
 To me that feel the like, thy state descries. 
 
 Then, even of fellowship, Moon, tell me, 
 
 Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? 
 
 Are beauties there as proud as here they be? 
 
 Do they above love to be loved, and yet 
 
 Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? 
 
 Do they call virtue there, ungratefulness? 
 
 Sidney. 
 283 
 
287 
 
 Come Sleep! Sleep, the certain knot of peace, 
 The halting place of wit, the halm of woe. 
 The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release. 
 The indifferent judge between the high and low; 
 With shield of proof, shield me from out the prease 
 Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw; 
 
 make in me those civil wars to cease; 
 
 1 will good trihute pay, if thou do so. 
 
 Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest hed, 
 A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, 
 A rosy garland and a weary head: 
 And if these things, as being thine by right, 
 Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me. 
 Livelier than elsewhere, Stella's image see. 
 
 Sidney. 
 288 
 
 Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance 
 Guided so well, that I obtained the prize. 
 Both by the judgment of the English eyes. 
 And of some sent by that sweet enemy, France; 
 Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance, 
 Townfolks my strength; a daintier judge applies 
 His praise to sleight, which from good use doth rise; 
 Some lucky wits impute it but to chance; 
 Others, because of both sides I do take 
 My blood from them who did excel in this. 
 Think Nature me a man of arms did make. 
 How far they shot awry! the true cause is, 
 Stella looked on, and from her heavenly face 
 Sent forui the beams which made so fair my race. 
 
 Sidney. 
 284 
 
289 
 
 Highway, since you my cnief Parnassus be, 
 And that my Muse, to some ears not unsweet, 
 Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet 
 More oft than to a chamber melody; 
 Now, blessed you, bear onward blessed me 
 To her, where I my heart safe left shall meet; 
 My Muse and I must you of duty greet 
 With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully. 
 Be you still fair, honoured by public heed. 
 By no encroachment wronged, nor time forgot, 
 Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed; 
 And that you know I envy you no lot 
 
 Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss: 
 Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss. 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 290 
 
 No more, my dear, no more these counsels try; 
 
 give my passions leave to run their race; 
 Let Fortune lay on me her worst disgrace; 
 Let folk o'ercharged with brain against me cry; 
 Let clouds bedim my face, break in mine eye; 
 Let me no steps but of lost labour trace; 
 
 Let all the earth with scorn recount my case; 
 But do not will me from my love to fly! 
 
 1 do not envy Aristotle's wit. 
 
 Nor do aspire to Caesar's bleeding fame; 
 Nor aught do care though some above me sit; 
 Nor hope nor wish another course to frame. 
 But that which once may win thy cruel heart: 
 Thou art my Wit, and thou my Virtue art. 
 
 Sidney. 
 28s 
 
291 
 
 Good brother Philip, I have home thee long; 
 
 I was content you should in favour creep. 
 
 While craftily you seemed your cut to keep. 
 
 As though that soft fair hand did you great wrong: 
 
 I hare, with envy, yet I hare, your song, 
 
 When in her neck you did love ditties peep; 
 
 Nay, more fool I! oft suffered you to sleep 
 
 In lilies' nest, where Love's self lies along. 
 
 What, doth high place amhitious thoughts augment? 
 
 Is sauciness reward of courtesy? 
 
 Cannot such grace your silly self content. 
 
 But you must needs with those lips hilling he. 
 
 And through those lips drink nectar from that 
 tongue ? 
 
 Leave that, Sir Phip, lest off your neck he wrung! 
 
 Sidney. 
 
 292 
 
 Be your words made, good Sir, of Indian ware. 
 That you allow me them by so small rate? 
 Or do you cutted Spartans imitate? 
 Or do you mean my tender ears to spare 
 That to my questions you so total are? 
 When I demand of Phoenix Stella's state. 
 You say, forsooth, you left her well of late: 
 
 God, think you that satisfies my care? 
 
 1 would know whether she did sit or walk; 
 
 How clothed; how waited on; sighed she or smiled; 
 Whereof, with whom, how often did she talk; 
 With what pastime time s journey she beguiled ; 
 If her lips deigned to sweeten my poor name: 
 Say all; and, all well said, still say the same. 
 
 Sidney. 
 286 
 
293 
 Epithalamion 
 
 Ye learned sisters, whicli bave oftentimes 
 
 Been to me aiding, others to adorn. 
 
 Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rhymes, 
 
 That even the greatest did not greatly scorn 
 
 To hear their names sung in your simple lays. 
 
 But joyed in their praise; 
 
 And when ye list your own mishaps to mourn. 
 
 Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck did raise. 
 
 Your string could soon to sadder tenor turn, 
 
 And teach the woods and waters to lament 
 
 Your doleful dreriment: 
 
 Now lay those sorrowful complaints aside. 
 
 And having all your heads with garland crowned. 
 
 Help me mine own love's praises to resound; 
 
 Ne let the same of any he envied: 
 
 So Orpheus did for his own hride, 
 
 So I unto myself alone will sing; 
 
 The woods shall to me answer, and my echo ring. 
 
 Early, hefore the world's light-giving lamp 
 His golden beam upon the hills doth spread. 
 Having disperst the night's uncheerful damp. 
 Do ye awake; and with fresh lustihead 
 Go to the bower of my beloved love 
 My truest turtle iave: 
 Bid her awake; for Hymen is awake, 
 And long since ready forth his mask to move, 
 With his bright tead that flames with many a flake, 
 And many a bachelor to wait on him. 
 In their fresh garments trim. 
 Bid her awake therefore, and soon her dight, 
 
 287 
 
For lo ! the wishea day is come at last, 
 
 That snail for all tlie pains and sorrows past 
 
 Pay to lier usury of long delight: 
 
 And, whilst she doth her dight, 
 
 Do ye to her of joy and solace sing. 
 
 That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 Bring with you all the Nymphs that you can hear, 
 
 Both of the rivers and the forests green, 
 
 And of the sea that neighbours to her near; 
 
 All with gay garlands goodly well heseen. 
 
 And let them also with them bring in hand 
 
 Another gay garland. 
 
 For my fair love, of lilies and of roses. 
 
 Bound truelove-wise, with a blue silk riband. 
 
 And let them make great store of bridal posies 
 
 And let them eke bring store of other flowers. 
 
 To deck the bridal bowers. 
 
 And let the ground whereas her foot shall tread. 
 
 For fear the stones her tender foot should wrong. 
 
 Be strewed with fragrant flowers all along, 
 
 And diapered like the discoloured mead. 
 
 Which done, do at her chamber door await. 
 
 For she will waken strait. 
 
 The whiles do ye this song unto her sing; 
 
 The woods shall to you answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 Ye Nymphs of MuUa, which with careful heed 
 The silver scaly trouts do tend full well. 
 And greedy pikes which use therein to feed 
 (Those trouts and pikes all others do excel); 
 And ye likewise, which keep the rushy lake 
 Where none do fishes take. 
 
 Bind up the locks the which hang scattered light, 
 And in his waters, which your mirror make, 
 
 288 
 
Benold your faces as tte crystal bright, 
 
 That when you come whereas my love doth lie, 
 
 No blemish she may spy. 
 
 And eke, ye lightfoot maids, which keep the door, 
 
 That on the hoary mountain used to tower. 
 
 And the wild wolves which seek them to devour 
 
 With your steel darts do chase from coming near; 
 
 Be also present here. 
 
 To help to deck her, and to help to sing. 
 
 That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 Wake now, my love, awake! for it is time; 
 
 The rosy Morn long since left Tithon's bed. 
 
 All ready to her silver coach to climb; 
 
 And Phoebus gins to show his glorious head. 
 
 Hark! how the cheerful birds do chant their lays, 
 
 And carol of love's praise. 
 
 The merry Lark his matins sings aloft; 
 
 The Thrush replies; the Mavis descant plays; 
 
 The Ouzel shrills; the Ruddock warbles soft; 
 
 So goodly all agree with sweet consent 
 
 To this day s merriment. 
 
 Ah ! my dear love, why do ye sleep thus long. 
 
 When meeter were that ye should now awake. 
 
 To await the coming of your joyous make, 
 
 And hearken to the birds' lovelearned song. 
 
 The dewy leaves among? 
 
 For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, 
 
 That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring. 
 
 My love is now awake out of her dreams. 
 And her fair eyes, like stars that dimmed were 
 With darksome cloud, now show their goodly beams 
 More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear. 
 
 (B469) 289 T 
 
Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight, 
 Help quickly her to dight: 
 
 But first come ye, fair hours, which were begot. 
 In Jove's sweet paradise, of Day and Night; 
 Which do the seasons of the year allot, 
 And all that ever in this world is fair 
 Do make and still repair: 
 
 And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian Queen, 
 The which do still adorn her beauty s pride. 
 Help to adorn my beautifullest bride: 
 And, as ye her array, still throw between 
 Some graces to be seen; 
 And, as ye use to Venus, to her sing. 
 The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo 
 ring. 
 
 Now is my love all ready forth to come: 
 Let all the virgins therefore well await; 
 And ye, fresh boys, that tend upon her groom, 
 Prepare yourselves, for he is coming straight. 
 Set all your things in seemly good array, 
 Fit for so joyful day: 
 The joyful'st day that ever Sun did see. 
 Fair Sun! show forth thy favourable ray, 
 And let thy lifefull heat not fervent be. 
 For fear of burning her sunshiny face. 
 Her beauty to disgrace. 
 fairest Phoebus!, father of the Muse! 
 If ever I did honour thee aright. 
 Or smg the thing that mote thy mind delight, 
 Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse; 
 But let this day, let this one day, be mine; 
 Let all the rest be thine: 
 Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing, 
 That all the woods shall answer, and their echo ring. 
 
 290 
 
Hark! how tte Minstrels gin to strill aloud 
 
 Tneir merry music that resounds from far, 
 
 The pipe, the tahor, and the trembling crowd, 
 
 That well agree withouten breach or jar. 
 
 But most of all the Damsels do delight. 
 
 When they their timbrels smite. 
 
 And thereunto do dance and carol sweet, 
 
 That all the senses they do ravish quite; 
 
 The whiles the boys run up and down the street. 
 
 Crying aloud with strong confused noise. 
 
 As if it were one voice, 
 
 Hymen! ib Hymen! Hymen! they do shout; 
 
 That even to the heavens their shoutings shrill 
 
 Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill: 
 
 To which the people standing all about. 
 
 As in appro vance, do thereto applaud. 
 
 And loud advance her laud; 
 
 And evermore they Hymen, Hymen, sing, 
 
 That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring. 
 
 Lo! where she comes along with portly pace. 
 Like Phoebe, from her chamber of the East, 
 Arising forth to run her mighty race. 
 Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best. 
 So well it her beseems, that ye would ween 
 Some Angel she had been. 
 Her long loose yellow locks like golden wire. 
 Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers a-tween. 
 Do like a golden mantle her attire; 
 And being crowned with a garland green. 
 Seem like some maiden Queen. 
 Her modest eyes, abashed to behold 
 So many gazers as on her do stare, 
 Upon the lowly ground affixed are, 
 Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold, 
 
 291 
 
But blush to hear her praises sung so loud, 
 
 So far from heing proud. 
 
 Nathless, do ye still loud her praises sing, 
 
 That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see 
 
 So fair a creature in your town before. 
 
 So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she. 
 
 Adorned with beauty's grace and virtue's store? 
 
 Her goodly eyes like sapphires shining bright, 
 
 Her forehead ivory white. 
 
 Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded, 
 
 Her lips like cherries charming men to bite. 
 
 Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded, 
 
 Her paps like lilies budded, 
 
 Her snowy neck like to a marble tower; 
 
 And all her body like a palace fair. 
 
 Ascending up, with many a stately stair. 
 
 To honour s seat and chastity's sweet bower. 
 
 Why stand ye still, ye Virgins, in amaze 
 
 Upon her so to gaze. 
 
 Whiles ye forget your former lay to sing. 
 
 To which the woods did answer, and your echo ring? 
 
 But if ye saw that which no eyes can see. 
 The inward beauty of her lively spright. 
 Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree, 
 Much more then would ye wonder at that sight. 
 And stand astonished like to those which read 
 Medusa's mazeful head. 
 
 There dwells sweet love, and constant chastity, 
 Unspotted faith, and comely womanhood. 
 Regard of honour, and mild modesty; 
 There virtue reigns as Queen in royal throne, 
 And giveth laws alone, 
 
 292 
 
1 ne which tte base affections do otey, 
 And yield their services unto her will; 
 Ne thought of thing uncomely ever may 
 Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill. 
 Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures. 
 And unrevealed pleasures. 
 Then would ye wonder, and her praises sing. 
 That all the woods should answer, and your echo 
 ring. 
 
 Open the temple gates unto my love! 
 
 Open them wide that she may enter in. 
 
 And all the posts adorn as doth hehove. 
 
 And all the pillars deck with garlands trim, 
 
 For to receive this Saint w^ith honour due 
 
 That Cometh in to you. 
 
 With trembling steps, and humble reverence. 
 
 She Cometh in before the Almighty's view: 
 
 Of her, ye virgins, learn obedience, 
 
 When so ye come into those holy places. 
 
 To humble your proud faces. 
 
 Bring her up to the high altar, that she may 
 
 The sacred ceremonies there partake. 
 
 The w^hich do endless matrimony make; 
 
 And let the roaring Organs loudly play 
 
 The praises of the Lord in hvely notes; 
 
 The whiles, with hollow throats. 
 
 The Choristers the joyous Anthem sing. 
 
 That all the woods may answer, and their echo ring. 
 
 Behold, whiles she before the altar stands. 
 Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks. 
 And blesseth»her with his two happy hands 
 How the red roses flush up in her cheeks, 
 
 293 
 
Ancl the pure snow, witt goodly vermeil stain. 
 
 Like crimson dyed in grain; 
 
 Tkat even the Angels, which continually 
 
 About the sacred altar do remain, 
 
 Forget their service and ahout her fly, 
 
 Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair, 
 
 The more they on it stare. 
 
 But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground, 
 
 Are governed with goodly modesty, 
 
 That suffers not one look to glance awry. 
 
 Which may let in a little thought unsound. 
 
 Why blush ye, love, to give to me your hand, 
 
 The pledge of all our hand? 
 
 Sing, ye sweet Angels, Alleluia sing. 
 
 That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring. 
 
 Now all is done: bring home the Bride again; 
 Bring home the triumph of our victory; 
 Bring home with you the glory of her gain, 
 With joyance bring her and with jollity. 
 Never had man more joyful day than this. 
 Whom heaven would heap with bliss. 
 Make feast therefore now all this live-long day; 
 This day for ever to me holy is. 
 Pour out the wine without restraint or stay, 
 Pour not by cups but by the belly-full. 
 Pour out to all that wuU, 
 
 And sprinkle all the posts and walls with wine. 
 That they may sweat, and drunken be withal. 
 Crown ye God Bacchus with a coronal. 
 And Hymen also crown with wreaths of vine: 
 And let the Graces dance unto the rest. 
 For they can do it best: 
 The whiles the maidens do their carol sing. 
 To which the woods shall answer, and their echo ring. 
 
 294 
 
Ring ye the bells, ye young men of tte town, 
 And leave your wonted labours for tbis day: 
 This day is holy; do ye write it down. 
 That ye for ever it remember may. 
 This day the sun is in his chiefest height, 
 With Barnaby the bright, 
 From whence declining daily by degrees. 
 He somewhat loseth of his heat and light, 
 When once the Crab behind his back he sees. 
 But for this time it ill ordained was, 
 To choose the longest day in all the year. 
 And shortest night, when longest fitter were: 
 Yet never day so long but late would pass. 
 Ring ye the bells, to make it wear away, 
 And bonfires make all day; 
 And dance about them, and about them sing. 
 That all the woods may answer, and your echo 
 ring. 
 
 Ah! when will this long weary day have end, 
 And lend me leave to come unto my love? 
 How slowly do the hours their numbers spend; 
 How slowly does sad Time his feathers move! 
 Haste thee, fairest Planet! to thy home 
 Within the Western foam: 
 Thy tired steeds long since have need of rest. 
 Long though it be, at last I see it gloom. 
 And the bright evening star with golden crest 
 Appear out of the East. 
 Fair child of beauty! glorious lamp of love! 
 That all the host of heaven in ranks dost lead. 
 And guidest lovers through the night's sad dread. 
 How cheerfully thou lookest from above, 
 And seemst to laugh atween thy twinkling light, 
 As joyous in the sight 
 
 29s 
 
Of these glad many, which for joy do sing, 
 
 That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring. 
 
 Now cease, ye damsels, your delights forepast; 
 Enough is it that all the day was yours: 
 Now day is done, and night is nighing fast, 
 Now bring the Bride into the bridal bowers. 
 Now night is come, now soon her disarray. 
 And in her bed her lay; 
 Lay her in lilies and in violets, 
 And silken curtains over her display, 
 And odoured sheets, and Arras coverlets. 
 Behold how goodly my fair love does lie, 
 In proud humility! 
 
 Like unto Maia, when as Jove her took 
 In Tempe, lying on the flowery grass, 
 Twixt sleep and wake, after she weary was. 
 With bathing in the Acidalian brook. 
 Now it is night, ye damsels may be gone, 
 And leave my love alone; 
 And leave likewise your former lay to sing: 
 The woods no more shall answer, nor your echo 
 ring. 
 
 Now welcome, night! thou night so long expected. 
 
 That long day's labour dost at last defray. 
 
 And all my cares, which cruel love collected. 
 
 Has summed in one, and cancelled for aye: 
 
 Spread thy broad wing over my love and me. 
 
 That no man may us see; 
 
 And in thy sable mantle us enwrap, 
 
 From fear of peril and foul horror free. 
 
 Let no false treason seek us to entrap. 
 
 Nor any dread disquiet once annoy 
 
 The safety of our joy; 
 
 296 
 
But let tne night be calm and quietsome, 
 Without tempestuous storms or sad affray: 
 Like as when Jove with fair Alcmena lay, 
 When he hegot the great Tirynthian groom: 
 Or like as when he with thyself did lie, 
 And begot Majesty. 
 
 And let the maids and young men cease to sing; 
 Ne let the woods them answer, nor their echo ring. 
 
 Let no lamenting cries, nor doleful tears. 
 
 Be heard all night within, nor yet without: 
 
 Ne let false whispers, breeding hidden fears. 
 
 Break gentle sleep with misconceived doubt. 
 
 Let no deluding dreams, nor dreadful sights, 
 
 Make sudden sad affrights; 
 
 Ne let housefires, nor lightning s helpless harms, 
 
 Ne let the Pouke, nor other evil sprights, 
 
 Ne let mischievous witches with their charms, 
 
 Ne let hob-goblins, names whose sense we see not, 
 
 Fray us with things that be not; 
 
 Let not the Screech-Owl, nor the Stork, be heard; 
 
 Nor the night Raven, that still deadly yells; 
 
 Nor damned ghosts, called up with mighty spells; 
 
 Nor grisly vultures make us once af feared : 
 
 Ne let the unpleasant quire of Frogs still croaking 
 
 Make us to wish their choking. 
 
 Let none of these their dreary accents sing; 
 
 Ne let the woods them answer, nor their echo ring. 
 
