O stay, O stay, thou goodly youth, She standeth by thy side; She is here alive, she is not dead, And ready to be thy bride.

O farewell grief, and welcome joy, Ten thousand times therefore; For now I have found mine own true love. Whom I thought I should never see more.

CHEVY CHASE

PART I

GOD prosper long our noble King, Our lives and safeties all! A woeful Hunting once there did In Chevy Chase befall.

To drive the deer, with hound and horn, Earl Percy took the way; The child may rue, that is unborn, The hunting of that day!

The stout Earl of Northumberland A vow to God did make, His pleasure in the Scottish woods, Three summer days to take;

The chiefest harts in Chevy Chase, To kill and bear away. These tidings to Earl Douglas came In Scotland, where he lay.

Who sent Earl Percy present word, He would prevent his sport. The English Earl, not fearing that, Did to the woods resort

With fifteen hundred bowmen bold, All chosen men of might, Who knew full well, in time of need, To aim their shafts aright.

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran, To chase the fallow deer. On Monday, they began to hunt, Ere daylight did appear;

And long before high noon they had A hundred fat bucks slain: Then, having dined, the drovers went To rouse the deer again.

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods, The nimble deer to take, That with their cries the hills and dales An echo shrill did make.

Lord Percy, to the quarry went, To view the slaughtered deer, Quoth he, 'Earl Douglas promised This day to meet me here:

'But if I thought he would not come, No longer would I stay!' With that, a brave young gentleman, Thus to the Earl did say:

'Lo! yonder doth Earl Douglas come! His men in armour bright! Full twenty hundred Scottish spears All marching in our sight!

'All pleasant men of Tividale, Fast by the river Tweed.' 'O, cease your sports!' Earl Percy said, And take your bows with speed;

'And now with me, my countrymen, Your courage forth advance; For there was never champion yet, In Scotland, nor in France,

'That ever did on horseback come; And, if my hap it were, I durst encounter man for man, With him to break a spear!'

Earl Douglas, on his milk-white steed, Most like a baron bold, Rode foremost of his company, Whose armour shone like gold.

'Show me,' said he, whose men you be, That hunt so boldly here? That, without my consent, do chase And kill my fallow deer?'

The first man that did answer make, Was noble Percy he, Who said, 'We list not to declare, Nor show, whose men we be:

'Yet we will spend our dearest blood Thy chiefest harts to slay.' Then Douglas swore a solemn oath, And thus in rage did say:

'Ere thus I will outbraved be, One of us two shall die: I know thee well! An earl thou art, Lord Percy. So am I.

'But, trust me, Percy, pity it were, And great offence, to kill Any of these, our guiltless men! For they have done no ill.

'Let thou and I, the battle try; And set our men aside.' 'Accursed be he,' Earl Percy said, 'By whom it is denied!'

Then stepped a gallant squire forth, Witherington was his name, Who said, 'I would not have it told To Henry our king, for shame,

'That e'er my Captain fought on foot, And I stood looking on. You be two earls,' quoth Witherington, 'And I a squire alone.

'I'll do the best that do I may, While I have power to stand: While I have power to wield my sword, I'll fight with heart and hand.'

Our English archers bent their bows, Their hearts were good and true. At the first flight of arrows sent, Full fourscore Scots they slew.

'To drive the deer with hound and horn!' Douglas bade on the bent. Two captains moved, with mickle might, Their spears to shivers went.

They closed full fast on every side; No slackness there was found: But many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground.

O, Christ! it was a grief to see, And likewise for to hear, The cries of men lying in their gore, And scattered here and there.

At last, these two stout earls did meet. Like captains of great might, Like lions wood, they laid on load, And made a cruel fight:

They fought, until they both did sweat, With swords of tempered steel, Till blood adown their cheeks, like rain, They trickling down did feel.

'Yield thee, O Percy,' Douglas said, 'In faith! I will thee bring, Where thou shalt high advanced be, By James, our Scottish King!

'Thy ransom I will freely give! And this report of thee, "Thou art the most courageous knight That ever I did see!"'

'No, Douglas,' quoth Earl Percy then, Thy proffer I do scorn; I will not yield to any Scot That ever yet was born!'

With that, there came an arrow keen Out of an English bow, Which struck Earl Douglas to the heart, A deep and deadly blow.

Who never said more words than these, 'Fight on, my merry men all! For why? My life is at an end, Lord Percy sees my fall!'

Then leaving life, Earl Percy took The dead man by the hand, Who said, 'Earl Douglas, for thy sake, Would I had lost my land!

'O, Christ! my very heart doth bleed For sorrow, for thy sake, For, sure, a more redoubted knight Mischance could never take!'

A knight, amongst the Scots there was, Which saw Earl Douglas die; Who straight in heart did vow revenge Upon the Lord Percy.

PART II

Sir Hugh Montgomery was he called; Who, with a spear most bright, Well mounted on a gallant steed, Ran fiercely through the fight.

And passed the English archers all, Without or dread or fear; And through Earl Percy's body then He thrust his hateful spear.

With such a vehement force and might, He did his body gore: The staff ran through the other side, A large cloth-yard and more.

Thus did both those nobles die, Whose courage none could stain. An English archer then perceived The noble earl was slain.

He had a good bow in his hand, Made of a trusty tree. An arrow of a cloth-yard long, Up to the head drew he.

Against Sir Hugh Montgomery, So right the shaft he set; The grey-goose wing that was thereon, In his heart's blood was wet.

This fight did last from break of day Till setting of the sun: For when they rang the evening bell, The battle scarce was done.

With stout Earl Percy there were slain Sir John of Egerton, Sir Robert Ratcliff, and Sir John, Sir James, that bold Baron.

And with Sir George and stout Sir James, Both Knights of good account, Good Sir Ralph Raby there was slain, Whose prowess did surmount.

For Witherington needs must I wail, As one in doleful dumps, For when his legs were smitten off, He fought upon his stumps.

And with Earl Douglas there were slain Sir Hugh Montgomery; And Sir Charles Murray, that from field One foot would never flee.

Sir Charles Murray of Ratcliff, too, His sister's son was he: Sir David Lamb, so well esteemed, But saved he could not be.

And the Lord Maxwell, in like case, Did with Earl Douglas die. Of twenty hundred Scottish spears Scarce fifty-five did fly.

Of fifteen hundred Englishmen, Went home but fifty-three; The rest in Chevy Chase were slain, Under the greenwood tree.

Next day did many widows come Their husbands to bewail: They washed their wounds in brinish tears; But all would not prevail!

Their bodies, bathed in purple blood, They bore with them away. They kissed them, dead, a thousand times, Ere they were clad in clay.

The news was brought to Edinborough, Where Scotland's King did reign, That brave Earl Douglas suddenly Was with an arrow slain.

'O, heavy news!' King James did say, Scotland may witness be, I have not any captain more Of such account as he!'

Like tidings to King Henry came, Within as short a space, That Percy of Northumberland, Was slain in Chevy Chase.

'Now, God be with him!' said our king, Sith it will no better be; I trust I have, within my realm, Five hundred as good as he!

'Yet shall not Scots, nor Scotland, say But I will vengeance take; And be revenged on them all, For brave Earl Percy's sake.'

This vow the king did well perform After, on Humbledown, In one day fifty knights were slain, With lords of great renown;

And of the rest, of small account, Did many thousands die. Thus endeth the hunting in Chevy Chase, Made by the Earl Percy.

God save our king; and bless this land With plenty, joy, and peace! And grant henceforth, that foul debate 'Twixt noblemen may cease!



MICHAEL DRAYTON

THE BATTLE OF AGINCOURT

FAIR stood the wind for France When we our sails advance, Nor now to prove our chance Longer will tarry; But putting to the main, At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, With all his martial train, Landed King Harry.

And taking many a fort, Furnish'd in warlike sort March'd towards Agincourt In happy hour; Skirmishing day by day With those that stopp'd his way, Where the French gen'ral lay With all his power.

Which in his height of pride, King Henry to deride, His ransom to provide To the King sending; Which he neglects the while, As from a nation vile Yet with an angry smile, Their fall portending.

And turning to his men, Quoth our brave Henry then, Though they to one be ten, Be not amazed. Yet, have we well begun, Battles so bravely won Have ever to the sun By fame been raised.

And for myself, quoth he, This my full rest shall be, England ne'er mourn for me, Nor more esteem me. Victor I will remain, Or on this earth lie slain, Never shall she sustain Loss to redeem me.

Poictiers and Cressy tell, When most their pride did swell, Under our swords they fell, No less our skill is, Than when our grandsire great, Claiming the regal seat, By many a warlike feat, Lop'd the French lilies.

The Duke of York so dread, The eager vanward led; With the main Henry sped, Amongst his henchmen. Excester had the rear, A braver man not there, O Lord, how hot they were On the false Frenchmen!

They now to fight are gone, Armour on armour shone, Drum now to drum did groan, To hear, was wonder; That with cries they make, The very earth did shake, Trumpet to trumpet spake, Thunder to thunder.

Well it thine age became, O noble Erpingham, Which did the signal aim To our hid forces: When from a meadow by, Like a storm suddenly, The English archery Stuck the French horses.

With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung Piercing the weather; None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts, And like true English hearts, Stuck close together.

When down their bows they threw, And forth their bilbows drew, And on the French they flew, Not one was tardy; Arms were from shoulders sent, Scalps to the teeth were rent, Down the French peasants went, Our men were hardy.

This while our noble king, His broad sword brandishing, Down the French host did ding, As to o'erwhelm it; And many a deep wound lent, His arms with blood besprent, And many a cruel dent Bruised his helmet.

Glo'ster, that duke so good, Next of the royal blood, For famous England stood, With his brave brother; Clarence, in steel so bright, Though but a maiden knight, Yet in that furious fight Scarce such another.

Warwick in blood did wade, Oxford the foe invade, And cruel slaughter made, Still as they ran up; Suffolk his axe did ply, Beaumont and Willoughby Bare them right doughtily, Ferrers and Fanhope.

Upon Saint Crispin's day Fought was this noble fray, Which fame did not delay To England to carry; O when shall Englishmen With such acts fill a pen, Or England breed again Such a King Harry?



ANONYMOUS

SONG OF THE ENGLISH BOWMEN

AGINCOURT, Agincourt! Know ye not Agincourt, Where English slew and hurt All their French foemen? With their pikes and bills brown, How the French were beat down, Shot by our Bowmen?

Agincourt, Agincourt! Know ye not Agincourt, Never to be forgot, Or known to no men? Where English cloth-yard arrows Killed the French like tame sparrows, Slain by our Bowmen?

Agincourt, Agincourt! Know ye not Agincourt? English of every sort, High men and low men, Fought that day wondrous well, All our old stories tell, Thanks to our Bowmen!

Agincourt, Agincourt! Know ye not Agincourt? Where our fifth Harry taught Frenchmen to know men: And, when the day was done, Thousands there fell to one Good English Bowman!

Agincourt, Agincourt! Know ye not Agincourt? Dear was the vict'ry bought By fifty yeomen. Ask any English wench, They were worth all the French, Rare English Bowmen!



WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

WINTER

WHEN icicles hang by the wall, And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, And Tom bears logs into the hall, And milk comes frozen home in pail; When blood is nipt, and ways be foul, Then nightly sings the staring owl Tu-whit! Tu-who! A merry note! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

When all about the wind doth blow, And coughing drowns the parson's saw, And birds sit brooding in the snow, And Marian's nose looks red and raw; When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, Then nightly sings the staring owl Tu-whit! Tu-who! A merry note! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

INGRATITUDE

Brow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Heigh, ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then heigh, ho, the holly! This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot: Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not. Heigh, ho! sing heigh ho! unto the green holly: Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly: Then heigh, ho, the holly! This life is most jolly.

FIDELE

FEAR no more the heat o' the sun Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone and ta'en thy wages; Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning-flash Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust.

UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE

UNDER the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather.

Who doth ambition shun, And loves to lie i' the sun, Seeking the food he eats, And pleas'd with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither; Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather.

SYLVIA

WHO is Sylvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be.

Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness, Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness, And, being help'd, inhabits there.

Then to Sylvia let us sing, That Sylvia is excelling; She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling: To her let us garlands bring.

SONG

COME away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it; My part of death no one so true Did share it.

Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover ne'er find my grave To weep there.

A SEA DIRGE

FULL fathom five thy father lies: Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange. Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell: Hark! now I hear them,— Ding, dong, bell.

OPHELIA'S SONG

How should I your true love know From another one? By his cockle hat and staff, And his sandal shoon.

He is dead and gone, lady, He is dead and gone; At his head a grass-green turf, At his heels a stone.

White his shroud as the mountain snow, Larded with sweet flowers; Which bewept to the grave did go With true-love showers.

And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead: Go to thy death-bed: He never will come again.

His beard was as white as snow, All flaxen was his poll: He is gone, he is gone, And we cast away moan: God ha' mercy on his soul!

WHEN DAISIES PIED

WHEN daisies pied and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckoo; Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear!

When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks, The cuckoo then, on every tree, Mocks married men; for thus sings he, Cuckob; Cuckoo, cuckoo: O word of fear, Unpleasing to a married ear!

IT WAS A LOVER

IT was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, That o'er the green cornfield did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding: Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, These pretty country folks would lie, In spring time, etc.

This carol they began that hour, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, How that a life was but a flower In spring time, etc.

And therefore take the present time, With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; For love is crowned with the prime In spring time, etc.

SWEET AND TWENTY

O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming? O, stay and hear; your true love 's coming, That can sing both high and low: Trip no further, pretty sweeting; Journeys end in lovers meeting, Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 'tis not hereafter; Present mirth hath present laughter; What's to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty, Youth's a stuff will not endure.

MUSIC

ORPHEUS with his lute made trees, And the mountain tops that freeze, Bow themselves when he did sing: To his music plants and flowers Ever sprung; as sun and showers There had made a lasting spring.

Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing-care and grief-of-heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.

THE PEDLAR

LAWN as white as driven snow; Cypress black as e'er was crow; Gloves as sweet as damask roses; Masks for faces and for noses; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber; Golden quoifs and stomachers, For my lads to give their dears: Pins and poking-sticks of steel, What maids lack from head to heel: Come buy of me, come; come buy, come buy; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry: Come buy.

SOLDIER'S SONG

AND let me the canakin clink, clink; And let me the canakin clink: A soldier's a man; A life's but a span; Why, then, let a soldier drink.

King Stephen was a worthy peer, His breeches cost him but a crown; He held them sixpence all too dear, With that he call'd the tailor lown.

He was a wight of high renown, And thou art but of low degree: 'Tis pride that pulls the country down; Then take thine auld cloak about thee.

DOUBT NOT

DOUBT thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.

ARIEL

WHERE the bee sucks, there lurk I; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

SIGH NO MORE, LADIES

SIGH no more, ladies, sigh no more; Men were deceivers ever; One foot in sea, and one on shore; To one thing constant never; Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny; Converting all your sounds of woe Into, Hey nonny, nonny.

Sing no more ditties, sing no mo Of dumps so dull and heavy; The fraud of men was ever so, Since summer first was leavy, Then sigh not so, But let them go, And be you blithe and bonny; Converting all your sounds of woe, Into, Hey nonny, nonny.

THE SWEET O' THE YEAR

WHEN daffodils begin to peer, With heigh! the doxy over the dale, Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year; For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.

The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, With heigh! the sweet birds, O, how they sing! Doth set my pugging tooth on edge; For a quart of ale is a dish for a king.

The lark, that tirra-lyra chants, With heigh! with heigh! the thrush and the jay, Are summer songs for me and my aunts, While we lie tumbling in the hay.

But shall I go mourn for that, my dear? The pale moon shines by night: And when I wander here and there, I then do most go right.

If tinkers may have leave to live, And bear the sow-skin budget, Then my account I well may give, And in the stocks avouch it.

HARK! HARK! THE LARK!

HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs, On chalic'd flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes; With every thing that pretty bin; My lady sweet, arise.

OVER HILL, OVER DALE

OVER hill, over dale, Thorough bush, thorough brier, Over park, over pale, Thorough flood, thorough fire, I do wander everywhere, Swifter than the moon's sphere; And I serve the fairy queen, To dew her orbs upon the green. The cowslips tall her pensioners be: In their gold coats spots you see; Those be rubies, fairy favours, In those freckles live their savours; I must go seek some dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

ONE IN TEN

WAS this fair face the cause, quoth she, Why the Grecians sacked Troy? Fond done, done fond, Was this King Priam's joy? With that she sighed as she stood, With that she sighed as she stood, And gave this sentence then; Among nine bad if one be good, Among nine bad if one be good, There's yet one good in ten.

PUCK

Now the hungry lion roars, And the wolf behowls the moon; Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, All with weary task fordone. Now the wasted brands do glow, While the screech-owl, screeching loud, Puts the wretch, that lies in woe, In remembrance of a shroud. Now it is the time of night That the graves, all gaping wide, Every one lets forth his sprite, In the church-way paths to glide; And we fairies, that do run By the triple Hecate's team, From the presence of the sun, Following darkness like a dream, Now are frolic; not a mouse Shall disturb this hallow'd house: I am sent with broom before, To sweep the dust behind the door. Through the house give glimmering light, By the dead and drowsy fire: Every elf and fairy sprite Hop as light as bird from brier; And this ditty, after me, Sing, and dance it trippingly. First, rehearse your song by rote, To each word a warbling note: Hand in hand, with fairy grace, Will we sing, and bless this place.

LULLABY

You spotted snakes with double tongue, Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong, Come not near our fairy queen.

Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby. Never harm, Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good-night, with lullaby.

Weaving Spiders, come not here; Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence! Beetles black, approach not near; Worm nor snail, do no offence.

Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby. Never harm, Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good-night, with lullaby.

SONG

TELL me where is fancy bred, Or in the heart or in the head How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engender'd in the eyes, With gazing fed: and fancy dies In the cradle where it lies. Let us all ring fancy's knell: I'll begin it,—Ding, dong, bell. Ding, dong, bell.



THOMAS CAMPION

CHERRY-RIPE

THERE is a garden in her face, Where roses and white lilies grow; A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; There cherries grow that none may buy Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.

Those cherries fairly do enclose Of orient pearl a double row, Which, when her lovely laughter shows, They look like rosebuds fill'd with snow; Yet them no peer nor prince may buy Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.

Her eyes like angels watch them still, Her brows like bended bows do stand, Threat'ning with piercing frowns to kill All that approach with eye or hand These sacred cherries to come nigh, Till Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.

LAURA

ROSE-CHEEKED Laura, come; Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's Silent music, either other Sweetly gracing. Lovely forms do flow From consent divinely framed; Heaven is music, and thy beauty's Birth is heavenly.

These dull notes we sing Discords need for helps to grace them, Only beauty purely loving Knows no discord, But still moves delight, Like clear springs renewed by flowing, Ever perfect, ever in them- Selves eternal.

COME, CHEERFUL DAY

COME, cheerful day, part of my life to me; For while thou view'st me with thy fading light Part of my life doth still depart with thee, And I still onward haste to my last night: Time's fatal wings do ever forward fly So every day we live, a day we die.

But O ye nights, ordain'd for barren rest, How are my days deprived of life in you When heavy sleep my soul hath dispossest, By feigned death life sweetly to renew; Part of my life, in that, you life deny: So every day we live, a day we die.

FOLLOW THY FAIR SUN

FOLLOW thy fair sun, unhappy shadow! Though thou be black as night And she made all of light, Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow!

Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth! Though here thou liv'st disgraced, And she in heaven is placed, Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth!

Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth, That so have scorched thee As thou still black must be Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.

Follow her, while yet her glory shineth! There comes a luckless night That will dim all her light; —And this the black unhappy shade divineth.

Follow still, since so thy fates ordained! The sun must have his shade, Till both at once do fade, The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained.



BEN JONSON

TO CELIA

DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine, Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not wither'd be; But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee!

SONG FROM 'CYNTHIA'S REVELS'

QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep. Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright!

Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear, when day did close. Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright!

Lay thy bow of pearl apart, And thy crystal-shining quiver, Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe how short soever; Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright!

THE SWEET NEGLECT

STILL to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast: Still to be poud'red, still perfum'd: Lady, it is to be presum'd, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a looke, give me a face, That makes simplicitie a grace; Robes loosely flowing, haire as free: Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all th' adulteries of art, That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.



ANONYMOUS

THE WEAVER'S SONG

WREN Hercules did use to spin, And Pallas wrought upon the loom, Our trade to flourish did begin, While conscience went not selling broom; Then love and friendship did agree To keep the bands of amity.

When princes' sons kept sheep in field, And queens made cakes of wheated flour, The men to lucre did not yield, Which brought good cheer in every bower; Then love and friendship...

But when the Gyants huge and high, Did fight with spears like weavers' beams, Then they in iron beds did lye, And brought poor men to hard extreams; Yet love and friendship...

Then David took his sling and stone, Not fearing great Goliah's strength, He pierc't his brains, and broke the bone, Though he were fifty foot of length; For love and friendship...

But while the Greeks besieged Troy, Penelope apace did spin; And weavers wrought with mickle joy, Though little gains were coming in; For love and friendship...

Had Helen then sate carding wooll, (Whose beauteous face did breed such strife), She had not been Sir Paris' trull, Nor caused so many to lose their life; Yet we by love did still agree To hold the bands of amity.

Or had King Priam's wanton son Been making quills with sweet content, He had not then his friends undone, When he to Greece a-gadding went; For love and friendship...

The cedar-trees endure more storms Then little shrubs that sprout on high; The weavers live more void of harms Then princes of great dignity; While love and friendship doth agree...

The shepherd sitting in the field Doth tune his pipe with heart's delight; When princes watch with spear and shield, The poor man soundly sleeps all night; While love and friendship doth agree...

Yet this by proof is daily try'd, For God's good gifts we are ingrate, And no man through the world so wide Lives well contented with his state; No love and friendship we can see To hold the bands of amity.

THE HONEST FELLOW

HANG fear, cast away care, The parish is bound to find us Thou and I, and all must die, And leave this world behind us.

The bells shall ring, the clerk shall sing, And the good old wife shall winds us; And the sexton shall lay our bodies in the clay, Where nobody shall find us.

ROBIN GOODFELLOW

FROM Oberon, in fairy land, The king of ghosts and shadows there, Mad Robin I, at his command, Am sent to view the night-sports here. What revel rout Is kept about, In every corner where I go, I will o'ersee, And merry be, And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!

More swift than lightning can I fly About this airy welkin soon, And, in a minute's space, descry Each thing that's done below the moon. There's not a hag Or host shall wag, Or cry, ware goblins! where I go; But Robin I Their feats will spy, And send them home with ho, ho, ho!

Whene'er such wanderers I meet, As from their night-sports they trudge home, With counterfeiting voice I greet, And call them on with me to roam: Through woods, through lakes; Through bogs, through brakes; Or else, unseen, with them I go, All in the nick, To play some trick, And frolic it, with ho, ho, ho!

Sometimes I meet them like a man, Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound; And to a horse I turn me can, To trip and trot about them round. But if to ride My back they stride, More swift than wind away I go, O'er hedge and lands, Through pools and ponds, I hurry, laughing, ho, ho, ho!

When lads and lasses merry be, With possets and with junkets fine; Unseen of all the company, I eat their cakes and sip their wine! And, to make sport, I puff and snort: And out the candles I do blow: The maids I kiss, They shriek—Who's this? I answer nought but ho, ho, ho!

Yet now and then, the maids to please, At midnight I card up their wool; And, while they sleep and take their ease, With wheel to threads their flax I pull. I grind at mill Their malt up still; I dress their hemp; I spin their tow; If any wake, And would me take, I wend me, laughing, ho, ho, ho!

When any need to borrow aught, We lend them what they do require: And, for the use demand we nought; Our own is all we do desire. If to repay They do delay, Abroad amongst them then I go, And night by night, I them affright, With pinchings, dreams, and ho, ho, ho!

When lazy queans have nought to do, But study how to cog and lie: To make debate and mischief too, 'Twixt one another secretly: I mark their gloze, And it disclose To them whom they have wronged so: When I have done, I get me gone, And leave them scolding, ho, ho, ho!

When men do traps and engines set In loop-holes, where the vermin creep, Who from their folds and houses get Their ducks and geese, and lambs and sheep; I spy the gin, And enter in, And seem a vermin taken so; But when they there Approach me near, I leap out laughing, ho, ho, ho!

By wells and rills, in meadows green, We nightly dance our heyday guise; And to our fairy king and queen, We chant our moonlight minstrelsies. When larks 'gin sing, Away we fling; And babes new born steal as we go; And elf in bed We leave in stead, And wend us laughing, ho, ho, ho!

From hag-bred Merlin's time, have I Thus nightly revelled to and fro; And for my pranks men call me by The name of Robin Good-fellow. Fiends, ghosts, and sprites, Who haunt the nights, The hags and goblins do me know And beldames old My feats have told, So vale, vale; ho, ho, ho!

TIME'S ALTERATION

WHEN this old cap was new, 'Tis since two hundred year No malice then we knew, But all things plenty were: All friendship now decays (Believe me, this is true); Which was not in those days, When this old cap was new.

The nobles of our land Were much delighted then, To have at their command A crew of lusty men, Which by their coats were known, Of tawny, red, or blue, With crests on their sleeves shewn, When this old cap was new.

Now pride hath banished all, Unto our land's reproach, When he whose means is small, Maintains both horse and coach: Instead of a hundred men, The coach allows but two; This was not thought on then, When this old cap was new.

Good hospitality Was cherished then of many Now poor men starve and die, And are not helped by any: For charity waxeth cold, And love is found in few; This was not in time of old, When this old cap was new.

Where'er you travelled then, You might meet on the way Brave knights and gentlemen, Clad in their country gray; That courteous would appear, And kindly welcome you; No puritans then were, When this old cap was new.

Our ladies in those days In civil habit went; Broad cloth was then worth praise, And gave the best content: French fashions then were scorned; Fond fangles then none knew; Then modesty women adorned, When this old cap was new.

A man might then behold, At Christmas, in each hall, Good fires to curb the cold, And meat for great and small: The neighbours were friendly bidden, And all had welcome true; The poor from the gates were not chidden When this old cap was new.

Black jacks to every man Were filled with wine and beer; No pewter pot nor can In those days did appear: Good cheer in a nobleman's house Was counted a seemly show; We wanted no brawn nor souse, When this old cap was new.

We took not such delight In cups of silver fine; None under the degree of a knight In plate drank beer or wine: Now each mechanical man Hath a cupboard of plate for a show; Which was a rare thing then, When this old cap was new.

Then bribery was unborn, No simony men did use; Christians did usury scorn, Devised among the Jews. The lawyers to be fee'd At that time hardly knew; For man with man agreed, When this old cap was new.

No captain then caroused, Nor spent poor soldiers' pay; They were not so abused As they are at this day: Of seven days they make eight, To keep from them their due; Poor soldiers had their right, When this old cap was new.

Which made them forward still To go, although not prest; And going with good-will, Their fortunes were the best. Our English then in fight Did foreign foes subdue, And forced them all to flight, When this old cap was new.

God save our gracious king, And send him long to live: Lord, mischief on them bring That will not their alms give, But seek to rob the poor Of that which is their due: This was not in time of yore, When this old cap was new.



GEORGE WITHER

SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR

SHALL I, wasting in despair, Die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, Or the flow'ry meads in May, If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be?

Should my heart be griev'd or pin'd 'Cause I see a woman kind? Or a well-disposed nature Joined with a lovely feature? Be she meeker, kinder than Turtle-dove or pelican, If she be not so to me, What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move Me to perish for her love? Or her well-deservings, known, Make me quite forget my own? Be she with that goodness blest Which may gain her name of best, If she be not such to me, What care I how good she be?

'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die? Those that bear a noble mind, Where they want of riches find Think what with them they would do That without them dare to woo; And unless that mind I see, What care I how great she be?

Great, or good, or kind, or fair, I will ne'er the more despair; If she love me, this believe, I will die ere she shall grieve: If she slight me when I woo, I can scorn and let her go; For if she be not for me, What care I for whom she be?

I LOVED A LASS, A FAIR ONE

I LOV'D a lass, a fair one, As fair as e'er was seen; She was indeed a rare one, Another Sheba Queen. But, fool as then I was, I thought she lov'd me too: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo.

Her hair like gold did glister, Each eye was like a star, She did surpass her sister, Which pass'd all others far; She would me honey call, She'd, oh—she'd kiss me too: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo.

Many a merry meeting My love and I have had; She was my only sweeting, She made my heart full glad; The tears stood in her eyes, Like to the morning dew: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo.

Her cheeks were like the cherry, Her skin as white as snow; When she was blythe and merry, She angel-like did show; Her waist exceeding small, The fives did fit her shoe: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo.

In summer time or winter She had her heart's desire; I still did scorn to stint her From sugar, sack, or fire; The world went round about, No cares we ever knew: But now, alas! she's left me, Falero, lero, loo.

To maidens' vows and swearing Henceforth no credit give; You may give them the hearing, But never them believe; They are as false as fair, Unconstant, frail, untrue: For mine, alas! hath left me, Falero, lero, loo.

CHRISTMAS

So now is come our joyfullest part; Let every man be jolly; Each room with ivy-leaves is dressed, And every post with holly. Though some churls at our mirth repine, Round your foreheads garlands twine, Drown sorrow in a cup of wine, And let us all be merry!

Now all our neighbours' chimneys smoke, And Christmas-blocks are burning; Their ovens they with baked meat choke, And all their spits are turning. Without the door let sorrow lie; And, if for cold it hap to die, We'll bury it in a Christmas pie And evermore be merry!

Rank misers now do sparing shun; Their hall of music soundeth; And dogs thence with whole shoulders run; So all things there aboundeth. The country folks themselves advance With crowdy-muttons out of France; And Jack shall pipe, and Jill shall dance, And all the town be merry!

Good farmers in the country nurse The poor that else were undone; Some landlords spend their money worse, On lust and pride in London. There the roysters they do play, Drab and dice their lands away, Which may be ours another day, And therefore let's be merry!

The client now his suit forbears; The prisoner's heart is eased; The debtor drinks away his cares, And for the time is pleased. Though other's purses be more fat, Why should we pine or grieve at that? Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat, And therefore let's be merry!

Hark! now the wags abroad do call Each other forth to rambling; Anon you'll see them in the hall, For nuts and apples scrambling. Hark! how the roofs with laughter sound; Anon they'll think the house goes round, For they the cellar's depth have found, And there they will be merry!

The wenches with their wassail bowls About the streets are singing; The boys are come to catch the owls; The wild mare in is bringing; Our kitchen-boy hath broke his box; And to the dealing of the ox Our honest neighbours come by flocks, And here they will be merry!

Now kings and queens poor sheep-cots have, And mate with everybody; The honest now may play the knave, And wise men play the noddy. Some youths will now a-mumming go, Some others play at Rowland-bo, And twenty other game, boys, mo, Because they will be merry!

Then wherefore, in these merry days, Should we, I pray, be duller? No, let us sing some roundelays To make our mirth the fuller: And, while we thus inspired sing, Let all the streets with echoes ring; Woods, and hills, and everything, Bear witness we are merry!



THOMAS CAREW

ASK ME NO MORE

ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauties orient deep These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more, whither do stray The golden atoms of the day; For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more, whither doth haste The nightingale, when May is past; For in your sweet dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more, where those stars light, That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere.

Ask me no more, if east or west, The phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies.



ROBERT HERRICK

NIGHT-PIECE TO JULIA

HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee!

No Will-o'-the-wisp mislight thee, Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee! But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there is none to affright thee.

Let not the dark thee cumber; What though the moon does slumber? The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number.

Then Julia let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me; And, when I shall meet Thy silvery feet, My soul I'll pour into thee.

THE MAD MAID'S SONG

GOOD-MORROW to the day so fair, Good-morrow, sir, to you; Good-morrow to my own torn hair, Bedabbled all with dew.

Good-morrow to this primrose too; Good-morrow to each maid That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein my love is laid.

Ah, woe is me; woe, woe is me; Alack and well-a-day! For pity, sir, find out that bee Which bore my love away.

I'll seek him in your bonnet brave; I'll seek him in your eyes; Nay, now I think they've made his grave In the bed of strawberries.

I'll seek him there, I know ere this The cold, cold earth doth shake him; But I will go, or send a kiss By you, sir, to awake him.

Pray hurt him not; though he be dead, He knows well who do love him, And who with green turfs rear his head, And who so rudely move him.

He's soft and tender, pray take heed; With bands of cowslips bind him, And bring him home; but 'tis decreed That I shall never find him.

TO BLOSSOMS

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, Why do you fall so fast? Your date is not so past, But you may stay yet here awhile, To blush and gently smile, And go at last.

What! were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, And so to bid good-night? 'Tis pity nature brought ye forth Merely to show your worth, And lose you quite.

But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave: And after they have shown their pride, Like you awhile, they glide Into the grave.

TO DAFFODILS

FAIR daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; As yet the early-rising sun Has not attained his noon: Stay, stay, Until the hast'ning day Has run But to the even-song; And having prayed together, we Will go with you along!

We have short time to stay as you; We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, As you or any thing: We die, As your hours do; and dry Away Like to the summer's rain, Or as the pearls of morning-dew, Ne'er to be found again.

JULIA

SOME asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing did I say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia.

Some asked how pearls did grow, and where, Then spake I to my girl, To part her lips, and show me there The quarelets of pearl.

One asked me where the roses grew, I bade him not go seek; But forthwith bade my Julia shew A bud in either cheek.

TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH OF THEIR TIME

GATHER the rose-buds while ye may, Old Time is still a-flying, And this same flower that smiles to-day, To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, The higher he s a-getting, The sooner will his race be run, And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But, being spent, the worse, and worst Time shall succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time, And while you may, go marry; For, having lost but once your prime, You may for ever tarry.

TWELFTH NIGHT, OR KING AND QUEEN

Now, now the mirth comes, With the cake full of plums, Where bean's the king of the sport here; Beside, we must know, The pea also Must revel as queen in the court here.

Begin then to choose, This night, as ye use, Who shall for the present delight here; Be a king by the lot, And who shall not Be Twelfth-day queen for the night here.

Which known, let us make Joy-sops with the cake; And let not a man then be seen here, Who unurged will not drink, To the base from the brink, A health to the king and the queen here.

Next crown the bowl full With gentle lamb's-wool; Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, With store of ale, too; And thus ye must do To make the wassail a swinger.

Give them to the king And queen wassailing; And though with ale ye be wet here; Yet part ye from hence, As free from offence, As when ye innocent met here.

THE BAG OF THE BEE

ABOUT the sweet bag of a bee, Two Cupids fell at odds; And whose the pretty prize should be, They vowed to ask the gods.

Which Venus hearing, thither came, And for their boldness stript them; And taking thence from each his flame, With rods of myrtle whipt them.

Which done, to still their wanton cries, When quiet grown she'ad seen them, She kissed and wiped their dove-like eyes And gave the bag between them.

A THANKSGIVING FOR HIS HOUSE

LORD, Thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell; A little house, whose humble roof Is weatherproof; Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry. Where Thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my fate, Both void of state; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by the poor, Who hither come, and freely get Good words or meat. Like as my parlour, so my hall, And kitchen small; A little buttery, and therein A little bin, Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unchipt, unflead. Some brittle sticks of thorn or brier Make me a fire, Close by whose living coal I sit, And glow like it. Lord, I confess, too, when I dine The pulse is Thine, And all those other bits that be There placed by Thee. The worts, the purslain, and the mess Of water-cress, Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent: And my content Makes those, and my beloved beet, To be more sweet. 'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth; And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, Spiced to the brink. Lord,'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand That sows my land: All this, and better, dost Thou send Me for this end: That I should render for my part A thankful heart, Which, fired with incense, I resign As wholly Thine: But the acceptance—that must be, O Lord, by Thee.

TO PRIMROSES, FILLED WITH MORNING DEW

WHY do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears Speak grief in you, Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teemed her refreshing dew? Alas! you have not known that shower That mars a flower, Nor felt the unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worn with years, Or warped as we, Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, Speaking by tears before ye have a tongue.

Speak, whimp'ring younglings, and make known The reason why Ye droop and weep; Is it for want of sleep, Or childish lullaby? Or that ye have not seen as yet The violet? Or brought a kiss From that sweet heart to this? No, no; this sorrow shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture read— 'That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.'

DELIGHT IN DISORDER

A SWEET disorder in the dress [A happy kind of carelessness;] A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction;

An erring lace, which here and there Enthralls the crimson stomacher; A cuff neglectful, and thereby Ribands that flow confusedly; A winning wave, deserving note In the tempestuous petticoat; A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a wild civility; Do more bewitch me, than when art Is too precise in every part.

CHERRY RIPE

CHERRY ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, Full and fair ones—come and buy; If so be you ask me where They do grow?—I answer: There, Where my Julia's lips do smile— There's the land, or cherry-isle; Whose plantations fully show All the year where cherries grow.



GEORGE HERBERT

VIRTUE

SWEET day! so cool, so calm, so bright The bridal of the earth and sky; The dews shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die.

Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye; Thy root is ever in its grave; And thou must die.

Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses; A box where sweets compacted lie; Thy music shows ye have your closes; And all must die.

Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber never gives; But, though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.



ANONYMOUS

THE SPANISH ARMADO

SOME years of late, in eighty-eight, As I do well remember, It was, some say, the middle of May, And some say in September, And some say in September.

The Spanish train launch'd forth amain, With many a fine bravado, Their (as they thought, but it prov'd not) Invincible Armado, Invincible Armado.

There was a man that dwelt in Spain Who shot well with a gun a, Don Pedro hight, as black a wight As the Knight of the Sun a, As the Knight of the Sun a.

King Philip made him Admiral, And bid him not to stay a, But to destroy both man and boy And so to come away a, And so to come away a.

Their navy was well victualled With bisket, pease, and bacon, They brought two ships, well fraught with whips, But I think they were mistaken, But I think they were mistaken.

Their men were young, munition strong, And to do us more harm a, They thought it meet to joyn their fleet All with the Prince of Parma, All with the Prince of Parma.

They coasted round about our land, And so came in by Dover: But we had men set on 'em then, And threw the rascals over, And threw the rascals over.

The Queen was then at Tilbury, What could we more desire a? Sir Francis Drake for her sweet sake Did set them all on fire a, Did set them all on fire a.

Then straight they fled by sea and land, That one man kill'd threescore a, And had not they all run away, In truth he had kill'd more a, In truth he had kill'd more a.

Then let them neither bray nor boast, But if they come again a, Let them take heed they do not speed As they did you know when a, As they did you know when a.



SIR JOHN SUCKLING

A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING

I TELL thee, Dick, where I have been; Where I the rarest things have seen; Oh, things without compare! Such sights again can not be found In any place on English ground, Be it at wake or faer.

At Charing Cross, hard by the way Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, There is a house with stairs; And there did I see coming down Such folks as are not in our town; Vorty at least, in pairs.

Amongst the rest one pest'lent fine (His beard no bigger tho' than thine) Walk'd on before the rest; Our landlord looks like nothing to him; The King (God bless him),'twould undo him, Should he go still so drest.

At Course-a-park, without all doubt, He should have first been taken out By all the maids i' the town: Though lusty Roger there had been, Or little George upon the green, Or Vincent of the crown.

But wot you what? The youth was going To make an end of all his wooing: The parson for him staid: Yet by his leave, for all his haste, He did not so much wish all past, Perchance as did the maid.

The maid (and thereby hangs a tale) For such a maid no Whitson-ale Could ever yet produce; No grape that's kindly ripe could be So round, so plump, so soft as she, Nor half so full of juyce.

Her finger was so small, the ring Would not stay on which they did bring; It was too wide a peck: And, to say truth (for out it must), It look'd like the great collar (just) About our young colt's neck.

Her feet beneath her petticoat, Like little mice stole in and out, As if they fear'd the light: But oh! she dances such a way; No sun upon an Easter day Is half as fine a sight.

Her cheeks so rare, a white was on, No daisie make comparison (Who sees them is undone); For streaks of red were mingled there, Such as are on a Kath'rine pear, The side that's next the sun.

Her lips were red; and one was thin, Compared to what was next her chin (Some bee had stung it newly); But, Dick, her eyes so guard her face, I durst no more upon them gaze, Than on a sun in July.

Her mouth so small, when she does speak, Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break That they might passage get; But she so handled still the matter, They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit.

Passion, oh me! how I run on! There's that that would be thought upon, I trow, beside the bride. The business of the kitchen's great; For it is fit that men should eat, Nor was it there denied.

Just in the nick the cook knocked thrice, And all the waiters in a trice His summons did obey; Each serving man, with dish in hand, March'd boldly up like our train'd band, Presented, and away.

When all the meat was on the table, What man of knife, or teeth, was able To stay to be entreated? And this the very reason was, Before the parson could say grace The company was seated.

Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; Healths first go round, and then the house, The bride's came thick and thick; And when 'twas named another's health, Perhaps he made it her's by stealth, (And who could help it, Dick?)

O' th' sudden up they rise and dance; Then sit again, and sigh, and glance: Then dance again, and kiss: Thus several ways the time did pass, Till ev'ry woman wish'd her place, And ev'ry man wish'd his.

By this time all were stolen aside To counsel and undress the bride; But that he must not know: But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her mind, And did not mean to stay behind Above an hour or so.

WHY SO PALE AND WAN?

WHY so pale and wan, fond lover? Prithee, why so pale? Will, when looking well can't move her, Looking ill prevail? Prithee, why so pale?

Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute? Will, when speaking well can't win her, Saying nothing do't? Prithee, why so mute?

Quit, quit, for shame, this will not move, This cannot take her; If of herself she will not love, Nothing can make her. The devil take her!



EDMUND WALLER

GO, LOVELY ROSE!

Go, lovely Rose! Tell her, that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired: Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.

Then die! that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee: How small a part of time they share That are so wondrous sweet and fair!



ANONYMOUS

THE FROG HE WOULD A-WOOING RIDE

IT was the frog in the well, Humble dum, humble dum, And the merry mouse in the mill, Tweedle, tweedle, twino.

The frog would a-wooing ride, Humble dum, humble dum, Sword and buckler by his side, Tweedle, tweedle, twino.

When upon his high horse set, Humble dum, humble dum, His boots they shone as black as jet, Tweedle, tweedle, twino.

When he came to the merry mill pin, Lady Mouse beene you within? Then came out the dusty mouse, I am lady of this house;

Hast thou any mind of me? I have e'en great mind of thee. Who shall this marriage make? Our lord, which is the rat.

What shall we have to our supper? Three beans in a pound of butter. But, when supper they were at, The frog, the mouse, and e'en the rat,

Then came in Tib, our cat, And caught the mouse e'en by the back, Then did they separate The frog leapt on the floor so flat;

Then came in Dick, our drake, And drew the frog e'en to the lake, The rat he ran up the wall, And so the company parted all.



RICHARD LOVELACE

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON

WHEN love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at my grates; When I lie tangled in her hair, And fetter'd to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round, With no allaying Thames, Our careless heads with roses bound, Our hearts with loyal flames; When thirsty grief in wine we steep, When healths and draughts are free,_— Fishes that tipple in the deep Know no such liberty.

When linnet-like confined, I With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty, And glories of my king: When I shall voice aloud how good He is, how great should be,— Enlarged winds that curl the flood Know no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for a hermitage: If I have freedom in my love, And in my soul am free,— Angels alone that soar above Enjoy such liberty.

TO LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS

TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind,— That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith embrace A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such As you, too, shall adore; I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honour more.



MARTIN PARKER

YE GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND

YE gentlemen of England That live at home at ease, Ah! little do ye think upon The dangers of the seas. Give ear unto the mariners, And they will plainly show All the cares and the fears When the stormy winds do blow. When the stormy winds do blow.

If enemies oppose us When England is at war With any foreign nation, We fear not wound or scar; Our roaring guns shall teach 'em Our valour for to know, Whilst they reel on the keel, And the stormy winds do blow. And the stormy winds do blow.

Then courage, all brave mariners, And never be dismay'd; While we have bold adventurers, We ne'er shall want a trade: Our merchants will employ us To fetch them wealth, we know; Then be bold—work for gold, When the stormy winds do blow. When the stormy winds do blow.



ANONYMOUS

THE FAIRY QUEEN

COME follow, follow me, You, fairy elves that be: Which circle on the greene, Come follow Mab your queene. Hand in hand let's dance around, For this place is fairye ground.

When mortals are at rest, And snoring in their nest; Unheard, and unespy'd, Through key-holes we do glide; Over tables, stools, and shelves, We trip it with our fairy elves.

And, if the house be foul With platter, dish, or bowl, Upstairs we nimbly creep, And find the sluts asleep; There we pinch their armes and thighes; None escapes, nor none espies.

But if the house be swept, And from uncleanness kept, We praise the houshold maid, And duely she is paid: For we use before we goe To drop a tester in her shoe.

Upon a mushroome's head Our table-cloth we spread; A grain of rye, or wheat, Is manchet, which we eat; Pearly drops of dew we drink In acorn cups fill'd to the brink.

The brains of nightingales, With unctuous fat of snailes, Between two cockles stew'd, Is meat that's easily chew'd; Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice, Do make a dish that's wondrous nice. The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, Serve for our minstrelsie; Grace said, we dance a while, And so the time beguile: And if the moon doth hide her head, The gloe-worm lights us home to bed.

On tops of dewie grasse So nimbly do we passe; The young and tender stalk Ne'er bends when we do walk: Yet in the morning may be seen Where we the night before have been.



JOHN CHALKHILL

THE PRAISE OF A COUNTRYMAN'S LIFE

OH, the sweet contentment The countryman doth find, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; That quiet contemplation Possesseth all my mind: Then care away, and wend along with me.

For courts are full of flattery, As hath too oft been tried, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; The city full of wantonness, And both are full of pride; Then care away, and wend along with me.

But, oh! the honest countryman Speaks truly from his heart, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; His pride is in his tillage, His horses and his cart: Then care away, and wend along with me.

Our clothing is good sheep-skins, Grey russet for our wives, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; 'Tis warmth and not gay clothing That doth prolong our lives: Then care away, and wend along with me.

The ploughman, though he labour hard, Yet on the holy day, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; No emperor so merrily Does pass his time away: Then care away, and wend along with me.

To recompense our tillage The heavens afford us showers, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; And for our sweet refreshments The earth affords us bowers; Then care away, and wend along with me.

The cuckoo and the nightingale Full merrily do sing, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; And with their pleasant roundelays Bid welcome to the spring: Then care away, and wend along with me.

This is not half the happiness The countryman enjoys, High trolollie, lollie, lol; high trolollie, lee; Though others think they have as much, Yet he that says so lies: Then care away, and wend along with me.



ANONYMOUS

HERE'S A HEALTH

HERE'S a health unto His Majesty, With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la! Confusion to his enemies, With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la! And he that will not drink his health, I wish him neither wit nor wealth, Nor yet a rope to hang himself, With a fa, la, la, la, la, la, la!



JOHN GAY

BLACK-EYED SUSAN

ALL in the Downs the fleet was moor'd, The streamers waving in the wind, When black-eyed Susan came on board, Oh, where shall I my true-love find? Tell me, ye jovial sailors, tell me true, Does my sweet William sail among your crew?'

William, who high upon the yard Rock'd by the billows to and fro, Soon as the well-known voice he heard, He sigh'd and cast his eyes below; The cord flies swiftly through his glowing hands, And quick as lightning on the deck he stands.

'O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, My vows shall always true remain, Let me kiss off that falling tear,— We only part to meet again; Change as ye list, ye winds, my heart shall be The faithful compass that still points to thee.

Believe not what the landsmen say, Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; They tell thee sailors, when away, In every port a mistress find; Yes, yes, believe them when they tell you so, For thou art present wheresoe'er I go.'

The boatswain gave the dreadful word, The sails their swelling bosom spread; No longer she must stay on board, They kiss'd, she sigh'd, he hung his head: Her lessening boat unwilling rows to land, 'Adieu!' she cried, and wav'd her lily hand.



ANONYMOUS

ANNIE LAURIE

MAXWELLTON braes are bonnie, Where early fa's the dew, And 'twas there that Annie Laurie Gied me her promise true; Gied me her promise true, Which ne'er forgot shall be, And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I'd lay me doon and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw-flake, Her neck is like the swan, Her face it is the fairest That e'er the sun shone on; That e'er the sun shone on, And dark blue is her e'e; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doon and dee.

Like dew on the gowan lying, Is the fa' of her fairy feet; And like winds in summer sighing, Her voice is low and sweet; Her voice is low and sweet, And she's a' the world to me; And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me doon and dee.



JAMES THOMSON

RULE BRITANNIA

WHEN Britain first at Heaven's command Arose from out the azure main, This was the charter of her land, And guardian angels sang the strain:

Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never shall be slaves!

The nations not so blest as thee Must in their turn to tyrants fall, Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free— The dread and envy of them all!

Still more majestic shalt thou rise, More dreadful from each foreign stroke; As the last blast which tears the skies Serves but to root thy native oak.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame; All their attempts to bend thee down Will but arouse thy generous flame, And work their woe and thy renown.

To thee belongs the rural reign; Thy cities shall with commerce shine; All thine shall be the subject main, And every shore it circles thine.

The Muses, still with Freedom found, Shall to thy happy coast repair; Blest Isle, with matchless beauty crown'd, And manly hearts to guard the fair:—

Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves! Britons never shall be slaves!



ANONYMOUS

WALY, WALY, BUT LOVE BE BONNY

O WALY, waly up the bank, And waly, waly down the brae, And waly, waly yon burn-side, Where I and my love wont to gae. I lean'd my back unto an aik, And thought it was a trusty tree, But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true love did lightly me.

O waly, waly, but love is bonny, A little time while it is new, But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld, And fades away like morning dew. Oh! wherefore should I busk my head? Or wherefore should I kame my hair? For my true love has me forsook, And says he'll never love me mair.

Now Arthur Seat shall be my bed, The sheets shall ne'er be fil'd by me, Saint Anton's well shall be my drink, Since my true love's forsaken me. Martinmas wind, when wilt thou blaw, And shake the green leaves off the tree? Oh, gentle death! when wilt thou come? For of my life I am weary.

'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blowing snow's inclemency; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town, We were a comely sight to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysel' in cramasie.

But had I wist before I kiss'd That love had been so ill to win, I'd lock'd my heart in a case of gold, And pinn'd it with a silver pin. And oh! if my young babe were born, And set upon the nurse's knee, And I mysel' were dead and gane, Wi' the green grass growin' over me!



HENRY CAREY

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY

OF all the girls that are so smart, There's none like pretty Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley. There's ne'er a lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage nets, And through the streets doth cry them; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy them: But sure such folk can have no part In such a girl as Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

When she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely; My master comes, like any Turk, And bangs me most severely: But let him bang, long as he will, I'll bear it all for Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

Of all the days are in the week, I dearly love but one day, And that's the day that comes betwixt A Saturday and Monday; For then I'm dress'd, in all my best, To walk abroad with Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

My master carries me to church, And often I am blamed, Because I leave him in the lurch, Soon as the text is named: I leave the church in sermon time, And slink away to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again, O then I shall have money; I'll hoard it up and, box and all, I'll give unto my honey: I would it were ten thousand pounds, I'd give it all to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley.

My master and the neighbours all, Make game of me and Sally, And but for she I'd better be A slave, and row a galley: But when my seven long years are out, O then I'll marry Sally, And then how happily we'll live— But not in our alley.



WILLIAM HAMILTON

THE BRAES OF YARROW

BUSK ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride? Where gat ye that winsome marrow? I gat her where I daurna weel be seen, Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow; Nor let thy heart lament to leive Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride? Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? And why daur ye nae mair weel be seen Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow?

Lang mann she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep, Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow, And lang maun I nae mair weel be seen Pu'ing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

For she has tint her luver, luver dear, Her luver dear, the cause of sorrow; And I hae slain the comliest swain That eir pu'd birks on the Braes of Yarrow.

Why rins thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, reid? Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow? And why yon melancholious weids Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow?

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude? What's yonder floats? O dule and sorrow! O 'tis he the comely swain I slew Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow.

Wash, O wash his wounds, his wounds in tears, His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow; And wrap his limbs in mourning weids, And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow.

Then build, then build, ye sisters, sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow; And weep around in waeful wise His hapless fate on the Braes of Yarrow!

Curse ye, curse ye, his useless, useless shield, My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, The fatal spear that pierc'd his breast, His comely breast, on the Braes of Yarrow.

Did I not warn thee, not to, not to luve? And warn from fight? but to my sorrow Too rashly bauld a stronger arm Thou mett'st, and fell on the Braes of Yarrow.

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows the grass, Yellow on Yarrow's bank the gowan; Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowin'!

Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed, As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, As sweet smells on its braes the birk, The apple frae its rocks as mellow.

