T H E H A R V A R D C L A S S I C S

The Five-Foot Shelf of Books

M n . V V I L C I A M

S 1 I .A. K- li- S 1̂ -A. 1̂ . t/ S C O M E D I E S , H I S T O R I C S , & T R A G E D 1 E S.

Pulliihid accorv

LO 0 Priqtedty like laggard, aod Ed.Blount. 1 <5i}-

Facsimile of the title-page of the First Folio Shakespeare, dated 1623 From the original in the New York Public Library, New York

T H E H A R V A R D C L A S S I C S

EDITED BY CHARLES W. ELIOT, LL.D.

English Poetry I N T H R E E V O L U M E S

V O L U M E I

From Chaucer to Gray

W//A Introductions and Notes

Volume 4 0

P . F . Col l ier & Son Corporation N E W Y O R K

Copyright, 1 9 1 0 B Y P . F . C O L L I E R & S O N

M A N U F A C T U R E D I N U . S . A .

C O N T E N T S

G E O F F R E Y CHAUCER PAGE

T H E PROLOGUE TO THE CANTERBURY T A L E S n

T H E N U N ' S PRIEST'S T A L E 34

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

T H E DOUGLAS TRAGEDY 5 1

T H E T W A SISTERS 54 EDWARD 5 6 BABYLON: OR, T H E B O N N I E B A N K S O FORDIE 58 H I N D H O R N 59 LORD THOMAS AND F A I R A N N E T 61 L O V E GREGOR 65 B O N N Y BARBARA A L L A N 68 T H E G A Y G O S S - H A W K 69 T H E T H R E E RAVENS 73 T H E T W A CORBIES 74 S I R PATRICK S P E N C E 74 THOMAS R Y M E R AND T H E Q U E E N OF E L F L A N D 7 6 S W E E T W I L L I A M ' S G H O S T 78 T H E W I F E OF U S H E R ' S W E L L 80 H U G H OF L I N C O L N 81 YOUNG B I C H A M 84 G E T U P AND BAR THE DOOR 87 T H E B A T T L E OF OTTERBURN 88 C H E V Y C H A S E 93 JOHNIE ARMSTRONG 101 CAPTAIN C A R 103 T H E BONNY E A R L OF MURRAY 107 K I N M O N T W I L L I E ' 108 B O N N I E GEORGE C A M P B E L L 1 1 4 T H E DOWY H O U M S O YARROW 1 1 5

MARY H A M I L T O N 1 1 7 T H E BARON OF B R A C K L E Y 1 1 9 B E W I C K AND G R A H A M E 121 A G E S T OF ROBYN H O D E 128

1

2 CONTENTS

A N O N Y M O U S PAG* BALOW 186 T H E O L D C L O A K 188 J O L L Y GOOD A L E AND O L D . . . 190

S I R T H O M A S W Y A T T A SUPPLICATION 192 T H E LOVER'S A P P E A L 192

H E N R Y HOWARD, E A R L OF SURREY C O M P L A I N T OF T H E A B S E N C E OF HER LOVER B E I N G U P O N THE

S E A 193 T H E M E A N S TO A T T A I N H A P P Y L I F E 194

GEORGE GASCOIGNE

A LOVER'S L U L L A B Y 195

NICHOLAS BRETON

P H I L L I D A AND CORIDON 196

A N O N Y M O U S A S W E E T L U L L A B Y 197 PREPARATIONS 198 T H E U N F A I T H F U L SHEPHERDESS 199

A N T H O N Y M U N D A Y

B E A U T Y BATHING 2 0 1

RICHARD EDWARDES

A M A N T I U M IRAE 201

S I R W A L T E R R A L E I G H H I S PILGRIMAGE 203 T H E L I E 204 V E R S E S 207 W H A T IS O U R L I F E 207

S I R EDWARD D Y E R

M Y M I N D TO M E A K I N G D O M IS 207

J O H N L Y L Y

C U P I D AND C A M P A S P E 209

SPRING'S W E L C O M E 209

S I R P H I L I P SIDNEY SONG 210 A D I R G E 2 " A D I T T Y 2 1 2 LOVING IN T R U T H 2 1 2 B E Y O U R WORDS M A D E , GOOD S I R , OF INDIAN W A R E . . . 213