 But let still Silence true night watches keep, 
 That sacred peace may in assurance reign. 
 And timely sleep, when it is time to sleep. 
 May pour his limbs forth on your pleasant plain; 
 The whiles an hundred little winged loves, 
 Like divers-feathered doves, 
 
 297 
 
Shall fly and flutter round about your bed. 
 
 And in tbe secret dark, that none reproves, 
 
 Their pretty stealths shall work, and snares shall spread 
 
 To filch away sweet snatches of delight. 
 
 Concealed through covert night. 
 
 Ye sons of Venus, play your sports at will; 
 
 For greedy pleasure, careless of your toys, 
 
 Thinks more upon her paradise of joys. 
 
 Than what we do, albeit good or ill. 
 
 All night therefore attend your merry play. 
 
 For it will soon be day: 
 
 Now none doth hinder you, that say or sing; 
 
 Ne will the woods now answer, nor your echo ring. 
 
 Who is the same, which at my window peeps, 
 
 Or whose is that fair face that shines so bright? 
 
 Is it not Cynthia, she that never sleeps. 
 
 But walks about high heaven all the night? 
 
 0, fairest goddess! do thou not envy 
 
 My Love with me to spy; 
 
 For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought, 
 
 And for a fleece of wool, which privily 
 
 The Latmian shepherd once unto thee brought, 
 
 His pleasures with thee wrought. 
 
 Therefore to us be favourable now; 
 
 And sith of women's labours thou hast charge. 
 
 And generation goodly dost enlarge, 
 
 Encline thy will to effect our wishful vow. 
 
 And the chaste womb inform with timely seed. 
 
 That may our comfort breed: 
 
 Till which we cease our hopeful hap to sing; 
 
 Ne let the woods us answer, nor our echo ring. 
 
 And thou, great Juno, which with awful might 
 The laws of wedlock still doth patronize, 
 
 298 
 
And the religion of tte laith first plight 
 
 Witt sacred rites hast taught to solemnize; 
 
 And eke for comfort often called art 
 
 Of women in their smart; 
 
 Eternally hind thou this lovely hand, 
 
 And all thy hlessings unto us impart. 
 
 And thou, glad Genius, in whose gentle hand 
 
 The hridal hower and genial hed remain. 
 
 Without hlemish or stain; 
 
 And the sweet pleasures of their loves' delight 
 
 With secret aid dost succour and supply. 
 
 Till they hring forth the fruitful progeny; 
 
 Send us the timely fruit of this same night: 
 
 And thou, fair Hebe, and thou. Hymen free. 
 
 Grant that it may so he! 
 
 Till which we cease your further praise to sing; 
 
 Ne any woods shall answer, nor your echo ring. 
 
 And ye high heavens, the temple of the gods, 
 In which a thousand torches flaming bright 
 Do hum, that to us wretched earthly clods 
 In dreadful darkness lend desired light; 
 And all ye powers which in the same remain, 
 More than we men can fain, 
 Pour out your blessing on us plenteously. 
 And happy influence upon us rain. 
 That we may raise a large posterity. 
 Which from the earth, which they may long possess 
 With lasting happiness. 
 Up to your haughty palaces may mount: 
 And, for the guerdon of their glorious merit. 
 May heavenly tabernacles there inherit. 
 Of blessed Saints for to increase the count. 
 So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this, 
 
 299 
 
And cease till tten our timely joys to sing; 
 
 The woods no more us answer, nor our echo ring. 
 
 Song! made in lieu of many ornaments, 
 
 With which my love should duly have been decked. 
 
 Which cutting off through hasty accidents. 
 
 Ye would not stay your due time to expect, 
 
 But promised hoth to recompense; 
 
 Be unto her a goodly ornament, 
 
 And for short time an endless monument! 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 294 
 
 Roses, their sharp spines being gone, 
 Not royal in their smells alone. 
 
 But in their hue; 
 Maiden pinks, of odour faint. 
 Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, 
 
 And sweet thyme true; 
 
 Primrose, firstborn child of Ver; 
 Merry springtime's harbinger. 
 
 With her bells dim; 
 Oxlips in their cradles growing, 
 Marigolds on deathbeds blowing, 
 
 Larks' -heels trim. 
 
 All dear Nature's children sweet. 
 Lie fore bride and bridegroom's feet. 
 
 Blessing their sense ! 
 Not an angel of the air. 
 Bird melodious, or bird fair, 
 
 Be absent hence ! 
 
Tne crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor 
 Tne boding raven, nor ctougli hoar, 
 
 Nor chattering pie. 
 May on our bride-house perch or sing, 
 Or with them any discord bring. 
 
 But from it fly! 
 
 Fletcher. 
 295 
 
 Hold back thy hours, dark Night, till we have done; 
 
 The Day will come too soon; 
 Young maids will curse thee, if thou steal st away 
 And leav st their losses open to the day : 
 
 Stay, stay, and hide 
 
 The blushes of the bride. 
 
 Stay, gentle Night, and with thy darkness cover 
 
 The kisses of her lover; 
 Stay, and confound her tears and her shrill cryings. 
 Her weak denials, vows, and often-dyings ; 
 
 Stay, and hide all: 
 
 But help not, though she call. 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 296 
 
 Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 
 
 And Phoebus gins arise, 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 
 On chaliced flowers that lies; 
 301 
 
And winking Mary-buds begin 
 
 To ope their golden eyes: 
 With every thing that pretty is, 
 My lady sweet, arise: 
 
 Arise, arise. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 297 
 
 Stay, sweet, and do not rise; 
 The light that shines comes from thine eyes; 
 The day breaks not, it is my heart. 
 Because that you and I must part. 
 
 Stay, or else my joys will die 
 
 And perish in their infancy. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 298 
 
 Rise, lady mistress, rise! 
 
 The night hath tedious been; 
 No sleep hath fallen into my eyes. 
 
 Nor slumbers made me sin. 
 Is not she a saint, then, say. 
 Thought of whom keeps sin away? 
 
 Rise, madam, rise and give me light, 
 Whom darkness still will cover. 
 
 And ignorance darker than night, 
 Till thou shine on thy lover. 
 
 All want day till thy beauty rise. 
 
 For the grey morn breaks from thine eyes. 
 
 Field. 
 302 
 
299 
 
 Pack, cloa^, away, and welcome, day! 
 
 With nignt we banisn sorro^tr. 
 Sweet air, blow sok; mount, lark, alott 
 
 To give my lave good morrow^. 
 Wings from the wind to please her mind. 
 
 Notes from the lark I 'U borrow : 
 Bird, prune liry wii^, nightiD^ale, sii^. 
 
 To give my love good morrow^. 
 To give my love good morrow. 
 Notes from them all I '11 borrow. 
 
 Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast! 
 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow^. 
 And from each bill let music shiill 
 
 Give my fair love good morrow. 
 Blackbird and thrush m every bush. 
 
 Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow. 
 You pretty elves, amongst yourselves 
 
 Sing my rair love good morrowr. 
 To give my love good morrow. 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow. 
 
 Heywood. 
 
 300 
 
 You spotted snakes with double tongue. 
 
 Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; 
 
 Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong. 
 
 Come not near our fairy queen. 
 
 Philomel, with melody 
 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby; 
 
 303 
 
Lulla, luUa, lullaby. luUa, lulla, lullaby. 
 
 Never barm, 
 
 Nor spell nor cbarm. 
 Come our lovely lady nigb; 
 So, good-nigbt, witb lullaby. 
 
 Weaving spiders, come not bere; 
 
 Hence, you long-legged spinners, bence! 
 Beetles black, approach not near; 
 Worm nor snail, do no olfence. 
 Pbilomel, witb melody 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby; 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby. 
 Never barm. 
 Nor spell nor cbarm. 
 Come our lovely lady nigb; 
 So, good-nigbt, witb lullaby. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 301 
 
 Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, 
 Smiles awake you wben you rise. 
 Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, 
 And I will sing a lullaby: 
 Rock tbem, rock tbem, lullaby. 
 
 Care is beavy, therefore sleep you; 
 You are care, and care must keep you. 
 Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry. 
 And I will sing a lullaby; 
 Rock tbem, rock tbem, lullaby. 
 
 Dekker. 
 304 
 
302 
 
 To tne Tune of Basciami vita 
 nua 
 
 Sleep, Baby mine. Desire s nurse. Beauty, singetli ; 
 
 Thy cries, baby, set mine bead on acbing. 
 
 Tbe babe cries, " Way, tby love dotb keep me 
 
 xif a Icing 
 
 LuUy, lully, my babe, Hope cradle brii^etb 
 Unto my children alway good rest taking. 
 Tbe babe cries, " 'Way, tby love dotb keep me 
 waking. 
 
 Since, baby mine, from me tby watching springeth. 
 Sleep then a little; pap. Content is making. 
 Tbe babe cries, " Nay, for diat abide I waking." 
 
 Sidney. 
 303 
 
 Come, little babe, come, silly soul, 
 
 Tby father s shame, thy mother s grief. 
 Bom as I doubt to all our dole. 
 And to thyself unbappy chief: 
 Sing luUaby, and lap it warm. 
 Poor soul that thinks no creature bctrm. 
 
 Thou little think'st and less dost know 
 
 The cause of this tby mother s moan ; 
 Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe. 
 And I myself am all alone: 
 
 Why dost thou weep? why dost thou wail? 
 And knowest not yet what thou dost ail. 
 
 (B4a9) 305 U 
 
Come, little wretcli, ah, silly heart! 
 
 Mine only joy, what can I more? 
 If there be any wrong thy smart, 
 That may the destinies implore: 
 'Twas I, I say, against my will, 
 I wail the time, but be thou still. 
 
 And dost thou smile? 0, thy sweet face! 
 
 Would God himself he might thee see! 
 No doubt thou wouldst soon purchase grace, 
 I know right well, for thee and me: 
 But come to mother, babe, and play. 
 For father false is fled away. 
 
 Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance 
 Thy father home again to send. 
 If death do strike me with his lance, 
 Yet mayst thou me to him commend : 
 If any ask thy mother s name. 
 Tell how by love she purchased blame. 
 
 Nicholas Breton. 
 
 304 
 
 Sepkestia's Cradle Song 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; 
 When thou art old there s grief enough for thee. 
 
 Mother s wag, pretty boy. 
 
 Father's sorrow, father s joy ; 
 
 When thy father first did see 
 
 Such a boy by him and me. 
 
 He was glad, I was woe; 
 
 Fortune changed made him so, 
 
 When he left his pretty boy. 
 
 Last his sorrow, first his joy. 
 306 
 
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; 
 WKen thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 
 
 Streaming tears that never stint. 
 
 Like pearl-drops from a flint. 
 
 Fell by course from his eyes. 
 
 That one another s place supplies; 
 
 Thus he grieved in every part. 
 
 Tears of hlood fell from his heart, 
 
 When he left his pretty boy. 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy. 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; 
 When thou art old there's grief enough for thee. 
 
 The wanton smiled, father wept. 
 
 Mother cried, baby leapt; 
 
 More he crowed, more we cried. 
 
 Nature could not sorrow hide: 
 
 He must go, he must kiss 
 
 Child and mother, baby bliss. 
 
 For he left his pretty boy, 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy. 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; 
 When thou art old there s grief enough for thee. 
 
 Greene. 
 
 305 
 Our Blessed Lady's Lullaby 
 
 Upon my lap my Sovereign sits. 
 
 And sucks upon my breast; 
 Meanwhile his love sustains my life. 
 And gives my body rest. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 307 
 
Wken ttou hast taken tty repast, 
 
 Repose, my babe, on me. 
 So may tby motber and tby nurse, 
 Tby cradle also be. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 I grieve tbat duty dotb not work 
 
 All tbat my wisbing would. 
 Because I would not be to tbee 
 But in tbe best I sbould. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 Yet as I am and as I may, 
 I must and will be tbine, 
 Tbougb all too little for tbyself 
 Voucbsafing to be mine. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 My wits, my words, my deeds, my tbougbts. 
 
 And else wbat is in me, 
 I ratber will not wisb to use. 
 If not in serving tbee. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 My babe, my bliss, my cbild, my cboice. 
 
 My fruit, my flower, and bud, 
 My Jesus, and my only joy, 
 Tbe sum of all my good. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 308 
 
My sweetness, and the sweetest most 
 
 That heaven could earth deliver, 
 Soul of my love, spirit of my life, 
 Abide with me for ever. 
 
 Sing, luUahy, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 Live still with me, and be my love, 
 
 And death will me refrain. 
 Unless thou let me die with thee. 
 To live with thee again. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 Leave now to wail, thou luckless wight 
 
 That wrought' st thy race's woe. 
 Redress is found, and foiled is 
 Thy fruit-alluring foe. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 The fruit of death from Paradise 
 
 Made thee exiled mourn; 
 
 My fruit of life to Paradise 
 
 Makes joyful thy return. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 Grow up, good fruit, be nourished by 
 
 These fountains two of me, 
 That only flow with maiden's milk, 
 The only meat for thee. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 309 
 
Tlie earth is now a heaven become, 
 
 And this base bower of mine, 
 A princely palace unto me. 
 My son doth make to shine. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 His sight gives clearness to my sight. 
 
 When waking I him see, 
 And sleeping, his mild countenance 
 Gives favour unto me. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 When I him in mine arms embrace, 
 
 I feel my heart embraced, 
 Even by the inward grace of his. 
 Which he in me hath placed. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 And when I kiss his loving lips. 
 Then his sweet-smelling breath 
 Doth yield a savour to my soul. 
 That feeds love, hope, and faith. 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 The shepherds left their keeping sheep. 
 
 For joy to see my lamb; 
 How may I more rejoice to see 
 Myself to be the dam. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 310 
 
Ttree kings their treasures hither brought 
 
 Of incense, myrrh, and gold; 
 
 The heaven's treasure and the king 
 
 That here they might behold. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 One sort an angel did direct, 
 A star did guide the other, 
 And all the fairest son to see 
 That ever had a mother. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 This sight I see, this child I have, 
 
 This infant I embrace, 
 endless comfort of the earth, 
 And heaven's eternal grace. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing, lullaby, my liyes joy. 
 
 Thee sanctity herself doth serve, 
 
 Thee goodness doth attend. 
 Thee blessedness doth wait upon, 
 And virtues all commend. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 Great kings and prophets wished have 
 
 To see that I possess. 
 Yet wish I never thee to see. 
 If not in thankfulness. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 3" 
 
Let beaven and eartb, and saints and men. 
 
 Assistance give to me, 
 That all their most occurring aid 
 Augment my thanks to thee. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 And let the ensuing blessed race, 
 
 Thou wilt succeeding raise. 
 Join all their praises unto mine. 
 To multiply thy praise. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy. 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 And take my service well in worth. 
 
 And Joseph's here with me. 
 Who of my husband bears the name, 
 Thy servant for to be. 
 
 Sing, lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing, lullaby, my lives joy. 
 
 Richard Verstegen. 
 
 306 
 Tke Virgin Mary 
 
 To work a wonder, God would have her shown 
 At once a bud and yet a rose full-blown. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 312 
 
307 
 Tke Burning Babe 
 
 As I in toary winter's night stoocl skivering in the 
 
 snow, 
 Surpnsed was I with sudden heat which made my 
 
 heart to glow: 
 And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was 
 
 near, 
 A pretty hahe all huming bright did in the air 
 
 appear; 
 Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of 
 
 tears did shed 
 As though His floods should quench His flames with 
 
 which His tears were fed: 
 " Alas! quoth He, " but newly bom in fiery heats 
 
 I fry. 
 Yet none approach to wrarm thetr hearts or feel my 
 
 fire but I ! 
 
 " My faultless breast the furnace is; the fuel, wound- 
 up thorns; 
 
 Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke; the ashes, 
 shames and scorns; 
 
 The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the 
 coals. 
 
 The metal in this furnace wrought are men s defiled 
 souls: 
 
 For which, as now on fire I am to work them to 
 their good. 
 
 So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my 
 blood." 
 
 313 
 
Witt tKis He vaniflied out of sight ancl swiftly 
 snrunk away, 
 
 And straight I called unto mind that it was Christ- 
 mas Day. 
 
 Southwell. 
 
 308 
 A Ckild my Ckoice 
 
 Let folly praise that fancy loves, I praise and love 
 
 that Child 
 Whose heart no thought, whose tongue no word, 
 
 whose hand no deed defiled. 
 I praise Him most, I love Him best, all praise and 
 
 love IS His; 
 While Him I love, in Him I live, and cannot live 
 
 amiss. 
 Love's sweetest mark, laud's highest theme, man s 
 
 most desired light. 
 To love Him life, to leave Him death, to live in 
 
 Him delight. 
 He mine by gift, I His by debt, thus each to other 
 
 due. 
 First friend He was, best friend He is, all times will 
 
 try Him true. 
 Though young, yet wise, though small, yet strong; 
 
 though man, yet God He is; 
 As wise He knows, as strong He can, as God He 
 
 loves to bless. 
 His knowledge rules, His .strength defends, His love 
 
 doth cherish all; 
 His birth our joy, His life our light, His death our 
 
 end of thrall. 
 
 314 
 
Alas! He weeps, He sighs, He pants, yet do His 
 
 angels sing; 
 Out of His tears. His siglis and tlirobs, dotn bud a 
 
 joyful spring. 
 Almighty Babe, whose tender arms can force all foes 
 
 to fly. 
 Correct my faults, protect my life, direct me when I 
 
 die! 
 
 Southwell. 
 
 309 
 
 To Kis Saviour, a Child: 
 a Present by a Child 
 
 Go, pretty child, and bear this flower 
 Unto thy little Saviour ; 
 And tell Him, by that bud now blown. 
 He is the Rose of Sharon known. 
 When thou hast said so, stick it there 
 Upon His bib or stomacher; 
 And tell Him, for good handsel too, 
 That thou hast brought a whistle new. 
 Made of a clean straight oaten reed, 
 To charm His cries at time of need. 
 Tell Him, for coral, thou hast none. 
 But if thou hadst. He should have one; 
 But poor thou art, and known to be 
 Even as moneyless as He. 
 Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss 
 From those mellifluous lips of His; 
 Then never take a second on. 
 To spoil the first impression. 
 
 Herrick. 
 31S 
 
310 
 Another Grace for a Cnild 
 
 Here a little child I stand 
 
 Heaving up my either hand; 
 
 Cold as paddocks though they he, 
 
 Here I lift them up to Thee, 
 
 For a henison to fall 
 
 On our meat and on us all. Amen. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 311 
 
 Yet if his majesty our sovereign lord 
 Should of his own accord 
 Friendly himself invite, 
 
 And say " I'll he your guest to-morrow night , 
 How should we stir ourselves, call and command 
 All hands to work! " Let no man idle stand. 
 Set me fine Spanish tahles m the hall, 
 See they he fitted all; 
 Let there he room to eat. 
 And order taken that there want no meat. 
 See every sconce and candlestick made bright, 
 That without tapers they may give a light. 
 Look to the presence: are the carpets spread. 
 The dais o'er the head. 
 The cushions in the chairs. 
 And all the candles lighted on the stairs? 
 Perfume the chambers, and in any case 
 Let each man give attendance in his place. 
 Thus if the king were coming would we do, 
 And t were good reason too ; 
 316 
 
for t is a duteous thing 
 
 To stow all honour to an earthly king, 
 
 And after all our travail and our cost, 
 
 So he he pleased to think no lahour lost. 
 
 But at the coming of the King of Heaven 
 
 All s set at six and seven: 
 
 We wallow in our sin, 
 
 Christ cannot find a chamher in the inn. 
 
 We entertain him always like a stranger, 
 
 And as at first still lodge him in the manger. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 312 
 
 Most glorious Lord of life, that, on this day, 
 Did'st make thy trmmph over death and sin. 
 And, having harrowed hell, did'st hring away 
 Captivity thence captive, us to win: 
 This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy hegin. 
 And grant that we, for whom thou diddest die. 
 Being with thy dear hlood clean washed from sin. 
 May live for ever in felicity; 
 And that thy love we, weighing worthily. 
 May likewise love thee for the same again ; 
 And for thy sake, that all like dear did'st buy. 
 With love may one another entertain. 
 
 So let us love, dear love, like as we ought: 
 Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 317 
 
313 
 For tlie Baptist 
 
 The last and greatest herald of heaven's King, 
 Girt with rough skins, hies to the desert wild. 
 Among that savage brood the woods forth bring. 
 Which he than man more harmless found and mild : 
 His food was locusts, and what young doth spring. 
 With honey that from virgin hives distilled; 
 Parched body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing 
 Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. 
 Then burst he forth: " All ye, whose hopes rely 
 On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn; 
 Repent, repent, and from old errors turn. 
 Who hstened to his voice, obeyed his cry? 
 Only the echoes, which he made relent. 
 Rung from their marble caves, "Repent, repent! 
 
 Drummond. 
 
 314 
 
 At the round earth s imagined comers blow 
 Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise 
 From death, you numberless infinities 
 Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go; 
 All whom the flood did, and fire shall, o'erthrow, 
 All whom war, death, age, agues, tyrannies. 
 Despair, law, chance hath slain, and you, whose eyes 
 Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe. 
 But let them sleep. Lord, and me mourn a space; 
 For, if above all these my sins abound, 
 
 318 
 
T is late to ask abundance ol Thy grace. 
 When we are there. Here on this lowly ground. 
 Teach me how to repent, lor that's as good 
 As if Thou hadst sealed my pardon with Thy 
 blood. 
 
 Donne. 
 315 
 
 A Hymn to God tke Father 
 I 
 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun. 
 
 Which w^as my sm, though it were done before? 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sm, through which I run. 
 And do run still, though still I do deplore? 
 When Thou hast done. Thou hast not done, 
 For I have more. 
 
 II 
 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won 
 Others to sin, and made my sin their door? 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun 
 A year or two, but wallowed in a score? 
 When Thou hast done. Thou hast not done, 
 For I have more. 
 
 Ill 
 
 I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun 
 
 My last thread, I shall perish on the shore; 
 But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son 
 Shall shine as He shines now, and heretofore; 
 And, having done that. Thou hast done; 
 I fear no more. 
 
 Donne. 
 319 
 
316 
 
 Let not tte sluggisk sleep 
 
 Close up thy waking eye, 
 Until with judgment deep 
 
 Thy daily deeds thou try: 
 He that one sin in conscience keeps 
 
 When he to quiet goes, 
 More venturous is than he that sleeps 
 
 With twenty mortal foes. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 317 
 
 Awake, awake, thou heavy sprite. 
 That sleep st the deadly sleep of sin! 
 
 Rise now and walk the ways of light! 
 T is not too late yet to begin. 
 
 Seek heaven early, seek it late: 
 
 True Faith still finds an open gate. 
 
 Get up, get up, thou leaden man! 
 
 Thy track to endless joy or pain 
 Yields hut the model of a span; 
 
 Yet hums out thy life's lamp in vain! 
 One minute hounds thy bane or bliss! 
 Then watch and labour, while time is. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 320 
 
318 
 
 A Tkanksgiving to God for his 
 House 
 
 Lord, Ttou liast give me a cell 
 
 Wherein to dwell; 
 And little house, whose humble roof 
 
 Is weather-proof; 
 Under the spars of which I lie 
 
 Both soft and dry; 
 Where Thou my chamber for to ward 
 
 Hast set a guard 
 Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep 
 
 Me, while I sleep. 
 Low is my porch, as is my fate. 
 
 Both void of state; 
 And yet the threshold of my door 
 
 Is worn by the poor. 
 Who thither come, and freely get 
 
 Good words or meat; 
 Like as my parlour, so my hall 
 
 And kitchen 's small; 
 A little buttery, and therein 
 
 A little bin 
 Which keeps my little loaf of bread 
 
 Unchipt, unflead. 
 Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar 
 
 Make me a fire. 
 Close by whose living coal I sit. 
 
 And glow like it. 
 Lord, I confess, too, when I dine, 
 
 The pulse is Thine, 
 ( B 4S9 ) 321 X 
 
And all tKose other bits, ttat be 
 
 There placed by Thee; 
 The worts, the purslain, and the mess 
 
 Of water-cress, 
 Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent; 
 
 And my content 
 Makes those, and my beloved beet. 
 
 To be more sweet. 
 'T is Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth 
 
 With guiltless mirth; 
 And giv st me wassail bowls to drink. 
 
 Spiced to the brink. 
 Lord, t is Thy plenty- dropping hand, 
 
 That soils my land; 
 And giv'st me for my bushel sown, 
 
 Twice ten for one. 
 Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay 
 
 Her egg each day; 
 Besides my healthful ewes to bear 
 
 Me twins each year. 
 The while the conduits of my kine 
 
 Run cream for wine. 
 All these, and better Thou dost send 
 
 Me, to this end. 
 That I should render, for my part, 
 
 A thankful heart; 
 Which, fired with incense, I resign, 
 
 As wholly Thine; 
 But the acceptance, that must be. 
 
 My Christ, by Thee. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 322 
 
319 
 
 The man of life upright, 
 
 Whose guiltless heart is free 
 
 From all dishonest deeds, 
 Or thought of vanity; 
 
 The man whose silent days 
 
 In harmless joys are spent, 
 Whom hopes cannot delude 
 
 Nor sorrow discontent; 
 
 That man needs neither towers 
 
 Nor armour for defence. 
 Nor secret vaults to fly 
 
 From thunder's violence: 
 
 He only can hehold 
 
 With unaffrighted eyes 
 The horrors of the deep 
 
 And terrors of the skies. 
 
 Thus, scorning all the cares 
 
 That fate or fortune brings. 
 He makes the heaven his book. 
 
 His wisdom heavenly things; 
 
 Good thoughts his only friends, 
 His wealth a well-spent age, 
 
 The earth his sober mn 
 And quiet pilgrimage. 
 
 Campion. 
 323 
 
320 
 
 A Hymn to Ckrist, at the 
 Author's last going into Germany 
 
 In what torn ship so ever I emoark, 
 That ship shall be my emblem of Thy ark; 
 What sea soever swallow me, that flood 
 Shall be to me an emblem of Thy blood; 
 Though Thou with clouds of anger do disguise 
 Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes, 
 Which, though they turn away sometimes, 
 They never will despise 
 
 I sacrifice this island unto Thee, 
 And all whom I love there, and who love me; 
 When I have put our seas twixt them and me, 
 Put Thou Thy seas betwixt my sins and Thee. 
 As the tree's sap doth seek the root below 
 In winter, in my winter now I go. 
 
 Where none but Thee, the eternal root 
 Of true love, I may know. 
 
 Nor Thou nor Thy religion dost control 
 The amorousness of an harmonious soul; 
 But Thou wouldst have that love Thyself; as Thou 
 Art jealous. Lord, so I am jealous now; 
 Thou lovest not, till from loving more Thou free 
 My soul; Whoever gives, takes liberty; 
 Oh, if Thou carest not whom I love, 
 Alas! Thou lovest not me. 
 
 Seal then this bill of my divorce to all. 
 On whom those fainter beams of love did fall; 
 
 324 
 
Marry tliose loves, whict in youtt scattered be 
 On fame, wit, bopes, false mistresses, to Thee. 
 Cburclies are best for prayer, tbat bave least ligbt; 
 To see God only, I go out of sigbt; 
 
 And to escape stormy days, I cboose 
 An everlasting nigbt. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 321 
 Of Misery 
 
 Corpse, clad witb carefulness; 
 Heart, beaped witb heaviness; 
 Purse, poor and penniless; 
 Back, bare in bitterness; 
 get my grave in readiness; 
 Fain would I die to end tbis stress. 
 
 Thomas Howell. 
 
 322 
 Tke Wood, the Weed, the Wag 
 
 Tbree things there be that prosper all apace, 
 And flourish while they are asunder far; 
 
 But on a day, they meet all in a place, 
 
 And when they meet, they one another mar. 
 
 And they be these: the Wood, the Weed, the Wag: 
 The Wood is that that makes the gallows tree; 
 
 The Weed is that that strings the hangman's bag; 
 The Wag, my pretty knave, betokens thee. 
 32s 
 
Now mark, dear boy, wtile these assemble not. 
 
 Green springs tbe tree, bemp grows, tbe wag Is 
 wild; 
 But wben tbey meet, it makes tbe timber rot. 
 It frets tbe baiter, and it cbokes tbe cbild. 
 God Bless tbe Cbild! 
 
 Raleigh. 
 
 323 
 
 Wben tbat I was and a little tiny boy, 
 Witb bey, bo, tbe wind and tbe rain, 
 
 A foolisb tbing was but a toy. 
 
 For tbe rain it rainetb every day. 
 
 But wben I came to man's estate, 
 
 Witb bey, bo, tbe wind and tbe rain, 
 
 'Gainst knaves and tbieves men sbut tbeir gate, 
 For tbe rain it rainetb every day. 
 
 But wben I came, alas! to wive, 
 
 Witb bey, bo, tbe wind and tbe rain. 
 
 By swaggering could I never tbrive. 
 For tbe rain it rainetb every day. 
 
 But wben I came unto my beds, 
 
 Witb bey, bo, tbe wind and tbe rain, 
 
 Witb toss-pots still bad drunken beads. 
 For tbe rain it rainetb every day. 
 
 A great wbile ago tbe world begun, 
 Witb bey, bo, tbe wind and tbe rain. 
 
 But tbat s all one, our play is done, 
 
 And we'll strive to please you every day. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 326 
 
324 
 
 Wtether men do laugli or weep, 
 Whether they do wake or sleep. 
 Whether they die yovmg or old. 
 Whether they feel heat or cold; 
 There is, xmdemeath the sun. 
 Nothing in true earnest done. 
 
 All our pride is hut a jest: 
 None are worst, and none are hest; 
 Grief and joy, and hope and fear. 
 Play their pageants everywhere: 
 V am opinion all doth sway. 
 And the world is hut a play. 
 
 Powers ahove in clouds do sit. 
 Mocking our poor apish wit; 
 That so lamely, with such state. 
 Their high glory imitate: 
 No iU can he felt but pain. 
 And that happy men disdain. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 325 
 Tke Lie 
 
 Go, Soul, the body's guest. 
 Upon a thankless arrant; 
 
 Fear not to touch the best. 
 
 The truth shall be thy warrant: 
 
 Go, since I needs must die. 
 
 And give the world the lie. 
 327 
 
Say to the court, it glows 
 
 And shines like rotten wood; 
 
 Say to the church, it shows 
 
 What's good, and doth no good: 
 
 If church and court reply. 
 
 Then give them both the lie. 
 
 Tell potentates, they live 
 Acting by others' action; 
 
 Not loved unless they give, 
 Not strong but by a faction: 
 
 If potentates reply. 
 
 Give potentates the lie. 
 
 Tell men of high condition. 
 
 That manage the estate. 
 Their purpose is ambition. 
 
 Their practice only hate: 
 And if they once reply, 
 Then give them all the lie. 
 
 Tell them that brave it most. 
 They beg for more by spending. 
 
 Who, in their greatest cost. 
 
 Seek nothing but commending: 
 
 And if they make reply. 
 
 Then give them all the lie. 
 
 Tell zeal it wants devotion; 
 
 Tell love it is but lust; 
 Tell time it is but motion; 
 
 Tell flesh it is but dust: 
 And wish them not reply, 
 For thou must give the lie. 
 328 
 
Tell age it daily wastetli; 
 
 Tell honour how it alters; 
 Tell beauty how she blasteth; 
 
 Tell lavour how it falters: 
 And as they shall reply, 
 Give every one the lie. 
 
 Tell wit how much it wrangles 
 In tickle points of niceness; 
 
 Tell wisdom she entangles 
 Herself in over-wiseness : 
 
 And when they do reply, 
 
 Straight give them both the lie. 
 
 Tell physic of her boldness; 
 
 Tell skill it is pretension; 
 Tell charity of coldness; 
 
 Tell law it is contention: 
 And as they do reply. 
 So give them still the lie. 
 
 Tell fortune of her blindness; 
 
 Tell nature of decay; 
 Tell friendship of unkindness; 
 
 Tell justice of delay: 
 And if they will reply, 
 Then give them all the lie. 
 
 Tell arts they have no soundness, 
 
 But vary by esteeming; 
 Tell schools they want profoundness, 
 
 And stand too much on seeming: 
 If arts and schools reply, 
 Give arts and schools the lie. 
 329 
 
Tell faith it's fled the city; 
 
 Tell how the country erreth; 
 Tell manhood shakes off pity; 
 
 Tell virtue least preferreth: 
 And if they do reply, 
 Spare not to give the lie. 
 
 So when thou hast, as I 
 
 Commanded thee, done blahhing, 
 
 Although to give the lie 
 
 Deserves no less than stabbing, 
 
 Stab at thee he that will. 
 
 No stab the soul can kill. 
 
 Raleigh. 
 
 326 
 Tke World 
 
 The world's a bubble and the life of man 
 
 Less than a span; 
 In his conception wretched, from the womb. 
 
 So to the tomb; 
 Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years 
 
 With cares and fears. 
 Who then to frail mortality shall trust 
 But limns on water, or but writes in dust. 
 
 Yet, whilst with sorrow here we live oppressed. 
 
 What life is best? 
 Courts are but only superficial schools, 
 
 To dandle fools; 
 33° 
 
The rural part is turned into a den 
 
 Of savage men; 
 And where s a city from foul vice so free 
 But may be termed the worst of all the three? 
 
 Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, 
 
 Or pains his head: 
 Those that live single take it for a curse. 
 
 Or do things worse: 
 These would have children; those that have them 
 moan. 
 
 Or wish them gone: 
 What is it, then, to have or have no wife, 
 But single thraldom or a double strife? 
 
 Our own affections still at home to please 
 
 Is a disease; 
 To cross the seas to any foreign soil. 
 
 Peril and toil; 
 Wars with their noise affright us; when they cease. 
 
 We're worse in peace: 
 What then remains, but that we still should cry 
 For being bom, and, being bom, to die? 
 
 Bacon. 
 
 327 
 Tke Happy Life 
 
 How happy is he bom and taught 
 That serveth not another s will ; 
 Whose armour is his honest thought, 
 And simple truth his utmost skill; 
 331 
 
Whose passions not his masters are; 
 Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
 Untied unto the world by care 
 Of public fame or private breath; 
 
 Who envies none that chance doth raise, 
 Nor vice; who never understood 
 How deepest wounds are given by praise; 
 Nor rules of state, but rules of good; 
 
 Who hath his life from rumours freed; 
 Whose conscience is his strong retreat; 
 Whose state can neither flatterers feed. 
 Nor ruin make oppressors 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. 
 
 Wotton. 
 328 
 
 Epistle to tke Lady Margaret, 
 Countess of Cumberland 
 
 He that of such a height hath built his mind. 
 And reared the dwelling of his thoughts so strong. 
 As neither fear nor hope can shake the frame 
 Of his resolved powers; nor all the wind 
 
 332 
 
Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong 
 His settled peace, or to disturb tne same: 
 Wtat a fair seat hath he, from whence he may 
 The houndless wastes and wilds of man survey! 
 
 And with how free an eye doth he look down 
 Upon these lower regions of turmoil! 
 Where all the storms of passions mainly beat 
 On flesh and blood: where honour, power, renown 
 Are only gay afflictions, golden toil; 
 Where greatness stands upon as feeble feet 
 As frailty doth; and only great doth seem 
 To little minds, who do it so esteem. 
 
 He looks upon the mightiest monarchs' wars 
 But only as on stately robberies; 
 Where evermore the fortune that prevails 
 Must be the right: the ill-succeeding mars 
 The fairest and the best-faced enterprise. 
 Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails: 
 Justice, he sees (as if seduced), still 
 Conspires with power, whose cause must not be ill. 
 
 He sees the face of Right as manifold 
 As are the passions of uncertain man; 
 Who puts it in all colours, all attires, 
 To serve his ends, and make his courses hold. 
 He sees, that let deceit work what it can, 
 Plot and contrive base ways to high desires. 
 That the all-guiding providence doth yet 
 All disappoint, and mocks this smoke of wit. 
 
 Nor is he moved with all the thunder-cracks 
 Of tyrants' threats, or with the surly brow 
 Of power, that proudly sits on others' crimes; 
 Charged with more crying sins than those he checks. 
 
 333 
 
The storms of sad confusion, ttat may grow 
 Up in the present for the coming times. 
 Appal not him; that hath no side at all. 
 But of himself, and knows the worst can fall. 
 
 Although his heart, so near allied to earth. 
 Cannot but pity the perplexed state 
 Of troublous and distressed mortality. 
 That thus make way unto the ugly birth 
 Of their own sorrows, and do still beget 
 Affliction upon imbecility: 
 Yet seeing thus the course of things must run. 
 He looks thereon not strange, but as fore-done. 
 
 And whilst distraught ambition compasses, 
 And is encompassed; whilst as craft deceives. 
 And is deceived; whilst man doth ransack man. 
 And builds on blood, and rises by distress; 
 And the inheritance of desolation leaves 
 To great-expecting hopes: he looks thereon. 
 As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye. 
 And bears no venture in impiety. 
 
 Thus, madam, fares the man that hath prepared 
 A rest for his desires; and sees all things 
 Beneath him; and hath learnt this book of man. 
 Full of the notes of frailty; and compared 
 The best of glory with her sufferings: 
 By whom, I see, you labour, all you can, 
 To plant your heart; and set your thoughts as near 
 His glorious mansion, as your powers can bear. 
 
 Which, madam, are so soundly fashioned 
 By that clear judgment, that hath carried you 
 Beyond the feeble limits of your kind. 
 As they can stand against the strongest head 
 
 334 
 
Passion Ccin make; inured to any hue 
 The world can cast; that cannot cast that mind 
 Out of her form of goodness, that doth see 
 Both what the best and worst of earth can he. 
 
 Which makes, that whatsoever here hefals. 
 You m the region of yourself remain : 
 Where no vain hreath of the impudent molests. 
 That hath secured within the brazen walls 
 Of a clear conscience, that without all stain 
 Rises in peace, in innocency rests; 
 Whilst all what malice from without procures. 
 Shows her own ugly heart, but hurts not yours. 
 
