Where mirth's but mummery, And sorrows only real be. Fly from our country pastimes, fly, Sad troop of human misery! Come, serene looks, Clear as the crystal brooks, Or the pure azur'd heaven that smiles to see The rich attendance of our poverty. Peace and a secure mind, Which all men seek, we only find. Abused mortals, did you know Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, You'd scorn proud towers, And seek them in those bowers Where winds perhaps our woods may sometimes shake, But blustering care could never tempest make, Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, Saving of fountains that glide by us. Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains, And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, Which we may every year Find when we come a-fishing here. To the preceding extract from 'The Country's Recreations' we shall add Sir Walter Raleigh's response to The Passionate Shepherd of Christopher Marlow. The author of the latter poem will occupy so conspicuous a place in our remarks upon the dramatic writers of the age at present under consideration, that no farther notice of him is here required. The poem itself, and the response to it both, richly deserve the great popularity which they have, for more than two and a half centuries, enjoyed :— THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.-MARLOW. Come live with me, and be my love, That valleys, groves, and hills and fields, Woods or steepy mountains 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 Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle: A gown made of the finest wool, A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs! And if these pleasures may thee move, The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD.-RALEIGH. If all the world and love were young, Time drives the flocks from field to fold, The flowers do fade, and wanton fields Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love. But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need, Sidney, Raleigh, and Marlow, had for their contemporaries Breton, Constable, Sylvester, and Barnfield, all of whom justly rank among the second rate miscellaneous poets of this period, though the number of their poems was generally limited. NICHOLAS BRETON was born in 1555, but at what place we have not been able to ascertain. Indeed, of his entire history no particulars have been preserved farther than that he first acquired very considerable popularity as a writer of pastorals, and then published a volume of poems under the title of The Works of a Young Wit. Breton died in 1624, in his seventieth year. The following stanzas from this author well deserve preservation: And next, adieu you gallant dames, The chief of noble youth's delight. That I am banish'd from your sight. Now next, my gallant youths, farewell; My lads that oft have cheered my heart! My grief of mind no tongue can tell, To think that I must from you part. I now must leave you all, alas, And now farewell thou gallant lute, With instruments of music's sounds! Recorder, citern, harp, and flute, And heavenly descants on sweet grounds. I now must leave you all, indeed, And make some music on a reed! And now, you stately stamping steeds, To think that I must part with you: And on a strawen pannel sit, And ride some country carting tit! And now farewell both spear and shield, Caliver, pistol, arquebuss, See, see, what sighs my heart doth yield To think that I must leave you thus; And lay aside my rapier blade, And you farewell, all gallant games, Wherewith I us'd with courtly dames And now farewell each dainty dish, 1568 A.D.] HENRY CONSTABLE.-JOSHUA SYLVESTER. 155 I now, alas, must leave all these, And make good cheer with bread and cheese! And now, all orders due, farewell! My table laid when it was noon; My heavy heart it irks to tell My dainty dinners are all done; And farewell all gay garments now, What shall I say, but bid adieu Of HENRY CONSTABLE less even is known than of Breton. He was a very popular writer of sonnets, though his sentiments are usually strained and conceited. But in the midst of his affectations and conceits, many happy thoughts and much beautiful imagery may be found. The following sonnet from his Diana contains much epigrammatic power:— To live in hell, and heaven to behold, To thirst for drink, and nectar still to draw, To live accurs'd, whom men hold blest to be, And weep those wrongs, which never creature saw; If this be love, if love in these be founded, JOSHUA SYLVESTER was born in 1563. He was bred to ordinary mercantile pursuits, but the delicacy of his wit eventually brought him into notice, and he was patronized both by Elizabeth and James. For some cause, not now known, he was obliged to leave England, and he soon after died in Holland, on the twenty-eighth of September, 1618. Sylvester was the author of the following impressive poem, long attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh: 156 THE SOUL'S ERRAND. Go, soul, the body's guest, Upon a thankless errand! Go, tell the court it glows, And shines like rotten wood; Tell potentates, they live Acting by others' actions, Not strong but by their factions. Tell men of high condition Tell them that brave the most, They beg for more by spending, Who in their greatest cost, Tell zeal it lacks devotion, Tell love it is but lust, And wish them not reply, Tell age it daily wasteth, Tell wit how much it wrangles, |