CONTENTS 3

S I R P H I L I P SIDNEY (Continued) PAGE T O S L E E P 2 I 3 T o THE M O O N 2 I 4

THOMAS LODGE ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL 2 I 4 ROSALINE 2 I 5 P H I L L I S 2 1 6

GEORGE P E E L E

PARIS AND OZNONE 2 I 7

ROBERT SOUTHWELL

T H E B U R N I N G B A B E 2 I 8

S A M U E L D A N I E L

BEAUTY, T I M E , AND L O V E SONNETS 2 1 9 T o S L E E P 2 2 2

M I C H A E L DRAYTON AGINCOURT 2 2 2

T o THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE 2 2 6 LOVE'S F A R E W E L L 228

H E N R Y CONSTABLE

DIAPHENIA 2 2 8

EDMUND S P E N S E R PROTHALAMION 2 2 9 EPITHALAMION 2 3 4 A D I T T Y 245 PERIGOT AND W I L L I E ' S ROUNDELAY 2 4 7 EASTER 2 4 9 W H A T G U I L E IS T H I S ? 2 4 9 F A I R IS M Y L O V E 2 5 o So O F T AS I H E R BEAUTY DO BEHOLD 250 RUDELY T H O U WRONGEST M Y D E A R HEART'S D E S I R E . . . 250 O N E D A Y I W R O T E H E R N A M E U P O N THE STRAND . . . . 251 L I K E AS THE C U L V E R , ON THE BARED BOUGH 251

W I L L I A M HABINGTON T o ROSES IN T H E BOSOM OF CASTARA 2 5 2

N o x N O C T I INDICAT SCIENTIAM 252

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE T H E PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO H I S L O V E 254 H E R R E P L Y 255

RICHARD ROWLANDS

O U R BLESSED LADY'S L U L L A B Y 256

4 CONTENTS

T H O M A S N A S H E P A G E

I N T I M E OF P E S T I L E N C E 260 SPRING 261

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE W I N T E R 262 O MISTRESS M I N E 262 F A N C Y . . . . 263 U N D E R T H E GREENWOOD T R E E 263 A LOVER AND H I S L A S S 263 SILVIA 264 SPRING 264 L U L L A B Y 265 O P H E L I A ' S SONG 266 W H E R E T H E B E E S U C K S 266 LOVE'S P E R J U R I E S 266 T A K E , O T A K E 267 A MADRIGAL 267 A M I E N S ' SONG 268 D A W N SONG 268 D I R G E OF L O V E 268 F I D E L E ' S D I R G E 269 A S E A D I R G E 2 7 0 S O N N E T S , 18, 29, 30, 3 1 , 32, 33, 54, 55, 57, 60, 64, 65, 66, 7 1 ,

7 3 , 87, 90, 94, 97, 98, 104, 106, 107, 109, n o , i n , 1 1 6 , 129, 146, 148 270-282

ROBERT G R E E N E C O N T E N T 282

RICHARD BARNFIELD

T H E N I G H T I N G A L E 283

T H O M A S C A M P I O N CHERRY-RIPE 284 FOLLOW YOUR S A I N T 284 W H E N TO H E R L U T E CORINNA SINGS 285 FOLLOW THY F A I R S U N 285 T U R N A L L THY T H O U G H T S TO E Y E S 286 INTEGER V I T A E 286

ROBERT D E V E R E U X , E A R L OF E S S E X

A PASSION OF M Y LORD OF E S S E X 287

S I R H E N R Y W O T T O N E L I Z A B E T H OF BOHEMIA 287 CHARACTER OF A H A P P Y L I F E . . . . 288

C O N T E N T S 5

THOMAS HEYWOOD

PACK, CLOUDS, AWAY 3 1 6

EDWARD DE V E R E , E A R L OF OXFORD PACE A RENUNCIATION 289

B E N JONSON

S I M P L E X MUNDITIIS 290

T H E T R I U M P H 2 9 ° T H E N O B L E N A T U R E 291 T o C E L I A 291 A F A R E W E L L TO T H E W O R L D 292 A N Y M P H ' S PASSION 293 EPODE 294 E P I T A P H ON E L I Z A B E T H L . H 297 O N L U C Y , COUNTESS OF BEDFORD 297 A N O D E TO H I M S E L F 298 H Y M N TO D I A N A 299 O N SALATHIEL PAVY 299 H i s SUPPOSED MISTRESS 300 T o T H E M E M O R Y OF M Y BELOVED, T H E AUTHOR, M R . W I L ­

