JOHN FLETCHER.

1576-1625.

["The Mad Lover." 1618.]

Go, happy heart! for thou shalt lie
Entombed in her for whom I die,
Example of her cruelty.

Tell her, if she chance to hide
Me for slowness, in her pride,
That it was for her I died.

If a tear escape her eye,
'Tis not for my memory,

But thy rites of obsequy.

The altar was my loving breast,
My heart the sacrificéd beast,

And I was myself the priest.

Your body was the sacred shrine,

Your cruel mind the power divine,

Pleased with hearts of men, not kine.

[“The Tragedy of Valentinian." About 1618.]

SONG.

Hear, ye ladies that despise

What the mighty Love has done;

Fear examples, and be wise:

Fair Calisto was a nun :

Leda, sailing on the stream,

To deceive the hopes of man,

Love accounting but a dream,

Doated on a silver swan;

Danaë, in a brazen tower,

Where no love was, loved a shower.

Hear, ye ladies that are coy,

What the mighty Love can do;

Fear the fierceness of the boy:

The chaste moon he makes to woo;

Vesta, kindling holy fires,

Circled round about with spies,

Never dreaming loose desires,

Doting at the altar dies.

Ilion, in a short hour, higher

He can build, and once more fire.

["A Wife for a Month." 1624.]

TO THE BLEST EVANTHE.

Let those complain that feel Love's cruelty,
And in sad legends write their woes;

With roses gently h' has corrected me,

My war is without rage or blows:

My mistress' eyes shine fair on my desires,

And hope springs up inflamed with her new fires.

No more an exile will I dwell,

With folded arms, and sighs all day, Reckoning the torments of my hell,

And flinging my sweet joys away:

I am called home again to quiet peace,

My mistress smiles, and all my sorrows cease.

Yet, what is living in her eye,

Or being blessed with her sweet tongue,

If these no other joys imply?

A golden gyve, a pleasing wrong:

To be your own but one poor month, I'd give
My youth, my fortune, and then leave to live.

[“The Elder Brother." About 1624.]

ODE.

Beauty clear and fair,

Where the air

Rather like a perfume dwells ;

Where the violet and the rose,

Their blue veins in blush disclose,

And 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.

GEORGE WITHER.

1588-1667.

["A Description of Love." 1620.]

A LOVE SONG.

I LOVED a lass, a fair one,
As fair as e'er was seen;
She was, indeed, a rare one,
Another Sheba queen;

But, fool, as then I was,

I thought she loved me too;
But now, alas! sh' as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

Her hair like gold did glister,

Her eye was like a star;

She did surpass her sister,

Which passed all others far:

She would me honey call,

She'd, O, she'd kiss me too!
But now, alas! sh' as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

In summer time, to Medley,

My love and I would go,

The boat-men there stood ready,
My love and I to row;
For cream there would we call,

For cakes, and for prunes too; But now, alas! sh' as left me, Falero, lero, loo.

Many a merry meeting

My love and I have had;

She was my only sweeting,

She made my heart full glad :

The tears stood in her eyes,

Like to the morning dew;

But now, alas! sh' as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

And, as abroad we walkéd,

As lovers' fashion is,

Oft, as we sweetly talkéd,

The sun would steal a kiss;

The wind upon her lips

Likewise most sweetly blew; But now, alas! sh' as left me, Falero, lero, loo.

Her cheeks were like the cherry, Her skin as white as snow; When she was blythe and merry, She angel-like did show:

Her waist exceeding small;

The fives did fit her shoe:

But now, alas! sh' as left me,
Falero, lero, loo.

In summer-time, or winter,

She had her heart's desire;

I still did scorn to stint her

From sugar, sack, or fire: