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Full text of "Elizabethan songs "in honour of love and beautie.""

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UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 

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^fhirj we_ <;alute thee wibh our early song, 
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^S& 1 had rather than forty shillings I had my 

^Z'' songs and sonnets here. 

MliKRY WIVES OF WINDSOR. 



BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 

FRANCIS BEAUMONT (1586-1616). 

JOHN FLETCHER (1576-1625). 

Wedding Song 83 

Wake, Gently Wake 84 

Song in the Wood 85 

Bridal Song 86 

Spring-time and Love 87 

To my Mistress's Eyes 90 

Serenade gi 

To Angelina 92 

To the Blest Evanthe 93 

BRETON, NICHOLAS (1555-1624). 

Phillida and Corydon 26 

BROWNE, WILLIAM (1590-1645). 

The Siren's Song ... 133 

SoNG 135 

vii 



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CAMPION, THOMAS (i5 4 o?-i623?). pAGE 

Love's Request 96 

To Lesbia 98 

Cherry Ripe 99 

CAREW, THOMAS (1 589-1639). 

Song 120 

A Prayer to the Wind 121 

Disdain Returned 123 

The Primrose 124 

Ungrateful Beauty 125 

Celia Singing 126 

Song 127 

In Praise of his Mistress 129 

Red and White Roses 130 

The Protestation 131 

COWLEY, ABRAHAM (1618-1667). 

The Thief 176 

Love in her Sunny Eyes 178 

DANIEL, SAMUEL (1562-1619). 

Love 49 

From "Hymen's Triumph" 51 

ElDOLA 52 

Eyes, Hide my Love 53 

DEKKER, THOMAS (1570 ?-i64i ?). 

Beauty, Arise! 94 

The Invitation 95 

DRAYTON, MICHAEL (1563-1631). 

To his Coy Love 54 

Love Banished Heaven 56 

Defiance to Love 57 

viii 



Contents 



DRUMMOND, WILLIAM (1585-1649). PAGE 

To Chloris no 

Madrigal n 1 

Song 112 

DYER, SIR EDWARD (1550-1607). 

To Phillis, the Fair Shepherdess .... 9 

GASCOIGNE, GEORGE (1537-1577). 

Lullaby of a Lover 5 

A Strange Passion of a Lover 7 

GREENE, ROBERT (1560 ?-i5 9 2). 

Menaphon's Song 4° 

The Shepherd's Wife's Song 42 

Cupid's Ingratitude 45 

Infida's Song 46 

GREVILLE, FULKE (LORD BROOKE), (1554 ?-i63S). 

Myra 20 

To her Eyes 22 

HABINGTON, WILLIAM (1605-1645). 

To Roses in the Bosom of Castara .... 160 

To Cupid, upon a Dimple in Castara's Cheek 162 

The Reward of Innocent Love 163 

HARYNGTON, JOHN (1534-1582). 

A Heart of Stone 3 

HERRICK, ROBERT (1591-1674). 

The Rock of Rubies 137 

Upon Sappho Sweetly Playing and Sweetly 

Singing 138 

To Meadows 139 

Delight in Disorder 141 



€li$afcetf)an Jwtgs. 



HERRICK, ROBERT (continued). PAGE 

The Night Piece 142 

To the Virgins 144 

Art above Nature 145 

Cherry Ripe 146 

To the Rose 147 

On Chloris Walking in the Snow .... 148 

How Roses came Red 149 

HEYWOOD, THOMAS ( ?-i649). 

Greetings to my Love 58 

Love's Ecstasy 60 

To Phyllis 61 

JONSON, BEX (1574-1637). 

Song 100 

Perfect Beauty 101 

The Triumph of Charis 102 

To Celia 104 

The Sweet Neglect 105 

The Kiss 106 

The Banquet of Sense 107 

To a Glove 108 

Venetian Song 109 

lodge, thomas (1556-1625). 

Rosalind's Madrigal 28 

The Deceitful Mistress 31 

Rosalind's Description 23 

Spring AND Melan< HOLY 36 

Love's Wantonness 38 

Do me Right, and do me Reason 39 

LOVELACE, RICHARD (1618-1658). 

To Althea from Prison 171 

Going to the Wars 173 

The Rose 174 

x 



Content^. 



LYLY, JOHN (1554-1600). PAGE 

Daphne u 

Syrinx 12 

Song to Apollo 13 

Love's College 14 

Spring's Welcome 15 

Cupid and Campaspe 16 

Arrows for Love 17 

Cupid Arraigned 18 

MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER (1564-1593). 

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love . . 63 

SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM (1564-1616). 

To Sylvia 65 

Song 67 

To Imogen 68 

Inconstancy .• 69 

Fancy ■ 7° 

The Rhyme of White and Red 71 

Spring 72 

Biron's Canzonet • • 73 

The Lover's Tears . 75 

Perjury Excused 7 6 

Oh, Mistress Mine 77 

It was a Lover and his Lass 78 

Song 79 

A Bridal Song 80 

A Wedlock Hymn 82 

SHIRLEY, JAMES (1594-1666). 

The Looking-Glass 150 

A Lullap.y 15 1 

To one Saying she was Old 152 

On her Dancing 153 

xi 



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SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP (1554-15S6). pAGE 

Absence 23 

SUCKLING, SIR JOHN (1609-1641). 

Orsames' Song 165 

Constancy 167 

True Love 168 

Song 169 

WALLER, EDMUND (1603-1686). 

On a Girdle 154 

To Chloris 155 

To Flavia 156 

Stay, Phcebus 157 

Song 158 

WITHER, GEORGE (1588-1667). 

Shall I, Wasting in Despaire 115 

A Song to her Beauty 118 




An Index 

to 

FiOtLirxes 



*& 



They were old-fashioned poetry, but 
choicely good. 

Izaac Walton. 



A sweet disorder in the dress ...... Robert Hcrrick 

Ah, I remember well (and how can I) . . . Samuel Daniel 

Ah, what is love? it is a pretty thing . . . Robert Greene 

And her lips (that show no dulness) . . . George Wither 

Amid my bale I bathe in bliss George Gascoigne 

Are they shadows that we see Samuel Daniel 

Ask me no more where Jove bestows . . . Thomas Careiv 

Ask me why I send you here Thomas Carew 

Beauty, alas ! where wast thou born . . . Thomas Lodge 

Beauty, arise, show forth thy glorious shining Thomas Dekkcr 

Beauty clear and fair John Fletcher . 

Cease, warring thoughts, and let his brain . James Shirley 

Cherry-Ripe, ripe, ripe ! I cry Robert Herrick 

Come away ! bring on the bride Beaumont and Fletcher 

Come live with me and be my love .... Christofi/ier Marlonve 

Come, my Celia, let us prove Ben Jonson . ■ . 



PAGE 

141 

5 1 
42 
118 
7 
52 
127 
124 

39 
94 
92 

'51 
146 
86 
63 
109 



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Cupid abroad was 'lated in the night 
Cupid and my Campaspe played . . 



Robert Greene ■ 
John Lyly . 



Dearest, do not you delay me John Fletclier . 

Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye . Shakespeare 
Drink to me only with thine eyes .... Ben Jonson 



PAGE 

45 
16 

9 1 
76 
104 



Eyes, hide my love and do not show . . . Samuel Daniel ... 53 
Fain would I wake you, sweet, but fear . . Beaumont and Fletcher 84 



Gather ye rosebuds while ye may .... Robert Herrick 

Go, thou gentle, whispering wind .... Thomas Careiu 

Go, happy rose, and interwove Robert Herrick 

Go. lovely rose Edmund Waller 

Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings Sliakespeare . 

He that loves a rosy cheek Thomas Carew 

Hence with passion, sighs, and tears . . . Thomas l/eywood 

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee .... Robert Herrick . 
Hold back thy hours, dark Night, till we 

have done Beaumont and Fletcher 

I pray thee, Love, love me no more . . . Michael Drayton . . 

I prithee send me back my heart .... Sir John Suckling . . 

I saw faire Chloris walke alone Robert Herrick . . 

I stood and saw my mistress dance .... James Shirley . . . 

I with whose colors Myra drest her head Fulkc Greville (Lord Brooke) 
If love make me forsworn, how shall I swear 

to love Shakespeare 

If she be made of white and red Sliakespeare . 

In the merry month of May Nicholas Breton 

I I was .1 beauty that I saw • Ben Jonson . . 

1 1 was a lover and his lass Shakespeare 

Know, Celia, since thou art so proud . Thomas Carew 

Let those complain that feel Love's cruelty . John Fletcher 

Like to the clear in highest sphere .... Thomas Lodge 

Love in her sunny eyes does basking play Abraham Cowley 

Love in my bosom like a bee Thomas Lodge 

Love is a sickness full of woes Samuel Daniel 

Love, banish'd heaven, in earth was held in 

scorn Michael Drayton 



'47 
158 



123 
60 



83 

54 
169 
14S 
153 



73 
7' 
26 
101 

7S 



93 
33 
, 7 8 
z8 

49 



XIV 



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PAGE 


Love guides the roses of thy lips .... 


Thomas Lodge . . 


3« 


Live with me still, and all the measures . . 


Thomas Dekker . . 


95 


My Daphne's hair is twisted gold .... 




ii 


My Phillis hath the morning Sun .... 


Sir Edward Dyer . 


9 


My shag-hair Cyclops, come, let's ply . . . 




17 


My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love . . 


Thomas Campion 


98 




W 'Mia in Habington . 


162 


No, no, fair heretic ! it needs must be . . 


Sir Joint Suckling . 


16S 


No more shall meads be decked with flowers 


Thomas Carew . 


131 


Now I find thy looks were feigned .... 


'Thomas Lodge . . 


3' 




John Fletcher . . . 


87 






14 




Sir Philip Sidney 


23 


O fair, sweet face! O eyes celestial bright . 


John Fletcher . . . 


90 


mistress mine, where are you roaming . . 




77 


Oh, do not wanton with those eyes .... 




. 100 


Oh that joy so soon should waste .... 




106 






18 




Shakespeare 


67 




Sir Joint Suckling ■ 


167 


Pack clouds away, and welcome day . . . 


Thomas Heywood 


58 






12 




William Drummoiul 


112 


Read in these roses the sad story .... 


Thomas Carew . 


130 




Robert Herrick . . 


149 


Roses, their sharp spines being gone . . 


Shakespeare . . . 


80 




IVilliam Dntmmond 


no 


See the chariot at hand here of Love . . . 


Ben Jonson .... 


102 


Shall I come, sweet Love, to thee .... 


Thomas Campion 


96 




George Wither . . 


"5 




Michael Drayton . . 


57 


Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more .... 


Shakespeare 


69 




George Gascoigne 


5 






13 


Some asked me where the rubies grew . . 


Robert Herrick . 


137 




Robert Gree?ie . 


40 
75 


So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not . 


Shakespeare . . . 




Edmund Waller . 


157 



Cli^atofjan £ona;£. 



Steer, hither steer your winged pines . . William Browne 

Still to be neat, still to be drest ..... Ben Jonson . . 

Sweet Adon, darst not glance thine eye . . Robert Greene . 

Sweet Rose ! whence is this hue .... William Drummond 

Sweet, serene, sky-like flower RicJiard Lovelace 



Take, oh take those lips away 

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind .... 
Tell me not Time hath played the thief 

Tell me where is Fancy bred 

That which her slender waist confined . . 
The earth, late choked with showers . . . 

Then in a free and lofty strain 

There is a garden in her face 

This way, this way come, and hear .... 
Thou more than most sweet glove .... 
Thou robb'st my days of business and delights 
'Tis not your beauty can engage 

We saw and wooed each other's eyes . . 

Wedding is great Juno's crown 

Welcome, welcome do I sing 

What bird so sings, yet so does wail . . 

When I behold a forest spread 

When daisies pied, and violets blue . . . 
When love with unconfined wings .... 

When this crystal shall present 

When thou dost play and sweetly sing . . 
Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose . 

Whilst I listen to thy voice 

Who is Sylvia? What is she? 

Why so pale and wan, fond lover ... 
Would you know what 's soft ? I dare . . . 



Sliakespeare . . 
Richard Lovelace 
James Shirley 
Sliakespeare 
Edmund Waller . 
Tltomas Lodge 
Ben Jon-sou 
Thomas Campion 
Beaumont and Fletcher 
lien ') onson . . . 
Abraliam Cowley 
Edmund Waller . 

William Habington 
Shakespeare . ■ 
William Browne 
John Lyly . . . 
Robert Herrick . 
Shakespeare ■ . 
Richard Lovelace 
James Shirley 
Robert Herrick . 
John Harynglon 
Edmund Waller . 
Shakespeare . ■ 
Sir John Suckling 
Thomas Carew ■ 



Ye blushing virgins happy are ... William Habington 

Ye have been fresh and green Robert Herrick . . 

Ye little birds that sit and sing Thomas Heywood ■ 

You little stars that live in skies . . . Fulke Greville (Lord Brooke 

You that think love can convey Thomas Carew 

You that will a wonder know Thomas Carew . . 



rAGE 

133 
105 
46 



79 
173 
152 

70 
154 

3" 
107 

99 

S5 
108 
.76 
.56 

<63 

^2 

■35 
'5 

■45 
72 

171 

150 

>3§ 
3 

■55 
65 

'65 



160 

139 
61 
22 
126 
129 




Dost thou love pictures ? 

TAMING OF THE SHREW. 

■ 

The illustrations, reproduced by photogravure, are from water- 
color drawings. Six of them, decorative and emblematic figures, 
are printed in sepia. They represent six characters, — Grace, 
Love, Harmony, Revel, Sport, and Laughter, — from a masque 
by Ben Jonson, written for a Christmas revel at the Court of 
James I. in 1617. The fifty headings and tail-pieces are from 
pen-and-ink drawings. 