 And whereas none rejoice more in revenge 
 Than women use to do; yet you well know. 
 That wrong is better checked by being contemned 
 Than being pursued; leaving to him to avenge. 
 To whom it appertains. Wherein you show. 
 How worthily your clearness had condemned 
 Base malediction, living in the dark. 
 That at the rays of goodness still doth bark. 
 
 Knowing the heart of man is set to be 
 The centre of his world, about the which 
 These revolutions of disturbances 
 Still roll; where all the aspects of misery 
 Predominate; whose strong effects are such. 
 As he must bear, being powerless to redress: 
 And that unless above himself he can 
 Erect himself, how poor a thing is man! 
 
 And how turmoiled they are that level lie 
 With earth, and cannot lift themselves from thence. 
 That never are at peace with their desires. 
 But work beyond their years; and even deny 
 
 335 
 
Dotage her rest, and kardly will dispense 
 With death. That when ability expires. 
 Desire lives still: so much delight they have. 
 To carry toil and travail to the grave. 
 
 Whose ends you see; and what can be the best 
 They reach unto, when they have cast the sum 
 And reckonings of their glory. And you know, 
 This floating life hath but this port of rest, 
 A heart prepared, that fears no ill to come. 
 And that man's greatness rests but in his show. 
 The best of all whose days consumed are. 
 Either in war, or peace conceiving war. 
 
 This concord, madam, of a well-tuned mind 
 Hath been so set by that all-working hand 
 Of heaven, that though the world hath done his worst 
 To put it out by discords most unkind; 
 Yet doth it still in perfect union stand 
 With God and man; nor ever will be forced 
 From that most sweet accord; but still agree, 
 Equal in fortune's inequality. 
 
 And this note, madam, of your worthiness 
 Remains recorded in so many hearts. 
 As time nor malice cannot wrong your right. 
 In the inheritance of fame you must possess : 
 You that have built you by your great deserts, 
 Out of small means, a far more exquisite 
 And glorious dwelling for your honoured name. 
 Than all the gold of leaden mines can frame. 
 
 Daniel. 
 336 
 
329 
 
 What is a day, wnat is a year 
 Of vain delight and pleasure? 
 
 Like to a dream it endless dies, 
 And from us like a vapour flies: 
 
 And this is all the fruit that we find, 
 Which glory in worldly treasure. 
 
 He that will hope for true delight, 
 With virtue must be graced; 
 
 Sweet folly yields a bitter taste, 
 Which ever will appear at last: 
 
 But if we still in virtue delight, 
 Our souls are in heaven placed. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 330 
 Ballad of Agincourt 
 
 Fair stood the wind for France, 
 When we our sails advance. 
 Nor now to prove our chance 
 
 Longer will tarry; 
 But putting to the main 
 At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, 
 With all his martial train 
 
 Landed King Harry. 
 
 And taking many a fort 
 Furnished in warlike sort, 
 Marcheth towards Agincourt 
 In happy hour; 
 
 {B459) 337 
 
Skirmisliing day by day 
 With those that stopped his way 
 Where the French general lay 
 With all his power. 
 
 Which in his height of pride 
 King Henry to deride, 
 His ransom to provide 
 
 To the king sending; 
 Which he neglects the while 
 As from a nation vile, 
 Yet with an angry smile 
 
 Their fall portending. 
 
 And turning to his men 
 Quoth our brave Henry then: 
 " Though they to one be ten, 
 
 Be not amazed: 
 Yet have we well begun, 
 Battles so bravely won 
 Have ever to the sun 
 
 By fame been raised. 
 
 " And for myself (quoth he) 
 This my full rest shall be, 
 England ne'er mourn for me 
 
 Nor more esteem me: 
 Victor I will remain 
 Or on this earth lie slain. 
 Never shall she sustain 
 
 Loss to redeem me. 
 
 " Poitiers and Cressy tell. 
 When most their pride did swell, 
 Under our swords they fell: 
 No less our skill is 
 338 
 
Than wben our grandsire great. 
 Claiming tke regal seat. 
 By many a warlike feat 
 
 Lopped the French Lihes. 
 
 The Duke of York so dread 
 The eager vaw^ard led; 
 With the main Henry sped 
 
 Amongst his henchmen; 
 Exeter had the rear, 
 A hraver man not there ; 
 Lord, how hot they were 
 
 On the false Frenchmen! 
 
 They now to fight are gone; 
 Armour on armour shone. 
 Drum now to drum did groan: 
 
 To hear w^as wonder. 
 That with the cries they make 
 The very earth did shake; 
 Trumpet to trumpet spake, 
 
 Thunder to thunder. 
 
 Well it thine age hecame, 
 nohle Erpingham, 
 Which did'st the signal aim 
 
 To our hid forces; 
 When from a meadow hy. 
 Like a storm suddenly. 
 The English archery 
 
 Struck the French horses, 
 
 With Spanish yew so strong, 
 Arrows a cloth-yard long. 
 That like to serpents stung 
 Piercing the weather; 
 339 
 
None from his fellows starts, 
 But playing manly parts, 
 And like true Englisli hearts, 
 Stuck close together. 
 
 When down their bows they threw 
 And forth their hilhoes drew 
 And on the French they flew. 
 
 Not one was tardy; 
 Arms were from shoulders sent. 
 Scalps to the teeth were rent, 
 Down the French peasants went. 
 
 Our men were hardy. 
 
 This while our noble king, 
 His broad-sword brandishing, 
 Down the French host did ding, 
 
 As to o'erwhelm it; 
 And many a deep wound lent. 
 His arms with blood besprent, 
 And many a cruel dent 
 
 Bruised his helmet. 
 
 Gloster, that duke so good. 
 Next of the royal blood. 
 For famous England stood 
 
 With his brave brother; 
 Clarence, in steel so bright. 
 Though but a maiden knight. 
 Yet in that furious fight 
 
 Scarce such another. 
 
 Warwick in blood did wade, 
 Oxford the foe invade, 
 And cruel slaughter made 
 Still as they ran up: 
 
 340 
 
Suffolk bis axe did ply, 
 Beaumont and Willougbby 
 Bare tkem right doughtily, 
 Ferrers and Fantope. 
 
 Upon Saint Crispin's day 
 Fougtt was this noble fray 
 Wliicli fame did not delay 
 
 To England to carry: 
 wnen shall Englisn men 
 With such acts fill a pen. 
 Or England breed again 
 
 Such a King Harry! 
 
 331 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 What pleasure have great princes 
 More dainty to their choice 
 
 Than herdsmen wild, who careless. 
 In quiet life rejoice. 
 
 And fortune's fate not fearing 
 
 Sing sweet m summer morning? 
 
 Their dealings plain and rightful. 
 
 Are void of all deceit; 
 They never know how 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 rest; 
 341 
 
More quiet ttan wto sendeth 
 
 His stip into tte East, 
 Wnere gold and pearl are plenty; 
 But getting, very dainty. 
 
 For lawyers and tteir pleading, 
 Ttey 'steem it not a straw; 
 
 Tkey think that honest meaning 
 Is of itself a law: 
 
 Whence conscience judgeth plainly, 
 
 They spend no money vainly. 
 
 happy who thus liveth ! 
 
 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. 
 
 Anonymous. 
 
 332 
 To tlie Virginian Voyage 
 
 You brave heroic minds, 
 Worthy your country's name. 
 
 That honour still pursue; 
 
 Go and subdue, 
 Whilst loitering hinds 
 Lurk here at home with shame. 
 342 
 
Britons, you stay too long; 
 
 Quickly aboard bestow you, 
 And with a merry gale 
 Swell your stretcbed sail, 
 
 Witb vows as strong 
 
 As tbe winds tbat blow you. 
 
 Your course securely steer, 
 West and by soutb fortb keep; 
 
 Rocks, lee-sbores, nor sboals, 
 
 Wben Bolus scowls. 
 You need not fear; 
 So absolute tbe deep. 
 
 ' And cbeerfuUy at sea 
 Success you still entice 
 
 To get tbe pearl and gold. 
 
 And ours to bold 
 Virginia, 
 Eartb's only Paradise. 
 
 Wben nature batb in store 
 Fowl, venison, and fisb. 
 
 And tbe fruitful'st soil, 
 
 Witbout your toil, 
 Tbree barvests more. 
 All greater tban you wisb. 
 
 And tbe ambitious vine 
 Crowns witb bis purple mass 
 
 Tbe cedar reacbing bigb 
 
 To kiss tbe sky, 
 Tbe cypress, pine. 
 And useful sassafras. 
 343 
 
To wnom the golden age 
 Still nature's laws doth give, 
 
 No other cares attend 
 
 But them to defend 
 From winter's rage, 
 That long there doth not live. 
 
 When as the luscious smell 
 Oi that delicious land, 
 
 Ahove the seas that flows, 
 
 The clear wind throws 
 Your hearts to swell 
 Approaching the dear strand; 
 
 In kenning of the shore 
 (Thanks to God first given), 
 
 you, the happiest men. 
 
 Be frolic then; 
 Let cannons roar. 
 Frighting the wide heaven. 
 
 And in regions far. 
 
 Such heroes hring ye forth. 
 
 As those from whom we came; 
 
 And plant our name 
 Under that star 
 Not known unto our North 
 
 And as there plenty grows 
 Of laurel everywhere, 
 
 Apollo's sacred tree. 
 
 You it may see, 
 A poet's brows 
 
 To crown, that may sing there. 
 344 
 
Thy voyages attend 
 Industrious Hackluit, 
 
 Wtose reading stall inflame 
 
 Men to seek fame, 
 And muck commend 
 To after-times tky wit. 
 
 333 
 
 Drayton. 
 
 Desire, tkat is of things ungot. 
 See what travail it procureth. 
 And how much the mind endureth, 
 To gain what yet it gaineth not: 
 For never was it paid, 
 The charge defrayed. 
 According to the price of thought. 
 
 Daniel. 
 
 334 
 Change should Breed Change 
 
 New doth the sun appear, 
 
 The mountains' snows decay. 
 
 Crowned with frail flowers forth comes the bahy 
 
 year. 
 My soul, yet in that frost 
 Which flower and fruit hath lost. 
 As if all here immortal were, dost stay: 
 For shame! thy powers awake. 
 
 Look to that heaven which never night makes black. 
 And there, at that immortal sun's bright rays. 
 Deck thee with flowers which fear not rage of days. 
 
 Drummond. 
 345 
 
335 
 
 Oft, wlien my spirit doth spread ter bolder wings, 
 In mind to mount up to tlie purest sky, 
 It down is weighed with thought of earthly things. 
 And clogged with burden of mortality; 
 Where, when that sovereign beauty it doth spy. 
 Resembling heaven's glory in her light. 
 Drawn with sweet pleasure's bait, it back doth fly. 
 And unto heaven forgets her former flight. 
 There my frail fancy, fed with full delight. 
 Doth bathe in bliss, and mantleth most at ease; 
 Ne thinks of other heaven, but how it might 
 Her heart's desire with most contentment please. 
 Heart need not wish none other happiness, 
 But here on earth to have such heaven's bliss. 
 
 Spenser. 
 336 
 
 They that have power to hurt and will do none, 
 That do not do the thing they most do show, 
 Who, moving others, are themselves as stone. 
 Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow. 
 They rightly do inherit heaven s graces 
 And husband nature s riches from expense ; 
 They are the lords and owners of their faces. 
 Others but stewards of their excellence. 
 The summer s flower is to the summer sweet. 
 Though to itself it only live and die. 
 But if that flower with base infection meet. 
 The basest weed outbraves his dignity: 
 
 For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; 
 
 Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 346 
 
337 
 
 As Love and I late narDoured in one inn, 
 Witn proverbs ttns eacli other entertain: 
 In love tnere is no lack, tbus I begin; 
 Fair -woris make fools, repbetb be again: 
 Wbo spares to speak dotb spare to speed, quotb I; 
 As well, saitb be, too forward as too slow: 
 Fortune assists tbe boldest, I reply; 
 A basty man, quoth he, ne er w^anted w^oe : 
 Labour is light where love, quoth I, doth pay; 
 Saitb he, Li^t burden s heavy, if far borne: 
 Quoth I, Tbe main lost, cast the bye away: 
 You have spun a fair thread, he replies in scorn. 
 And having thus awhile each other thwarted. 
 Fools as we met, so fools a gain w^e parted. 
 
 Drayton. 
 338 
 
 Madrigal 
 
 This Ufe, -which seems so fair. 
 
 Is lite a bubble blown up in tbe air 
 
 By sporting children s breath. 
 
 Who chase it everywhere. 
 
 And strive who can most motion it bequeath : 
 
 And though it sometime seem of its own might, 
 
 Like to an eye of gold, to be fixed there. 
 
 And firm to hover in that empty height, 
 
 That only is because it is so l^t. 
 
 But in that pomp it doth not long appear; 
 
 For even when most admired, it in a thought. 
 As swelled from nothing, dotb dissolve in nought. 
 
 Drummond. 
 347 
 
339 
 
 To he Merry- 
 Let's now take our time 
 While we're in our prime, 
 
 And old, old age is afar oii: 
 For the evil, evil days 
 Will come on apace, 
 
 Before we can he aware of. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 340 
 
 That time of year thou mayst in me hehold 
 When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
 Upon those houghs which shake against the cold. 
 Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. 
 In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 
 As after sunset fadeth in the west. 
 Which hy and by black night doth take away. 
 Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
 In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire 
 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie. 
 As the death-bed whereon it must expire 
 Consumed with that which it was nourished by. 
 
 This thou perceivest, which makes thy love more 
 strong. 
 
 To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 348 
 
341 
 A Farewell to Arms 
 
 (To Queen Elizabeth) 
 
 His golden locks time hath to silver turned; 
 
 time too swift, swiftness never ceasing! 
 His youth gainst time and age hath ever spurned, 
 
 But spumed in vain ; youth waneth hy increasing ; 
 Beauty, strength, youth are flowers hut fading seen; 
 Duty, faith, love are roots, and ever green. 
 
 His helmet now shall make a hive for hees; 
 
 And, lovers' sonnets turned to holy psalms, 
 A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees. 
 
 And feed on prayers, which are age his alms: 
 But though from court to cottage he depart, 
 His saint is sure of his unspotted heart. 
 
 And when he saddest sits in homely cell. 
 He'll teach his swains this carol for a song: 
 
 " Blest he the hearts that wish my sovereign well, 
 Curst be the souls that think her any wrong. " 
 
 Goddess, allow this aged man his right. 
 
 To be your beadsman now that was your knight. 
 
 Peek. 
 
 349 
 
342 
 
 His Age, Dedicated to kis Peculiar 
 Friend, Mr. John Wickes, under 
 the Name of Posthumus 
 
 At Posttumus! our years kence fly, 
 And leave no sound ; . nor piety 
 
 Or prayers, or vow 
 Can keep tte wrinkle from the brow; 
 
 But we must on. 
 As fate does lead or draw us; none. 
 None, Posttumus, could e'er decline 
 Tte doom of cruel Proserpine. 
 
 Tte pleasing wife, tte touse, tte ground, 
 Must all be left, no one plant found 
 
 To follow ttee. 
 Save only tte cursed cypress tree; 
 
 A merry mind 
 Looks forward, scorns wtat's left bebind; 
 Let's live, my Wickes, tten, wtile we may. 
 And tere enjoy our toliday. 
 
 We've seen tte past test times, and ttese 
 Will ne'er return; we see tte seas 
 
 And moons to wane, 
 But ttey fill up tteir ebbs again; 
 
 But vanisted man. 
 Like to a lily lost, ne'er can. 
 Ne'er can repuUulate, or tring 
 His days to see a second spring. 
 35° 
 
Bat on we must, and thitber tend, 
 Wtere Ancbus and rich Tullus blend 
 
 Their sacred seed: 
 Thus has iniemal Jove decreed; 
 
 We must be made. 
 Ere long a song, ere long a shade. 
 Why then, since life to us is short, 
 Let's make it lull up by our sport. 
 
 Crown we our heads with roses tlien. 
 And noint with Tynan balm; for when 
 
 We two are dead. 
 The world with us is buried. 
 
 Then live we free 
 As is the air, and let us be 
 Our own fair wind, and mark each one 
 Day with the white and lucky stone. 
 
 We are not poor, althoi^ we have 
 No roofs of cedar, nor our brave 
 
 Baiae, nor keep 
 Account of such a flock of sheep; 
 
 Nor bullocks fed 
 To lard the shambles: barbels bred 
 To kiss our hands;' nor do we wish 
 For PoUio's lampreys in our dish. 
 
 If we can meet and so confer 
 Both by a shining salt-cellar. 
 
 And have our roof. 
 Although not arched, yet weather-proof. 
 
 And ceiling free' 
 From that cheap candle bawdery; 
 We'll eat our bean with that full mirth 
 As we were lords of all the earth. 
 351 
 
Well then, on what seas we are tossed, 
 Our comfort is, we can't be lost. 
 
 Let the wind drive 
 Our barque, yet she will keep alive 
 
 Amidst the deeps; 
 Tis constancy, my Wickes, which keeps 
 The pinnace up; which though she errs 
 r the seas she saves her passengers. 
 
 Say we must part (sweet mercy bless 
 Us both i' the sea, camp, wilderness). 
 
 Can we so far 
 Stray to become less circular 
 
 Than we are now? 
 No, no, that self-same heart, that vow 
 Which made us one, shall ne'er undo, 
 Or ravel so to make us two. 
 
 Live in thy peace; as for myself 
 When I am bruised on the shelf 
 
 Of time and show 
 My locks behung with frost and snow; 
 
 When with the rheum, 
 The cough, the ptisick, I consume 
 Unto an almost nothing; then 
 The ages fled I'll call again. 
 
 And with a tear compare these last 
 Lame and bad times with those are past; 
 
 While Baucis by, 
 My old lean wife, shall kiss it dry. 
 
 And so we'll sit 
 By the fire, foretelling snow and sleet, 
 And weather by our aches, grown 
 Now old enough to be our own 
 353 
 
True calendars, as puss's ear 
 
 Wasted o'er's, to tell what change is near: 
 
 Then to assuage 
 The gripings of the chine by age 
 
 I 11 call my young 
 lulus to sing such a song 
 I made upon my Julia's breast; 
 And of her blush at such a feast. 
 
 Then shall be read that flower of mine, 
 Enclosed within a crystal shrine; 
 
 A primrose next; 
 A piece, then, of a higher text. 
 
 For to beget 
 In me a more transcendent heat 
 Than that insinuating fire. 
 Which crept into each aged sire, 
 
 When the fair Helen, from her eyes. 
 Shot forth her loving sorceries; 
 
 At which I 11 rear 
 Mine aged limbs above my chair. 
 
 And, hearing it. 
 Flutter and crow as in a fit 
 Of fresh concupiscence, and cry: 
 No lust there's like to poetry. 
 
 Thus, frantic, crazy man, God wot, 
 I 11 call to mind things half-forgot, 
 
 And oft between 
 Repeat the things that I have seen! 
 
 Thus ripe with tears. 
 And twisting my lulus' hairs; 
 Doting, I 11 weep and say, in truth, 
 Baucis, these were my sins of youth. 
 
 (B459) 353 Z 
 
Then next I '11 cause my hopeful lad, 
 If a wild apple can be had, 
 
 To crown the hearth, 
 Lar thus conspiring with our mirth; 
 
 Then to infuse 
 Our browner ale into the cruse. 
 Which sweetly spiced, we'll first carouse 
 Unto the genius of the house. 
 
