Skip and trip it on the green, And help to choose the Summer Queen ; Their silver penny with the best. Well can they judge of nappy ale, And turn the crabs till they be soft. And little Tom the mother's boy : : 10 All their pleasure is, Content, 15 And care, to pay their yearly rent. Joan can call by name her cows And deck her windows with green boughs; And trim with plums a bridal cake. 20 Jack knows what brings gain or loss, And his long flail can stoutly toss : -Now, you courtly dames and knights, And can your heads from danger keep; T. Campion. LX. CXLIV. L'ALLEGRO. HENCE, loathed Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born In Stygian cave forlorn 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy ! Find out some uncouth cell, 5 Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven sings; There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. But come, thou Goddess fair and free, And by men heart-easing Mirth; 10 15 So buxom, blithe, and debonair. Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee Quips and cranks and wanton wiles, Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, Sport that wrinkled Care derides, And in thy right hand lead with thee To live with her, and live with thee, 35 40 45 While the cock, with lively din, Scatters the rear of darkness thin; 50 And to the stack, or the barn-door, Stoutly struts his dames before : Oft listening how the hounds and horn 55 Through the high wood echoing shrill 60 65 And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, 75 80 And young and old come forth to play Till the livelong daylight fail : Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 100 With stories told of many a feat, How Faery Mab the junkets eat. She was pinched and pulled, she said; When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 105 His shadowy flail had threshed the corn That ten day-labourers could not end; 110 And, stretched out all the chimney's length, Basks at the fire his hairy strength, And crop-full out of doors he flings, Ere the first cock his matin rings. Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 115 By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. To win her grace, whom all commend. 125 In saffron robe, with taper clear, 130 Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, And ever, against eating cares, 135 Lap me in soft Lydian airs, Married to immortal verse, Such as the meeting soul may pierce, |