TO FACE PACE 

Salutation iv 

©race 2 

"Pan's Syrinx was a girl indeed" .... 12 

"i that did wear the ring her mother left" 20 

Ibjrje 28 

" HER EYES ARE SAPPHIRES SET IN SNOW " . . . 34 

"N 'OSEREZ VOUS, MON BEL, AMI " 46 

" I PRAY THEE, LOVE, LOVE ME NO MORE " . . . 54 

xvii 



fU$t of 3 f Uu$tjcation$. 



TO FACE PAGE 

^armang 58 

"Come live with me and be my love" ... 64 

"When maidens bleach their summer smocks" 72 

"Fain would I wake you, sweet" 84 

Eebel 9° 

"My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love'* 98 
"That was thy mistress, best of gloves" . 108 

Sport 120 

"SO MAY YOU WHEN THE MUSIC 'S DONE, AWAKE 

AND SEE THE RISING SUN " 1 26 

-When thou dost play and sweetly sing" . 13S 
Enugrjter 150 

"'TIS NOT YOUR BEAUTY CAN ENGAGE MY WARY 

HEART" r 56 

" I COULD NOT LOVE THEE, DEAR, SO MUCH, LOVED 

I NOT HONOUR MORE" I 7 2 






u- y;5^ 







He re /olloifii^ 

TWELFTH NIGHT. 




^WY was the Elizabethan Age, and 

why were the ages that succeeded 

Elizabeth, doiun to the Restoration, 

' so rich in song ; and why have later 
V 

periods been so poor? In this volume 

of selected verse the word " Elizabethan'"' is 

used in a wide sense: we come down as far 

as Waller, who died in 1686, and Herrick, 

who died in 1674. The songs of the writers 

from Shakespeare to Waller sing themselves, as 

we may say they have their own natural music, 

and like Philomel in Homer pour forth their 



<£It3a&ctf>an &ong£* 



tarns and trills upon the night ; but since that 
melodious century, the songs of our poets do 
not sing themselves, as a rule. They are musi- 
cal, indeed; but somehow they are not easily 
wedded to music, and the songs which we hear 
sung arc seldom poetry. There are, of course, 
exceptions. Among these the so?igs of Burns 
can hardly be reckoned perhaps as helpful in 
answering our question, because Burns deliber- 
ately and assiduously adapted his words to 
Scottish airs then already in existence. The 
good old Scottish tunes went zvith old words 
often coarse, perhaps yet more often foolish and 
almost senseless ; Bums supplied new and beau- 
tiful language and passion, but the singing 
quality was present already in the ancient music. 
Scott's songs, again, were of fen made to music, as 
in the case of " Bonny Dundee^ Others ivJiicJi 
he wrote, like " Proud Maisie," are as admirable 
as any which are handed down from the age of 
song ; but who sings them ? 

The Scottish poets, like Lady Naime, gave 
us immortal songs ; but the music was either 



^ntrolmction. 



old, or the singer was his own, or her own, 
composer. 

Our lack of songs is not due to lack of poets. 
Lord Tennyson, Shelley, and Swinburne have 
written verse as musical as any that the Eng- 
lish language can boast of; and as much may be 
said for Edgar Poe. But any car can discern 
that the new harmonics are different from the 
Elizabethan harmonics, — are more formal, per- 
haps, certainly less like birds' notes ; that the 
cadences are more expected, less happily surpris- 
ing. The songs of these poets are not favorites 
with musicians ; Shelley in particular is rarely 
sung. Meanwhile such versifiers as Thomas 
Haynes Bayly have been highly pop?ilar with 
singers, and every one admits that most of our 
popular songs, zvith the exception of Dibdeii s 
and a fezv others, are, considered as poetry, 
worthless. The author of " Oh, no, we never 
mention her',' and " She wore a wreath of 
roses," was himself a musician ; and so was 
Moore, many of whose songs naturally escape 
the general condemnation. Why things are thus, 



€Ii$afccti)an icings?. 



is perhaps a question to be answered by musi- 
cians rather than by lovers of poetry. The 
divorce between Music and Poetry is pronounced. 
Most modem poets rather hate music than love 
it; most popular composers appear to dislike 
poetry. Of Victor Hugo we are told that he 
" especially detested the piano." Gautier called 
music " the most expensive and the least agree- 
able of noises." Of recent and living English 
poets, I fear only two have loved music well, — 
Mr. Browning, and Mr. Robert Bridges. Of 
these two, nobody would remark Mr. Browning 
as particularly skilled in verbal melodies ; 
though there is a song in "Paracelsus" which 
seems to show that Mr. Browning wrote in- 
harmonious verse by choice, and not because 
melody zvas beyond his genius. 

It seems, therefore, that modern poets, being 
unmusical, do not produce songs particularly well- 
suited for singing ; while we must assume that 
the older singers really wrote for the purpose of 
being sung, and were themselves musicians and 
lovers of music. Yet even on this head we have 



^nttotmctiotu 



not always certainty ; for poets affect in their 
verse to like music, even though they secretly share 
the sentiments of Victor Hugo. Yet our inclina- 
tion to believe in the true love of music among 
the Elizabethans is strengthened by the manner 
of their publication. It is from rare " Books of 
Airs" that Mr. Bui leu has gathered the poems 
of Campion, and of many others with ivhicli he 
has enriched our poetry. Campion himself wrote 
much of his own music in "A Book of Airs" 
(1601). As he himself says, " I have chiefly 
aimed to couple my words and notes lovingly 
together" " The lute Orpherian and base viol/" 
seem to have been ever in our ancestors' hands ; 
and the singing humor was thus strong in 
Walton's day, " when," as the milk-woman says, 
" Young Coridon played so purely on his pipe 
to you and your cousin Betty T Not now shall 
we find milkmaids who know " Come, Shep- 
herds, deck your heads ^ or " Phillida flouts 
me" or " Johnny Armstrong" or " Troy Town." 
Education is hostile to literature. The untaught 
country folk of Walton's age were familiar with 



<£li$afeetf)an ^mtg^. 



good poetry ; the instructed people of to-day sing 
music-hall trash, if they sing anything. By 
Test or Kcnnct no angler shall hear fair 
Maudlin chant that smooth song which was 
made by Kit Marlowe, now at least fifty years 
ago! Utopia is beJiind us. 

The astonishing thing is that in the age of 
poetry, from 1570 to 1670, all the poets, with 
hardly an exception, were natural singers. That 
Shakespeare had this gift is no marvel, when 
once the miracle of his universality is granted. 
But Marlowe, and Beaumont and Fletcher, and 
the ponderously learned Ben Jonson, and the 
sombre Webster were all song-makers, — all had 
that lost inimitable art, that unconscious charm. 
The gift descended even to authors now un- 
known or unnoted, — to all who were " sealed of 
the tribe of Ben" like " my son William Cart- 
wright" with his — 

" Hark, my Flora ! Love doth call us 
To that strife that tmtst befall us."" 

It may be said that the tempests of our age 
have silenced song, as linnets are quiet before 



^Pntrotiuction. 



the storm. But the civil wars did not quench 
the music of Suckling and Herrick, of Cartwright 
and Carezv. Prison and battle only inspire the 
muse of Lovelace, as in Ids — 

" If to be absent were to be 
Away from thee? 

and this purest chant of spiritual affection, — 

" Above the highest sphere wee meet 

Unseene, unknowne, and greet as angels greet." 

Still his mind is full of love and beauty, as in 
" To Amarantha, that she would dishevel I her 
Jiaire." These songs we learn from Lovelaces 
" Lueasta" (1649) were "set" by Mr. Henry 
Laives and Mr. JoJin Lanicre and Mr. Hudson 
and Dr. yoJin Wilson ; and it was Mr. Tlwmas 
Charles who "set" the gallant impertinence of — 

" Why should you swear I am forsworn 
Since thine I vow 'd to be ? 
Lady, it is already morn, 

And 't was last flight I swore to thee 
That fond impossibility.'''' 

The music and the words, in all that age, were 
twins from the birth. L happen to have here 



<£li$afoetf)an ^ong^. 



" Poems, Songs, and Sonnets, together with a 
Masque, by Thomas Carew, Esq. The Fourth 
Edition. Loudon, 1671." Some former owner 
has written in an old hand on the fly-leaf, 
" The Songs set in Mustek in H. Lawess Ay res 
and Dialogues for One, Two, and Three Voyees." 
While music and verse thus lived inseparable, 
Carew, in an age long after the Elizabethan, 
could write — 

" Ask me no more where Jove bestoius, 
When June is past, the fading Rose" 

and — 

" He that loves a rosie cheek 
Or a eoral lip admires." 

Herrick says little of music in his " Ldesperidcs," 
save to complain that when — 

" The bad season makes the Poet sad" 

he is — 

" Dull to myself, and almost dead to these 
My many fresh and fragrant mistresses, 
Lost to all music now." 

But Herrick, too, retains that Elizabethan lilt, 
as in the " Mad Maids Song," — 



gtootmctioiL 



" Good-morrow to the day so fair, 
Good-morrow, sir, to you; 
Good- morrow to mine own torn hair, 
Bedabbled with the dew." 

Herrick gratefully addresses " Mr. Henry 
Lawcs, the Excellent Composer of his Lyrics" 
and zvhile praising him praises also "rare 
Laniere," " rare Gotire," and " curious Wilson!' 
The songs of that century were never %vritten, 
as lyrics noiv have long been written, except 
for the purpose of being sung. They were 
meant for voices in masques or in plays, inter- 
ludes of music in dance or in action ; or they 
%verc such nuptial songs and epitJialamics as the 
manners of frank and joyous people required. 
Thus our lyric poetry of that period answered, 
in its way, to the lyric poetry of Greece in the 
period of Sappho and Alca?us. Unfortunately 
for our singers, the bulk of the Greek song of 
that date is lost ; but they fell back on what 
ancient inspirations they had to hand, — and in 
the floral verse of Herrick, especially, tJiere are 
frequent imitations of the Greek Anthology. 



<£li$abctf)an £ong£. 



Herrick rejoices in that pleasing confusion of 
flowers and maids and delights, and despite 
" his Noble Numbers or his Pious Pieces " is 
as great a heathen as Paulus Sileutiarius. 
These lyrists are all much inclined to cry, with 
Campion, — 

" / care not for these ladies 
That jnast be vowed and prayed j 
Give we kind A wary His, 
The wanton country maid." 

Their happy and unreflecting wantonness makes, 
no doubt, part of their charm ; and this, it may 
be said, zvas nearly killed by Puritanism, was 
only blown into a brief and hectic flame by the 
orgy of the Restoration, and quite expired, even 
in Drydeu's songs, under non-lyrical French in- 
fluences. The last echoes of Elizabethan melody 
fade away in some of the latest love-songs in 
Mr. Bullcji's " Love Poems from the Song- 
Books of the Seventeenth Century" as in the 
cpithalamium from " Wit at a Venture" (1674), 
written by Robert Bams (1650), — 



gtaotmction. 



" Be young to each when winter and gray hairs 
Your head shall climb ; 
May your affections like the merry spheres 
Still move in time, 

And may {with many a good presage) 
Your marriage prove your merry age." 

Changed times, changed minds ! " Marriage is 
a failure ! " and who calls the spheres merry ? 
" Weary" is a likelier epithet. Mr. Carlyle 
called them "a sad sicht." We must be merry 
again before we can be musical, save in an eru- 
dite, tuneless fashion ; and Heaven only knows 
when ive shall be merry again ! 

We cannot revive that pleasant, careless babble 
which in some of Shakespeare's songs breaks 
down into a mirthful nonsense of chorus. We 
cannot regain that country contentment, that 
spontaneous melody, which all the singers of a 
century possess, even as all the dramatists, how- 
ever worthless, had, as Scott remarks, something 
great in their style. Education, which was to 
give us so much, only makes us wonder at the 
untutored excellence of the common taste in Elisa- 
beth's time, that had to be addressed in language 



^lisataijan J>oti0£. 



of a lofty pitch at the play, and that even in 
tavern-catches demanded and received something 
exquisite, strange, and not to be renewed, till we 
renew the freshness of life and the joy of it. 
The young English Muse is like Sir Edward 
Dyer's " Phillis, the Fair ShepJierdessT — 

" My Phillis hath the morning sun 
At first to look upon her; 
And Pliillis hath morn-waking birds 
Her rising still to honor." 

But now the English Muse may sing with 
Gascoigne, — 

" first, lullaby my youthful years, 
It is now time to go to bed; 
For crooked age and hoary hairs 
Have 7107k.' their haven within my head. 
With lullaby then youth be still, 
With lullaby content thy will, 
Since courage quails and comes behind : 
Go, sleep, and so beguile thy mind.'''' 

The revolving years will bring back again, some 
day, a world that is glad and clean, and not over- 
thronged and not overdriven. Some later gener- 
ation will awake ivhen, as Mr. Bridges sings, — 



introduction. 



" The merry elves and fairies 

Are in the woods again. 
And play their mad vagaries 

And wanton freaks amain. 
' Come out, come out, good mortals, come .' 

they cry, ' and share 
Our pleasures rare ! ' 
And I that love gay June 
Am out ere morn has driven 
Her loitering star from heaven, 
Or woke the first bird's tune." 

Thai we shall have courtly singers, like Love- 
lace and Raleigh, and country pleasures of pipe 
and tabor. Then England shall not be under 
a pall of smoke ; the bass viol and the lute and 
the virginals si tall be musical, — but the jingle 
of the piano shall not be heard in the land, and 
there shall be no hurdy-gurdies any more for- 
ever. Meanwhile, we " have our book of songs 
and sonnets here." 