 Then the next health of friends of mine. 
 Loving the brave Burgundian wine, 
 
 High sons of pith. 
 Whose fortunes I have frolicked with; 
 
 Such as could well 
 Bear up the magic bough emd spell; 
 And dancing bout the mystic thyrse. 
 Give up the just applause to verse: 
 
 To those, and then again to thee. 
 We'll drink, my Wickes, until we be 
 
 Plump as the cherry. 
 Though not so fresh, yet full as merry 
 
 As the cricket, 
 The untamed heifer, or the pricket. 
 Until our tongues shall tell our ears 
 We're younger by a score of years. 
 
 Thus, till we see the fire less shine 
 From the embers than the kitling's eyne. 
 
 We'll still sit up. 
 Sphering about the wassail-cup 
 
 To all those times 
 Which gave me honour for my rhymes. 
 The coal once spent, we'll then to bed. 
 Far more than night-bewearied. Hemck. 
 
 3S4 
 
343 
 
 To a Gentlewoman objecting to 
 Him his Gray Hairs 
 
 Am I despised because you say. 
 And I dare swear, that I am gray? 
 Know, lady, you have but your day: 
 And time will come when you shall wear 
 Such frost and snow upon your hair; 
 And when (though long, it comes to pass) 
 You question with your looking-glass; 
 And in that sincere crystal seek. 
 But find no rose-bud in your cheek; 
 Nor any bed to give the show 
 Where such a rare carnation grew. 
 
 Ah ! then too late, close in your chamber keeping, 
 It will be told 
 That you are old, 
 
 By those true tears you're weeping. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 344 
 To Perilla 
 
 Ah, my Perilla, dost thou grieve to see 
 Me, day by day, to steal away from thee? 
 Age calls me hence, and my gray hairs bid come, 
 And haste away to mine eternal home; 
 T will not be long, Perilla, after this. 
 That I must give thee the supremest kiss: 
 
 355 
 
Dead wten I am, first cast in salt, and bring 
 Part of tte cream from tbat religious spring; 
 Witt whict, Perilla, wast my tands and feet; 
 Ttat done, tten wind me m ttat very steet 
 Wtict wrapt tty smoott limbs wben ttou didst 
 
 implore 
 Tte gods' protection biit tbe nigtt before. 
 Follow me weeping to my turf, and ttere 
 Let fall a primrose, and witt it a tear: 
 Tten, lastly, let some weekly-strewings be 
 Devoted to tte memory of me: 
 Tten stall my gtost not walk about, but keep 
 Still in tbe cool and silent stades of sleep. 
 
 Herrick. 
 345 
 A Lament m Time of Plague 
 
 Adieu! farewell eartt's bliss, 
 Ttis world uncertain is: 
 Fond are life's lustful joys, 
 Deatt proves ttem all but toys. 
 None from bis darts can fly: 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord tave mercy on us! 
 
 Rict men, trust not in wealtt 
 Gold cannot buy you tealtt; 
 Ptysic timself must fade; 
 All ttings to end are made; 
 Tte plague full swift goes by; 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord bave mercy on us! 
 3S6 
 
Beauty is but a flower, 
 Whict wrinkles will devour: 
 Brightness falls from tte air; 
 Queens have died young and fair; 
 Dust hath closed Helen's eye: 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us! 
 
 Strength stoops unto the grave, 
 Worms feed on Hector brave: 
 Swords may not fight with fate: 
 Earth still holds ope her gate. 
 Come, come, the bells do cry: 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us! 
 
 Wit with his wantonness 
 Tasteth death s bitterness : 
 Hell's executioner 
 Hath no ears for to hear 
 What vam art can reply; 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us! 
 
 Haste therefore each degree 
 To welcome destiny: 
 Heaven is our heritage. 
 Earth but a player's stage. 
 Mount we unto the sky; 
 I am sick, I must die. 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Nashe. 
 
 357 
 
346 
 
 When, in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, 
 I all alone beweep my outcast state 
 And trouble deaf beaven witb my bootless cries 
 And look upon myself and curse my fate. 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope. 
 Featured like him, like him with friends possessed, 
 Desiring this man s art and that man s scope. 
 With what I most enjoy contented least; 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising. 
 Haply I think on thee, and then my state. 
 Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven s gate; 
 For thy sweet love remembered such wealth bringi 
 That then I scorn to change my state with kings. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 347 
 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 
 I summon up remembrance of things past, 
 
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought. 
 
 And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste: 
 
 Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow. 
 
 For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 
 
 And weep afresh love's long since cancelled woe. 
 
 And moan the expense of many a vanished sight: 
 
 Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
 
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
 
 Which I new pay as if not paid before. 
 
 But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, 
 All losses are restored and sorrows end. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 358 
 
348 
 
 Alas, t is true I have gone here and there 
 
 And made myself a motley to the view. 
 
 Gored mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most 
 
 dear. 
 Made old offences of affections new: 
 Most true it is that I have looked on truth 
 Askance and strangely: but, by all above. 
 These blenches gave my heart another youth, 
 And worse essays proved thee my best of love. 
 Now all is done, have what shall have no end: 
 Mine appetite I never more will grind 
 On newer proof, to try an older friend, 
 A god in love, to whom I am confined. 
 
 Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, 
 Even to thy pure and most most loving breast. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 349 
 
 0, for my sake do you with Fortune chide, 
 The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds. 
 That did not better for my life provide 
 Than public means which public manners breeds. 
 Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, 
 And almost thence my nature is subdued 
 To what it works in, like the dyer s hand : 
 Pity me then and wish I were renewed; 
 Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink 
 Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection; 
 No bitterness that I will bitter think, 
 Nor double penance, to correct correction. 
 Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye 
 Even that your pity is enough to cure me. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 3S9 
 
350 
 
 Urns and odours bring away! 
 
 Vapours, sigts, darken tte day! 
 Our dole more deadly looks tban dying: 
 
 Balms, and gums, and lieavy ckeers. 
 
 Sacred vials filled witli tears. 
 And clamours tkrougli tbe wild air flying 
 
 Come, all sad and solemn shows. 
 That are quick-eyed Pleasure s foes I 
 We convent nought else but woes. 
 
 Fletcher. 
 
 351 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights, 
 As short as are the nights 
 
 Wherein you spend your folly! 
 There's nought in this life sweet. 
 If man w^ere w^ise to see t. 
 
 But only melancholy. 
 
 Oh, sweetest melancholy! 
 Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes, 
 A sight that piercii^ mortifies, 
 A look that s fastened to the ground, 
 A tongue chained up without a sound! 
 
 Fountain-heads, and pathless groves. 
 Places which pale passion loves! 
 Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
 Are warmly housed, save hats and owls! 
 
 A midnight bell, a parting groan! 
 
 These are the sounds we feed upon; 
 Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley 
 Nothing s so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 
 
 Fletcher. 
 360 
 
352 
 
 Slow, slow, (resli fount, keep time with my salt tears; 
 
 Yet slower, yet; faintly, gentle springs; 
 List to the heavy part the music hears, 
 
 Woe weeps out her division when she sings. 
 Droop herhs and flowers; 
 Fall grief in showers. 
 Our beauties are not ours; 
 0, I could still. 
 Like melting snow upon some craggy hiU. 
 
 Drop, drop, drop, drop. 
 Since nature's pride is now a withered daffodil. 
 
 Jonson. 
 353 
 
 The hour of sweety night decays apace, 
 
 And now warm beds are better than this place. 
 
 All time is long that is unwilling spent. 
 
 But hours are minutes when they yield content. 
 
 The gathered flowers we love that breathe sweet scent, 
 
 But loathe them, their sweet odours being spent. 
 
 It is a life is never ill 
 
 To lie and sleep in roses still. 
 
 The rarer pleasure is it is more sweet. 
 
 And friends are kindest when they seldom meet. 
 
 Who would not hear the nightingale still sing. 
 
 Or who grew ever weary of the spring? 
 
 The day must have her night, the spring her fall, 
 
 All is divided, none is lord of all. 
 
 It were a most delightful thing 
 
 To live in a perpetual spring. 
 
 Marston. 
 361 
 
354 
 
 On tne Tombs in Westminster 
 Abbey 
 
 Mortality, behold and fear! 
 
 What a change of flesh is here! 
 
 Think how many royal hones 
 
 Sleep within these heaps of stones; 
 
 Here they lie had realms and lands, 
 
 Who now want strength to stir their hands; 
 
 Where from their pulpits sealed with dust 
 
 They preach, In greatness is no trust. 
 
 Here s an acre sown* indeed 
 
 With the richest royallest seed 
 
 That the Earth did e'er suck in 
 
 Since the first man died for sin: 
 
 Here the hones of birth have cried. 
 
 Though gods they were, as men they died! 
 
 Here are sands, ignoble things, 
 
 Dropt from the ruined sides of kings: 
 
 Here 's a world of pomp and state 
 
 Buried in dust, once dead by fate. 
 
 Beaumont. 
 
 355 
 
 All the flowers of the spring 
 Meet to perfume our burying; 
 These have but their growing prime. 
 And man does flourish but his time: 
 Survey our progress from our birth; 
 We are set, we grow, we turn to earth. 
 362 
 
Courts adieu, and all delights, 
 
 All Dewitcting appetites! 
 
 Sweetest breath and clearest eye. 
 
 Like perfumes, go out and die; 
 
 And consequently this is done 
 
 As shadows 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. 
 
 fFebster. 
 
 356 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies; 
 
 Of his bbnes are coral made; 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes: 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: 
 
 Ding-dong. 
 Hark ! now I hear them : Ding-dong, bell. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 357 
 
 Come away, come away, Death, 
 
 And m sad cypress let me be laid; 
 
 Fly away, fly away, breath; 
 
 I am slain by a cruel, fair maid. 
 
 My shroud of white stuck all with yew, 
 
 prepare it! 
 My part of death, no one so true 
 
 Did share it. 
 
 363 
 
Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 
 
 On my black coffin let there be strown; 
 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 
 My poor corpse wbere my bones sball be thrown: 
 
 A thousand thousand sighs to save, 
 
 Lay me where 
 Sad true lover never find my grave 
 
 To weep there! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 358 
 
 Lay a garland on my hearse 
 
 Of the dismal yew; 
 Maidens, willow branches bear; 
 
 Say, I died true. 
 
 My love was false, but I was firm 
 
 From my hour of birth. 
 Upon my buried body lie 
 
 Lightly, gentle earth! 
 
 Beaumont and Fletcher. 
 
 359 
 
 Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren. 
 
 Since o'er shady groves they hover. 
 
 And with leaves and flowers do cover 
 
 The friendless bodies of unburied men. 
 
 Call unto his funeral dole 
 
 The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, 
 
 To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm. 
 
 And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm; 
 
 But keep the wolf far thence, that 's foe to men. 
 
 For with his nails he'll dig them up again. 
 
 Webster. 
 364 
 
360 
 
 Hark, now everytting is still, 
 The screech-owl and tke wtistler skrill, 
 Call upon our dame aloud. 
 And bid her quickly don her shroud! 
 Much you had of land and rent; 
 Your length in clay 's now competent: 
 A long war disturbed your mind; 
 Here your perfect peace is signed. 
 Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping? 
 Sin their conception, their birth weeping. 
 Their life a general mist of error. 
 Their death a hideous storm of terror. 
 Strew your hair with powders sweet, 
 Don clean linen, bathe your feet. 
 And (the foul fiend more to check) 
 A crucifix let bless your neck: 
 T IS now full tide tween night and day; 
 End your groan, and come away. 
 
 Webster. 
 
 361 
 
 Fear no more the heat o the sun, 
 Nor the furious winter's rages; 
 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done. 
 
 Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: 
 
 Golden lads and girls all must. 
 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the frown o the great; 
 Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 
 36s 
 
Care no more to clothe and eat; 
 
 To ttee the reed is as the oak: 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 All follow this, and come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the lightning-flash 
 Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; 
 
 Fear not slander, censure rash; 
 
 Thou hast finished joy and moan: 
 
 All lovers young, all lovers must 
 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 No exerciser harm thee! 
 Nor no witchcraft charm thee! 
 Ghost unlaid forbear thee! 
 Nothing ill come near thee! 
 Quiet consummation have; 
 And renowned be thy grave! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 362 
 Upon a Child 
 
 Here a pretty baby lies 
 Sung asleep with lullabies 
 Pray be silent, and not stir 
 The easy earth that covers her. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 366 
 
363 
 An Epitapk upon a Virgin 
 
 Here a solemn fast we keep, 
 Wtile all beauty lies asleep 
 Hushed he all tilings, no noise here, 
 But the toning of a tear: 
 Or the sigh of such as bring 
 Cowslips for her covering. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 364 
 
 Epitapli on S. P., a Child of 
 Queen Elizabeth's Chapel 
 
 Weep with me all you that read 
 
 This little story; 
 And know, for whom a tear you shed, 
 
 Death's self is sorry. 
 'T was a child, that so did thrive 
 
 In grace and feature, 
 As Heaven and nature seemed to strive 
 
 Which owned the creature. 
 Years he numbered scarce thirteen 
 
 When fates turned cruel; 
 Yet three filled zodiacs had he been 
 
 The stage's jewel; 
 And did act, what now we moan. 
 
 Old men so duly; 
 As, sooth, the Parcae thought him one. 
 
 He played so truly. 
 367 
 
So, by error, to his fate 
 
 They all consented; 
 But viewing bim since, alas, too late! 
 
 They have repented; 
 And have sought, to give new birth. 
 
 In baths to steep him; 
 But, being so much too good lor earth. 
 
 Heaven vows to keep him. 
 
 Jonson. 
 
 365 
 Epitapk on Elizabeth L. H. 
 
 Wouldst thou hear what men can say 
 
 In a little? Reader, stay. 
 
 Underneath this stone doth lie 
 
 As much beauty as could die; 
 
 Which in life did harbour give 
 
 To more virtue than doth live. 
 
 If, at all, she had a fault 
 
 Leave it buried in this vault. 
 
 One name was Elizabeth, 
 
 The other let it sleep with death. 
 
 Fitter, where it died, to tell, 
 
 Than that it lived at all. Farewell. 
 
 Jonson. 
 
 368 
 
366 
 
 On tke Countess Dowager of 
 Pembroke 
 
 UnJemeadi diis sable terse 
 Lies tbe snoject of all verse: 
 Sidney s sister, Pembroke s motiier: 
 Deatb, ere tbou bast slain anotber. 
 Fair, and learn i, and good as sbe. 
 Time sball tbrow a dart at tbee. 
 
 Marble piles let no man raise 
 To ber name: for after days 
 Some kind woman bom as sbe, 
 Reading tbis, like Niobe 
 Sball torn marble, and become 
 Botb ber mourner and ber tomb. 
 
 Browne cr Jonson. 
 
 367 
 
 Deatb, be not proud, tbougb some bave called tbee 
 
 Mikity and dreadful, for tbou art not so; 
 
 For tbose, ^irbom dioa tbink'st tbou dost overtbrow. 
 
 Die not, poor Deatb, nor yet canst tbou lull me. 
 
 From rest and sleep, wbicb but tby picture be, 
 
 Mucb pleasure, tben from tbee mucb more most flow. 
 
 And soonest our best men witb tbee do go. 
 
 Rest of tbetr bones, and soul s debvery. 
 
 Tbou rt slave to Fate, cbance, kings, and desperate 
 
 men. 
 And dost witb poison, war, and sickness dwell, 
 
 (809) 369 2A 
 
And poppy, or cbarins can make us sleep as well. 
 And better tlian thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? 
 One short sleep past, w^e wake eternally. 
 And Death shall he no more; Death, thou shalt die. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 368 
 
 Verses found in his Bible m tne 
 Gate-kouse at Westminster 
 
 Even such is time, that takes in trust 
 Our youth, our joys, our all we have, 
 
 And pays us hut with earth and dust; 
 Who, in the dark and silent grave. 
 
 When ■we have wandered all our w^ays. 
 
 Shuts up the story of our days; 
 
 But from this earth, this grave, this dust, 
 
 My God shall raise me up, I trust. 
 
 Raleigh. 
 
 369 
 Divination by a Daffodil 
 
 When a daffodil I see. 
 Hanging down his head towards me 
 Guess I may what I must he: 
 First, I shall decline my head; 
 Secondly, I shall be dead; 
 Lastly, safely buried. 
 
 Herrick. 
 370 
 
370 
 
 Verses Written in the Tower tlie 
 Night before he was Beheaded 
 
 My prime oi youth is but a frost of cares; 
 
 My feast of joy is but a disb of pain; 
 My crop of corn is but a field of tares; 
 
 And all my good is but vain bope of gain; 
 The day is fled, and yet I saw no sun; 
 And now I live, and now my life is done! 
 
 The spring is past, and yet it batb not sprung; 
 
 The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green; 
 My youth is gone, and yet I am but young; 
 
 I saw the world, and yet I was not seen; 
 My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun; 
 And now I live, and now my life is done! 
 
 I sought my death, and found it in my womb; 
 
 I looked for life, and saw it was a shade; 
 I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb; 
 
 And now I die, and now I am but made; 
 The glass is full, and now my glass is run; 
 And now I live, and now my life is done! 
 
 Chidiock Tichborne. 
 
 37' 
 
371 
 His Winding - Skeet 
 
 Come thou, who art the wine and wit 
 
 Of all I ve writ: 
 The grace, the glory, and the hest 
 
 Piece of the rest. 
 Thou art of what I did intend 
 
 The all and end; 
 And what was made, was made to meet 
 
 Thee, thee, my sheet. 
 Come then, and he to my chaste side 
 
 Both bed and bride. 
 We two, as reliques left, will have 
 
 One rest, one grave. 
 And, hugging close, we will not fear 
 
 Lust entering here: 
 Where all desires are dead or cold 
 
 As in the mould; 
 And all affections are forgot. 
 
 Or trouble not. 
 Here, here the slaves and prisoners be 
 
 From shackles free: 
 And weeping widows long oppressed 
 
 Do here find rest. 
 The wronged client ends his laws 
 
 Here, and his cause. 
 Here those long suits of chancery lie 
 
 Quiet, or die: 
 And all Star-Chamber bills do cease. 
 
 Or hold their peace. 
 Here needs no Court for our Request, 
 
 Where all are best, 
 372 
 
All wise, all equal, and all just 
 
 Alike i' the dust. 
 Nor need we bere to fear tte frown 
 
 Of court or crown: 
 Wnere fortune bears no sway o'er things, 
 
 There all are kings. 
 In this securer place we 11 keep, 
 
 As lulled asleep; 
 Or for a little time we 11 lie 
 
 As robes laid by; 
 To be another day re- worn, 
 
 Turned, but not torn: 
 Or, like old testaments engrost. 
 
 Locked up, not lost: 
 And for a while lie here concealed. 
 
 To be revealed 
 Next at that great Platonic year, 
 
 And then meet here. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 372 
 Tke Funeral 
 
 Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm, 
 
 Nor question much, 
 That subtle wreath of hair, which crowns my arm; 
 The mystery, the sign you must not touch; 
 
 For 't is my outward soul. 
 Viceroy to that, which unto heaven being gone 
 
 Will leave this to control 
 And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolu- 
 tion. 
 
