part to the gentlemen, with a merry heart; and I'll sing the second, when you have done.

THE MILK-MAID'S SONG.
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, or hills, or field,
Or woods, and steepy mountains yield;
Where we will sit, upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed our flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls,
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

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

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Slippers, lin'd choicely 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.

Thy silver dishes, for thy meat,

As precious as the Gods do eat,

Shall, on an ivory table, be

Prepar'd each day for thee and me.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing

For thy delight, each May morning.
If these delights thy mind may move,

Then live with me, and be my love1.

(1) Dr. Warburton, in his Notes on The Merry Wives of Windsor, ascribes this song to Shakspeare: it is true, Sir Hugh Evans, in the third Act of that play, sings four lines of it; and it occurs in a Collection of Poems said to be Shakspeare's, printed by Thomas Cotes

for

Ven. Trust me, master, it is a choice song, and sweetly sung by honest Maudlin. I now see it was not without cause that our good queen Elizabeth did so often wish herself a milk-maid all the month of May, because they are not troubled with fears and cares, but sing sweetly all the day, and sleep securely all the night and without doubt, honest, innocent, pretty Maudlin does so. I'll bestow Sir Thomas Overbury's milk-maid's wish upon her, "that she may die in the Spring; and, being dead, may "have good store of flowers stuck round about her wind"ing sheet"."

:

for John Benson, 12mo. 1640. with some variations. On the contrary, it is to be found, with the name of "Christopher Marlow" to it, in England's Helicon; and Walton has just said it was made by Kit Marlow. The reader will judge of these evidences, as he pleases.

As to the song itself, though a beautiful one, it is not so purely pastoral as it is generally thought to be; buckles of gold, coral clasps and amber studs, silver dishes and ivory tables, are luxuries; and consist not with the parsimony and simplicity of rural life and

manners.

(2) [“A fayre and happy Milke-maid," is one of the Characters" printed with Sir Thomas Overbury's "Wife," of which near twenty editions had been published before Walton wrote his Angler.

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It is short, and as follows.

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"A fayre and happy Milke-maid

"is a Countrey Wench, that is so farre from making her selfe beautifull by Art, that one looke of hers is able to put all Face-Physicke 66 out of countenance. She knowes a faire looke is but a dumbe orator 66 to commend vertue, therefore mindes it not. All her excellencies stand in her so silently, as if they had stolne upon her without her knowledge. The lining of ber apparell (which is her selfe) is farre better than outsides of tissew for though she be not arraied in the 66 spoyle of the silke worme, shee is deckt in innocency, a far better wearing. Shee doth not, with lying long a bed, spoile both her "" complexion and conditions; nature hath taught her too immoderate 66 sleepe is rust to the soule; shee rises therefore with Chaunticleare, her Dames Cocke, and at night makes the Lambe her Curfew. In milking a Cow, and straining the teates through her fingers, it 66 seemes that so sweete a Milke-presse makes the Milke the whiter or sweeter; for never came almond gloue or aromatique oyntment of her Palme to taint it. The golden eares of corne fall and kisse her feete when she reapes them, as if they wisht to be bound and led 66 prisoners by the same hand that fell'd them. Her breath is her owne, K 2 which

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THE MILK-MAID'S MOTHER'S ANSWER.

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But Time drives flocks from field to fold;
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold;
Then Philomel becometh dumb;
And age complains of care to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields.
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,

Is fancy's spring but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,

Thy cap, thy kirtle,' and thy posies,

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.

which sents all the yeere long of June, like a new made Haycocke. "She makes her hand hard with labour, and her heart soft with pitty:

and when winter evenings fall early (sitting at her merry wheele) 66 she sings defiance to the wheele of Fortune. She doth all things 46 with so sweete a grace, it seemes ignorance will not suffer her to doe ill, being her minde is to doe well. Shee bestowes her yeers wages at next faire; and in chusing her Garments, counts no brauery i'th' world, like decency. The Garden and Bee-hive are all her Physicke and Chyrurgerie, and she liues the longer for't. Shee dares goe alone, and vnfold sheepe i'th'night, and feares no manner of ill, because she meanes none: yet to say truth, she is neuer alone, for she is still 66 accompanied with old songs, honest thoughts, and prayers, but short ones; yet they haue their efficacy, in that they are not pauled with << insuing idle cogitations. Lastly, her dreames are so chaste, that she dare tell them: onely a Fridaies dreame is all her superstition: "that she conceales for feare of anger. Thus liues she, and all her care is shee may die in Spring-time, to haue store of flowers stucke vpon her winding sheet." 12th edit. 8vo. Lond. 1627.],

"