Andrew Lang. 



i, Marloes Road, 
London. 



lEhsabetban- ^on^s 



^flaunt they inphrastsjine, 
Enam'ling-with piedj lowers their thouphts 
oj gold." 

THE DEFENCE OF POESIE 




JOHN HARYNGTON. 



A HEART OF STONE. 



1534-1582. 



w 



HENCE comes my love ? O heart, disclose ! 
'T was from cheeks that shame the rose ; 
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise ; 
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze. 

Whence comes my love ? As freely own : 
Ah, me ! 'T was from a heart of stone. 



The blushing cheek speaks modest mind ; 

The lips, befitting words most kind ; 

The eye does tempt to love's desire, 

And seems to say 't is Cupid's fire : 

Yet all so fair but speak my moan, 
Sith nought doth say the heart of stone. 



<£li3abetf)an £ong& 



Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak 

Sweet lip, sweet eyes, sweet blushing cheek, 

Yet not a heart to save my pain? 

O Venus ! take thy gifts again ! 

Make not so fair to cause our moan, 
Or make a heart that 's like your own ! 





GEORGE GASCOIGNE. 



LULLABY OF A LOVER. 

OING lullaby, as women do 

Wherewith they bring their babes to rest ; 
And lullaby can I sing too, 

As womanly as can the best. 
With lullaby they still the child; 
And if I be not much beguiled, 
Full many wanton babes have I 
Which must be stilled with lullaby. 



First, lullaby my youthful years ; 

It is now time to go to bed, 
For crooked age and hoary hairs 

Have now the haven within my head. 



<£li$afcetJjan £cmgg. 



With lullaby then youth be still, 

With lullaby content thy will, 

Since courage quails, and comes behind ; 

Go, sleep ! and so beguile thy mind. 

Next, lullaby my gazing eyes, 

Which wonted were to glance apace, 
For every glass may now suffice 

To show the furrows in my face. 
With lullaby then wink a while, 
With lullaby your looks beguile ; 
Let no fair face, nor beauty bright, 
Entice you eft with vain delight. 

And lullaby my wanton will, 

Let reason's rule now reign my thought, 
Since all too late I find by skill 
How dear I have thy fancies bought. 
With lullaby now take thine ease, 
With lullaby thy doubts appease ; 
For trust to this, — if thou be still, 
My body shall obey thy will. 



aBcorgc <i35a£coignc. 



A STRANGE PASSION OF A LOVER. 



A 



MID my bale I bathe in bliss, 
I swim in heaven, I sink in hell : 

I find amends for every miss, 

And yet my moan no tongue can tell. 

I live and love (what would you more?) 

As never lover lived before. 

I laugh sometimes with little lust, 

So jest I oft and feel no joy ; 
Mine eye is builded all on trust, 

And yet mistrust breeds mine annoy. 
I live and lack, I lack and have ; 
I have and miss the thing I crave. 

These things seem strange, yet are they true. 

Believe me, sweet, my state is such, 
One pleasure which I would eschew 

Both slakes my grief and breeds my grutch ; 
So doth one pain which I would shun 

Renew my joys where grief begun. 



oBIi^abetljan &ong$. 



Then like the lark that passed the night 
In heavy sleep with cares oppressed, 

Yet when she spies the pleasant light 

She sends sweet notes from out her breast. 

So sing I now because I think 

How joys approach, when sorrows shrink. 

And as fair Philomene again 

Can watch and sing when others sleep, 
And taketh pleasure in her pain 

To wray the woe that makes her weep : 
So sing I now for to bewray 

The loathsome life I lead alway. 

The which to thee, dear wench, I write, 

Thou know'st my mirth but not my moan : 

1 pray God grant thee deep delight, 
To live in joys when I am gone. 

1 cannot live ; it will not be : 

I die to think to part from thee. 




SIR EDWARD DYER. 



1550-1607 



TO PHILLIS THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS. 



/\ l\ Y Thillis hath the morning Sun 
At first to look upon her : 
And Phillis hath morn-waking birds 

Her rising still to honour. 
My Phillis hath prime feathered flowers, 

That smile when she treads on them 
And Phillis hath a gallant flock 

That leaps since she doth own them. 
But Phillis hath too hard a heart, 

Alas, that she should have it ! 
It yields no mercy to desert, 

Nor grace to those that crave it. 



<£U3abetf)an £ong0. 



Sweet Sun, when thou look'st on, 

Pray her regard my moan ! 
Sweet birds, when you sing to her, 

To yield some pity woo her ! 
Sweet flowers that she treads on, 

Tell her her beauty dreads one. 
And if in life her love she nill agree me, 
Pray her before I die she will come see me. 








JOHN LYLY. 



DAPHNE. 



1554 1600. 



\l\ Y Daphne's hair is twisted gold, 

Bright stars a-piece her eyes do hold ; 
My Daphne's brow enthrones the graces, 
My Daphne's beauty stains all faces ; 
On Daphne's cheek grow rose and cherry, 
On Daphne's lip a sweeter berry ; 
Daphne's snowy hand but touched does melt, 
And then no heavenlier warmth is felt. 
My Daphne's voice tunes all the spheres, 
My Daphne's music charms all ears ; 
Fond am I thus to sing her praise, 
These glories now are turned to bays. 



<£U$afceti)an ^ong^. 



SYRINX. 

DAN'S Syrinx was a girl indeed, 

Though now she 's turned into a reed ; 
From that dear reed Pan's pipe does come, 
A pipe that strikes Apollo dumb. 
Nor flute, nor lute, nor gittern can 
So chant it as the pipe of Pan ; 
Cross-gartered swains and dairy girls, 
With faces smug and round as pearls, 
When Pan's shrill pipe begins to play, 
With dancing wear out night and day ; 
The bagpipe's drone his hum lays by, 
When Pan sounds up his minstrelsy. 
His minstrelsy ! Oh, base ! this quill, 
Which at my mouth with wind I fill, 
Puts me in mind, though her I miss, 
That still my Syrinx's lips I kiss. 



3<ohjt Uplp. 



s 



SONG TO APOLLO. 

ING to Apollo, god of day, 

Whose golden beams with morning play, 
And make her eyes so brightly shine, 
Aurora's face is called divine ! 
Sing to Phoebus and that throne 
Of diamonds which he sits upon. 
Io, paeans let us sing 
To Physic's and to Poesy's king ! 

Crown all his altars with bright fire, 
Laurels bind about his lyre, 
A Daphnean coronet for his head, 
The Muses dance about his bed ! 
When on his ravishing lute he plays, 
Strew his temple round with bays ! 
Io, paeans let us sing 
To the glittering Delian king ! 



'3 



<£li;abetf)an &ong£. 



LOME'S COLLEGE. 

CUPID ! monarch over kings, 
Wherefore hast thou feet and wings? 
It is to show how swift thou art 
When thou woundest a tender heart ! 
Thy wings being clipped, and feet held still, 
Thy bow so many could not kill. 



O 



It is all one in Venus' wanton school 
Who highest sits, the wise man or the fool. 
Fools in love's college 
Have far more knowledge 
To read a woman over, 
Than a neat prating lover : 
Nay, 't is confessed 
That fools please women best. 



14 



3'oftn Iplp. 



SPRINGS WELCOME. 

\17HAT bird so sings, yet so does wail? 
Oh 't is the 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 but the lark so shrill and clear ; 
How 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 ! 



15 



<£U$abctf)an £oti0£\ 



CUPID AND CAMPASPE. 

/^UPID and my Campaspe played 

At cards for kisses : Cupid paid. 
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, 
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows : 
Loses them, too. Then down he throws 
The coral of his lip, the rose 
Growing on *s cheek (but none knows how) ; 
With these, the crystal of his brow. 
And then the dimple of his chin : 
All these did my Campaspe win. 
At last he set her both his eyes : 
She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
O Love ! has she done this to thee ? 
What shall, alas ! become of me ? 



16 



3'oljn Strip. 



M 



ARROWS FOR LOVE. 

Y shag-hair Cyclops, come, let 's ply 
The Lamnion hammers lustily ! 
By my wife's sparrows, 
I swear these arrows 
Shall singing fly 
Through many a wanton's eye. 
These headed are with golden blisses, 
These silver ones feathered with kisses ; 
But this of lead 
Strikes a clown dead, 
When in a dance 
He falls in a trance, 
To see his black- browed lass not buss him, 
And then whines out for death t' untruss him. 
So ! so ! our work being done, let 's play. 
Holiday ! boys, cry holiday ! 



'7 



<£li$abttfjan £ong$. 



o 



CUPID ARRAIGNED. 

FROM "GALATEA.' 

H, YES ! Oh, yes ! if any maid 
Whom leering Cupid has betrayed 
To frowns of spite, to eyes of scorn ; 
And would in madness now see torn 
The boy in pieces, — let her come 
Hither, and lay on him her doom. 



Oh, yes ! Oh, yes ! has any lost 

A heart, which many a sigh hath cost? 

Is any cozened of a tear, 

Which as a pearl disdain does wear? 

Here stands the thief ! — let her but come 

Hither, and lay on him her doom. 

Is any one undone by fire. 

And turned to ashes through desire? 

iS 



Uofttt Uplp. 



Did ever any lady weep, 

Being cheated of her golden sleep, 

Stol'n by sick thoughts? — the pirate 's found 

And in her tears he shall be drowned. 

Read his indictment, let him hear 
What he 's to trust to. Boy, give ear ! 




19 




FULKE GREVILLE (LORD BROOKE). 



1554?- 1638 



MYRA. 



[ WITH whose colors Myra drest her head, 

I that ware posies of her own hand-making, 
I that mine own name in the chimnies 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 ? 



I that on Sunday at the church-stile found 

A garland sweet with true-love-knots in flowers, 

Which I to wear about mine arms was bound, 
That each of us mi^ht know that all was ours : 



fulhe 45rctoiUc. 



Must I now lead an idle life in wishes, 
And follow Cupid for his loaves and fishes? 

I that did wear the ring her mother 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. 




<£li3abetf)an J>oti0tf. 



TO HER EYES. 

UOU little stars that live in skies, 
And glory in Apollo's glory ; 
In whose aspect 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 overrule your force by love. 

And thou, O Love, which in these eyes 

Hast married reason with affection, 
And made them saints of beautie's skyes, 

Where joys are shadows of perfection, — 
Lend me thy wings that I may rise 
Up, not by worth, but thy election : 

For I have vowed in strangest fashion 
To love, and never seek compassion. 




SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 



ABSENCE. 



1554-15 86 



r\ DEAR life when shall it be 

That mine eyes thine eyes shall see, 
And in them thy mind discover 
Whether absence have had force 
Thy remembrance to divorce 
From the image of thy lover? 

Or if I myself find not, 

After parting, aught forgot 

Nor debarred from Beauty's treasure, 

Let not tongue aspire to tell 

In what high joys I shall dwell : 

Only thought aims at the pleasure. 



2 3 



<£li$abctfjan £ong$. 



Thought, therefore I will send thee 
To take up the place for me : 
Long I will not after tarry ; 
There, unseen, thou mayst 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. 

Think of that most grateful time, 
When my leaping heart will climb 
In my lips to have his biding, 
There those roses for to kiss 
Which do breathe a sugared bliss, 
Opening rubies, pearls dividing. 



24 



g>it $()ilip s&itmcp. 



Think, think of those dallyings, 
When with dove-like murmurings, 
With glad moaning, passed anguish, 
We change eyes, and heart for heart, 
Each to other do depart, 
Joying till joy makes us languish. 

O 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. 




25 




NICHOLAS BRETON. 



1 555-1624. 



PHILUDA AND CORY DON. 

N the merry month of May, 

In a morn by break of day, 
Forth I walked by the wood-side, 
When as May was in his pride : 
There I spied all alone 
Phillida 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. 



26 



|5icf)olas Breton. 



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 still will love abuse, — 
Love, which had been long deluded, 
Was with kisses sweet concluded ; 
And Phillida, with garlands gay, 
Was made the lady of the May. 




27 




THOMAS LODGE. 

ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL. 

[ OVE in my bosom like a bee 
Doth suck his sweet ; 
Now with his wings he plays with me, 

Now with his feet. 
Within mine eyes he makes his nest ; 
His bed, amidst my tender breast ; 
My kisses are his daily feast ; 
And yet he robs me of my rest, — 
Ah ! wanton, will ye ? 

And if I sleep, then percheth he 

With pretty flight, 
And makes his pillow of my knee 

The livelong night. 



1556-1625. 



28 



€f)oma£ 3lo&0c. 



Strike I my lute, he tunes the string ; 
He music plays, if so I sing ; 
He lends me every lovely thing ; 
Yet cruel he, my heart doth sting, — 
Whist, wanton, still ye ! 



Else I with roses every day 

Will whip you hence ; 
And bind you, when you long to play, 

For your offence. 
I '11 shut mine eyes to keep you in, 
I '11 make you fast it for your sin, 
I '11 count your power not worth a pin, 
Alas ! what hereby shall I win, 
If he gainsay me? 



What if I beat the wanton boy 

With many a rod ? 
He will repay me with annoy, 

Because a god. 



€ii}ataf)an £ongs. 



Then sit thou safely on my knee, 
And let thy bower my bosom be : 
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee ; 
O Cupid, so thou pity me, 

Spare not, but play thee. 







3° 



€fjoma£ Eot>0c. 



THE DECEITFUL MISTRESS 

J\|OW I find thy looks were feigned, 
Quickly lost, and quickly gained ; 
Soft thy skin like wool of weathers, 
Heart unstable, light as feathers, 
Tongue untrusty, subtle-sighted, 
Wanton will, with change delighted. 
Siren pleasant, foe to reason, 
Cupid plague thee for this treason ! 

