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FROM ROLLO.

Dula. I could never have the pow'r

To love one above an hour,
But my heart would prompt mine eye
On some other man to fly:

Venus, fix thou mine eyes fast,
Or if not, give me all that I shall see at last.

FROM THE LITTLE FRENCH LAWYER.

Take, oh, take those lips away,

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

Lights that do mislead the morn ; But my kisses bring again, Seals of love, tho' seal'd in vain. Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow,

Which thy frozen bosom bears, On whose tops the pinks that grow

Are yet of those that April wears; But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee.

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

way, seek delight!

FROM THE CAPTAIN.

FROM VALENTINIAN.

Hear ye, ladies that despise,

What the mighty love has done ; Fear examples, and be wise :

Fair Calista 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, lov'd 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 wooe: Vesta, kindling holy fires,

Circled round about with spies,
Never dreaming loose desires,
Doating at the altar dies;

Ilion, in a short hour, higher
He can build, and once more fire.

1. Tell me, dearest, what is love!
2, 'Tis a lightning from above;

'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,

'Tis a boy they call Desire.
Both. 'Tis a grave,

Gapes to have
Those poor fools that long to prore.
1. Tell me more, are women true!
2. Yes, some are, and some as youl.

Some are willing, some are strange,

Since you men first taught to change.
Both. And till troth

Be in both,
All shall love, to love anew.
1. Tell me more yet, can they grieve?
2. Yes, and sicken sore, but live:

And be wise, and delay,

When you men are as wise as they.
Both.

Then I see,

Faith will be
Never till they both believe.
FROM THE NICE FALOUR, OR THE PASSIONATE

MADMAN.
Hence, all you vain delights,

As short as are the nights

Wherein you spend your folly! There's nought in this life sweet, If man were wise to see't,

But only melancholy;

Oh, sweetest melancholy!
Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes,

sigh that piercing mortifies,
A look that's fasten'd to the ground,
A tongue chain’d up, without a sound!
Fountain beads and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves!
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly hous'd, save bats and owls!

A midnight bell, a parting groan !

These are the sounds we feed upon ; Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley

: Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

FROM A MASQUE.
Shake off your heavy trance,
And leap into a dance,

Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose
On this afflicted prince: fall like a cloud,
In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud,
Or painful to his slumbers ; easy, sweet,
And as a purling stream, thou sou of night,
Pass by his troubled senses; sing his pain,
Like hollow murmuring wind, or silver rain.
Into this prince gently, oh, gently slide,
And kiss him into slumbers like a bride!

God Lyæus, ever young,
Ever honour'd, ever sung;
Stain'd with blood of lusty grapes,
In a thousand lusty shapes,
Dance upon the mazer's brim,
In the crimson liquor swim;
From thy plenteous hand divine
Let a river run with wine.

God of youth, let this day here
Enter neither care nor fear!

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Such as no mortals use to tread,

And live! Therefore on this mould,
Fit only for Apollo

Lowly do I bend my knee,
To play to, for the moon to lead,

In worship of thy deity.
And all the stars to follow !

Deign it, goddess, from my hand,
On, blessed youths! for Jove doth pause,

To receive whate'er this land
Laying aside his graver laws

From her fertile womb doth send
For this device:

Of her choice fruits; and but lend
And at the wedding such a pair,

Belief to that the Satyr tells:
Each dance is taken for a pray'r,

Fairer by the famous wells,
Each song a sacrifice.

To this present day pe'er grew,
Solo.

Never better nor more true.
More pleasing were those sweet delights,

Here be grapes, whose lusty blood

Is the learned poets' good,
If ladies mov'd as well as knights;

Sweeter yet did never crown
Run every one of you, and catch

The head of Bacchus ; nuts more brown
A nymph, in honour of this match,
And whisper boldly in her ear,

Than the squirrel whose teeth crack 'em;
Jove will but laugh, if you forswear!

Deign, oh, fairest fair, to take 'em.

For these black-ey'd Driope
Chorus.

Hath often-times commanded me
And this day's sins, he doth resolve,

With my clasped knee to clime:
That we his priests should all absolve.