LIAM SHAKESPEARE, AND WHAT H E HATH L E F T U s . . . 301

JOHN D O N N E T H E F U N E R A L 303 A H Y M N TO G O D T H E F A T H E R 304 VALEDICTION, FORBIDDING MOURNING 304 D E A T H 305 T H E D R E A M 306 SONG 307 SWEETEST L O V E , I DO NOT G O 307 LOVER'S INFINITENESS 308 LOVE'S D E I T Y 309 STAY, O S W E E T 3 1 0 T H E BLOSSOM 3 1 1 T H E GOOD MORROW 3 1 2 P R E S E N T IN A B S E N C E 3 1 3

JOSHUA SYLVESTER

LOVE'S O M N I P R E S E N C E 3 1 4

W I L L I A M ALEXANDER, E A R L OF S T I R L I N E T o AURORA 3 1 4

RICHARD C O R B E T

F A R E W E L L , REWARDS AND FAIRIES 3 1 5

6 CONTENTS

T H O M A S D E K K E R PAGE COUNTRY G L E E 3 * 7 COLD'S THE W I N D 3 * ^ O S W E E T C O N T E N T 3*8

FRANCIS B E A U M O N T O N T H E T O M B S IN W E S T M I N S T E R A B B E Y 3 1 9 M A S T E R FRANCIS BEAUMONT'S L E T T E R TO B E N JONSON . . 3 1 9

J O H N F L E T C H E R ASPATIA'S SONG 3 2 1

MELANCHOLY 3 2 2

J O H N W E B S T E R

C A L L FOR T H E ROBIN-REDBREAST 322

ANONYMOUS 0 W A L Y , W A L Y 323 H E L E N OF K I R C O N N E L L 324 M Y L O V E IN H E R A T T I R E 325 L O V E N O T M E 325

W I L L I A M D R U M M O N D S A I N T JOHN BAPTIST 326 MADRIGAL 326 L I F E 327 H U M A N F O L L Y 327 T H E P R O B L E M 327 T o H i s L U T E 328 F O R T H E MAGDALENE 328 C O N T E N T AND R E S O L U T E 329 A L E X I S , H E R E S H E STAYED; A M O N G T H E S E P I N E S . . . . 329 S U M M O N S TO L O V E 329

GEORGE W I T H E R 1 LOVED A L A S S 331 T H E LOVER'S RESOLUTION 332

W I L L I A M BROWNE ( ? )

O N T H E COUNTESS DOWAGER OF P E M B R O K E 3 3 3

ROBERT H E R R I C K C H E R R Y - R I P E 3 3 4 A C H I L D ' S G R A C E 334 T H E M A D MAID'S SONG 334 T o T H E VIRGINS 335 T o D I A N E M E 336 A S W E E T DISORDER 336 W H E N A S IN S I L K S 336

CONTENTS 7

ROBERT H E R R I C K (Continued) PAGE

T o A N T H E A WHO MAY C O M M A N D H I M A N Y T H I N G . . . 337 T o DAFFODILS 337 T o BLOSSOMS 33^ CORINNA'S MAYING 3 3 9

FRANCIS QUARLES

A N ECSTASY 3 4 1

GEORGE H E R B E R T L O V E — V I R T U E — T H E E L I X I R — T H E C O L L A R — T H E F L O W E R —

EASTER S O N G — T H E P U L L E Y 3 4 1 - 3 4 6

H E N R Y VAUGHAN

BEYOND T H E V E I L — T H E RETREAT 346-348

FRANCIS BACON, VISCOUNT S T . A L B A N

L I F E 34^

JAMES S H I R L E Y

T H E G L O R I E S OF OUR BLOOD AND STATE 349

T H E L A S T CONQUEROR 350

THOMAS CAREW T H E T R U E B E A U T Y — A S K M E N O M O R E — - K N O W , C E L I A —

G I V E M E M O R E L O V E 351—353

SIR JOHN S U C K L I N G

T H E CONSTANT L O V E R — W H Y S O P A L E AND W A N . . . 353 -354

SIR W I L L I A M D ' A V E N A N T

D A W N SONG 354

RICHARD LOVELACE T o LUCASTA, ON G O I N G TO T H E W A R S 354 T o A L T H E A FROM PRISON 355 T o LUCASTA, G O I N G BEYOND T H E SEAS 356