Of thine eyes I made my mirror, 
From thy beauty came mine error"; 
All thy words I counted witty, 
All thy smiles I deemed pity ; 
Thy false tears, that me aggrieved, 
First of all my heart deceived. 
Siren pleasant, foe to reason, 
Cupid plague thee for this treason ! 

Feigned acceptance, when I asked ; 
Lovely words, with cunning masked ; 
Holy vows, but heart unholy ; 
Wretched man ! my trust was folly ! 



3« 



<£li$abetf)an ^ongg. 



Lily-white, and pretty winking ; 

Solemn vows, but sorry thinking. 
Siren pleasant, foe to reason, 
Cupid plague thee for this treason ! 

Now I see, Oh, seemly cruel, 
Oh, thus warm them at my fuel, 
Wit shall guide me in this durance, 
Since in love is no assurance ; 
Change thy pasture, take thy pleasure, 
Beauty is a fading treasure. 

Siren pleasant, foe to reason, 
Cupid plague thee for thy treason ! 

Prime youth lasts not, age will follow, 
And make white those tresses yellow ; 
Wrinkled face, for looks delightful, 
Shall acquaint thee, dame despiteful ! 
And when time shall date thy glory, 
Then, too late, thou wilt be sorry. 
Siren pleasant, foe to reason, 
Cupid plague thee for this treason ! 



<Ef)oma£ Hodge. 



ROSALIND'S DESCRIPTION. 

i IKE to the clear in highest sphere, 
Where all imperial glory shines, 
Of self-same color is her hair, 

Whether unfolded or in twines : 
Heigho, fair Rosalind ! 

Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, 
Refining heaven by every wink ; 

The gods do fear when as they glow, 
And I do tremble when I think : 

Heigho, would she were mine ! 

Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud 
That beautifies Aurora's face, 

Or like the silver, crimson shroud 

That Phoebe's smiling looks doth grace 
Heigho, fair Rosalind ! 



33 



<£li$abctl)an ^ongs. 



Her lips are like two budded roses, 
Whom ranks of lilies neighbor nigh, 

Within which bounds she balm incloses 
Apt to entice a deity : 

Heigho, 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 : 
Heigho, fair Rosalind ! 

Her paps are centres of delight, 

Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame, 
Where Nature moulds the dew of light, 

To feed Perfection with the same : 
Heigho, would she were mine ! 

With orient pearl, with ruby red, 

With marble white, with sapphire blue, 

Her body every way is fed, 

Yet soft in touch and sweet in view : 
Heigho, fair Rosalind ! 



34 



Ctjoma? lofcgc. 



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 : 
Heigho, would she were mine ! 

Then muse not, nymphs, though I bemoan 

The absence of fair Rosalind, 
Since for her fair there is fairer none; 
Nor for her virtues so divine ; 
Heigho, fair Rosalind ! 
Heigho, my heart, would God that she were 
mine ! 



35 



<£Ii$abctl)an £ong£* 



T 



SPRING AND MELANCHOLY. 

HE 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 clad in black 
In token of my wrack. 



The birds upon the 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. 

36 



£t)oma0 Hodge. 



The thrushes seek the shade. 

And I my fatal grave ; 
Their flight to heaven is made, 
My walk on earth I have ; 

They free, 1 thrall ; they jolly, 
I sad and pensive wholly. 




37 



<£Ii$abctf)an £ong£. 



LOME'S WANTONNESS. 

OVE guides 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. 



L 



Love in thine eyes doth build his bower. 
And sleeps within their pretty shine ; 

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 I will praise thy deity. 

3» 



€f)oma£ Jtotigc. 



DO ME RIGHT, AND DO ME REASON. 

FROM "A LOOKING-GLASS FOR LONDON AND ENGLAND.' 

DEAUTY, alas! where wast thou bom, 
Thus to hold thyself in scorn? 
Whenas Beauty kissed to woo thee. 
Thou by Beauty dost undo me : 

Heigh-ho ! despise me not. 

I and thou in sooth are one, — 
Fairer thou, I fairer none ; 
Wanton thou, and wilt thou, wanton, 
Yield a cruel heart to plant on? 
Do me right, and do me reason ; 
Cruelty is cursed treason : 

Heigh-ho ! I love. Heigh-ho ! I love. 

Heigh-ho ! and yet he eyes me not. 



39 




ROBERT GREENE. 



MEN/iPHON'S SONG. 



1560?- 1592. 



OOxME say Love. 
Foolish Love, 

Doth rule and govern all the gods ; 
I say Love, 
Inconstant Love, 

Sets men's senses far at odds. 
Some swear Love. 
Smoothed-faced Love. 

Is sweetest sweet that man can have ; 
I say Love, 
Sour Love, 

Makes virtue yield as beauty's slave. 
A bitter sweet, a folly worst of all. 
That forceth wisdom to be follv's thrall. 



40 



Robert oBrcenc. 



Love is sweet ! 
Wherein sweet? 

In fading pleasures that do pain. 
Beauty sweet ! 
Is that sweet 

That yieldeth sorrow for a gain ? 
If Love 's sweet, 
Herein sweet, 

That minutes' joys are monthly woes. 
'T is not sweet, 
That is sweet, 

Nowhere but where repentance grows. 
Then love who list, if beauty be so sour ; 
Labor for me, Love rest in prince's bower. 



4i 



€li$abctf)an £on0£. 



THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG. 

A H, what is love? It is a pretty thing, 
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king, 
And sweeter, too ; 
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, 
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown. 
Ah then, ah then, 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 

His flocks are folded ; he comes home at night, 
As merry as a king in his delight, 

And merrier, too ; 
For kings bethink them what the state require, 
Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire. 
Ah then, ah then, 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain? 

42 



Robert <6rccnc. 



He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat 

His cream and curds, as doth the king his meat, 

And blither, too ; 
For kings have often fears when they do sup, 
Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup. 
Ah then, ah then, 
If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 

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, 
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 the 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. 



43 



<£li;abctf)an £ongs'. 



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, 
Since country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
What lady would not love a shepherd swain. 



44 



Robert oBrccnc. 



CUPID- S INGRATITUDE. 

C^XJYYT) abroad was 'lated in the night, 

His wings were wet with ranging in the rain 
Harbor he sought : to me he took his flight 

To dry his plumes. I heard the boy complain 
I oped the door, and granted his desire ; 
I rose myself, and made the wag a fire. 

Looking more narrow, by the fire's flame, 
I spied his quiver hanging by his back ; 

Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame, 
I would have gone, for fear of further wrack : 

But what I dread did me, poor wretch, betide, 

For forth he drew an arrow from his side. 

He pierced the quick, and I began to start ; 

A pleasing wound, but that it was too high : 
His shaft procured a sharp, yet sugared smart. 

Away he flew ; for why, his wings were dry ; 
But left the arrow sticking in my breast, 
That sore I grieved I welcomed such a guest. 



45 



<£Ii$atol)an ^ongg. 



INFIDA'S SONG. 

QWEET Adon, dar'st not glance thine eye 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Upon thy Venus that must die? 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N 'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 



See how sad thy Venus lies, 

N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Love in heart, and tears in eyes, 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N 'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 

Thy face is fair as Paphos' brooks, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Wherein Fancy baits her hooks ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N 'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 



46 



Robert <JBrccnc, 



Thy cheeks like cherries that do grow, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami ? 

Amongst the western mounts of snow, 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N 'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Thy lips vermilion, full of love, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Thy neck as silver-white as dove ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N 'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Thine eyes like flames of holy fires, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Burn all my thoughts with sweet desires ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N 'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

All thy beauties sting my heart, 
N 'oserez vous mon bel ami? 



47 



<£li3abetl)an £ong$. 



I must die through Cupid's dart ; 

Je vous en prie, pity me ; 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 

N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

Wilt thou let thy Venus die? 

N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 
Adon were unkind, say I, 

Je vous en prie, pity me ; 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 

N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

To let fair Venus die for woe, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 

That doth love sweet Adon so ; 
Je vous en prie, pity me ; 

N 'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel, 
N 'oserez vous, mon bel ami? 



4 S 




SAMUEL DANIEL. 



LOVE. 



1562-1619. 



L 



OVE 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, 
Hey. ho ! 



49 



Cli^abet^an ^ong^. 



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, 
Hey, ho ! 



5o 



£amurf SDanirf. 



FROM -HYMEN'S TRIUMPH." 

A H, I remember well (and how can I 

But evermore remember well) when first 
Our flame began ; when scarce we knew what was 
The flame we felt ; when as we sat and sighed, 
And looked upon each other, and conceived 
Not what we ail'd, — yet something we did ail ; 
And yet were well, and yet we were not well ; 
And what was our disease we could not tell. 
Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look : and thus 
In that first garden of our simpleness 
We spent our childhood. But when years began 
To reap the fruit of knowledge, ah, how then 
Would she with graver looks, with sweet stern brow 
Check my presumption and my forwardness ; 
Yet still would give me flowers, still would me show 
What she would have me, yet not have me know. 



5' 



<£li;abctf)an ^onga. 



A 



EIDOLA. 

RE they shadows that we see? 
And can shadows pleasure give ? 
Pleasures only shadows be, 
Cast by bodies we conceive, 
And are made the things we deem 
In those figures which they seem. 

But these pleasures vanish fast 
Which by shadows are exprest : 
Pleasures arc not if they last, 
In their passage is their best : 
Glory is most bright and gay 
In a flash, and so away. 

Feed apace then, greedy eyes. 
On the wonder yon behold ; 
Take it sudden as it flies, 
Though you take it not to hold : 
When your eves have done their part, 
Thought must length it in the heart. 



5? 



Samuel 2DanicL 



EYES, HIDE MY LOVE. 

CYES, hide my love, and do not show 
To any but to her my notes, 
Who only doth that cipher know 

Wherewith we pass our secret thoughts 
Belie your looks in others' sight, 
And wrong yourselves to do her right. 







53 




MICHAEL DRAYTON. 



TO HIS COY LOVE. 



1563 1631. 



[ PRAY thee, Love, love me no more, 

Call home the heart you gave me ; 
I but in vain that saint adore, 

That can, but will not save me : 
These poor half kisses kill me quite ; 

Was ever man thus served ? 
Amidst an ocean of delight 

For pleasure to be starved. 

Show me no more those snowy breasts, 
With azure rivers branched, 

Where whilst my eye with plenty feasts, 
Yet is my thirst not stanched. 



54 



$?icf)ad SDrapton* 



O 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 in those dear arms, 

Nor thy life's comfort call me ; 
Oh, these are but too powerful charms, 

And do but more enthrall me. 
But see how patient I am grown, 

In all this coyle about thee ; 
Come, nice thing, let thy heart alone, - 

I cannot live without thee. 



55 



^li^nljctljan «£ong£. 



LOVE BANISHED HEAVEN. 

[ OVE, banished heaven, in earth was held in scorn, 

Wand'ring abroad in need and beggary; 
And wanting friends, though of a goddess born, 
Yet craved the alms of such as passed by. 
I, like a man devout and charitable, 
Clothed the naked, lodged this wand'ring guest, 
With sighs and tears still furnishing his table 
With what might make the miserable blest. 
But this ungrateful, for my good desert, 
Enticed my thoughts against me to conspire, 
Who gave consent to steal away my heart, 
And set my breast, his lodging, on a fire. 

Well, well, my friends, when beggars grow thus bold, 
No marvel then though charity grow cold. 



56 



S^idjad SDrapton. 



DEFIANCE TO LOVE. 

O HOOT, false Love ! I care not : 
Spend thy shafts, and spare not ! 
I fear not, I, thy might, 
And less I weigh thy spite ; 
All naked, I unarm me : 
If thou canst, now shoot and harm me ! 
So lightly I esteem thee, 
As now a child I deem thee. 

Long thy bow did fear me, 
While thy pomp did blear me : 
But now I do perceive 
Thy art is to deceive ; 
And every simple lover 
All thy falsehood can discover. 
Then weep, Love ! and be sorry, 
For thou hast lost thy glory. 



S7 




THOMAS HEYWOOD. 



GREETINGS TO MY LOVE. 

F)ACK clouds away, and welcome day ; 

With night we banish sorrow ; 
Sweet air, blow soft ; mount, larks, aloft, 

To give my love good-morrow ! 
Wings from the wind to please her mind, 

Notes from the lark, I'll borrow; 
Bird, prune thy wing ; nightingale, sing, 

To give my love good-morrow ! 

To give my love good- morrow, 
Notes from them all I '11 borrow. 



1649- 



58 



'•■ 



if A 




xl 



K S 





» 



m 



^^ 




€tjoma£ ii)cptoooD. 



Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast, 

Sing, birds, in every furrow, 
And from each bill let music shrill 

Give my fair love good-morrow ! 
Blackbird and thrush, in every bush, 

Stare, linnet, and cock -sparrow, 
7ou pretty elves, amongst yourselves, 

Sing my fair love good- morrow ! 

To give my love good- morrow, 
Sing, birds, in every furrow ! 



59 






<£li3a&etfjan icings. 



LOVE'S ECSTASY. 

IT ENCE with passion, sighs, and tears, 
Disasters, sorrows, cares, and fears ! 
See, my Love, my Love appears, 

That thought himself exiled. 
Whence might all these loud joys grow, 
Whence might mirth and banquets flow, 
But that he 's come, he 's come, I know? 
Fair Fortune, thou hast smiled. 

Give [un]to these windows eyes, 
Daze the stars and mock the skies, 
And let us two, us two, devise 

To lavish our best treasures : 
Crown our wishes with content, 
Meet our souls in sweet consent, 
And let this night, this night, be spent 

In all abundant pleasures. 



60 



Cl)oma£ lt)cptuooti. 



Y 



TO PHYLLIS. 

FROM "THE FAIR MAID OF THE EXCHANGE." 

E little birds that sit and sing 

Amidst the shady valleys, 
And see how Phyllis sweetly walks 

Within her garden alleys ; 
Go, pretty birds, about her bower ; 
Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower : 
Ah me ! methinks I see her frown ; 

Ye pretty wantons, warble. 

Go, tell her through your chirping bills 

As you by me are bidden. 
To her is only known my love 

Which from the world is hidden. 
Go, pretty birds, and tell her so, 
See that your notes strain not too low, 
For still methinks I see her frown ; 
Ye pretty wantons, warble. 

61 



<£Ii3ato|)an ^ongs. 



Go, tune your voices' harmony, 

And sing I am her lover ; 
Strain loud and sweet, that every note 

With sweet content may move her. 
And she that hath the sweetest voice, 
Tell her I will not change my choice : 
Yet still methinks I see her frown ; 

Ye pretty wantons, warble. 

Oh fly ! make haste ! see, see, she falls 

Into a pretty slumber ; 
Sing round about her rosy bed, 

That waking she may wonder ; 
Say to her 't is her lover true, 
That sendeth love to you, to you ; 
And when you hear her kind reply, 

Return with pleasant warblings. 



62 




CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE. 

i 564- i 593 

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. 

/"""'OME 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. 

And I will make thee beds of roses 
And a thousand fragrant posies ; 
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle ; 



63 



<£U$afictl)an £>ong£. 



A gown made of the finest wool 
Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
Fair lined slippers for the cold, 
With buckles of the purest gold ; 

A belt of straw and ivy buds, 
With coral clasps and amber studs : 
And if these pleasures may thee move, 
Come live with me and be my love. 

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
For thy delight each May morning; 
If these delights thy mind may move, 
Come live with me and be my love. 




64 



• -J ' 



/ 








WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. 



TO SYLVIA. 



1^64-1616. 



w 



FROM "TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA.' 

HO is Sylvia? What is she 
That all our swains commend her? 

Holy, fair, and wise is she ; 

The heavens such grace did lend her 

That she might admired be. 



Is she kind as she is fair? — 

For beauty lives with kindness; 

Love doth to her eyes repair 

To help him of his blindness ; 

And being helped, inhabits there. 



65 



<£li$afcetJ)an £ong$. 



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. 




66 



tDiiliam £f)ahc£pcarc. 



5 ONG. 

FROM "LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST." 

/^~\N a day (alack the day !) 

Love, whose month is ever May, 
Spied a blossom passing fair 
Playing in the wanton air ; 
Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
All unseen, 'gan passage find, 
That the lover, sick to death, 
Wished himself the heaven's breath. 
"Air," quoth he, ''thy cheeks may blow 
Air, would I might triumph so ! 
But, alack, my hand is sworn 
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet, 
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet. 
Do not call it sin in me 
That I am forsworn for thee ; 
Thou, for whom Jove would swear 
Juno but an Ethiop were, 
And deny himself for Jove 
Turning mortal for thy love." 

67 



di^abcttjan &ong£. 



TO IMOGEN. 

FROM "CYMBELINE." 

IT ARK, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 
And Phoebus 'gins arise, 
His steeds to water at those springs 

On chaliced flowers that lies ; 
Ami winking Mary-buds begin 
To ope their golden eyes : 
With everything that pretty is, 
My lady sweet, arise ; 
Arise, arise ! 



68 



D&illiam ^afcc^pcarc. 



INCONSTANCY. 

FROM "MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING." 

OIGH no more, ladies, sigh no more, — 
Men were deceivers ever ; 
One foot in sea, and one on shore, 
To one thing constant never : 
Then sigh not so, 
But let them go, 
And be you blithe and bonny, 
Converting all your sounds of woe 
Into hey nonny, nonny ! 

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo' 
Of dumps so dull and heavy ; 
The fraud of men was ever so 
Since summer first was leavy : 
Then sigh not so, 
But let them go, 
And be you blithe and bonny, 
Converting all your sounds of woe 
Into hey nonny, nonny ! 



69 



Cli^afcetftan £ongg. 



T 



FANCY. 

FROM "MERCHANT OF VENICE." 

ELL me where is Fancy bred, — 

In the heart or in the head? 
How begot, how nourished? 
Reply, reply. 

It is engendered in the eyes, 
With gazing fed ; and Fancy dies 
In the cradle where it lies. 
Let us all ring Fancy's knell, 
I'll begin it, — Ding, dong, bell, 
Ding, dong, bell. 



70 



IMliam £f)afte$pcatx. 



THE RHYME OF WHITE AND RED. 

FROM " LOVE'S LABOUR 'S LOST." 

TF she be made of white and red, 
Her faults will ne'er be known, 
For blushing cheeks by faults are bred, 

And fears by pale white shown : 
Then if she fear, or be to blame, 
By this you shall not know, 
For still her cheeks possess the same, 
Which native she doth owe. 



7r 



<£li3abetJ>an £ong£\ 



SPRING. 

FROM •' LOVES LABOUR 'S LOST." 

\ 17 HEN daisies pied, and violets blue, 
And lady-smocks all silver white, 
And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue 

Do paint the meadows with delight, 
The cuckoo then on every tree 
Mocks married men ; for thus sings he, 

" Cuckoo, 
Cuckoo, cuckoo!" — Oh word of fear, 
Unpleasing to a married ear ! 

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 

And merry larks are ploughman's clocks ; 

When turtles tread, and rooks and daws, 

And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 

The cuckoo then on every tree 

Mocks married men ; for thus sings he, 
" Cuckoo, 

Cuckoo, cuckoo!" — Oh word of fear, 

Unpleasing to the married ear ! 



72 



JMUam £f)aftc£pcarc. 



BIRON'S CANZONET. 

FROM "LOVES LABOUR'S LOST." 

TF love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to 
love? 
Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty 
vowed ! 
Though to myself forsworn, to thee I '11 faithful 
prove ; 
Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like 
osiers bowed. 
Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine 
eyes, 
Where all those pleasures live that art would 
comprehend. 
If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall 
suffice ; 
Well learned is that tongue that well can thee 
commend, 



73 



<£Ii$afcctJ)an J>ongg, 



All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder 
(Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts 
admire) ; 

Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dread- 
ful thunder, 
Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet 
fire. 

Celestial as thou art, oh pardon love this wrong, 

That sings Heaven's praise with such an earthly 
tongue ! 




74 



JMliam &f)akc$pcarr. 



THE LONER'S TEARS. 



FROM "LOVE'S LABOUR'S LOST.' 



CO sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 

To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, 
As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote 

The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows ; 
Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 

Through the transparent bosom of the deep, 
As doth thy face through tears of mine give light. 

Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep ; 
No drop but as a coach doth carry thee, 

So ridest thou triumphing in my woe. 
Do but behold the tears that swell in me, 

And they thy glory through my grief will show. 
But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep 
My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. 
O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel ! 
No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. 



75 



€li$afcetl)an £ong£. 



PERJURY EXCUSED. 

FROM " LOVE'S LABOUR 'S LOST." 

r^\ID not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 

'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, 
Persuade my heart to this false perjury? 

Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
A woman I forswore ; but I will prove, 

Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 

Thy grace being gained cures all disgrace in me. 
Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is : 

Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost 
shine, 
Exhalest this vapour-vow ; in thee it is ! 

If broken then, it is no fault of mine ; 
If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
To lose an oath to win a paradise? 



76 






William £i)ahe£pcatc. 



OH, MISTRESS MINE. 

FROM "TWELFTH NIGHT." 

f~\ MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming? 
^^^ Oh, stay and hear ; your true love 's coming, 
That can sing both high and low. 
Trip no farther, pretty sweeting j 
Journeys end in lovers meeting, 

Every wise man's son doth know. 

What is love ? 't is not hereafter ; 
Present mirth hath present laughter; 

What 's to come is still unsure. 
In delay there lies no plenty; 
Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, 

Youth 's a stuff will not endure. 



77 



<£ii$aftctf)an ^ongsL 



IT WAS A LOVER AND HIS LASS 

FROM 'TWELFTH NIGHT." 

TT was a lover and his lass, 

With a hey and a ho and a hey nonino, 
That o'er the green cornfield did pass 

In the spring-time, the only pretty ring-time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding, ding ; 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

Between the acres of the rye, 

With a hey and a ho and a hey nonino, 
These pretty country-folks would lie, 

In the spring-time, the only pretty ring-time, 
When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding, ding ; 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

This carol they began that hour, 

With a hey and a ho and a hey nonino, 

How that a life was but a flower 

In the spring-time, the only pretty ring- time, 

78 



JMiiam £f)aftc£pcat:c. 



When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding, ding; 
Sweet lovers love the spring. 

And therefore take the present time 

With a hey and a ho and a hey nonino ; 

For love is crowned with the prime 

In the spring-time, the only pretty ring-time, 

When birds do sing, hey ding-a-ding, ding; 

Sweet lovers love the spring. 



T 



SONG. 

FROM "MEASURE FOR MEASURE." 

AKE, oh take those lips away 

That so sweetly were forsworn ! 
And those eyes, like break of day, 

Lights that do mislead the morn ! 
But my kisses bring again, 
Seals of love, but sealed in vain. 



79 



<£li$afcctf)an ^ong^. 



A BRIDAL SONG. 

FROM THE "TWO NOBLE KINSMEN." 

DOSES, 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 ! 



So 



William £f)ahc£pcarc. 



Not an angel of the air, 
Bird melodious, or bird fair, 
Be absent hence ! 

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor 
The boding raven, nor chough hoar. 

Nor chattering pie, 
May on our bride-house perch or sing, 
Or with them any discord bring, 

But from it fly ! 



81 



<£lhataJ>an £ong$. 



A WEDLOCK HYMN. 

FROM "TWELFTH NIGHT." 

\A7EDDING is great Juno's crown; 

Oh blessed bond of board and bed ! 
'T is Hymen peoples every town, — 

High wedlock then be honoured : 
Honour, high honour and renown, 

To Hymen, god of every town ! 




82 




BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 

1576-1625. 

WEDDING SONG. 

FROM "THE MAID'S TRAGEDY." 

IT OLD 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. 

83 



<£ii5abct{)ait £01100'. 



WAKE, GENTLY WAKE. 

FROM "WIT AT SEVERAL WEArONS." 

r^AIN would I wake you, sweet, but fear 
I should invite you to worse cheer ; 
In your dreams you cannot fare 
Meaner than music, or compare ; 
None of your slumbers are compiled 
Under the pleasures makes a child ; 
Your day-delights, so well compact 
That what you think turns all to act, 
I 'd wish my life no better play 
Your dream by night, your thought by day. 
Wake, gently wake, 
Part softly from your dreams ; 
The morning flies 
To your fair eyes, 
To take her special beams. 



84 



Beaumont anti f fctrtKr. 



T 



SONG IN THE WOOD. 

FROM "THE LITTLE FKEN'CII LAWYER." 

HIS way, this way come, and hear, 

You that hold these pleasures dear ; 
Fill your ears with our sweet sound, 
Whilst we melt the frozen ground. 
This way come ; make haste, O Fair ! 
Let your clear eyes gild the air ; 
Come, and bless us with your sight : 
This way, this way, seek delight ! 



85 



€Ii3afcctl)an £on0& 



BRIDAL SONG. 

FROM "THE LITTLE FRENCH LAWYER." 

/"" > OME away ! bring on the bride, 

And place her by her lover's side. 
You fair troop of maids attend her ; 
Pure and holy thoughts befriend her. 
Blush, and wish you virgins all 
Many such fair nights may fall. 
Hymen, fill the house with joy; 
All thy sacred fires employ; 
Bless the bed with holy love : 
Now, fair orb of beauty, move ! 




56 




JOHN FLETCHER. 



SPRING TIME AND LOVE. 



rROM "VALENTIN IAN. 



|\|flW the lusty spring is seen; 

Golden yellow, gaudy blue, 

Daintily invite the view ; 
Everywhere, on every green, 
Roses, blushing as they blow. 

And enticing men to pull ; 
Lilies, whiter than the snow : 

Woodbines, of sweet honey full 
All love's emblems, and all cry, 
"Ladies, if not plucked, we die." 



1576- 1625. 



87 



€lt$abetf)an £ongs. 



Yet the lusty spring has stayed; 

Blushing red, and purest white, 

Daintily to love invite 
Every woman, every maid. 
Cherries, kissing as they grow, 

And inviting men to taste ; 
Apples, even ripe below, 

Winding gently to the waist : 
All love's emblems, and all cry, 
" Ladies, if not plucked, we die." 



II. 

Hear, ye ladies that despise, 

What the mighty Love has done ! 
Fear examples, and be wise. 

Fair Caliston was a nun ; 
Leda, sailing on a stream, 

To deceive the hopes of man, 
Love accounting but a dream, 

Doted on a silver swan ; 
Danae, in a brazen tower. 
Where no love was, loved a flower. 



fofm f kttlytt. 



Hear, ye ladies that are coy, 

What the mighty Love can do ! 
Fear the fierceness of the boy, 

The chaste moon he makes to woo. 
Vesta, kindling holy fires. 

Circled round about with spies, 
Never dreaming loose desires, 

Doting, at the altar, dies. 
Uion in a short hour, higher 
He can build, and once more fire. 




8q 



<£lt3aticti)an J>ong£. 



TO MY MISTRESS'S EYES. 

FROM "WOMEN PLEASED." 