 373 
 
For if the sinewy tkread my brain lets fall 
 
 Ttrougt every part 
 •Can tie those parts, and make me one of all, 
 Those hairs which upward grew, and strength and 
 art 
 Have from a better brain. 
 Can better do t; except she meant that I 
 
 By this should know my pain, 
 As prisoners then are manacled, when they re con- 
 demned to die. 
 
 Whate'er she meant by it, bury it with me. 
 
 For since I am 
 Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry, 
 If into other hands these relics came. 
 
 As 't was humility 
 To afford to it all that a soul can do, 
 
 So 't is some bravery, 
 That since you would have none of me, I bury some 
 of you. 
 
 Donne. 
 
 373 
 The Pilgrimage 
 
 Give me my scallop-shell of quiet. 
 My staff of faith to walk upon, 
 
 My scrip of joy, immortal diet, 
 My bottle of salvation, 
 
 My gown of glory, hope's true gage; 
 
 And thus I '11 take my pilgrimage. 
 374 
 
Blood must be my body's balmer; 
 
 No otber balm will tbere be given; 
 Wbilst my soul, like quiet palmer, 
 
 Travelletb towards tbe land of beaven 
 Over the silver mountains, 
 Wbere spring tbe nectar fountains: 
 
 Tbere will I kiss 
 
 Tbe bowl of bbss. 
 And drink mine everlasting fiU 
 Upon every muken bill. 
 My soul will be a-dry before; 
 But after, it will tbirst no more. 
 
 Tben by tbat bappy, blissful day. 
 
 More peaceful pilgrims I sball see, 
 Tbat bave cast off tbeir rags of clay. 
 
 And walk apparelled fresb like me. 
 
 I 11 take tbem first 
 
 To quencb tbeir tbirst 
 And taste of nectar suckets. 
 
 At tbose clear wells 
 
 Where sweetness dw^ells. 
 Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets. 
 
 And when our bottles and all we 
 Are filled with immortality, 
 Tben tbe blessed paths we 11 travel, 
 Strowed with rubies thick as gravel; 
 Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors. 
 High walls of coral and pearly bowers. 
 From thence to heaven s bribeless hall, 
 Wbere no corrupted voices brawl; 
 No conscience molten into gold, 
 No forged accuser bought or sold, 
 375 
 
No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey. 
 For ttere Ctrist is tke king's Attorney, 
 Who pleads for all witbout degrees. 
 And lie liatli angels, but no fees. 
 And when the grand twelve-million jury 
 Of our sins, with direful fury. 
 Against our souls black verdicts give, 
 Christ pleads his death, and then we live. 
 
 Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader, 
 
 Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder! 
 
 Thou givest salvation even for alms; 
 
 Not with a bribed lawyer's palms. 
 
 And this is mine eternal plea 
 
 To him that made heaven, earth, and sea, 
 
 That, smce my flesh must die so soon. 
 
 And want a head to dine next noon. 
 
 Just at the stroke, when my veins start and spread, 
 
 Set on my soul an everlasting head! 
 
 Then am I ready, like a palmer fit. 
 
 To tread those blest paths which before I writ. 
 
 Of death and judgment, heaven and hell, 
 Who oft doth think, must needs die well. 
 
 374 
 
 Raleigh. 
 
 Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me: 
 
 For while thou view'st me with thy fading light, 
 
 Part of my life doth still depart with thee. 
 And I still onward haste to my last night. 
 
 Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly: 
 
 So every day we live a day we die. 
 
 376 
 
But, ye nights, ordained for barren rest. 
 How are my days deprived of life in you, 
 
 Wnen heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, 
 By feigned death life sweetly to renew! 
 
 Part of my life in that, you life deny: 
 
 So every day we live a day we die. 
 
 Campion. 
 
 375 
 
 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 
 The rich proud cost of outworn buried age; 
 When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed 
 And brass eternal slave to mortal rage; 
 When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
 Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
 And the firm soil win of the watery main. 
 Increasing store with loss and loss with store; 
 When I have seen such interchange of state, 
 Or state itself confounded to decay; 
 Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate. 
 That Time will come and take my love away. 
 This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
 But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 376 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
 Give warning to the world that I am fled 
 From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell: 
 
 377 
 
Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
 The hand that writ it; for I love you so 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot 
 If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
 0, if, I say, you look upon this verse 
 When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, 
 But let your love even with my life decay. 
 
 Lest the wise world should look into your moan 
 And mock you with me after I am gone. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry, 
 As, to behold desert a beggar bom. 
 And needy nothing trimmed in jollity. 
 And purest faith unhappily forsworn, 
 And gilded honour shamefully misplaced. 
 And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, 
 And right perfection wrongfully disgraced. 
 And strength by limping sway disabled. 
 And art made tongue-tied by authority. 
 And folly doctor-like controlling skill. 
 And simple truth miscalled simplicity. 
 And captive good attending captain ill: 
 
 Tired with all these, from these would I be gone 
 Save that, to die, I leave my love alone. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 378 
 
378 
 
 Poor soul, tte centre of my siniul eartk. 
 Foiled by these rebel powers tbat tbee array, 
 Wby dost tbou pine within £uid suffer dearth. 
 Painting thy outward w^alls so costly gay? 
 Why so large cost, having so short a lease. 
 Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? 
 Shall w^omis, inheritors of this excess. 
 Eat up thy charge? is this thy body s end? 
 Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant s loss. 
 And let that pine to ^^ravate thy store; 
 Buy terms divme in selling hours of dross; 
 Within be fed, without be rich no more: 
 
 So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men. 
 And Death once dead, there 's no more dying then. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 379 
 
 Comfort to a Youtk tkat had 
 Lost kis Love 
 
 What needs complaints. 
 When she a place 
 Has with the race 
 
 Of saints? 
 In endless mirth. 
 She thinks not on 
 What s said or done 
 
 In earth. 
 379 
 
She sees no tears, 
 
 Or any tone 
 
 Of thy deep groan 
 
 She hears: 
 Nor does she mind 
 Or think on t now 
 That ever thou 
 
 Wast kind; 
 But changed above, 
 She likes not there 
 As she did here, 
 
 Thy love. 
 Forbear, therefore. 
 And lull asleep 
 Thy woes, and weep 
 
 No more. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 380 
 
Notes 
 
 A part of tliis selection has been publislied, in 
 another form and' differently arranged, as one of the 
 volumes of Blackie's " Red Letter Poets ", where, in 
 order to fit into the limits of a " Sixteenth Century- 
 Anthology", and not to overlap the " Seventeenth 
 Century Anthology", already published m the same 
 series, all writers born later than 1570 had to be 
 excluded. Thus I had to do without almost all the 
 Elizabethan dramatists, those great lyrical poets, and 
 without Hemck, Donne, Drummond of Hawthorn- 
 den, and Browne of Tavistock. The book as now 
 arranged, with the addition of some hundred and 
 twenty or so more poems (four only having been 
 omitted) comes nearer to my original idea of a selec- 
 tion of the best poems of that period which is con- 
 veniently known as Elizabethan; a period properly 
 ending with Herrick, after whom come the Cavaliers 
 and the mystics, and a new world. To begin with 
 Spenser and to end with Herrick is to include, 
 I think, everything characteristic of that period, and 
 nothing outside it. 
 
 In making my choice among the almost endless 
 anonymous lyrics of the period I have thankfully 
 followed the best of guides, not only a guide but a 
 
 38J 
 
pioneer, Mr. A. H. Bullen, to wliom we owe the 
 recognition of Campion among Englisli poets, tne 
 discovery and printing of many songs still in manu- 
 script, and tiie almost faultless choice among those 
 songs which, until his time, were hut little known 
 and but rarely accessible. I have used, by his kind 
 leave, his texts of Campion, of the " Lyrics from the 
 Song- Books of the Elizabethan Age", and of the 
 " Lyrics from the Elizabethan Dramatists . Apart 
 from the anonymous song- writers, I have read, I 
 think, almost everything in which I could expect to 
 find poems worthy of being quoted, and not too long 
 to quote, in the literature of the period; and I have 
 gone to the best editions for my texts, and, when 
 possible, corrected them by a reference to origmal 
 editions. The spelling I have modernized, except in 
 cases where the metre would suffer ; such as ' ' prease 
 when it rhymes with a word with which " press " 
 would not rhyme, or " chapelet ' when "chaplet" 
 would spoil the rhythm. In one case, " The Bargain" 
 of' Sir Philip Sidney, I have given a poem as it was 
 first printed; but in every other case I have tried to 
 give the author s latest text ; and I have given every 
 poem in full. And I may repeat here what I said in 
 issuing my first anthology, that I have made no 
 attempt to be representative in my choice of poems, 
 but only to choose, as far as I could, the best. I have 
 weighed each poem on its own merits, as poetry, or 
 as what I conceive poetry to be; and I have been 
 absolutely indifferent to the subject, sentiment, or 
 tendency of the poems which I have chosen. " Give 
 beauty all her right", I have tried to say, with 
 Campion ; and my pageant has grouped itself together, 
 almost unconsciously, in the following of that single 
 aim. 
 
 382 
 
3. p. 2. — In Campion tte art of the song-writers 
 seems to concentrate itself, become individual, become 
 conscious. He sums up, in a single name, tbe many- 
 nameless writers of perfect words and airs. It is 
 difficult to distinguisb between many of bis lyrics 
 and tbe lyrics of different unknown writers. Only, 
 we must suppose tbat wbat is really many-sided in 
 him is in tbem tbe wbole expression of a temperament 
 or character, wbicb be multiplies, so to speak, in 
 bimself, as tbe man of genius does wbo is also a 
 versatile artist. Mr. Bullen's edition of Campion 
 sbould be on every book-sbelf wbicb bolds a Blake or 
 a Bridges. It is a book to take down, linger over, 
 and read for mere idle pleasure, as one migbt listen to 
 music played softly on a clavicbord. 
 
 Tbe unrbymed poem. No. 4, is given in Campion s 
 "Observations on tbe Art of Englisb Poesy" ("de- 
 claring tbe unaptness of rbyme in poesy") as a specimen 
 of Englisb Sappbics. 
 
 5. p. 3. — " Sidney, tbe siren of tbis latter age ', 
 as be is called by Barnefield; "divine Sir Pbilip , 
 as be is called by Drayton; "tbe godlike Sidney", 
 as be is called by Ben Jonson; tbougb realized in bis 
 own time to bis full value, or beyond it, bas never 
 since, except from one bere and tbere, received full 
 recognition as a man of letters. As a person be bas 
 remained interesting, and in a book wbicb I notice 
 bere because it is a model of learning and tbe work 
 of one wbo rigbtly " speaks witb authority , Mr. 
 Sidney Lee's " Great Englishmen of the Seventeenth 
 Century", we see just that unreasonable choice among 
 the elements which make up the complete Sidney, and 
 a singular injustice in consequence. 
 
 The account of Sidney s life is interesting ; we see 
 383 
 
him in all tis parts, eact played, for its briel space, 
 as it there were no otter part to play, and eact with 
 the same " lovely and familiar gravity". We see him 
 on all his public and private errands over Europe, 
 actually meeting Ronsard in France and Tasso in Italy, 
 bringing back personal gifts from those two great 
 influences in poetry. Three million acres of undis- 
 covered land in America are granted to him; hut he 
 has written his " Arcadia ", not founded it, and he is 
 to come no nearer to that dream of a world. All this 
 part of the romance of his life Mr. Lee sees and 
 realizes for us; he writes well on the " Arcadia " and 
 on the " Apology for Poetry ". But his fixed idea 
 comes in to hinder him from seeing what was most 
 significant in Sidney's life and in his work: the 
 sonnets of Astrophel to Stella, and the love of Sidney 
 for Penelope Rich. 
 
 Mr. Lee's fixed idea is that poets are very prosaic 
 people at heart, and that the Elizabethan poets in 
 particular were persons rather lacking in emotion or 
 imagination, who translated and adapted the poems of 
 French and Italian writers with great ability. He 
 has done good service to literary history by finding 
 out the origins of many sonnets and lyrics, from 
 Sidney to Barnes, which were sometimes translated 
 and sometimes imitated by one after another of the 
 Elizabethan lyrists and sonneteers. He has shown 
 that some whole collections of sonnets (like Daniel's 
 sonnets to Delia) can in no sense be taken as personal 
 confessions. This is valuable, because there were 
 many estimable critics and historians of our literature 
 who could not see for themselves (what to an un- 
 biassed reader seems self-evident) that there was 
 nothing whatever personal in such sonnets, no genuine 
 emotion, no thrill of literal reality. But where Mr. 
 
 384 
 
Lee allows his tlieory to blind Lis sight is in seeing 
 no lyrical merit in a song of Lodge because it bas 
 come into life out of tbe soil of some Desportes 
 graveyard; and in seeing neither personal poetry nor 
 personal feeling in tbe sonnets and lyrics of Sidney 
 because be was often content to express bimself in 
 conventional or borrowed language. 
 
 Mr. Lee speaks very positively about Astropbel's 
 feelings for Stella, is certain tbat " passion did not 
 enslave bim", as indeed it probably did not until those 
 mourning bells bad rung out for Stella's marriage. 
 " Genuine affairs of tbe heart", he considers, "tbe 
 uncontrollable fever of passion, could have only re- 
 mote and shadowy concern with the misty idealism 
 and hyperbolical fancies of which tbe sonnet bad to 
 be woven." But where are we to find anything 
 " remote and shadowy ' in almost all of the lyrics 
 and in all the best of the sonnets? Has Lamb, after 
 all, written in vain? Lamb bas said, with all his 
 emphasis and all his unerring instinct: "They are full, 
 material, and circumstantiated. Time and place ap- 
 propriates every one of them. It is not a fever of 
 passion wasting itself upon a thin diet of dainty 
 words, but a treuiscendent passion pervading and illu- 
 minating action, pursuits, studies, feats of arms, the 
 opinions of contemporaries, and his judgment of them. ' 
 There we have a simple statement of fact, if plain 
 words have their meaning and poetical sincerity is 
 distinguishable from " hyperbolical fancies . Like 
 most writers, with the incomparable exception of 
 Lamb, Mr. Lee has not grasped the extraordinary 
 value and importance of Sidney as a poet, nor did 
 even Lamb pause to remember that it is in Sidney 
 that we find the true beginning in England of the 
 novel, of literary criticism, of the sonnet, and of the 
 
 (B469) 385 2B 
 
lyric. What Sidney brought into English lyric 
 poetry was an absolute directness of speech, coupled 
 with a perfected beauty of phrase. Who had there 
 been before him since Chaucer? We find in one or 
 two pieces of Wyatt a certain blunt straightforward- 
 ness of speech which, at its best, becomes poetical 
 speech, though never of a rare or subtly passionate 
 quality. Surrey did something more with metre, but 
 had less to say; and Sackville added dignity; but it 
 was for Sidney to create a language of the passions 
 for the daily use of English poetry. The best parts 
 of the best sonnets of Sidney have a plain homely 
 rapture which was a new thing in English, and which 
 has remained permanent in the language ever since; 
 the best parts of his best lyrics are not to be matched 
 for force and nobility of passion by any love-songs 
 from that time to the time of Browning. He is the 
 complete lover, the perfect youth and knight, the 
 absolute Englishman. 
 
 29. p. 19. — In spite of Lamb, who did not happen 
 to praise his best work, Michael Drayton has never 
 had his due as a poet. Mr. Bullen made a privately 
 printed " Selection " m 1883, and Mr. Oliver Elton 
 wrote a valuable introduction to some reprints of the 
 Spenser Society, reprinted as a pamphlet in 1895, 
 and now enlarged into a book in 1905. But there 
 is still no complete edition of his poems, and I have 
 been obliged to buy an immense folio of the eighteenth 
 century in order to read, not indeed the whole, but 
 the greater part of them, in comfort I am glad to 
 know that a variorum edition, by a most accurate 
 scholar, is now in preparation. Such an edition will 
 be of unique value, for no English poet ever altered 
 his work so much as Drayton. One long poem, 
 
 386 
 
originally called " Mortemeriados ", lie rewrote in a 
 different stanza, under tte name "The Barons' War ", 
 in order to obey a metrical scruple whicli tad assailed 
 his too scrupulous conscience. Drayton comes nearer 
 to being a great poet than any other not quite great 
 poet of his period. He has done great work: the 
 greatest sonnet, perhaps, in English, " Since there's 
 no help, come, let us kiss and part " ; the greatest 
 fighting ballad, the " Ballad of Agincourt "; the best 
 fairy poetry outside Shakespeare. He tried to do 
 things which cannot he done in verse; what Lamb 
 praised him for doing, in words that lend a generous 
 beauty to the thing they praise: " that Panegyrist of 
 my native Earth ; who has gone over her soil (m his 
 Polyolbion) with the fidelity of a herald, and the 
 painful love of a son; who has not left a rivulet (so 
 narrow that it may be stept over) without honourable 
 mention ; and has animated Hills and Streams with life 
 and passion above the dreams of old mythology '. 
 
 The "Polyolbion " needs a Lamb for its reader; 
 w^ho will ever again read through, and read with 
 delight, a topographical epic? But I can imagine no 
 more delightful reading, for any lover of poetry, than 
 "The Muses' Elysium ", a work of old age which 
 has all the happy vagabond fancy of youth; or that 
 splendid "Nymphidia ", which I print in full, long as 
 it is; or the best of the odes and sonnets, so original, 
 so full of personal feeling, so vigorous and I might 
 almost say piquant. One of Drayton s sonnets is so 
 much finer than the others that professional critics 
 are apt to assure us that the others are divided from 
 this one by an impassable gulf. There are a dozen 
 others only less fine than this one, and identical with 
 it in manner and temperament. Drayton is never, 
 in any part of his work, at his best for long together; 
 
 387 
 
even tlie great sonnet is flawed by an inversion, and 
 no long poem is strictly grammatical througtout. He 
 improvises, and, if lie tries to revise, must rewrite. 
 But lie has at once honest passion and delicate fancy, 
 with a music of his own, pliant and nimble, though 
 not notably sure-footed. To read Drayton is to 
 enter a homely pastoral province of English poetry, 
 where he is the only shepherd. 
 
 In my text of Drayton, I have followed the folio 
 of 1619, the last collected edition during his life- 
 time, for such poems as are in it; for "Nymphidia", 
 the " Battaile of Agincourt " volume of 1627; and 
 for the poems from "The Muses Elizium", the 
 volume of 1630. 
 
 32. p. 20. — Coleridge and Wordsworth were great 
 admirers of Daniel, and I am sure that Wordsworth 
 learnt much from him, m his graver and weightier 
 manner. "The Character of the Happy Warrior" 
 reads to me like Daniel, and hardly reaches to his 
 level. Another poet m whom I hear a kind of echo 
 of Daniel is FitzGerald. Is there not something of that 
 curious poetically prosaic cadence of Omar Khayydm 
 in these lines from " Musophilus "? 
 
 "And for the few that only lend their Ear, 
 That few is all the World; which with a few 
 Do ever live, and move, and work, and stir. 
 This is the Heart doth feel, and only know; 
 The rest of all that only Bodies bear. 
 Roll up and down, and fill up but the Row. 
 
 And if some worthy Spirits be pleased too, 
 It shall more Comfort breed, but not more Will- 
 But what if none? It cannot yet undo 
 The Love I bear unto this Holy Skill. 
 388 
 
Tnis is tne Thing that I was born to clo: 
 This is my Scene; this Part must I fulfil. " 
 
 All this meditative work is fine, serious, really 
 " well-languaged", and not always quite so essentially 
 prosaic as Coleridge thought it to be. But when 
 Daniel affects to be in love, as in the sonnets to 
 " Delia ' (only two of which, purely abstract ones, 
 I have admitted), he is so obviously writing for 
 writing s sake that I cannot understand why it has 
 required Mr. Sidney Lee's documentary criticism, his 
 proof of the foreign origin of most of them, to con- 
 vince most people that there never was a Delia and 
 that Daniel did not know what it was to be in love. 
 
 33. p. 21. — In the text of this song from " Valen- 
 tinian " I have adopted Mr. BuUen's emendation, 
 "light " for "sweet ", in the rhyme- word of the 
 fifth hne. 
 
 35. p. 22. — Barnabe Barnes, a wretched rhymer, 
 among whose " sonnets, madrigals, elegies, and odes 
 I could only find this one charming piece of verse, 
 is conjectured by Mr. Sidney Lee to be the rival 
 poet of Shakespeare's Sonnets. For his arguments 
 see " Life of Shakespeare " , 1899, pp. 131-136. 
 
 39. p. 24. — Lodge, a pamphleteer of measureless 
 facility, one of our earliest novelists, from whom 
 Shakespeare took two plots, was a lyric poet of quite 
 original singing quality, though for the substance of 
 his work he was ready to pillage whatever poet was 
 fashionable in France or in Italy. The plagiarism, 
 as it has been solemnly called, was of little con- 
 sequence; he made his own verses sing better than 
 Ronsard's, and taught a new music to English poets. 
 No one before him had been so soft or so sweet, or 
 
 389 
 
had put so rapturous a colour into song. His praise 
 of beauty gushes out with an intoxication like the 
 nightingale's. 
 
 43. p. 28. — I must quote here, as I could not give 
 it in the text as a separate poem, the third " turn" of 
 Ben Jonson's ode "To the immortal memory and 
 friendship of that noble pair, Sir Lucius Gary and 
 Sir Henry Morison : 
 
 "It is not growing like a tree, 
 In hulk, doth make men better be; 
 Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
 To fall at last a log, dry, bald, and sere: 
 A lily of a day 
 Is fairer far in May, 
 Although it fall and die that night; 
 It was the plant and flower of light. 
 In small proportions we just beauties see; 
 And in short measures life may perfect be." 
 
 57. p. 39. — Four of the six stanzas of this radiant 
 pastoral were printed, anonymously, and incorrectly, 
 in " The Passionate Pilgrim " of 1599, which has 
 Shakespeare's name on the title-page. A stanza 
 headed " Love's Answer " follows. In 1600 the 
 whole poem, with Marlowe s name, ' was printed in 
 " England s Helicon , with the six stanzas of the 
 "Reply' (where "I walked along a stream" also 
 appeared), signed Ignoto, which we know from 
 Walton's "Complete Angler " to mean Sir Walter 
 Raleigh: " it was that smooth song which was made 
 by Kit Marlowe, now at least fifty years ago: and 
 the milkmaid s mother sung an answer to it, which 
 was made by Sir Walter Raleigh in his younger 
 days. " 
 
 390 
 
59. p. 42. — ^Ttis is tte song of tte River-God to 
 Amoret in " The Faithful Shephercless . 
 
 119. p. 139. — Lamb has defined with precision 
 the quality of Lord Brooke s singular genius, " frozen 
 and made ngid with intellect . But among his love- 
 poems there are one or two really simple pieces, as 
 beautiful as the two I have given, besides the ex- 
 quisite genre picture of " Myra " (No. 212). If I 
 had cdlowed myself the licence of cutting anjrthing, 
 in the poems w^hich I have chosen, this is the poem 
 which I would most gladly have cut. The first 
 three stanzas make a poem w^hich seems to me per- 
 fect of its kind, and unhke any other poem. They 
 are curiously modem, but in the last two stanzas the 
 conceits of the period step in; and the poem, to 
 modem senses, is spoilt. 
 
 135. p. 150. — ^The sestet of this sonnet reads as 
 follows in the two editions of " Deha of 1592, and 
 in the edition of 1594: 
 
 "When thou, surcharged with burden of thy years, 
 Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth. 
 When Time hath made a passport for thy fears. 
 Dated in ^e, the Kalends of our death; 
 But ah, no more. This hath been often told. 
 And women grieve to think they must be old. 
 
 I give the later and better text of the collected quarto 
 of Daniel's poems of 1623. 
 
 180. p. 182. — To understand Donne, we must read 
 not only Walton's incomparable life but the careful 
 analysis of Mr. Gosse, in his " Life and Letters . 
 This morbid, nervous, hesitating, intellectually dis- 
 passionate creature is indeed almost an unknown 
 
 391 
 
person wliom Mr. Gosse has discovered for us; and 
 now at last we are able to understand the poems, with 
 their complexities of passion, their monstrous agility 
 of mind, their pedantic modernity, their ferocities and 
 ecstasies and entanglements of sentiment. Donne is one 
 of the worst and greatest poets in English literature, a 
 poet unlike any other. He has written some of the 
 most splendid single lines that were ever written, and 
 hardly a stanza without a flaw. He has influenced 
 at once Browning in " Sordello " and Swmburne in 
 " Anactoria ". His metrical experiments have never 
 even yet done all they might for the loosening of 
 metre. Such a line as: 
 
 " Drown my world with my weeping earnestly ", 
 
 a line so beautiful, so expressive, so clear in scansion 
 if one will only be content to read for the sense, has 
 scarcely yet been recognized as a perfectly legitimate 
 English verse. More than almost anyone, this 
 " metaphysical " poet has written really direct love- 
 poetry, and in every mood. He "can love both fair 
 and brown ', is " Love's martyr , " must love her 
 that loves not me", realizes of love that "This no 
 to-morrow hath, nor yesterday , scorns 
 
 " Whoever loves, if he do not propose 
 The right true end of love , 
 
 and, on occasion, " can forget the He and She in an 
 ecstasy no longer of the senses. And this poetry is 
 full of "masculine persuasive force"; it has not, as 
 the greater part of love-poetry has, a feminine pathos, 
 but the passion of a man. The subtlety of a great 
 bram waits upon a " naked thinking heart ; the 
 result IS a new kind of poetry, which Donne invented 
 for himself and in which he has had no successor. 
 
 392 
 
181. p. 183. — In the five sonnets whict I tave put 
 after one another Spenser paints the complete mental 
 portrait oi a woman and the full spiritual likeness of 
 his love for her. The " self -pleasing pride" of the one, 
 her "scx>rn of base things", her innocent and dismay- 
 ing " art of eyes ', are not expressed by " a greater 
 craftsman's hand", with more fidelity to "the life of 
 things indeed ", than the nohle and lofty humbleness 
 of the other. There is in this love-poetry none of 
 the rapturous familiarity of the " Epithalamium , none 
 of its certain and possessive delight; hut there is a 
 kind of piety which I find nowhere else. 
 
 The text follows the tiny and exquisite first edition 
 of " Amoretti and Epithalamion ", printed in 1595, 
 one of the daintiest volumes of poetry ever printed 
 in England. 
 
 201. p. 200. — It is often forgotten that Raleigh is 
 a considerable English poet. His rough verse, which 
 seems always so intent on saying a given thing w^ith 
 emphasis, is really poetry. It is a knotted and gnarled 
 kind of poetry, and in the poem which is almost 
 certainly his, 
 
 " As you came from the Holy Land 
 Of Walsinghame " , 
 
 he has played remarkable variations on a kind of folk- 
 tune; the kind of folk-tune which we get in Shake- 
 speare s " How^ should I your true-love know? 
 Later on, Blake is to do a not wholly dissimilar kind 
 of transposition, putting wild meanings into ballad- 
 stanzas. In some other poems Raleigh has the 
 same hard, tight, intellectual pathos. His personal 
 humour speaks always with disconcerting directness; 
 his character, crotchety and self-reliant. 
 
 393 
 
214. p. 212. — ^The first and second stanzas of 
 this song are quoted by Sir Toby and tbe clown in 
 "TwelfthNight", ii. 3. 
 
 241. p. 240. — In this poem, for once, I have 
 allowed myself to print the first, briefer, and better 
 version, as it appeared in Puttenham s " Art of 
 English Poesy " in 1589. In the " Arcadia " of 
 1590 there is a second stanza: 
 
 " His heart his wound received from my sight; 
 My heart was wounded with his w^ounded heart; 
 For as from me on him his hurt did light. 
 So still methought in me his hurt did smart: 
 Both, equal hurt, in this change sought our bhss: 
 My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 242. p. 240. — ^This song is found in a MS. in the 
 Bodleian, with the signature " Sir W. R. Raleigh s 
 authorship cannot be considered certain, on external 
 evidence; but can, I think, on internal. 
 
 246. p. 245. — ^This poem, intensely characteristic 
 of Donne, and of Donne at his best, does not appear 
 among his poems in any old edition. It was printed 
 anonymously m Davison's " Poetical Rhapsody 
 (1602) and in "Wit Restored" (1658), and, under 
 his name, in " The Grove " (1721), from a MS. 
 belonging to Sir John Cotton in Huntingdonshire. I 
 have followed this text ^ven by Mr. Chambers in 
 the Muses' Library) except in the last hne, where 
 it seems to me that the reading of the " Poetical 
 Rhapsody ", "And so I both enjoy and miss her", 
 is infinitely preferable to the reading, " And so enjoy 
 her, and none miss her ". 
 
 249. p. 247. — For the reading of " ripe " instead 
 of " rich ', in the third line of the second stanza of 
 
 394 
 
this incomparable lyric from Captain Tobias Hume s 
 " First Part of Airs" (1605), with which Mr. BuUen 
 begins his " Lyrics from Elizabethan Song- Books , 
 I am indebted to Mr. Bullen, who has not yet been 
 able to make the correction in his own edition. 
 
 260. p. 257. — ^The eighth line of this song, from 
 " The Sun's Darling ", 1656, reads " There all but 
 books of fancy's writing". Mr. Bullen queries the 
 " but ", and I have ventured to replace it by " the , 
 which at least makes sense. 
 
 294. p. 300. — ^Many readings have been suggested 
 for the opening lines of the second stanza of this song 
 from " The Two Noble Kinsmen , a song w^hose 
 beauty is not beyond the reach of Fletcher, though 
 certainly not outside the manner of Shakespeare. 
 The commonly accepted emendation is " harebells " 
 instead of "her bells "; but, as Mr. Quiller Couch 
 points out in the notes to his " Golden Pomp ", all 
 that is needed is to restore the semicolon of the original 
 edition after "Ver", which allows "merry spring- 
 time's harbinger " to refer to the snowdrop, and not, 
 as it would seem to do if only a comma were used, 
 to the primrose. 
 
 305. p. 307.— I have followed Prof. Arber in 
 printing in full, and restoring to its author, a poem 
 usually printed as it stands, anonymously, in Martin 
 Peerson's " Private Music " of 1620. As there 
 printed, it contains only the first four stanzas, with 
 no suggestion of its religious character. The poem is 
 contained in Richard Verstegen's " Odes in imitation 
 of the Seaven Penitential Psalmes, with sundry other 
 Poemes and ditties tending to devotion and pietie . . . 
 Imprinted Anno Domini M.D.C.I. ", at Antwerp. 
 It follows other poems to the Virgin, among which 
 
 395 
 
are " The Fifteen Mysteries of tlie Rosarie, of Our 
 Blessed Lady". There is no name on the title-page, 
 but the dedication " To the Vertuous Ladies and 
 Gentlewomen Readers of these Ditties is signed 
 "Yours in his best endeavours, R. V. 
 
 31 L p. 316. — This splendid fragment (as it prob- 
 ably is, though it can well stand as a poem complete 
 in itself) was found by Mr. BuUen in one of those 
 Christ Church MSS. from which he has printed other 
 lovely things, such as the intoxicating song " Hey 
 nonny no ! ' (No. 12). 
 
 321. p. 325. — I found this grave epigram in Mr. 
 Quiller Couch's anthology, who had it from Grosart s 
 "Unique and Rare Books ", 1879. It is from 
 " Newe Sonets, and Pretie Pamphlets written by 
 Thomas Howell, Gentleman ", 1567. 
 
 359. p. 364. — Only Lamb may be allowed to 
 praise the dirge in "The White Devil": "I never 
 saw anything like this Dirge, except the Ditty which 
 reminds Ferdinand of his drowned father in the 
 Tempest. As that is of the water, watery; so this 
 is of the earth, earthy. Both have that intenseness 
 of feeling, which seems to resolve itself into the 
 elements which it contemplates." 
 
 366. p. 369. — It is not certain whether this epitaph 
 belongs in whole or part to Ben Jonson (as has 
 generally been supposed) or to Browne of Tavistock 
 (who seems to have more claim to it). Mr. Gordon 
 Goodwin, in his edition of Browne in the Muses' 
 Library, claims it for Browne on the authority of a 
 MS. in the Library of Trinity College, Dublin, 
 dating from the middle of the seventeenth century, 
 where it is signed "William Browne' , and of Aubrey 
 
 396 
 
(" Natural History of Wiltsliire", of about the same 
 date), who quotes the first six lines as " made by 
 Mr. Browne, who wrote the ' Pastorals ' ". They 
 were not attributed to Jonson before Whalley's edition 
 in 1756, where they are quoted incorrectly, and are 
 inserted for the reason that they were " universally 
 assigned " to him. 
 
 370. p. 371. — This poem is found in many MSS., 
 including the "Reliquiae Wottonianae " , where it is 
 said to be by " Chidick Tychborn, being young and 
 then in the Tower, the night before his execution". 
 He was executed in 1586, together with Antony 
 Babington, for participation in the plot on behalf of 
 Mary Queen of Scots. He is one of the characters 
 in Swinburne's " Mary Stuart ". 
 
 378. p. 379. — In the original Quarto of Shake- 
 speare's Sonnets the words "my sinful earth , which 
 end the first line, are repeated by mistake at the be- 
 ginning of the second line. Two words are thus 
 evidently missing, and they have been supplied in 
 many ways, none of which can ever be satisfactory 
 or final. I have accepted Palgrave's improvement of 
 the conjecture of Malone, " Fooled by those rebel 
 powers ", and printed, though with hesitation, "Foiled 
 by these rebel powers . 
 
 397 
 
Index oi Authors 
 
 Bacon, Francis, Viscount St. Albans (1561-1626), 330. 
 
 Barnes, Barnabe (i569?-i6o9), 22. 
 
 Beaumont, Francis (1584-1616), i, 301, 362, 364. 
 
 Breton, Nicholas (1545 ?- 1626?), 45, 53, 305. 
 
 Browne, William (1591-1643?), 12,73, i^S? ^74? ^^2, 
 
 193. 195, 369- 
 Campion, Thomas (d. 1619), 2, 25, 38, 55, iii, 132, 
 144, 146, 149, 157, 158, 165, 167, 168, 171, 176, 
 177, 179, 180, 181, 201, 205, 206, 208, 209, 213, 
 215, 221, 225, 246, 248, 252, 254, 256, 260, 320, 
 
 323. 327. 337» 376. 
 Constable, Henry (1562-1613), 114, 145, 
 Daniel, Samuel (1562-1619), 20, 150, 187, 332, 345. 
 Dekker, Thomas (i570?-i64i ?), 21, 98, 257, 304. 
 Donne, John (1573-1631), 182, 196, 197, 207, 211, 220, 
 
 221, 226, 242, 245, 249, 251, 255, 259, 260, 270, 
 
 276, 277, 302, 318, 319, 324, 369, 373. 
 Drayton, Michael (1563-1631), 19, 43,46, 74, lOi, 119, 
 
 130, 131, 167J 168, 188, 216, 218, 222, 223, 227, 
 
 246, 279, 337, 342, 347. 
 Drummond, William (i 585-1649), 19, 20, 69, 70, 136, 
 
 318, 345, 347- 
 Field, Nathaniel (i 537-1633), 302. 
 Fletcher, John (1579-1625), i, 4, 10, 11, 21, 42, 156, 
 
 300, 301, 360, 364. 
 Greene, Robert (i56o?-i592), 23, 50, 58, 62, 135, 306. 
 Greville, Fulke (1554-1628), 139, 186, 209. 
 Herrick, Robert (1591-1674), 3, 6, ii, 13, 15, 18, 26, 32, 
 
 399 
 
4°, 56, 57, 64, 6s, 66, 67, 68, 69, 72, 121, 122, 
 124, 128, 137, 138, 139, 151, 152, 153, 154, 194, 
 196, 198, 199, 218, 243, 258, 269, 312, 315, 316, 
 321, 348, 350, 355, 366, 367, 370, 372, 379. 
 
 Heywood, Thomas (d. 1650?), 303. 
 
 Howell, Thomas (fl. 1568), 325. 
 
 Jonson, Ben (i573?-i637). 28, 98, 100, 113, 125, 143, 
 151, 191, 257, 361, 367, 368, 369. 
 
 Lodge, Thomas (i558?-i625), 24, 29, 134, 158, 160, 
 
 161, 163. 
 
 Lylj, John (i554?-i6o6), 24, 121. 
 
 Marlowe, Christopher (1564-1593), 39, 71. 
 
 Marston, John (iS75 ?-i634), 361. 
 
 Mimday, Anthony (1553-1633), 133. 
 
 Nashe, Thomas (1567-1601), 23, 356. 
 
 Peele, George (i558?-i586), 9, 349. 
 
 Raleigh, Sir Walter (i552?-i6i8), 200, 240, 325, 327, 
 
 370, 374- 
 Shakespeare, William (1564-1616), 4, 5, 7, 9, 10, 28, 30, 
 3h 35, 36, 37. 38, 63, 96, 97, 132, 148, 150, 154, 
 
 162, 164, 166, 219, 227, 239, 244, 273, 301, 303, 
 326, 346, 348, 358, 359, 363, 365, 377, 378, 379. 
 
 Sidney, Sir Philip (1554-1586), 3, 224, 228, 229, 230, 
 232, 236, 237, 240, 280, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 
 286, 305. 
 
 Southwell, Robert (1561 ?-i595), 313, 314. 
 
 Spenser, Edmund (i552?-i599), 31, 32, 59, 183, 184, 
 185, 186, 278, 287, 317, 346. 
 
 Tichborne, Chidiock (i558?-i586), 371. 
 
 Vere, Edward de. Earl of Oxford (1550-1604), 191. 
 
 Verstegen, Richard (fl. 1 565-1 620), 307. 
 
 Webster, John (i58o?-i625 ?), 362, 364, 365. 
 
 Wither, George (i 588-1667), 192. 
 
 Wotton, Sir Henry (1568-1639), 27, 142, 190, 331. 
 