EDMUND W A L L E R

O N A G I R D L E — G o , LOVELY R O S E ! 357~35&

W I L L I A M CARTWRIGHT

O N THE Q U E E N ' S R E T U R N FROM THE L O W C O U N T R I E S . . . 358

JAMES G R A H A M , MARQUIS OF MONTROSE

M Y D E A R AND O N L Y L O V E 358

RICHARD CRASHAW W I S H E S FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS 359 U P O N THE BOOK AND P I C T U R E OF T H E SERAPHICAL S A I N T

T E R E S A 363

8 CONTENTS

T H O M A S JORDAN P A G E

L E T U S D R I N K AND B E M E R R Y 364

A B R A H A M C O W L E Y A SUPPLICATION 3^5 C H E E R U P , M Y M A T E S 366 D R I N K I N G 3^6 O N T H E D E A T H OF M R . W I L L I A M H E R V E Y 367

ALEXANDER B R O M E

T H E RESOLVE 3^9

A N D R E W M A R V E L L A GARDEN 3 7 ° T H E P I C T U R E OF L I T T L E T . C . IN A PROSPECT OF FLOWERS . . 371 HORATIAN O D E UPON CROMWELL'S R E T U R N FROM IRELAND . 372 SONG OF T H E EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA 376 THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN 377

A N O N Y M O U S L O V E W I L L F I N D O U T THE W A Y 379 PHILLADA F L O U T S M E 380

E A R L OF ROCHESTER

E P I T A P H ON C H A R L E S I I 383

S I R C H A R L E S S E D L E Y CHLORIS 383 C E L I A 384

JOHN D R Y D E N O D E 384 SONG TO A F A I R YOUNG LADY, G O I N G O U T OF THE T O W N IN

T H E SPRING 388 SONG FOR S T . CECILIA'S D A Y 389 ALEXANDER'S F E A S T 391 O N M I L T O N 396

M A T T H E W PRIOR T O A C H I L D OF Q U A L I T Y 396 C L O E 397 T H E D Y I N G ADRIAN TO H I S SOUL 398 EPIGRAM 398

ISAAC W A T T S

T R U E GREATNESS 398

LADY G R I S E L B A I L L I E

W E R E N A M Y H E A R T L I C H T I W A D D E E 398

C O N T E N T S 9

JOSEPH ADDISON P A G E

H Y M N 4 ° °

A L L A N RAMSAY

PEGGY 4 0 1

JOHN G A Y

LOVE IN H E R E Y E S SITS PLAYING 402

B L A C K - E Y E D SUSAN 4 0 2

CAREY, H E N R Y

SALLY IN OUR A L L E Y 403

ALEXANDER P O P E SOLITUDE 405 O N A CERTAIN LADY AT C O U R T 406 ESSAY ON M A N 406

AMBROSE P H I L I P S

T O CHARLOTTE P U L T E N E Y 440

COLLEY ClBBER

T H E B L I N D BOY 441

JAMES THOMSON

R U L E , B R I T A N N I A — T o F O R T U N E 442-443

THOMAS GRAY E L E G Y W R I T T E N IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD 443 O D E ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF E T O N C O L L E G E 447 H Y M N TO ADVERSITY 450 O D E ON THE SPRING 452 T H E PROGRESS OF POESY 453 T H E BARD 456 O D E ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE . . . . 460 O N A FAVOURITE C A T , DROWNED IN A T U B OF G O L D F I S H E S . 462

GEORGE B U B B DODINGTON ( L O R D M E L C O M B E )