Fair was thy luve, fair fair indeed thy luve, In flow'ry bands thou didst him fetter; Tho' he was fair, and weel beluv'd again Than me he never luv'd thee better.

Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, Busk ye, and luve me on the banks of Tweed, And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow.

How can I busk a bonny bonny bride? How can I busk a winsome marrow? How luve him on the banks of Tweed, That slew my luve on the Braes of Yarrow?

O Yarrow fields, may never never rain, Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, For there was basely slain my luve, My luve, as he had not been a lover.

The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, His purple vest—'twas my awn sewing: Ah! wretched me! I little, little kenn'd He was in these to meet his ruin.

The boy took out his milk-white, milk-white steed, Unheedful of my dule and sorrow: But ere the toofall of the night He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

Much I rejoyc'd that waeful waeful day; I sang, my voice the woods returning: But lang ere night the spear was flown, That slew my luve, and left me mourning.

What can my barbarous barbarous father do, But with his cruel rage pursue me? My luver's blood is on thy spear How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me?

My happy sisters may be, may be proud With cruel and ungentle scoffin', May bid me seek on Yarrow Braes My luver nailed in his coffin.

My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, And strive with threatning words to muve me: My luver's blood is on thy spear How canst thou ever bid me luve thee?

Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of luve, With bridal sheets my body cover, Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door! Let in the expected husband-lover.

But who the expected husband husband is? His hands, methinks, are bath'd in slaughter. Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after?

Pale as he is, here lay him, lay him down, O lay his cold head on my pillow! Take aff, take aff these bridal weids, And crown my careful head with willow.

Pale tho' thou art, yet best, yet best beluv'd, O could my warmth to life restore thee! Ye'd lye all night between my breasts— No youth lay ever there before thee!

Pale, pale indeed, O luvely luvely youth, Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, And lye all night between my breists, No youth shall ever lye there after.

A. Return, return, O mournful, mournful bride Return and dry thy useless sorrow! Thy luver heeds none of thy sighs, He lyes a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.



WILLIAM SHENSTONE

THE SHEPHERD'S HOME

MY banks they are furnished with bees, Whose murmur invites one to sleep; My grottoes are shaded with trees, And my hills are white over with sheep. I seldom have met with a loss, Such health do my fountains bestow; My fountains all bordered with moss, Where the harebells and violets blow.

Not a pine in the grove is there seen, But with tendrils of woodbine is bound; Not a beech's more beautiful green, But a sweet-briar entwines it around. Not my fields in the prime of the year, More charms than my cattle unfold; Not a brook that is limpid and clear, But it glitters with fishes of gold.

I have found out a gift for my fair, I have found where the wood-pigeons breed; But let me such plunder forbear, She will say 'twas a barbarous deed; For he ne'er could be true, she averred, Who would rob a poor bird of its young; And I loved her the more when I heard Such tenderness fall from her tongue.



WILLIAM COWPER

THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN

JOHN GILPIN was a citizen Of credit and renown, A train-band captain eke was he Of famous London town.

John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear: 'Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen.

'To-morrow is our wedding-day, And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton All in a chaise and pair.

'My sister, and my sister's child, Myself and children three, Will fill the chaise; so you must ride On horseback after we.'

He soon replied: 'I do admire Of womankind but one, And you are she, my dearest dear; Therefore, it shall be done.

'I am a linen-draper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend the calender Will lend his horse to go.'

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin: 'That's well said; And for that wine is dear, We will be furnished with our own, Which is both bright and clear.'

John Gilpin kissed his loving wife; O'erjoyed was he to find That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind.

The morning came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allowed To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud.

So three doors off the chaise was stayed, Where they did all get in; Six precious souls, and all agog To dash through thick and thin.

Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, Were never folk so glad; The stones did rattle underneath, As if Cheapside were mad.

John Gilpin at his horse's side Seized fast the flowing mane, And up he got, in haste to ride, But soon came down again;

For saddle-tree scarce reached had he, His journey to begin, When, turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in.

So down he came; for loss of time, Although it grieved him sore, Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more.

'Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty screaming came down stairs: The wine is left behind!'

'Good lack!' quoth he—'et bring it me, My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword When I do exercise.'

Now Mrs. Gilpin—careful soul!— Had two stone-bottles found, To hold the liquor that she loved, And keep it safe and sound.

Each bottle had a curling ear, Through which the belt he drew, And hung a bottle on each side, To make his balance true.

Then over all, that he might be Equipped from top to toe, His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, He manfully did throw. Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones With caution and good heed.

But finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which galled him in his seat.

So, 'Fair and softly,' John he cried, But John he cried in vain; That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb and rein.

So stooping down, as needs he must Who cannot sit upright, He grasped the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might.

His horse, which never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more.

Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; Away went hat and wig; He little dreamt when he set out Of running such a rig.

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Like streamer long and gay, Till, loop and button failing both, At last it flew away. Then might all people well discern The bottles he had slung; A bottle swinging at each side, As hath been said or sung.

The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all; And every soul cried out: 'Well done!' As loud as he could bawl.

Away went Gilpin—who but he? His fame soon spread around; He carries weight! he rides a race! 'Tis for a thousand pound!

And still, as fast as he drew near, 'Twas wonderful to view How in a trice the turnpike-men Their gates wide open threw.

And now, as he went bowing down His reeking head full low, The bottles twain behind his back Were shattered at a blow.

Down ran the wine into the road, Most piteous to be seen, Which made his horse's flanks to smoke As they had basted been.

But still he seemed to carry weight, With leathern girdle braced; For all might see the bottle necks Still dangling at his waist.

Thus all through merry Islington These gambols he did play, Until he came unto the Wash Of Edmonton so gay;

And there he threw the wash about On both sides of the way, Just like unto a trundling mop, Or a wild goose at play.

At Edmonton his loving wife From the balcony spied Her tender husband, wondering much To see how he did ride.

'Stop, stop, John Gilpin!—Here's the house'— They all aloud did cry; The dinner waits, and we are tired! Said Gilpin: So am I!'

But yet his horse was not a whit Inclined to tarry there; For why? his owner had a house Full ten miles off, at Ware.

So like an arrow swift he flew, Shot by an archer strong; So did he fly—which brings me to The middle of my song.

Away went Gilpin out of breath, And sore against his will, Till at his friend the calender's His horse at last stood still.

The calender, amazed to see His neighbour in such trim, Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, And thus accosted him:

'What news? what news? your tidings tell— Tell me you must and shall Say why bareheaded you are come, Or why you come at all?'

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, And loved a timely joke; And thus unto the calendar In merry guise he spoke:

'I came because your horse would come; And, if I well forebode, My hat and wig will soon be here— They are upon the road.'

The calender, right glad to find His friend in merry pin, Returned him not a single word, But to the house went in;

Whence straight he came with hat and wig; A wig that flowed behind, A hat not much the worse for wear, Each comely in its kind.

He held them up, and in his turn Thus showed his ready wit: 'My head is twice as big as yours, They therefore needs must fit.

But let me scrape the dirt away That hangs upon your face: And stop and eat, for well you may Be in a hungry case.'

Said John: 'It is my wedding-day, And all the world would stare If wife should dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Ware.'

So turning to his horse, he said: 'I am in haste to dine; 'Twas for your pleasure you came here, You shall go back for mine.'

Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast! For which he paid full dear; For, while he spake, a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear;

Whereat his horse did snort, as he Had heard a lion roar, And galloped off with all his might, As he had done before.

Away went Gilpin, and away Went Gilpin's hat and wig; He lost them sooner than at first; For why?—they were too big.

Now Mrs. Gilpin, when she saw Her husband posting down Into the country far away, She pulled out half-a-crown;

And thus unto the youth she said That drove them to the Bell: 'This shall be yours when you bring back My husband safe and well.'

The youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back amain; Whom in a trice he tried to stop, By catching at his rein;

But not performing what he meant, And gladly would have done, The frighted steed he frighted more, And made him faster run.

Away went Gilpin, and away Went post-boy at his heels, The post-boy's horse right glad to miss The lumbering of the wheels.

Six gentlemen upon the road Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With post-boy scampering in the rear, They raised the hue and cry:

Stop thief! stop thief!—a highwayman Not one of them was mute; And all and each that passed that way Did join in the pursuit.

And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space; The tollmen thinking as before That Gilpin rode a race. And so he did, and won it too, For he got first to town; Nor stopped till where he had got up He did again get down.

Now let us sing, long live the king, And Gilpin, long live he; And, when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see!

THE' ROYAL GEORGE'

TOLL for the Brave! The brave that are no more! All sunk beneath the wave Fast by their native shore!

Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was tried, Had made the vessel heel And laid her on her side.

A land-breeze shook the shrouds, And she was overset; Down went the Royal George With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave! Brave Kempenfelt is gone; His last sea-fight is fought, His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle; No tempest gave the shock, She sprang no fatal leak, She ran upon no rock.

His sword was in its sheath, His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes.

Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full charged with England's thunders And plough the distant main:

But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; And he and his eight hundred Shall plough the wave no more.