See how well the lusty time
Ye should stay longer if we durst:

Hath deck'd their rising cheeks iu red,
Away! alas, that he that first

Such as on your lips is spread.
Gave time wild wings to fly away,

Here be berries for a queen,
Hath now no power to make him stay!

Some be red, some be green ;
But tho' these games must needs be play'd, These are of that luscious meat,
I would this pair, when they are laid,

The great god Pan himself doth eat:
And not a creature nigh 'em,

All these, and what the woods can yield,
Could catch his scythe as he doth pass,

The hanging mountain, or the field,
And cut his wings, and break his glass,

I freely offer, and ere long
And keep him ever by 'em.

Will bring you more, more sweet and strong;
Peace and silence be the guide

Till when humbly leave I take,
To the man,
and to the bride!

Lest the great Pan do awake,
If there be a joy yet new

That sleeping lies in a deep glade,
In marriage, let it fall on you,

Under a broad beech's shade :
That all the world may wouder !

I must go, I must run
If we should stay, we should do worse,

Swifter than the fiery-sun.
And turn our blessing to a curse,
By keeping you asunder.

River God. What pow'rful charms my streams do
Back again unto their spring,

(bring With such force, that I their God, FLETCHER.

Three times striking with my rod,
Could not keep them in their ranks!

My fishes shoot into the banks ;
Satyr. Thorough yon same bending plain There's not one that stays and feeds,
That flings his arms down to the main,

All have hid them in the weeds.
And thro' these thick woods have I run,

Here's a mortal almost dead,
Whose bottom never kiss'd the sun

Fall'n into my river-head,
Since the lusty spring began,

Hallow'd so with many a spell,
All to please my master Pan,

That till now none ever fell.
Have I trotted without rest

'Tis a female young and clear,
To get him fruit ; for at a feast

Cast in by some ravisher.
He entertains, this coming night,

See upon her breast a wound,
His paramour, the Syrinx bright.

On which there is no plaister bound,
But, behold a fairer sight!

Yet she's warm, her pulses beat,
By that heav'nly form of thine,

'Tis a sign of life and heat.
Brightest fair, thou art divine,

If thou be'st a virgin pure,
Sprung from great immortal race

I can give a present cure:
Of the gods; for in thy face

Take a drop into thy wound,
From my watery locks, more round
Than orient pearl, and far more pure
Than unchaste flesh may endure.

FROM THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS.

Shines more awful majesty,
Than dull weak mortality
Dare with misty eyes behold,

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See, she pants, and from her flesh

With his honour and his name The warm blond gusheth out afresh.

That defends our flocks from blame. She is an unpolluted maid;

He is great, and he is just, I must have this bleeding staid.

He is ever good, and must From my banks I pluck this flow'r

Thus be honour'd. Daffodillies, With holy hand, whose virtuous pow'r

Roses, pinks, and loved lilies, Is at once to heal and draw.

Let us fling, The blood returns. I never saw

Whilst we sing, A fairer mortal. Now doth break

Ever holy,
Her deadly slumber: Virgin, speak. [breath,

Ever holy,
Amo. Who hath restor'd my sense, giv'n me new Ever honour'd, ever young!
And brought me back out of the arms of death?

Thus great Pan is ever sung.
God. I have heal'd thy wounds.
Amo. Ah me!

God. Fear pot him that succour'd thee :
I am this fountain's God! Below

FORD. My waters to a river grow,

FROM THE LOVER'S MELANCHOLY. And 'twixt two banks with osiers set, That only prosper in the wet,

Fly hence, shadows, that do keep Thro' the meadows do they glide,

Watchful sorrows charm'd in sleep! Wheeling still on ev'ry side,

Though the eyes be overtaken, Sometimes winding round about,

Yet the heart doth ever waken To find the even’st channel out.

Thoughts, chain'd up in busy snares And if thou wilt go with me,

Of continual woes and cares: Leaving mortal company,

Loves and griefs are so express'd, In the cool stream shalt thou lie,

As they rather sigh than rest. Free from harm as well as 1 :

Fly hence, shadows, that do keep I will give thee for thy food

Watchful sorrows charm'd in sleep.
No fish that useth in the mud !