SHORTEN S A I L 463

I N T R O D U C T O R Y N O T E

T H E a i m in these three volumes of Eng l i sh Poetry has been to give,

as far as the limits of space a l lowed, a substantial representation of the

most dist inguished poets of E n g l a n d and A m e r i c a for the last five

hundred years. A m o n g previous anthologies an especially wide

recognit ion has been g i v e n by the best judges to Francis T u r n e r Pal-

grave's " G o l d e n Treasury of the Best Songs and Lyrica l Poems in the

Eng l i sh L a n g u a g e , " first published in 1861; and it has been thought best

to m a k e that collection the nucleus of the present one. A l l the poems

originally selected by M r . Palgrave have, accordingly, been retained, wi th

the exception of those by Mi l ton and Burns, w h i c h appear in the Harvard

Classics in the complete editions of the poetical works of these two

authors.

T h e larger scale of this collection has ma de it possible to ignore the

l imitation of most anthologies to lyrical poems, and to include a consider­

able n u m b e r of l ong narrative and didactic poems. T h u s w e have been

able to g i v e the Pro logue to Chaucer's "Canterbury Ta le s ," the most vivid

series of types of character to be found in any Eng l i sh poem; the "Nun's

Priest's T a l e , " one of the finest specimens of the beast fable; a large group

of traditional ballads, inc luding the almost epic "Gest of Robin Hood";

Pope's "Essay on M a n " ; Byron's "Prisoner of Chi l lon"; Coleridge's

"Anc ien t Mar iner" and "Christabel"; Keats's " E v e of St. A g n e s " ; Shel­

ley's "Adonai s"; Tennyson ' s " M a u d " ; Longfe l low's "Evangel ine"; and

m a n y others rarely found in m i x e d collections. A l l these poems are

g iven , in accordance w i t h the general practise in this series, in their

entirety.

In the case of C h a u c e r and other older authors, and of poems in the

Scottish dialect, the meanings of obsolete and rare words have been

g i v e n in the foot-notes. T h e poems of each author wi l l be found together;

a n ! the general arrangement is chronological .

G E O F F R E Y C H A U C E R [I34O(?)-I4OO]

T H E P R O L O G U E

T O T H E C A N T E R B U R Y T A L E S

WH A N that Apr i l l e w i t h his shoures soote 1

T h e d r o g h t e 2 of M a r c h e hath perced to the roote,

A n d bathed every veyne in s w i c h 3 l icour,

O f w h i c h vertu engendred is the flour;

W h a n Zephirus eek w i t h his swete breeth

Inspired hath in every ho l t 4 and heeth

T h e tendre croppes, 5 and the yonge sonne

H a t h in the R a m his halfe cours y-ronne, 6

A n d smale fowles m a k e n melodye ,

T h a t slepen al the n ight w i t h open ye,

(So priketh h e m nature in hir corages: 7

T h a n longen folk to goon on pi lgr images ,

A n d palmers for to seken straunge strondes, 8

T o f e m e halwes , 9 c o u t h e 1 0 in sondry londes;

A n d specially, from every shires ende

O f E n g e l o n d , to Caunterbury they w e n d e ,

T h e holy blisful martir for to seke,

T h a t h e m hath holpen, w h a n that they were seke . 1 1

Bifel that, in that sesoun on a day,

In Southwerk at the T a b a r d as I l a y 1 2

R e d y to w e n d e n on m y p i lgr image

T o Caunterbury w i t h ful devout corage,

A t night was come in-to that hostelrye

W e i 1 3 nyne and twenty in a compaignye ,

O f sondry folk, by aventure 1 4 y - fa l le 1 5

In felawshipe, and pi lgrims were they alle,

Its sweet showers. 2 Drought. 3 Such. 4 Wood. 5 Young shoots. The sun left the sign of the Ram about the middle of April. Hearts. 8 Foreign strands. 9 Distant saints. 1 0 Known. 1 1 Sick. 1 2 Lodged.