BOADICEA

WHEN the British warrior queen, Bleeding from the Roman rods, Sought, with an indignant mien, Counsel of her country's gods,

Sage beneath the spreading oak Sat the Druid, hoary chief; Every burning word he spoke Full of rage, and full of grief.

'Princess, if our aged eyes Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 'Tis because resentment ties All the terrors of our tongues.

'Rome shall perish—write that word In the blood that she has spilt; Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd, Deep in ruin as in guilt.

'Rome, for empire far renown'd, Tramples on a thousand states; Soon her pride shall kiss the ground— Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!

'Other Romans shall arise, Heedless of a soldier's name; Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, Harmony the path to fame.

'Then the progeny that springs From the forests of our land, Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, Shall a wider world command.

'Regions Caesar never knew Thy posterity shall sway; Where his eagles never flew, None invincible as they.'

Such the bard's prophetic words, Pregnant with celestial fire, Bending as he swept the chords Of his sweet but awful lyre.

She, with all a monarch's pride, Felt them in her bosom glow; Rush'd to battle, fought, and died; Dying hurl'd them at the foe.

'Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Heaven awards the vengeance due Empire is on us bestow'd, Shame and ruin wait for you.'



DAVID GARRICK

HEARTS OF OAK

Come, cheer up, my lads, 'tis to glory we steer, To add something more to this wonderful year, To honour we call you not press you like slaves, For who are so free as the sons of the waves? Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, We always are ready, Steady, boys, steady, We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay, They never see us but they wish us away; If they run, why, we follow, and run them ashore, For if they won't fight us, we cannot do more. Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, We always are ready, Steady, boys, steady, We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.

Still Britain shall triumph, her ships plough the sea, Her standard be justice, her watchword 'Be free'; Then, cheer up, my lads, with one heart let us sing Our soldiers, our sailors, our statesmen, our king. Hearts of oak are our ships, hearts of oak are our men, We always are ready, Steady, boys, steady, We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again.



OLIVER GOLDSMITH

AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A MAD DOG

GOOD people all, of every sort, Give ear unto my song; And if you find it wondrous short, It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man, Of whom the world might say, That still a godly race he ran Whene'er he went to pray.

A kind and gentle heart he had, To comfort friends and foes; The naked every day he clad, When he put on his clothes.

And in that town a dog was found, As many dogs there be, Both mongrel, puppy, whelp, and hound, And curs of low degree.

This dog and man at first were friends; But when a pique began, The dog, to gain his private ends, Went mad, and bit the man.

Around from all the neighbouring streets The wondering neighbours ran, And swore the dog had lost his wits, To bite so good a man.

The wound it seem'd both sore and sad To every Christian eye: And while they swore the dog was mad, They swore the man would die.

But soon a wonder came to light, That show'd the rogues they lied, The man recover'd of the bite, The dog it was that died.

EDWIN AND ANGELINA

'TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, And guide my lonely way, To where yon taper cheers the vale With hospitable ray.

'For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds immeasurably spread, Seem lengthening as I go.'

'Forbear, my son,' the hermit cries, 'To tempt the dangerous gloom; For yonder phantom only flies To lure thee to thy doom.

'Here, to the houseless child of want, My door is open still: And though my portion is but scant, I give it with goodwill.

'Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy couch and frugal fare, My blessing and repose.

'No flocks that range the valley free, To slaughter I condemn; Taught by that power that pities me, I learn to pity them.

But from the mountain's grassy side, A guiltless feast I bring; A script, with herbs and fruits supplied, And water from the spring.

Then, Pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; All earth-born cares are wrong: Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long.'

Soft as the dew from heaven descends, His gentle accents fell; The modest stranger lowly bends, And follows to the cell.

Far in a wilderness obscure, The lonely mansion lay; A refuge to the neighbouring poor, And strangers led astray.

No stores beneath its humble thatch Required a master's care; The wicket, opening with a latch, Received the harmless pair.

And now, when busy crowds retire, To take their evening rest, The hermit trimmed his little fire, And cheered his pensive guest;

And spread his vegetable store, And gaily pressed and smiled; And, skilled in legendary lore, The lingering hours beguiled.

Around, in sympathetic mirth, Its tricks the kitten tries; The cricket chirrups in the hearth, The crackling fagot flies.

But nothing could a charm impart, To soothe the stranger's woe; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow.

His rising cares the hermit spied, With answering care opprest: 'And whence, unhappy youth,' he cried, 'The sorrows of thy breast?

'From better habitations spurned, Reluctant dost thou rove? Or grieve for friendship unreturned, Or unregarded love?

'Alas! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; And those who prize the paltry things More trifling still than they.

'And what is friendship but a name: A charm that lulls to sleep! A shade that follows wealth or fame, And leaves the wretch to weep!

'And love is still an emptier sound, The modern fair-one's jest; On earth unseen, or only found To warm the turtle's nest.

'For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, And spurn the sex,' he said: But while he spoke, a rising blush His love-lorn guest betrayed.

Surprised he sees new beauties rise, Swift mantling to the view, Like colours o'er the morning skies, As bright, as transient too.

The bashful look, the rising breast, Alternate spread alarms; The lovely stranger stands confest A maid in all her charms.

'And ah! forgive a stranger rude, A wretch forlorn,' she cried, Whose feet unhallowed thus intrude Where heaven and you reside.

'But let a maid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray: Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way.

'My father lived beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he; And all his wealth was marked as mine He had but only me.

'To win me from his tender arms, Unnumbered suitors came; Who praised me for imputed charms, And felt, or feigned, a flame.

Each hour a mercenary crowd With richest proffers strove; Amongst the rest young Edwin bowed, But never talked of love.

'In humblest, simplest habit clad, No wealth nor power had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had; But these were all to me.

'The blossom opening to the day, The dews of heaven refined, Could nought of purity display, To emulate his mind.

'The dew, the blossoms of the tree, With charms inconstant shine; Their charms were his; but, woe to me, Their constancy was mine.

'For still I tried each fickle art, Importunate and vain; And while his passion touched my heart, I triumphed in his pain.

'Till quite dejected with my scorn, He left me to my pride; And sought a solitude forlorn, In secret, where he died!

'But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, And well my life shall pay: I'll seek the solitude he sought, And stretch me where he lay.

'And there, forlorn, despairing, hid, I'll lay me down and die: 'Twas so for me that Edwin did, And so for him will I.'

Forbid it, Heaven!' the hermit cried, And clasped her to his breast: The wondering fair one turned to chide 'Twas Edwin's self that prest!

'Turn, Angelina, ever dear, My charmer, turn to see Thy own, thy long-lost Edwin here, Restored to love and thee.

Thus let me hold thee to my heart, And every care resign; And shall we never, never part, My life—my all that's mine?

'No, never from this hour to part, We'll live and love so true; The sigh that rends thy constant heart, Shall break thy Edwin's too.'



LADY ANNE BARNARD

AULD ROBIN GRAY

WHEN the sheep are in the fauld, when the kye's come hame, And a' the weary warld to rest are gane, The waes o' my heart fa' in showers frae my e'e, Unkent by my gudeman, wha sleeps sound by me.

Young Jamie lo'ed me weel, and sought me for his bride, But saving ae crown-piece he had naething beside; To make the crown a pound my Jamie gaed to sea, And the crown and the pound—they were baith for me.

He hadna been gane a twelvemonth and a day, When my father brake his arm and the cow was stown away; My mither she fell sick—my Jamie was at sea, And Auld Robin Gray came a courting me.

My father couldna work—my mither couldna spin— I toiled day and night, but their bread I couldna win; Auld Rob maintained them baith, and, wi' tears in his e'e, Said: 'Jeanie, O for their sakes, will ye no marry me?'

My heart it said na, and I looked for Jamie back, But hard blew the winds, and his ship was a wrack, His ship was a wrack—why didna Jamie die, Or why am I spared to cry wae is me?

My father urged me sair—my mither didna speak, But she looked in my face till my heart was like to break; They gied him my hand—my heart was in the sea— And so Robin Gray he was gudeman to me.

I hadna been his wife a week but only four, When, mournfu' as I sat on the stane at my door, I saw my Jamie's ghaist, for I couldna think it he Till he said: 'I'm come hame, love, to marry thee!'

Oh, sair sair did we greet, and mickle say of a', I gied him ae kiss, and bade him gang awa'— I wish that I were dead, but I'm na like to die, For, though my heart is broken, I'm but young, wae is me!

I gang like a ghaist, and I carena much to spin, I darena think o' Jamie, for that wad be a sin, But I'll do my best a gude wife to be, For, oh! Robin Gray, he is kind to me.



ALEXANDER ROSS

WOO'D, AND MARRIED, AND A'.

THE bride cam' out o' the byre, And, oh, as she dighted her cheeks: 'Sirs, I'm to be married the night, And have neither blankets nor sheets;

Have neither blankets nor sheets, Nor scarce a coverlet too; The bride that has a' thing to borrow, Has e'en right muckle ado.' Woo'd, and married, and a', Married, and woo'd, and a'! And was she nae very weel off, That was woo'd, and married, and a'?