FROM THE BROKEN HEART.
But trout and pike, that love to swim
Where the gravel from the brim

Oh, no more, no more! too late
Thro' the pure streams may be seen :

Sighs are spent; the burning tapers Orient pearl fit for a queen,

Of a life as chaste as fate, Will I give, thy love to win,

Pure as are unwritten papers, And a shell to keep them in:

Are burnt out: no heat, no light, Not a fish in all my, brook

Now remains ; 'tis ever night. That shall disobey thy look,

Love is dead; let lovers' eyes, But, when thou wilt, come sliding by,

Lock'd in endless dreams, And from thy white hand take a fly.

Th' extremes of all extremes, And to make thee understand

Ope no more, for now love dies, How I can my waves command,

Now love dies, implying They shall bubble whilst I sing,

Love's martyrs must be ever, erer dying. Sweeter than the silver string.

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Do not fear to put thy feet
Naked in the river sweet;
Think not leech, or newt, or toad,
Will bite thy foot, when thou hast trod;
Nor let the water rising high,
As thou wad'st in, make thee cry
And sob; but ever live with me,
And got a wave shall trouble thee!

All ye woods, and trees, and bow'rs,
All ye virtues and ye pow'rs
That inhabit in the lakes,
In the pleasant springs or brakes,

Move your feet

To our sound,
Whilst we greet

All this ground,

FROM ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE.
Cupid and my Campaspe play'd
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?

SONG.

SONG TO CELIA.

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What bird so sings, yet so does wail?

Ha' you felt the wool of beaver ? O'tis the ravish'd nightingale.

Or swan's down ever? Jug, jug, jug, jug, terue, she cries,

Or have smelt o' the bud o' the briar?
And still her woes at midnight rise.

Or the nard in the fire ?
Brave prick song! who is't now we hear? Or have tasted the bag of the bee ?
None but the lark so shrill and clear;

O so white ! O so soft! O so sweet is she !
How at heaven's gates she claps her wings,

The morn not waking till she sings. 3 Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat,

Oh do not wanton with those eyes, Poor Robin Redbreast tunes his note ;

Lest I be sick with seeing : Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing

Nor cast them down, but let them rise, Cuckoo to welcome in the spring,

Lest shame destroy their being. Cuckoo to welcome in the spring.

O 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.
BEN JONSON.

O do not steep them in thy tears,

For so will sorrow slay me ;

Nor spread them as distract with fears;
Drink to me only with thine eyes,

Mine own enough betray me.
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

HYMN TO DIANA, IN CYNTHIA'S REVELS.
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise,

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Doth ask a drink divine :

Now the sun is laid to sleep,
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

Seated in thy silver car,
I would not change for thine.

State in wonted manner keep.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

Hesperus entreats thy light,
Not so much honouring thee,

Goddess excellently bright.
As giving it a hope, that there

Earth, let not thy envious shade
It could not withered be.

Dare itself to interpose :
But thou thereon didst only breathe,

Cynthia's shining orb was made
And sent'st it back to me :

Heaven to clear, when day did close ;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

Bless us then with wished sight,
Not of itself, but thee.

Goddess excellently bright.
FROM A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart,

And thy crystal shining quiver ;
See the chariot at hand here of Love,

Give unto the flying hart
Wherein my lady rideth!
Each that draws is a swan or a dove,

Space to breathe, how short soever :

Thou that mak’st a day of night, And well the car Love guideth.

Goddess excellently bright.
As she goes, all hearts do duty

Unto her beauty,
And enamour'd, do wish so they might
But enjoy such a sight,

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt
That they still were to run by her side, (ride.

Yet slower, yet, О faintly, gentle springs !(tears; Thorough swords, thorough seas,whither she would List to the heavy part the music bears;

Woe weeps out her decision, when she sings. Do but look on her eyes, they do light

Droop herbs and flowers; All that Love's world compriseth !

Fall grief in showers; Do but look on her hair, it is bright

Our beauties are not ours : As Love's star when it riseth !

O could I still Do but mark, her forehead's smoother

(Like melting snow upon some craggy hill), Than words that soothe her!

Drop, drop, drop, drop,
And from her arched brows, such a grace

Since Summer's pride is now a wither'd daffodil.
Sheds itself through the face,
As alone there triumphs to the life

HUE AND CRY AFTER CUPID, IN THE MASQUE ON
All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife.