1 3 Full. 1 4 Chance. 1 5 Fallen. 1 1

1 2 GEOFFREY CHAUCER

T h a t toward Caunterbury wo lden ryde;

T h e chambres and the stables weren w y d e ,

A n d we l w e weren esed atte beste. 1 6

A n d shortly, w h a n the sonne was to reste,

So hadde I spoken w i t h h e m everichon, 1 7

T h a t I was of hir fe lawshipe anon,

A n d m a d e f o r w a r d 1 8 erly for to ryse,

T o take our w e y , ther as I y o w devyse . 1 9

B u t natheles , 2 0 w h y l I have t y m e and space,

E r that I ferther in this tale pace , 2 1

M e th inketh it acordaunt to resoun,

T o telle y e w al the co nd ic io un 2 2

O f ech of hem, so as it semed m e ,

A n d w h i c h e 2 3 they weren , and of w h a t degree;

A n d eek in w h a t array that they were inne:

A n d at a k n i g h t than w o l I first b ig inne .

A K N I G H T ther was , and that a worthy m a n ,

T h a t fro the t y m e that he first b igan

T o ryden out, he loved chivalrye,

T r o u t h e and honour, f r e d o m 2 4 and curteisye.

F u l worthy was he in his lordes werre , 2 5

A n d thereto 2 6 h a d d e he riden ( n o m a n ferre 2 7 )

A s we l in cristendom as hethenesse,

A n d evere honoured for his worthinesse.

A t A l i saundre he was , w h a n it was wonne;

F u l ofte t y m e he hadde the bord b i g o n n e 2 8

A b o v e n alle naciouns in P r u c e . 2 9

In L e t t o w 3 0 hadde he reysed 3 1 and in R u c e , 3 2

N o cristen m a n so ofte of his degree.

In G e r n a d e 3 3 at the sege eek hadde he be

O f A l g e z i r , and riden in B e l m a r y e . 3 4

A t L y e y s 3 5 was he, and at Sata lye , 3 5

W h a n they were w o n n e ; and in the Grete S e e 3 6

A t m a n y a noble a r y v e 3 7 hadde he be,

A t mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene,

A n d foughten for our feith at T r a m i s s e n e 3 4

1 6 Made comfortable in the best style. 1 7 Every one. 1 8 Compact. 1 9 Tell. 2 0 Nevertheless. 2 1 Go. 2 2 Character. 2 3 What sort. 2 4 Liberality. "War. 2 6 Besides. 2 7 Farther. 2 8 Sat at the head of the table. 2 9 Prussia. 3 0 Lithuania. 3 1 Made expeditions. 3 2 Russia. 3 3 Granada. 3 4 In Africa. 3 5 In Asia Minor.

3 6 Mediterranean. 3 7 Naval expedition.

GEOFFREY C H A U C E R 13

In listes thryes, and ay slayn his foo.

T h i s i l k e 3 8 worthy k n i g h t hadde been also

S o m t y m e w i t h the lord of Pa la tye , 3 5

A g e y n another hethen in T u r k y e :

A n d everemore he hadde a sovereyn p r y s . 3 9

A n d though that he were worthy , he was w y s ,

A n d of his p o r t 4 0 as m e e k as is a m a y d e .

H e nevere yet no v i l e inye 4 1 ne sayde

In al his lyf, un-to no maner w i g h t . 4 2

H e was a verray parfit gentil k n i g h t .

B u t for to tellen y o w of his array,

H i s hors were goode , but he was nat g a y .

O f fust ian 4 3 he wered a g i p o u n 4 4

A l bismotered 4 5 w i t h his habergeoun . 4 6

F o r he was late y-come from his v i a g e , 4 7

A n d wente for to doon his p i lgr image .

W i t h h i m ther was his sone, a y o n g SQUYER,

A lovyer, and a lusty bacheler,

W i t h lokkes crul le , 4 8 as they were leyd in presse.

O f twenty yeer of age he was , I gesse.

O f his stature he was of evene l e n g t h e , 4 9

A n d wonderly del ivere , 5 0 and greet of strengthe.

A n d he hadde been somtyme in c h i v a c h y e , 5 1

In Flaundres , in A r t o y s , and Picardye,

A n d born h im wel , as of so litel space , 5 2

In hope to stonden in his l a d y 5 3 grace .

E m b r o u d e d was he, as it were a m e d e

A l ful of fresshe floures, w h y t e and rede.