 400 
 
Index of First Lines 
 
 Page 
 
 About the sweet bag of a bee - - - - 121 
 
 Absence, hear thou my protestation - - - 245 
 
 Adieu ! farewell earth's bliss - - - 356 
 
 A golden fly one showed to me - - - - 64 
 
 Ah, my Perilla, dost thou grieve to see 355 
 
 Ah Posthumus ! our years hence fly - - 350 
 
 Ah, sweet Content, where is thy mild abode?- - 22 
 
 Ah, what is Love ? It is a pretty thing - 58 
 
 Alas, have I not pain enough, my friend 281 
 
 Alas, 't is true I have gone here and there - - 359 
 
 All kings, and all their favourites - 277 
 
 All the flowers of the spring - - 362 
 
 Am I despised because you say - - - 355 
 
 And now all nature seemed in love - 27 
 
 And will he not come again ? - - 5 
 
 An evil spirit, your beauty, haunts me still - 227 
 
 A rose, as fair as ever saw the North - 73 
 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? 21 
 
 Art thou that she than whom no fairer is? 165 
 
 As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the 
 
 snow - - - 313 
 
 Ask me why I send you here - - - 69 
 
 As Love and I late harboured in one inn 347 
 
 A sweet disorder in the dress - 151 
 
 As you came from the holy land - - - 240 
 
 At her fair hands how have I grace entreated - - 253 
 
 {B459) 401 20 
 
Page 
 
 At the round earth's imagined corners blow - 318 
 
 Awake, awake, thou heavy sprite - - - - 320 
 Awake, thou spring of speaking grace ! mute rest 
 
 becomes not thee ! _ _ _ i^ 
 
 Away with these self-loving lads - - - - 186 
 
 A woman's looks - - - - - 1 70 
 
 Beauty sat bathing- by a spring - 133 
 
 Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew - 150 
 
 Beauty, truth, and rarity - 275 
 
 Behold a wonder here ! - 169 
 
 Being your slave, what should I do but tend - 244 
 
 Be the mistress of my choice - 194 
 
 Be your words made, good Sir, of Indian ware - 286 
 
 Bid me to live, and I will live _ _ _ 243 
 Blame not my cheeks, though pale with love they be 1 79 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind - - - - 38 
 
 Born I was to be old - n 
 
 Brave iron, brave hammer, from your sound - - 98 
 Break now, my heart, and die ! O no, she may 
 
 relent- - - - - 179 
 
 Brown is my Love, but graceful - - - 141 
 
 Busy old fool, imruly Sun - - - _ 1 82 
 
 But will our Tita wed this Fay ? - - - - loi 
 
 By the next kindling of the day - - - 137 
 
 By those soft tods of wool - - 269 
 
 Call for the robin-redbreast and the VTten - 364 
 
 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night - 20 
 
 Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes - -21 
 
 Charon ! O gentle Charon ! let me woo thee- - 122 
 
 Clear are her eyes - - - - 139 
 
 Come away, come away. Death - - - 363 
 
 Come, cheerful day, part of my life to me - - 376 
 
 Come down and dance ye in the toil ~ ~ 3 
 
 Come, little babe, come, silly soul - - - - 305 
 
 402 
 
Page 
 
 Come live with me and be my love - - - 39 
 
 Come, O come, my life's delight - - - - 254 
 
 Come, Sleep ! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace 284 
 
 Come, thou monarch of the vine - - - 10 
 
 Come thou, who art the wine and wit - 372 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands _ _ _ _ 4 
 
 Corpse, clad with carefulness 325 
 
 Corydon, arise, my Corydon - - 262 
 
 Cupid and my Campaspe played - - 121 
 
 Dame, dame ! the watch is set - - 100 
 
 Dear, if I with guile would gild a true intent - 206 
 
 Dear love, for nothing less than thee 260 
 
 Dear quirister, who from those shadows sends- - 69 
 
 Dear, why should you command me to my rest - 19 
 
 Death, be not proud, though some have called thee - 369 
 
 Desire, that is of things ungot - 345 
 
 Dew sat on Julia's hair - - - - -138 
 
 Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly - - 145 
 
 Do not fear to put thy feet - - - - 42 
 
 Do not, O do not prize thy beauty at too high a rate 147 
 
 Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth 229 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes- 257 
 
 Even such is Time, that takes in trust 370 
 
 Fain I would, but oh I dare not - - 264 
 
 Fain would I change that note - 247 
 
 Fair and fair, and twice so fair _ _ - 9 
 
 Fair daffddils, we weep to see - 65 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree - - 66 
 
 Fair stood the wind for France - 337 
 
 Farewell, dear love ! since thou wilt needs be gone - 212 
 
 Farewell, thou thing, time past so known, so dear 13 
 
 Far in the country of Arden - - 46 
 
 Fear no more the heat o' the sun _ _ - 365 
 
 Follow a shadow, it still flies you - - - - 191 
 
 (B459) 403 2C2 
 
Page 
 Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! - - - 252 
 Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet ! - 2 
 
 For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me love - 249 
 For her gait if she be walking - - 182 
 
 From you have I been absent in the spring - - 36 
 Full fathom five thy father lies _ - _ _ ^63 
 Gather ye rosebuds while ye may - - - - 26 
 Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn - 32 
 
 Give beauty all her right - - - 132 
 
 Give me my scallop-shell of quiet - - - - 374 
 Go and catch a falling star ----- 207 
 God Lyaeus, ever young - - - lO 
 
 Golden slumbers kiss your eyes - - 304 
 
 Good brother Philip, I have borne thee long - - 286 
 Good morrow to the day so fair - - - 6 
 
 Good we must love, and must hate ill - - -197 
 Go, pretty child, and bear this flower - - -315 
 Gorbo, as thou earnest this way - - - 43 
 
 Go, Soul, the body's guest ----- 327 
 Ha ha ! ha ha ! this world doth pass - - 8 
 
 Harden now thy tired heart, with more than flinty 
 
 rage! . _ _ _ 225 
 
 Hark, all you ladies that do sleep ! - - - 1 1 1 
 
 Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings - 301 
 
 Hark, now everything is still - - - 365 
 
 Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance - 284 
 Hear, ye virgins, and I '11 teach - - 198 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights ----- 360 
 Here a little child I stand - - - - 316 
 
 Here a pretty baby lies _____ 366 
 
 Here a solemn fast we keep ----- 367 
 Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee - - - I54 
 Her fair inflaming eyes - - - 171 
 
 Her loved I most - _ _ _ _ 216 
 
 404 
 
Page 
 
 Her pretty feet - - - - - -138 
 
 He that of such a height hath built his mind - - 332 
 Hey nonny no!-- ____7 
 
 Highway, since you my chief Parnassus be - - 285 
 
 His golden locks time hath to silver turned - 349 
 Hold back thy hours, dark Night, till we have done 301 
 
 How easily wert thou chained - - 208 
 
 How happy is he born and taught - - - 331 
 
 How in my thoughts shall I contrive 188 
 
 How like a winter hath my absence been - 37 
 
 How many new years have grown old - - 264 
 
 How many paltry foolish painted things- - 131 
 
 How should I your true love know - - 5 
 
 I bring ye love. What will love do? - ^99 
 
 I can love both fair and brown - - - 196 
 
 I fear no earthly powers - - - 18 
 
 If fathers knew but how to leave - - - 176 
 
 If I hope, I pine; if I fear, I faint and die - - 167 
 If thou long'st so much to learn, sweet boy, what 
 
 'tis to love ------- 177 
 
 If women could be fair, and yet not fond - - 191 
 
 I have done one braver thing _ _ - _ 242 
 
 Immortal clothing I put on - - -153 
 
 In a grove most rich of shade - - - 232 
 
 In pride of wit, when high desire of fame - 130 
 
 In that proud port, which her so goodly graceth 1 84 
 
 In the merry month of May _ _ _ 45 
 
 In truth, O Love, with what a boyish kind - 281 
 
 In what torn ship so ever I embark - 324 
 
 I pray thee, leave, love thee no more - 218 
 
 I saw my Lady weep - 141 
 
 I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers - 124 
 
 It fell upon a holy eve - - - - - 59 
 
 It was a lover and his lass - - - - 28 
 
 40s 
 
Page 
 
 I walked along a stream, for pureness rare - - T^ 
 
 I, with whose colours Myra dressed her head - - 209 
 
 I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I - 251 
 
 Jack and Joan, they think no ill - 55 
 
 Jog on, jog on, the foot-path way - - - g 
 
 Kind are her answers - - - 201 
 
 Lawn as white as driven snow - - - 150 
 
 Lay a garland on my hearse - - - - 364 
 
 Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust - 228 
 Let folly praise that fancy loves, I praise and love 
 
 that Child 314 
 
 Let me not Chloris think, because - 267 
 
 Let me not to the marriage of true minds - 239 
 Let not the sluggish sleep ----- 320 
 
 Let 's now take our time - - 348 
 
 Let the bird of loudest lay - - 273 
 Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore - 148 
 
 Like the Idalian queen - - 136 
 
 Like to Diana in her summer weed - - 135 
 
 Like to the clear in highest sphere - - 13^ 
 
 Little think'st thou, poor flower - - 211 
 
 Live, live with me, and thou shalt see - - 40 
 
 Live with me still, and all the measures - " 257 
 
 Lo ! as a careful housewife runs to catch 166 
 
 Lord, Thou hast give me a cell - - - 321 
 
 Love bade me ask a gift - - - - 196 
 
 Love guards the roses of thy lips - - 160 
 
 Love in a shower of blossoms came - - 122 
 
 Love in my bosom, like a bee - - 163 
 
 Love is a sickness full of woes - - - 187 
 
 Love me not for comely grace - - - 145 
 
 Love me or not, love her I must or die - - 246 
 
 Love's god is a boy - - - - 155 
 
 Love who will, for I '11 love none - - - 195 
 
 406 
 
Page 
 
 Love winged my hopes and taught me how to fly 159 
 Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show - 280 
 
 Maidens, why spare ye ? - - 119 
 
 " Maids are simple," some men say - 165 
 
 Marvel not, Love, though I thy power admire - 168 
 
 Methought I saw, as I did dream in bed 13 
 
 Mortality, behold and fear ! - _ _ _ 362 
 
 Most glorious Lord of life, that, on this day - - 317 
 
 My Love bound me with a kiss - - 169 
 
 My Love in her attire doth show her wit - 153 
 My love is strengthened, though more weak in 
 
 seeming ------ 37 
 
 My prime of youth is but a frost of cares - 371 
 
 My songs they be of Cynthia's praise - - 187 
 
 My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love- - 256 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his - - 240 
 
 Never love unless you can - - - 1 80 
 
 New doth the sun appear ... ^45 
 
 New year, forth looking out of Janus' gate - 32 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead - 377 
 
 No more, my dear, no more these counsels try 285 
 
 No more shall I, since I am driven hence 57 
 
 Now have I learned with much ado at last - 205 
 
 Now is the time for mirth - - 128 
 
 Now let her change and spare not - - 205 
 
 Now that the Spring hath filled our veins - 12 
 
 Now the hungry lion roars - - 97 
 
 Now winter nights enlarge .... 38 
 
 O dear life, when shall it be 236 
 
 O faithless world, and thy most faithless part 190 
 
 O, for my sake do you with Fortune chide 359 
 Oft, when my spirit doth spread her bolder wings 346 
 
 Old Chaucer doth of Topas tell - 74 
 
 Old Menalcas, on a day - - - - - 62 
 
 407 
 
Page 
 
 O mistress mine, where are you roaming? - 154 
 
 On a day — alack the day! — - - 164 
 
 Once did I love and yet I live 203 
 
 Once did my thoughts both ebb and flow^ 204 
 O Night, O jealous Night, repugnant to my measures! 265 
 
 Only Joy, now here you are - - - - 230 
 
 " Open the door ! Who 's there within ? - - 166 
 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees - i 
 
 O, the month of May, the merry month of May - 28 
 
 Over hill, over dale - - - 96 
 
 Pack, clouds, away, and welcome, day ! 303 . 
 
 Phoebe sat - - - 161 
 
 Phoebus, arise - 70 
 
 Pluck the fruit and taste the pleasure - 29 
 
 Poor soul, the centre of my sinful earth 379 
 
 Queen and huntress, chaste and fair 113 
 Ring out your bells, let mourning shows be spread 224 
 
 Rise, lady mistress, rise ! 302 
 
 Rose-cheeked Laura, come - - 2 
 
 Roses, their sharp spines being gone 300 
 
 Rudely thou wrongest my dear heart's desire 183 
 
 Say, Love, if ever thou didst find 173 
 
 See, see, mine own sweet jewel - 264 
 
 See the chariot at hand here of Love 143 
 
 Send home my long strayed eyes to me 220 
 
 Shake off your heavy trance ! - - i 
 
 Shall I come, sweet love, to thee - - 260 
 
 Shall I look to ease my grief ? - - 247 
 
 Shall I tell you whom I love ? - " ^93 
 
 Shall I, wasting in despair - - 192 
 
 Shepherd, what 's love, I pray thee tell ? - - 200 
 
 Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more - - 219 
 Silly boy, 't is full moon yet, thy night as day shines 
 
 clearly .-_--. 1^5 
 408 
 
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless 
 
 sea - - 148 
 Since first I saw your face I resolved to honour and 
 
 renown ye . "279 
 
 Since there 's no help, come, let us kiss and part 246 
 
 Sing his praises that doth keep - - - 4 
 
 Sit down, Carmela ; here are cobs for kings 50 
 
 Sleep, Baby mine, Desire's nurse, Beauty, singeth 305 
 
 Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest 19 
 Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears 361 
 
 So quick, so hot, so mad is thy fond suit 209 
 
 So saith my fair and beautiful Lycoris 140 
 So soft streams meet, so springs with gladder smiles - 15 
 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king - 23 
 
 Stay, O sweet, and do not rise 302 
 
 Steer hither, steer your winged pines 113 
 
 Still to be neat, still to be drest - 151 
 
 Sweet are the thoughts that savour of content - 23 
 
 Sweetest love, I do not go 255 
 
 Sweet love, mine only treasure - - 268 
 
 Sweet SuflFolk owl, so trimly dight - - 8 
 
 Take heed of loving me - - 221 
 
 Take, O, take those lips away 219 
 
 Tell me, dearest, what is love? - - 156 
 
 Tell me where is fancy bred 7 
 
 That time of year thou may'st in me behold 348 
 
 The curious wits, seeing dull pensiveness 282 
 
 The earth late choked with showers - 24 
 
 The expense of spirit in a waste of shame - 227 
 
 The glorious image of the Maker's beauty - 278 
 
 The glorious portrait of that Angel's face - - 184 
 
 The hour of sweety night decays apace - - 361 
 
 The ivory, coral, gold - - - 20 
 
 The last and greatest herald of heaven's King- - 318 
 
 409 
 
Page 
 The man of life upright . . - - 323 
 
 The merry cuckoo, messenger of spring - ■ 3 1 
 
 The ousel cock so black of hue - - - - 63 
 The peaceful western wind - - - - - 25 
 There is none, O none but you - - - 248 
 
 There's nothing grieves me, but that age should 
 
 haste - 222 
 
 The rose was sick, and smiling died - - - 72 
 The sea hath many thousand sands - - -175 
 The world 's a bubble and the life of man - - 330 
 They that have power to hurt and will do none - 346 
 Think'st thou to seduce me then with words that 
 
 have no meaning - - - 215 
 
 This life, which seems so fair . . - - 347 
 Those eyes that set my fancy on a fire - - 140 
 
 Thou blind man's mark, thou fool's self-chosen- snare 228 
 Thou gav'st me leave to kiss - 218 
 
 Though clock to tell how night draws hence I've 
 
 none ----- .-56 
 
 Though dusty wits do scorn astrology - - 283 
 
 Though your strangeness frets my heart - 213 
 
 Thou leaden brain, which censur'st what I write - 130 
 Three things there be that prosper all apace - - 325 
 Thrice happy she, that is so well assured - 186 
 
 Thrice toss these oaken ashes in the air - - - 168 
 Thus I resolve, and Time hath taught me so - - 181 
 Tired with all these, for restful death I cry - - 378 
 'T is late and cold ; stir up the fire - - -11 
 
 To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name - - 125 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be old - - 149 
 
 To nothing fitter can I thee compare - - - 167 
 To work a wonder, God would have her shown - 312 
 Turn all thy thoughts to eyes - - - - 158 
 Turn I my looks unto the skies - - - - 158 
 
 410 
 
Page 
 
 Underneath this sable herse .... ^69 
 
 Under the greenwood tree - - - - 31 
 Upon my lap my Sovereign sits .... 307 
 Urns and odours bring away ! ... 360 
 
 Venus fair did ride - - 114 
 
 Was it the work of nature or of art 185 
 
 Weep, neighbours, weep, do you not hear it said 224 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee - 306 
 
 Weep with me all you that read - 367 
 
 Weep you no more, sad fountains - - - -18 
 
 Welcome, maids-of-honour - . 64 
 
 Welcome, welcome, do I sing - 174 
 
 We love, and have our loves rewarded - 3 
 
 What bird so sings, yet so does wail ! - - 24 
 
 What, conscience, say is it in thee - - 258 
 
 What is a day, what is a year 337 
 
 What needs complaints - - 379 
 
 What pleasure have great princes - - - 341 
 
 What then is love, but mourning? 157 
 
 When a daffodil I see - - 370 
 
 Whenas in silks my Julia goes - 153 
 
 When by thy scorn, O murderess, I am dead - - 226 
 
 When daffodils begin to peer - 30 
 
 When daisies pied and violets blue - - - 35 
 
 When I a verse shall make - - - 124 
 
 When I behold a forest spread - - - - 152 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall - * 35 
 
 When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 377 
 
 When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes - 358 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time - - - 132 
 
 When last I died (and, dear, I die - - - 259 
 
 When like an eaglet I first found my love - - 279 
 
 When love on time and measure makes his ground 181 
 
 When my grave is broke up again - - - 276 
 
 411 
 
Page 
 When that I was and a little tiny boy - - - 326 
 When thou must home to shades of underground 221 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent thought - - 358 
 Where are all thy beauties now, all hearts enchaining ? 149 
 Where like a pillow on a bed - - - - 270 
 Where the bee sucks there suck I - - 97 
 
 Whether men do laugh or weep - - - 327 
 
 While that the sun with his beams hot - - 202 
 
 Whilst thus my pen strives to eternize thee - - 131 
 Who can live in heart so glad - - - 53 
 
 Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm - - 373 
 Who is it that this dark night - - - . 237 
 Who is Sylvia? what is she - - - - 162 
 
 Why canst thou not, as others do - - - - 269 
 Why do ye weep, sweet babes ? can tears - - 68 
 Why, let the stricken deer go weep - - 9 
 
 Why presumes thy pride on that that must so private 
 
 be - . . . 146 
 
 Why should your fair eyes, with such sovereign grace 223 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun - 319 
 
 With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies ! 283 
 Wouldst thou hear what men can say - - - 368 
 Ye have been fresh and green - - "67 
 
 Ye learned sisters, which have oftentimes - 287 
 
 Yet if his majesty our sovereign lord - 316 
 
 You brave heroic minds . . - 342 
 
 You little stars that live in skies - 139 
 
 You meaner beauties of the night - - 142 
 
 You 're not alone when you are still alone - - 223 
 You spotted snakes with double tongue - - - 303 
 
 412