LORD HADDINGTON'S MARRIAGE. Have you seen but a bright lily grow,

Beauties, have you seen this toy, Before rude hands have touch'd it?

Call'd love, a little boy, Ha' you mark'd but the fall o' the snow

Almost naked, wanton, blind; Before the soil hath smutch'd it!

Cruel now, and then as kind?

SONG IN THE SAME.

DRUMMOND.

SONNET

If he be amongst ye, say ;

He is Venus' runaway.
She that will but now discover

Where the winged wag doth hover,
Shall to-night receive a kiss,
How, or where herself would wish :
But, who brings him to his mother,

Shall have that kiss and another.
He hath of marks about him plenty:

You shall know him among twenty.
All his body is a fire,
And his breath a flame entire,
That being shot, like lightning in,

Wounds the heart, but not the skin. At his sight, the sun hath turned,

Neptune in the waters burned :
Hell hath felt a greater heat:
Jove himself forsook his seat:
From the centre to the sky,

Are his trophies reared high.
Wings he hath, which though ye clip,

He will leap from lip to lip,
Over liver, lights, and heart,
But not stay in any part;
And, if chance his arrow misses,

He will shoot himself, in kisses.
He doth bear a golden bow,

And a quiver hanging low,
Full of arrows that outbrave
Dian's shafts: where, if he have
Any head more sharp than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.

Sleep, silence child, sweet father of soft rest, Prince whose approach peace to all mortals briež Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings, Sole comforter of minds which are opprest; Lo by thy charming rod all breathing things Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulness possest, And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings Thou sparist (alas !) who cannot be thy guest. Since I am thine, O come, but with that face To inward light which thou art wont to show, With fained solace ease a true-felt woe; Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace,

Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath: I long to kiss the image of my death.

Fair moon, who with thy cold and silver stise
Makes sweet the horror of the dreadful night,
Delighting the weak eye with smiles divize,
Which Phæbus dazzles with his too much light;
Bright queen of the first heaven, if in tby shrine
By turning oft, and heaven's eternal might,
Thou hast not yet that once sweet fire of thibe
Endymion, forgot, and lover's plight:
If cause like thine may pity breed is thee,
And pity somewhat else to it obtain,
Since thou hast power of dreams as well as he
Who paints strange figures in the slumb'ring bran:

Now while she sleeps in doleful guise her shon
These tears, and the black map of all my woe

Still the fairest are his fuel,

When his days are to be cruel,
Lovers hearts are all his food;
And his baths their warmest blood,
Nought but wounds his hand doth season,
And he hates none like to Reason.

Trust him not: his words, though sweet,

Seldom with bis heart do meet.
All his practice is deceit;
Every gift it is a bait;
Not a kiss but poison bears ;
And most treason in his tears.

Dear quirister, who from those shadows sends, Ere that the blushing morn dare show ber light

, Such sad lamenting strains, that night attends (Become all ear), stars stay to hear thy plight; If one whose grief even reach of thought transcead. Who ne'er (not in a dream) did taste delights May thee importune who like case pretends, And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despight: Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, And long long sing) for what thou thus complains Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled sky Enamour'd smiles on woods and flow'ry plains !

The bird, as if my question did her move,

With trembling wings sigh'd forth, I love, I love. Alexis, here she stay'd among these pides ; Sweet hermitress she did alone repair: Here did she spread the treasure of her bair, More rich than that brought from the Colchian mines. Here sat she by those musket eglantines, The happy flow'rs seem yet the print to bear, Her voice did sweeten here my sugar'd lines, To which winds, trees, beasts, birds, did lend an ear. She here me first perceiv'd, and here a mora Of bright carnations did o'erspread her face : Here did she sigh, here first my hopes were bor i, Here first I got a pledge of promis'd grace :

Idle minutes are his reign;

Then the straggler makes his gain,
By presenting maids with toys,
And would have ye think 'em joys:
"Tis th' ambition of the elf

To have all childish as himself.
If by these ye please to know him,

Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
'Though ye had a will to hide him,
Now, we hope, ye'll not abide him.
Since

you

hear his falser play, And that he's Venus' runaway.

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