Q FAIR sweet face I O eye* celestial bright ! 
Twin stars in heaven, that now adorn the 
night ! 
O fruitful lips, where cherries ever grow ! 
And damask cheeks, where all sweet beauties blow ! 
O thou from head to foot divinely fair ! 
Cupid's most cunning net 's made of that hair, 
And as he weaves himself for curious eyes, 
"O me, O me! I 'm caught myself!" he cries: 
Sweet rest about thee, sweet and golden sleep, 
Soft peaceful thoughts your hourly watches keep, 
Whilst I in wonder sing this sacrifice 
To beauty sacred, and those angel eyes. 



90 



gwm f ictctjcr. 



SERENADE. 

FROM "THE SPANISH CURATE." 

T^vEAREST, do not you delay me, 

Since thou know'st I must be gone ; 
Wind and tide 't is thought doth stay me, 

But 't is wind that must be blown 
From that breath whose native smell 
Indian odours doth excel. 

Oh then speak, thou fairest lair, 

Kill not him that vows to serve thee ! 

But perfume this neighbouring air, 

Else dull silence sure will sterve me ; 

'T is a word that 's quickly spoken, 

Which being restrained, a heart is broken. 



01 



<£!t$afceti)an £ong& 



TO ANGELINA. 

FROM "THE ELDER BROTHER." 

DEAUTY clear and fair 
Where the air 

Rather like a perfume dwells, 

Where the violet and the rose 
Their blue veins and blush disclose, 

And come to honour nothing else. 

Where to live near, 

And planted there, 

Is to live, and still live new; 
Where to gain a favour is 
More than light, perpetual bliss : 

Make me live by serving you ! 

Dear, again back recall 
To this light 

A stranger to himself and all ; 

Both the wonder and the story 
Shall be yours, and eke the glory; 

I am your servant and your thrall. 



92 



3of)n flctd)cr. 



TO THE BLEST EVAN THE. 

FROM "A WIFE FUR A MONTH." 

ET those complain that feel Love's cruelty, 

And in sad legends write their woes ; 
With roses gently ' has corrected me, 
My war is without rage or blows : 
My mistress's eyes shine fair on my desires, 
And hope springs up inflamed with her new fires. 

No more an exile will I dwell. 

With folded arms and sighs all day, 
Reckoning the torments of my hell, 
And flinging my sweet joys away : 
I am called home again to quiet peace ; 
My mistress smiles, and all my sorrows cease. 

Yet what is living in her eye, 

Or being blessed with her sweet tongue, 
If these no other joys imply? 

A golden gyve, a pleasing wrong ! 
To be your own but one poor month, I 'd give 
My youth, my fortune, and then leave to live. 



93 




THOMAS DEKKER. 

i570?-i64i ? 

BEAUTY, ARISE! 

FROM "THE PLEASANT COMEDY OF PATIENT GRISSELL." 

DEAUTY, arise, show forth thy glorious shining ! 
Thine eyes feed love, for them he standeth 
pining ; 
Honour and youth attend to do their duty 
To thee, their only sovereign beauty. 
Beauty, arise, whilst we, thy servants, sing 
Io to Hymen, wedlock's jocund king ! 
Io to Hymen, Io, Io, sing ! 
Of wedlock, love, and youth is Hymen king. 

Beauty, arise, thy glorious lights display 1 
Whilst we sing Io, glad to see this day. 

Io, Io, to Hymen, Io, Io, sing ! 

Of wedlock, love, and youth is Hymen king. 



94 



€|)oma£ 2Dchftcr. 



THE INVITATION. 

FROM "THE SUN'S DARLING." 

IVE 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. 



L 



Dwell in mine arms, aloft we'll hover, 
And see fields of armies fighting : 

Oh, part not from me ! I '11 discover 

There all but [?] books of fancy's writini 

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. 



95 




THOMAS CAMPION. 



LOME'S REQUEST. 



I540?-i623? 



s 



HALL I come, sweet Love, to thee 
When the evening beams are set? 

Shall I not excluded be, 

Will you find no feigned let? 

Let me not, for pity, more 

Tell the long hours at your door ! 



Who 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 unredrrst 

Ere my long love be possest. 



96 



€i)oma£ Campion. 



But to let such dangers pass, 

Which a lover's thoughts disdain, 

'T is 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. 




97 



<£li3abctt)an £ong£. 



TO LESBIA. 

/\ A Y sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love : 

And though the sager sort our deeds reprove. 
Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive 
Into their west, and straight again revive ; 
But soon as once set is our little light, 
Then must we sleep one ever-during night. 

If all would lead their lives in love like me, 
Then bloody swords and armour should not be ; 
No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move, 
Unless alarm came from the Camp of Love : 
But fools do live and waste their little light, 
And seek with pain their ever-during night. 

When timely death my life and fortunes ends, 

Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends; 

But let all lovers rich in triumph come, 

And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb : 

And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light, 

And crown with love my ever-during night. 



98 



£t)oma0 Campion. 



CHERRY RIPE. 

"THERE is a garden in her face 

Where roses and white lilies grow ; 
A heavenly paradise is that place 
Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow : 

There cherries grow which none may buy, 
Till " Cherry ripe " themselves do cry. 

Those cherries fairly do enclose 

Of orient pearl a double row, 

Which when her lovely laughter shows, 

They look like rose-buds filled with snow ; 

Vet them nor peer nor prince can buy, 
Till " Cherry ripe " themselves do cry. 

Her eyes like angels watch them still, 
Her brows like bended bows do stand. 
Threatening with piercing frowns to kill 
All that attempt with eye or hand 

Those sacred cherries to come nigh, 
Till " Cherry ripe " themselves do cry- 



99 




BEN JONSON. 



SONG. 



1574-1637- 



o 



H, do not wanton with those eyes, 
Lest I be sick with seeing ; 
Nor cast them down, but let them rise, 
Lest shame destroy their being. 



Oh, be not angry with those fires. 

For then their threats will kill me ; 
Nor look too kind on my desires, 

For then my hopes will spill me. 



Oh, do not steep them in thy tears, 
For so will sorrow slay me : 

Nor spread them as distract with fears, 
Mine own enough betray me. 



25cn 3 : on$on. 



PERFECT BEAUTY. 

FROM "THE NEW INN." 

TT was a beauty that I saw, 

So pure, so perfect, as the frame 
Of all the universe was lame 
To that one figure could I draw, 
Or give least line of it a law ! 

A skein of silk without a knot, 
A fair march made without a halt, 
A curious form without a fault, 

A printed book without a blot, 
All beauty, and without a spot ! 



<£li$atof)an ^ong^u 



THE TRIUMPH OF CHARIS. 

FROM "THE DEVIL IS AN ASS." 

QEE the chariot at hand here of Love, 
Wherein my lady rideth ! 
Each that draws is a swan or a dove, 

And well the car Love guideth. 
As she goes, all hearts do duty 

Unto her beauty, 
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 but look on her eyes ; they do light 
All that Love's world compriseth ! 

Do but look on her hair ; it is bright 
As Love's star, when it riseth ! 

Do but mark her forehead, smoother 
Than words that soothe her ! 



25en 3 r on0on. 



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 of the snow, 
Before the soil hath smutched it? 

Have you felt the wool of the beaver, 
Or swan's down, ever? 

Or have smelt o' the bud of the brier, 
Or the nard in the fire? 

Or have tasted the bag of the bee? 

Oh so white, oh so soft, oh so sweet is she ! 



'03 



<£li$afcetf)an Jbongg. 



TO CELIA. 

F^vRINK to me only with thine eyes, 
And I will pledge with mine ; 
Or leave a kiss but in the cup, 
And I '11 not look for wine ! 
The thirst that from the soul doth rise 

Doth ask a drink divine, 
But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
I would not change for thine. 

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 

Not so much honoring thee 
As giving it a hope that there 

It could not withered be ; 
But thou thereon did'st only breathe, 

And sent'st it back to me ; 
Since when it grows and smells, I swear, 

Not of itself, but thee. 



104 



25en 3fri0on. 



THE SWEET NEGLECT. 

FROM "THE SILENT WOMAN.' 

OTILL 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. 



105 



4£U;abett)an J>ongs. 



O 



THE KISS. 

FROM "CYNTHIA 5 REVELS. 

H that joy so soon should waste ! 

Or so sweet a bliss 

As a kiss 
Might not forever last ! 
So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious ! 

The dew that lies on roses 

When the morn herself discloses 
Is not so precious. 
Oh rather than I would it smother, 
Were I to taste such another, 

It should be my wishing 

That 1 might die kissing ! 



1 06 



25cn ^ongon. 



THE BANQUET OF SENSE. 

FROM "THE POETASTER." 

i. T^HEN in a free and lofty strain 

Our broken tunes we thus repair; 
2. And we answer them again, 

Running division on the panting air 
Ambo. To celebrate this feast of sense, 
As free from scandal as offence, 
i . . Here is beauty for the eye ; 
2. For the ear sweet melody; 

i. Ambrosiac odours for the smell; 
2. Delicious nectar for the taste; 

Ambo. For the touch a lady's waist, 
Which doth all the rest excel. 



107 



Cli^abctfjan Jbongg. 



TO A GLOVE. 

FROM "CYNTHIA'S REVELS." 

'"THOU more than most sweet glove 
Unto my more sweet love : 
Suffer me to store with kisses 
This empty lodging, that now misses 
The pure rosy hand that wear thee, 
Whiter than the kid that bear thee. 
Thou art soft, but that was softer; 
Cupid's self has kissed it ofter 
Than e'er he did his mother's doves, 
Supposing her the queen of loves 
That was thy mistress, best of gloves. 






10S 



25cn 3o^on. 



VENETIAN SONG. 

FROM "VOLFONE, UU THE FOX." 

/"^OME, my Celia, let us prove, 

While we can, the sports of love ; 
Time will not be ours forever, 
He at length our good will sever. 
Spend not then his gifts in vain : 
Suns that set may rise again ; 
But if once we lose this light, 
T is with us perpetual night. 
Why should we defer our joys? 
Fame and rumour are but toys. 
Cannot we delude the eyes 
Of a few poor household spies? 
Or his easier ears beguile, 
Thus removed by our wile? 
'T is no sin love's fruits to steal ; 
But the sweet thefts to reveal, 
To be taken, to be seen, — 
These have crimes accounted been. 



109 




WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 



TO CHLOR1S. 



1585-1649. 



QEE, Chloris, how the clouds 
Tilt in the az.ure lists, 
And how with Stygian mists 
Each horned hill his giant forehead shrouds ; 
Jove thund'reth in the air; 
The air, grown great with rain, 
Now seems to bring Deucalion's days again. 
I see thee quake ; come, let us home repair ; 
Come, hide thee in mine arms, 
If not for love, yet to shun greater harms. 



llDilliam SDrummonti. 



MADRIGAL. 

QWEET rose ! whence is this hue 

Which doth all hues excel? 

Whence this most fragrant smell? 
And whence this form and gracing grace in you? 
In flowery Poestum's field perhaps ye grew, 

Or Hybla's hills you bred, 

Or odoriferous Enna's plains you fed, 
Or Tmolus, or where boar young Adon slew. 
Or hath the Queen of Love you dyed of new 
In that dear blood, which makes you look so red? 
No ! none of these, but cause more high you blissed : 
My Lady's breast you bare, and lips you kissed. 



<£li$a&etl)an &ong£. 



SONG. 

DHCEBUS, arise, 

And paint the sable skies 
With azure, white, and red ! 
Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed, 
That she thy career may with roses spread ! 
The nightingales thy coming each where sing 
Make an eternal Spring, 

(live life to this dark world which lieth dead. 
Spread forth thy golden hair 
In larger locks than thou wast wont before, 
And, emperor like, decore 
With diadem of pearls thy temples fair ; 
Chase hence the ugly night. 

Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light ! 
This is that happy morn, 
That day, long- wished day, 
Of all my life so dark 
(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn, 
And fates not hope betray). 



IMliam SDrummonto. 



Which, only white, deserves 

A diamond forever 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 

Shalt see than those which by 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 these purple ports of death. 

The winds all silent are, 

And Phcebus in his chair, 

Ensaffroning sea and air, 

Makes vanish every star; 



"3 



€li5af)ctl)ait 4tong0. 



Night like a drunkard reels 

Beyond the hills to shun his flaming wheels i 

The fields with flowers are decked in every hue, 

The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue ; 

Here is the pleasant place, 

And everything, save her, who all should grace. 




114 




GEORGE WITHER. 



1588-1667. 



SHALL I, WASTING IN D ESP A IRE ? 

OHALL I, wasting in despaire, 
Dye because a woman 's fair ! 
Or make pale my cheeks with care 
'Cause another's rosie are ? 

Be she fairer than the day 
Or the flowry meads in May, 
If she thinke not well of me, 
What care I how faire she be? 

Shall my seely heart be pined 
'Cause I see a woman kind? 



"5 



^It^atJCtfjan &ong£. 



Or a well disposed nature 

Joyned 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 vertues move 

Me to perish for her love? 

Or her wel deservings knowne 

Make me quite forget mine own? 

Be she with 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 beares a noble mind, 

If not outward helpes she find, 

Thinks what with them he wold do, 
That without them dares her woe : 



116 



oBcorgc atDitI)cr. 



And unlesse that minde I see, 
What care I how great she be? 

Great, or good, or kind, or faire, 
I will ne'er the more despaire : 
If she love me (this beleeve), 
I will die ere she shall grieve. 

If she slight me when I woe, 
I can scorne and let her goe ; 
For if she be not for me, 
What care I for whom she be? 



117 



<£ii$afcetf)an ^ong^. 



A SONG TO HER BEAUTY. 

FROM "THE MISTRESS OF PHILARETE." 

A ND her lips (that show no dulness) 
Full are, in the meanest fulness : 
Those the leaves be whose unfolding 
Brings sweet pleasures to beholding ; 
For such pearls they do disclose. 
Both the Indies match not those, 
Yet are so in order placed 
As their whiteness is more graced. 
Each part is so well disposed, 
And her dainty mouth composed, 
So as there is no distortion 
Misbeseems that sweet proportion. 

