Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul,
And down it merrily.

Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down,

Hey derry derry down-a-down!
Ho! well done, to me let come,
Ring compass, gentle joy!

Troll the bowl, the nut-brown bowl,

And here kind, &c. (as often as there be men to

drink). At last, when all have drunk, this verse.

0,

Cold's the wind, and wet 's the rain,
Saint Hugh be our good speed!
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,
Nor helps good hearts in need.

THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY.

THE month of May, the merry month of May,

So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green!

O, and then did I unto my true love say,

Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer's queen.

Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale,
The sweetest singer in all the forest quire,

Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love's tale;
Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier.

But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo;
See where she sitteth; come away, my joy:
Come away, I prithee, I do not like the cuckoo
Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy.

O, the month of May, the merry month of May,
So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green;
And then did I unto my true love say,

Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer's queen.

CONTENT.

ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?

O sweet Content!

Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed?
O Punishment!

Dost laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers golden numbers?
O sweet Content, O sweet, O sweet Content!

Work apace, apace, apace, apace;
Honest labour bears a lovely face.

Then hey noney, noney; hey noney, noney.

Canst drink the waters of the crispèd spring?
O sweet Content!

Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?
O Punishment!

Then he that patiently Want's burden bears
No burden bears, but is a king, a king.

O sweet Content, O sweet, O sweet Content!

Work apace, apace, &c.

- LULLABY.

OLDEN slumbers kiss your eyes,

GOL

Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby.

Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you.

You are care, and care must keep you.

Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,

And I will sing a lullaby,

Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

THE GIFTS OF FORTUNE AND CUPID.

Fortune.

E a merchant, I will freight thee

BE

With all store that time is bought for. Cupid. Be a lover, I will wait thee

With success in life most sought for. Fortune. Be enamoured on bright honour,

And thy greatness shall shine glorious. Cupid. Chastity, if thou smile on her,

Shall grow servile, thou victorious. Fortune. Be a warrior, conquest ever

Shall triumphantly renown thee.

Cupid. Be a courtier, beauty never

Shall but with her duty crown thee.
Fortune. Fortune's wheel is thine, depose me;

I'm thy slave, thy power hath bound me.
Cupid. Cupid's shafts are thine, dispose me;
Love loves love; thy graces wound me.
Live, reign! pity is fame's jewel;
We obey; O, be not cruel!

Both.

ROBERT DEVEREUX, EARL OF ESSEX.

(1567-1601.)

"A PASSION OF MY LORD OF ESSEX.”

From Ashm. MS. 781. In Grosart's edition of Essex in vol. iv. of the Miscellanies of the Fuller Worthies' Library. It is said to have been inclosed in a letter to the queen from Ireland, in 1599.

APPY were he could finish forth his fate

HAPP

In some unhaunted desert, most obscure

From all societies, from love and hate

Of worldly folk; then might he sleep secure; Then wake again, and ever give God praise,

Content with hips and haws and bramble-berry;

In contemplation spending all his days,

And change of holy thoughts to make him merry; Where, when he dies, his tomb may be a bush, Where harmless robin dwells with gentle thrush.

JOHN DONNE.
(1573-1631.)

From Poems, 1633. Although not published till after the author's death, almost all of Donne's poetry was written in his youth, before 1600. The Ode to Absence appeared in Davison's Poetical Rhapsody, 1602. Donne's poems are reprinted in Chalmer's Poets; in Grosart s edition, two vols., 1872; and in the Muses' Library, edited by Mr. E. K. Chambers, two vols., 1895. The Sonnet to Death was written before 1607, and the Hymn to God the Father in 1627.

A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING.

S virtuous men pass mildly away,

As

And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say,

"Now his breath goes", and some say “No”;

So let us melt and make no noise,

No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move,

'T were profanation of our joys,

To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harm and fears,
Men reckon what it did and meant;

But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love,

Whose soul is sense, cannot admit
Absence, for that it doth remove

Those things which elemented it.

But we by a love so far refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,

Careless eyes, lips, and hands, to miss;

Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if the other do.

And though it in the centre sit,

Yet when the other far doth roam,

It leans and hearkens after it,

And grows erect as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like the other foot, obliquely run;

Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.

WHOEVER

THE FUNERAL.

HOEVER comes to shroud me, do not harm
Nor question much

That subtle wreath of hair about mine arm;

The mystery, the sign, you must not touch,
For 't is my outward soul,

Viceroy to that which, unto heaven being gone,
Will leave this to control

And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.