When her ivory teeth she buries 
'Twixt her two enticing cherries, 
There appear such pleasures hidden 
As might tempt what were forbidden. 

uS 



<BtotQt Witfyzx. 



If you look again the whiles 

She doth part those lips in smiles, 

'T is as when a flash of light 

Breaks from heaven to glad the night. 




i9v 




THOMAS CAREW. 



SONG. 



1589-1639. 



\\ 70ULD you know what 's soft? I dare 
Not bring you to the down or air, 
Nor to stars to show what 's bright, 
Nor to snow to teach you white ; 

Nor, if you would music hear, 
Call the orbs to take your ear ; 
Nor, to please your sense, bring forth 
Bruised nard, or what 's more wortli ; 



Or on food were your thoughts placed, 
Bring you nectar for a taste. 
Would you have all these in one, — 
Name my mistress, and 't is done ! 




'*'J&* 



■%t}oma$ €areto. 



A PRAYER TO THE WIND. 

r~^ O, thou gentle whispering wind, 

Bear this sigh ; and if thou find 
Where my cruel fair doth rest, 
Cast it in her snowy breast : 
So enfiamed by my desire, 
It may set her heart afire ; 
Those sweet kisses thou shalt gain 
Will reward thee for thy pain. 
Boldly light upon her lip, 
There suck odours, and thence skip 
To her bosom. Lastly, fall 
Down, and wander over all ; 
Range about those ivory hills 
From whose every part distils 
Amber dew ; there spices grow, 
There pure streams of nectar flow. 
There perfume thyself, and bring 
All those sweets upon thy wing. 



€li$a&etfjan £ong£. 



As thou return'st, change by thy power 

Every weed into a flower; 

Turn each thistle to a vine, 

Make the bramble eglantine. 

For so rich a booty made, 

Do but this, and I am paid. 

Thou canst with thy powerful blast 

Heat apace and cool as fast ; 

Thou canst kindle hidden flame, 

And again destroy the same : 

Then, for pity, either stir 

Up the fire of love in her, 

That alike both flames may shine, 

Or else quite extinguish mine. 



£t)oma$ Carctu. 



DISDAIN RETURNED. 

T T E that loves a rosy cheek, 

Or a coral lip admires, 
Or from star-like eyes doth seek 

Fuel to maintain his fires, — 
As Old Time makes these decay, 
So his flames must waste away. 

But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
Gentle thoughts and calm desires, 

Hearts with equal love combined, 
Kindle never-dying fires : 

Where these are not, I despise 

Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. 

No tears, Celia, now shall win 
My resolved heart to return ; 

I have searched thy soul within, 

And find nought but pride and scorn ; 

I have learned thy arts, and now 

Can disdain as much as thou ! 



I2 3 



€li$a&ctf)att £ong£. 



THE PRIMROSE. 

A SK me why I send you here 

This firstling of the infant year; 
Ask me why I send to you 
This primrose all bepearled with dew, — 
I straight will whisper in your ears, 
The sweets of love are washed with tears. 

Ask me why this flower doth show 

So yellow, green, and sickly too ; 

Ask me why the stalk is weak, 

And bending, yet it doth not break, — 

I must tell you, these discover 

What doubts and fears are in a lover. 



124 



arf)oma£ Carcto. 



UNGRATEFUL BEAUTY. 

T/ r NOW, Celia, since thou art so proud, 
'T was I that gave thee thy renown. 
Thou hadst in the forgotten crowd 

Of common beauties lived unknown, 
Had not my verse exhaled thy name, 
And with it impt the wings of Fame. 

That killing power is none of thine, — 
I gave it to thy voice and eyes : 

Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine ; 
Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies. 

Then dart not from thy borrowed sphere 

Lightning on him that fixed thee there. 

Tempt me with such affrights no more, 
Lest what I made I uncreate ; 

Let fools thy mystic, forms adore, 

I '11 know thee in thy mortal state. 

Wise poets, that wrapt truth in tales, 

Knew her themselves through all her veils. 



125 



4£ii$afcctJ)an J>ong£. 






Y 



CELIA SINGING. 

OU that think love can convey 

No other way 
But through the eyes into the heart 

His fatal dart, — 
Close up those casements, and but hear 

This siren sing; 

And on the wing 
Of her sweet voice it shall appear 
That love can enter at the ear. 

Then unveil your eyes ; behold 
The curious mould 

Where that voice dwells : and as we know- 
When the cocks crow 
We freely may 
Gaze on the day, 

So may you, when the music 's done, 

Awake and see the rising sun. 



126 



€ljoma£ Carcto. 



SONG. 

A SK me no more where Jove bestows, 
When June is past, the fading rose; 
For in your beauty's orient deep 
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. 

Ask me no more whither do stray 
The golden atoms of the day; 
For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare 
Those powders to enrich your hair. 

Ask me no more whither doth haste 
The nightingale, when May is past ; 
For in your sweet dividing throat 
She winters, and keeps warm her note. 

Ask me no more where those stars light 
That downwards fall in dead of night ; 
For in your eyes they sit, and there 
Fixed become, as in their sphere. 



127 



<£li$atoj)an £01150". 



Ask me no more if east or west 
The phoenix builds her spicy nest; 
For unto you at last she flies, 
And in your fragrant bosom dies. 




128 



arijoma£ Careto, 



Y 



IN PRAISE OF HIS MISTRESS. 

OU that will a wonder know, 
Go with me : 
Two suns in a heaven of snow 

Both burning be. 
All they fire that do but eye them, 
Yet the snow 's unmelted by them. 

Leaves of crimson tulips met 

Guide the way 
Where two pearly rows be set, 

As white as day ; 
When they part themselves asunder, 
She breathes oracles of wonder. 

All this but the casket is 

Which contains 
Such a jewel, as to miss 

Breeds endless pains : 
That 's her mind, and they that know it 
May admire, but cannot show it. 



129 



€Ii$abetJ)an £ong£. 



RED AND WHITE ROSES. 

D EAD in these roses the sad story 

Of my hard fate and your own glory : 
In the white you may discover 
The paleness of a fainting lover : 
In the red the flames still feeding 
On my heart with fresh wounds bleeding. 
The white will tell you how I languish, 
And the red express my anguish ; 
The white my innocence displaying, 
The red my martyrdom betraying. 
The frowns that on your brow resided 
Have those roses thus divided. 
Oh, let your smiles but clear the weather, 
And then they both shall grow together ! 



130 



<El)oma£ Carcto- 



THE PROTESTATION. 

TV TO more shall meads be decked with flowers. 
Nor sweetness dwell in rosy bowers, 
Nor greenest buds on branches spring, 
Nor warbling birds delight to sing, 
Nor April violets paint the grove, 
If I forsake my Celia's love. 

The fish shall in the ocean burn, 
And fountains sweet shall bitter turn ; 
The humble oak no flood shall know 
When floods shall highest hills o'erflow ; 
Black Lethe shall oblivion leave, — 
If e'er my Celia I deceive. 

Love shall his bow and shaft lay by, 
And Venus' doves want wings to fly ; 
The Sun refuse to show his light, 
And day shall then be turned to night ; 
And in that night no star appear, — 
If once I leave my Celia dear. 



131 



<£Ii5abctfjan £>on0£. 



Love shall no more inhabit earth, 
Nor lovers more shall love for worth, 
Nor joy above in heaven dwell, 
Nor pain torment poor souls in hell ; 
Grim death no more shall horrid prove, 
If e'er I leave bright Celia's love. 




}2£ \ 




WILLIAM BROWNE. 



1590-1645. 



77/£ SIREN'S SONG. 

FROM "A MASQUE OF THE INNER TEMPLE." 

QTEER, hither steer your winged pines, 



o 



All beaten mariners ! 
Here lie Love's undiscovered mines, 

A prey to passengers ; 
Perfumes far sweeter than the best, 
Which make the Phoenix's 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 



»33 



<£U$ataf)an ^cmg?. 



For swelling waves our panting breasts, 

Where never storms arise, 
Exchange, and be awhile our guests; 

For stars, gaze on our eyes ! 
The compass Love shall hourly sing, 
And as he goes about the ring, 

We will not miss 

To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. 
Then come on shore, 
Where no joy dies till Love has gotten more. 



i34 



HDilliam 2$rotonc. 



SONG. 

\17ELC0ME, welcome do I sing, 

Far more welcome than the spring ! 
He that parteth from you never 
Shall enjoy a spring forever. 

Love that to the voice is near, 

Breaking from your ivory pale, 
Need not walk abroad to hear 
The delightful nightingale. 

Welcome, welcome then I sing, 

Far more welcome than the spring ! 
He that parteth from you never 
Shall enjoy a spring forever. 

Love, that looks still on your eyes 

Though the winter have begun 
To benumb our arteries, 

Shall not want the summer's sun. 
Welcome, welcome, etc. 



•35 



<£ii3afcetl)an £ong£. 



Love that still may see your cheeks, 
Where all rareness still reposes, 

Is a fool if e'er he seeks 
Other lilies, other roses. 
Welcome, welcome, etc. 

Love to whom your soft lip yields, 

And perceives your breath in kissing, 

All the odours of the fields 

Never, never shall be missing. 
Welcome, welcome, etc. 

Love that question would anew 
What fair Eden was of old, 

Let him rightly study you, 
And a brief of that behold. 
Welcome, welcome, etc. 



136 



/^s»aa_ 




ROBERT HERRICK. 

1591-1674 

THE ROCK OF RUBIES. 

QOME asked me where the rubies grew; 

And nothing I did say, 
But with my finger pointed to 

The lips of Julia. 
Some asked how pearls did grow, and where ; 

Then spoke I to my girl 
To part her lips, and show me there 

The quarrelets of pearl. 



i37 



<£ii$afeett)an £ong& 



UPON SAPPHO SWEETLY PLAYING AND 
SWEETLY SINGING. 



W 



HEN thou dost play and sweetly sing, 
Whether it be the voice or string, 
Or both of them, that do agree 
Thus to entrance and ravish me, — 
This, this I know, I 'm oft struck mute; 
And die away upon thy lute. 



138 



iioto derrick* 



Y 



TO MEADOWS. 

E have been fresh and green, 

Ye have been filled with flowers ; 
And ye the walks have 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 we see none here 

Whose silvery feet did tread, 

And with dishevelled hair 

Adorned this smoother mead. 



i39 



<£Ii$atoJ)an £ong& 



Like unthrifts, having spent 

Your stock, and needy grown, 

You 're left here to lament 
Your poor estates alone. 




140 



ilobctt l^crricli. 



A 



DELIGHT IN DISORDER. 

SWEET disorder in the dress 
Kindles in clothes a wantonness : 
A lawn about the shoulders thrown 
Into a fine distraction ; 
An erring lace, which here and there 
Enthrals the crimson stomacher ; 
A cuff neglectful, and thereby 
Ribbons to flow confusedly; 
A winning wave, deserving note, 
In the tempestuous petticoat ; 
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie 
I see a wild civility, — 
Do more bewitch me, than when art 
Is too precise in every part. 



14T 



4£lt$atoJ)an £ong£. 



THE NIGHT PIECE. 

T T ER eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
The shooting stars attend thee ; 
And the elves also, 
Whose little eyes glow 
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 

No Will-o'-th'-Wisp mis-light 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. 



142 



ftotot derrick. 



Then, Julia, let me woo thee 
Thus, thus to come unto me ; 
And when I shall meet 
Thy silvery feet, 
My soul 1 '11 pour into thee. 



*43 



<t!*li$afoetl(jan ^ongs. 



TO THE VIRGINS. 

RATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, 
Old Time is still a-flying; 
And this same flower that smiles to-day 
To-morrow will be dying. 

The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, 
The higher he 's a-getting, 

The sooner will his race be run, 
And nearer he 's to setting. 

That age is best which is the first, 

When youth and blood are warmer ; 

But being spent, the worse and worst 
Times still succeed the former. 

Then be not coy, but use your time, 
And while ye may, go marry ; 

For having lost but once your prime, 
You may forever tarry. 



144 



Robert i^mrick. 



w 



ART ABOVE NATURE. 

HEN 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 
Dote less on nature than on art. 



MS 



<£li3afeetljan £ong£. 






CHERRY-RIPE. 

r^ HERRY-RIPE, ripe, ripe! I cry, 

Full and fair ones ; come and buy 
If so be you ask me where 
They do grow? I answer, there 
Where my Julia's lips do smile, — 
There 's the land, or cherry-isle, 
Whose plantations fully show 
All the year where cherries grow. 



146 



ilofccrt i^crricft. 



TO THE ROSE. 

O, happy rose, and interwove 

With other flowers, bind my love. 
Tell her, too, she must not be 
Longer flowing, longer free, 
That so oft has fettered me. 



G 



Say, if she 's fretful, I have bands 
Of pearl and gold to bind her hands ; 
Tell her, if she struggle still, 
I have myrtle rods at will 
For to tame, though not to kill. 

Take thou my blessing thus, and go 
And tell her this — But do not so ! 
Lest a handsome anger fly 
Like a lightning from her eye, 
And burn thee up as well as I. 



147 



disabctyan £ong$. 



ON CHLORIS WALKING IN THE SNOW. 

[ SAW faire Chloris walke alone 

When feathered rain came softly clown ; 
Then Jove descended from his Tower, 
To court her in a silver shower. 
The wanton snow flew to her breast, 
Like little birds into their nest ; 
But overcome with whiteness there, 
For griefe it thawed into a teare, 
Then falling down her garment hem 
To deck her, froze into a gem. 



148 



fiobat l|)crricfc. 



HOW ROSES CAME RED. 

DOSES at first were white, 
Till they co'd not agree 
Whether my Sappho's breast 

Or they more white sho'd be. 

But being vanquisht quite, 

A blush their cheeks bespred ; 

Since which (beleeve the rest) 
The roses first came red. 



^%^ 

i 




149 




JAMES SHIRLEY. 



THE LOOKING-GLASS. 



1594-1666 



w 



HEN this crystal shall present 
Your beauty to your eye, 
Think ! that lovely face was meant 

To dress another by. 
For not to make them proud 
These glasses are allowed 
To those are fair, 
But to compare 
The inward beauty with the outward grace, 
And make them fair in soul as well as face. 



*5<> 



^ameg J>ljiriep. 



A LULLABY. 

FROM "THE TRIUMPH OF BEAUTY." 

^EASE, warring thoughts, and let his brain 
No more discord entertain, 
But be smooth and calm again. 
Ye crystal rivers that are nigh, 
As your streams are passing by 
Teach your murmers harmony. 
Ye winds that wait upon the Spring, 
And perfumes to flowers do bring, 
Let your amorous whispers here 
Breathe soft music to his ear. 
Ye warbling nightingales repair 
From every wood to charm this air, 
And with the wonders of your breast 
Each striving to excel the rest, — 
When it is time to wake him, close your parts 
And drop down from the tree with broken hearts. 



151 



<£ii$afcetj)an ^ongsu 



TO ONE SPYING SHE IV AS OLD. 



T 



ELL me not Time hath played the thief 

Upon her beauty ! My belief 
Might have been mocked, and I had been 
An heretic, if I had not seen 
My mistress is still fair to me. . 
And now I all those graces see 
That did adorn her virgin brow : 
Her eye hath the same flame' in 't now 
To kill or save ; the chemist's fire 
Equally burns, — so my desire ; 
Not any rose-bud less within 
Her cheek ; the same snow on her chin ; 
Her voice that heavenly music bears 
First charmed my soul, and in my ears 
Did leave it trembling ; her lips are 
The self-same lovely twins they were : 
After so many years I miss 
No flower in all my paradise. 
Time, I despise thy rage and thee ! 
Thieves do not always thrive, I see. 



I S 2 



3 f amc£ &f)irfcp. 



ON HER DANCING. 

T STOOD and saw my mistress dance, 
Silent, and with so fixed an eye 

Some might suppose me in a trance. 
But being asked why, 

By one that knew I was in love, 
I could not but impart 

My wonder to behold her move 

So nimbly with a marble heart. 




iS3 




EDMUND WALLER. 



ON A GIRDLE. 



1603-1686. 



T 



HAT which her slender waist confined 

Shall now my joyful temples bind ; 
No monarch but would give his crown 
His arms might do what this has done ! 



It was my heaven's extremest sphere, 
The pale which held that lovely deer ! 
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love, 
Did all within this circle move ! 

A narrow compass, and yet there 
Dwelt all that 's good and all that 's fair 
Give me but what this ribband bound, 
Take all the rest the sun goes round ! 



i54 



<£&mimD llDallcr. 



TO CHLORIS. 

\\ 7HILST I listen to thy voice, 

Chloris, I feel my heart decay ; 
That powerful voice 

Calls my fleeting soul away ! 
Oh, suppress that magic sound 
Which destroys without a wound ! 

Peace, Chloris, peace ! or singing die, 
That together you and I 

To heaven may go : 

For all we know 
Of what the blessed do above 
Is that they sing, and that they love. 



i55 



Cli^atictJjan J>ong^, 



T 



TO FLAVIA. 

IS not your beauty can engage 

My wary heart : 

The sun, in all his pride and rage, 

Has not that art ! 
And yet he shines as bright as you, 
If brightness could our souls subdue. 

'T is not the pretty things you say, 

Nor those you write, 
Which can make Thyrsis' heart your prey 

For that delight, 
The graces of a well- taught mind, 
In some of our own sex we find. 

No, Flavia ! 't is your love I fear ; 

Love's surest darts, 
Those which so seldom fail him, are 

Headed with hearts : 
Their very shadows make us yield ; 
Dissemble well, and win the field ! 



156 



<£dmunfc itDato, 



STAY, PHCEBUS. 

O TAY, Phoebus ! stay ! 

The world to which you fly so fast, 
Conveying day 
From us to them, can pay your haste 
With no such object, nor salute your rise 
With no such wonder, as De Mornay's eyes. 

Well does this prove 

The error of those antique books 

Which made you move 
About the world ! Her charming looks 
Would fix your beams, and make it ever day, 
Did not the rolling earth snatch her away. 



»S7 



<£Ii$atoJ)an £ong£. 



G 



SONG. 

O, lovely rose, 

Tell her that wastes her time and me, 
That now she knows 
When I resemble her to thee 
How sweet and fair she seems to be. 



Tell her that 's young, 

And shuns to have her graces spied, 

That had' st thou sprung 

In deserts where no men abide, 

Thou must have uncommended died. 

Small is the worth 

Of beauty from the light retired ; 

Bid her come forth, 

Suffer herself to be desired, 

And not blush so to be admired. 



158 



<£tmnm& Waller, 



Then die, that she 

The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee, — 

How small a part of time they share 

Who are so wondrous sweet and fair ! 




J S9 




WILLIAM HABINGTON. 



1605-1645. 



TO ROSES IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA. 



Y 



E blushing virgins happy are 

In the chaste nunnery of her breasts, 
For he 'd profane so chaste a fair 
Who e'er should call them Cupid's nests. 



Transplanted thus how bright ye grow, 
How rich a perfume do ye yield ! 
In some close garden cowslips so 
Are sweeter than i' th' open field. 



160 



fftilliam ^abtngtotu 



In those white cloisters live secure 
From the rude blasts of wanton breath, 
Each hour more innocent and pure, 
Till you shall wither into death. 

Then that which living gave you room 
Your glorious sepulchre shall be ; 
There wants no marble for a tomb, 
Whose breast has marble been to me. 



161 



<£ii3atoj)an £ong£. 



TO CUPID, UPON A DIMPLE IN 
CASTARAS CHEEK. 

]\|IMBLE boy, in thy warm flight 

What cold tyrant dimmed thy sight? 
Had'st thou eyes to see my fair, 
Thou would'st sigh thyself to air 
Fearing, to create this one, 
Nature had herself undone. 
But if you when this you hear 
Fall down murdered through your ear, 
Beg of Jove that you may have 
In her cheek a dimpled grave. 
Lily, rose, and violet 
Shall the perfumed hearse beset ; 
While a beauteous sheet of lawn 
O'er the wanton corpse is drawn ; 
And all lovers use this breath : 

"Here lies Cupid blest in death." 



162 



HDiHiam ijtobington* 



THE REWARD OF INNOCENT LOVE. 

\\/E saw and wooed each other's eyes; 
My soul contracted then with thine, 
And both burned in one sacrifice, 

By which the marriage grew divine. 

Time 's ever ours while we despise 
The sensual idol of our clay ; 

For though the sun doth set and rise, 
We joy one everlasting day, 

Whose light no jealous clouds obscure. 

While each of us shine innocent, 
The troubled stream is still impure : 

With virtue flies away content. 

And though opinion often err, 

We '11 court the modest smile of fame ; 
For sin's black danger circles her - 

Who hath infection in her name. 



l6 3 



<£ii$afoetf)an £ong$. 



Thus when to one dark, silent room 
Death shall our loving coffins thrust, 

Fame will build columns on our tomb, 
And add a perfume to our dust. 




164 




SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 



1609-1641. 



w 



ORSAMES' SONG. 

FROM "AGLAURA." 

HY so pale and wan, fond lover? 
Prithee, why so pale? 
Will, when looking well can't win her, 
Looking ill prevail? 
Prithee, why so pale? 

Why so dull and mute, young sinner? 

Prithee, why so mute? 
Will, when speaking well can 't win her, 

Saying nothing do 't? 

Prithee, why so mute? 

i6 S 



€ii$afecti)an £ono> 



Quit, quit, for shame ! this will not move 

This cannot take her. 
If of herself she will not love, 

Nothing can make her : 

The devil take her ! 



166 



£>iv 3 f ot)ti buckling. 



o 



CONSTANCY. 

UT upon it ! I have loved 
Three whole days together ; 
And am like to love three more, 
If it prove fair weather. 



Time shall moult away his wings, 

Ere he shall discover 
In the whole wide world again 

Such a constant lover ! 

But the spite on 't is, no praise 

Is due at all to me : 
Love with me had made no stays 

Had it any been but she. 

Had it any been but she, 

And that very face, 
There had been at least ere this 

A dozen dozen in her place. 

167 



<£ii3abctl)an ^ong^. 



N 



TRUE LOVE. 

O, no, fair heretic ! it needs must be 

But an ill love in me, 

And worse for thee ; 
For were it in my power 
To love thee now this hour 

More than I did the last, 
'T would then so fall 

I might not love at all ! 
Love that can flow and can admit increase, 
Admits as well an ebb, and may grow less. 



True love is still the same ; the torrid zones 

And those more frigid ones 

It must not know : 
For love grown cold or hot 

Is lust, or friendship, not 

The thing we have. 
For that 's a flame would die 
Held down, or up too high. 
Then think I love more than I can express, 
And would love more, could I but love thee less. 

168 



£>it 3 f oijn buckling. 



SONG. 

[ PRITHEE send me back my heart, 
Since I can not have thine ; 

For if from yours you will not part, 
Why then shouldst thou have mine? 

Yet now I think on 't, let it lie, 

To find it were in vain ; 
For th' hast a thief in either eye 

Would steal it back again ! 

Why should two hearts in one breast lie, 
And yet not lodge together? 

O Love ! where is thy sympathy, 
If thus our breasts thou sever? 

But love is such a mystery, 

I cannot find it out ; 
For when I think I 'm best resolved, 

I then am in most doubt. 



169 



<£It3atal)an ^ongtf. 



Then farewell care, and farewell woe, 

I will no longer pine ; 
For I '11 believe I have her heart 

As much as she hath mine. 




170 




RICHARD LOVELACE. 



TO ALTHEA FROM PRISON. 



1618-1658. 



w 



HEN love with unconfined wings 

Hovers within my gates, 
And my divine Althea brings 

To whisper at the grates ; 
When I lie tangled in her hair 

And fettered to her eye, — 
The birds that wanton in the air 

Know no such liberty. 



When flowing cups run swiftly round 
With no allaying Thames, 

Our careless heads with roses bound, 
Our hearts with loyal flames ; 



171 



<£li$afeetl)ait £tmgg. 



When thirsty grief in wine we steep, 
When healths and draughts go free, 

Fishes that tipple in the deep 
Know no such liberty. 

When, like committed linnets, I 

With shriller throat shall sing 
The sweetness, mercy, majesty, 

And glories of my King; 
When I shall voice aloud how good 

He is, how great should be, — 
Enlarged winds that curl the flood 

Know no such liberty. 

Stone walls do not a prison make, 

Nor iron bars a cage ; 
Minds innocent and quiet take 

That for an hermitage ; 
If I have freedom in my love, 

And in my soul am free, 
Angels alone, that soar above, 

Enjoy such liberty. 



172 




""""""•FtSSrT' 



fticftarti ilotodacc. 



T 



GOING TO THE WARS. 

ELL me not, sweet, I am unkind, 

That from the nunnery 
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind 
To war and arms I fly ! 

True, a new mistress now I chase, — 
The first foe in the field ; 

And with a stronger faith embrace 
A sword, a horse, a shield. 

Yet this inconstancy is such 
As you too shall adore, — 

I could not love thee, dear, so much, 
Loved I not honour more. 



i73 



<£li$ato()an £oncj;£. 



THE ROSE. 

QWEET, serene, sky-like flower, 
Haste to adorn her bower ! 
From thy long cloudy bed 
Shoot forth thy damask head ! 

New-startled blush of Flora, 

The grief of pale Aurora 

(Who will contest no more), 
Haste, haste to strew her floor ! 

Vermilion ball that 's given 

From lip to lip in heaven, 

Love's couch's coverled, 
Haste, haste to make her bed ! 

Dear offspring of pleased Venus 

And jolly plump Silenus, 

Haste, haste to deck the hair 
O' the only sweetly fair ! 



i74 



fticfjarfc Hotodacc. 



See ! rosy is her bower ; 

Her floor is all this flower; 
Her bed a rosy nest 
By a bed of roses pressed 




i75 




ABRAHAM COWLEY. 



THE THIEF. 



1618-1667. 



'"THOU robb'st my days of business and delights ; 
Of sleep thou robb'st my nights. 
Ah, lovely thief, what wilt thou do? 
What, rob me of heaven too? 
Thou even my prayers dost steal from me, 
And I, with wild idolatry, 
Begin to God, and end them all to thee ! 

Is it a sin to love, that it should thus 
Like an ill conscience torture us? 
Whate'er I do, where'er I go 
(None guiltless e'er was haunted so), 



176 



3teal>im Cotolep. 



Still, still, methinks thy face I view, 
And still thy shape does me pursue, 
As not you me, but / had murdered you. 

From books I strive some remedy to take, 

But thy name all the letters make 

Whate'er 't is writ ; 1 find that there, 

Like points and commas, everywhere. 

Me blest for this let no man hold ; 

For I, as Midas did of old, 

Perish by turning everything to gold. 



177 



<£ii$ataf)an £ong£. 



LOVE IN HER SUNNY EYES. 

\ OVE in her sunny eyes does basking play; 
Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair; 
Love does on both her lips forever stray, 
And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there : 
In all her outward parts Love 's always seen : 
But, oh ! he never went within. 




178 



UC! 






Illlllliiliiii in n 
AA 000 609 834 7 



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