S ing inge he was , or floytinge,54 al the day;

H e was as fresh as is the m o n t h of M a y .

Short was his goune , w i t h sieves longe and w y d e .

W e l coude he sitte on hors, and faire ryde .

H e coude songes m a k e and we l endyte , 5 5

Iuste and eek daunce, and we l purtreye and w r y t c .

So hote he lovede, that by nightertale 5 6

H e sleep namore than doth a night ingale .

Curteys he was , lowly , and servisable, 5 8 Same. 3 9 Great reputation. 4 0 Bearing. 4 1 Discourtesy. 4 2 Kind of person. 43Coarse cloth. 44Short coat. "Soiled. 4 6Coat of mail. 47Journey. 4 8 Curled. 4 9 Moderate height. 5 0 Active. 5 1 Cavalry expeditions. 5 2 Considering his youth. 5 3 Lady's. 5 4 Whistling. 5 5 Compose. 5 6 Night-time.

\ GEOFFREY CHAUCER

A n d carf" biforn his fader at the table.

A Y E M A N hadde h e , 5 8 and servaunts n a m o 5 9

A t that tyme , for h i m l iste 6 0 ryde so;

A n d he was clad in cote and hood of grene;

A shee f 6 1 of pecok arwes brighte and kene

U n d e r his belt he bar ful thriftily,

( W e l coude he dresse his takel yemanly :

H i s arwes drouped n o g h t w i t h fetheres l o w e ) ,

A n d in his hand he bar a m i g h t y bowe .

A not-heed 6 2 hadde he, w i th a broun visage.

O f wode-craft we l c o u d e 6 3 he al the usage.

U p o n his arm he bar a gay bracer, 6 4

A n d by his syde a swerd and a bokeler,

A n d on that other syde a g a y daggere,

H a r n e i s e d 6 5 we l , and sharp as point of spere;

A Cris tofre 6 6 on his brest of silver shene

A n horn he bar, the b a w d r i k 6 7 was of grene;

A forster was he, soothly, as I gesse.

T h e r was also a N o n n e , a PRIORESSE,

T h a t of hir smyl ing was ful simple and coy;

H i r gretteste ooth was but by seynt L o y ; 6 8

A n d she w a s c l eped 6 9 m a d a m e Eg len tyne .

F u l we l she song the service d ivyne ,

E n t u n e d in hir nose ful semely;

A n d Frensh she spak ful faire and fetisly, 7 0

After the scole of Stratford atte B o w e , 7 1

F o r Frensh of Paris was to hir u n k n o w e .

A t mete we l y- taught was she with-alle;

She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,

N e wette hir fingres in hir sauce depe.

W e l coude she carie a morsel, and w e l kepe,

T h a t no drope ne fille up-on hir brest.

In curteisye was set ful moche hir lest . 7 2

H i r over l i p p e 7 3 w y p e d she so clene,

T h a t in hir coppe was no fer th ing 7 4 sene

O f grece, w h a n she dronken hadde hir draughte . Carved. 5 8 The knight. 5 9 No more. 6 0 It pleased him. 6 1 Twenty-four. Closely cut hair. 6 3 Knew. 6 4 Arm-guard o£ leather. 6 5 Mounted. Image of St. Christopher, his patron saint. 6 7 Cord or belt. /. e., she did not swear at all, like St. Eligius. 6 9 Called. 7 0 Skilfully.

71A convent near London. She spoke Anglo-French. 7 2 Delight. 7 3 Upper lip. Guests drank out of a common cup. 7 4 Smallest particle.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 15

F u l semely after hir mete she raughte , 7 5

A n d s ikerly 7 6 she was of greet disport , 7 7

A n d ful plesaunt, and amiable of port,

A n d peyned hir to countrefete chere 7 8

O f court, and been estatl ich 7 9 of manere,

A n d to ben holden d i g n e 8 0 of reverence.

But , for to speken of hir conscience, 8 1

She was so charitable and so pitous,

She wo lde wepe , if that she sawe a m o u s

C a u g h t in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.

O f smale houndes had she, that she fedde

W i t h rosted flesh, or m i l k and wastel breed . 8 2

B u t sore w e e p she if oon of h e m were deed,

O r if m e n smoot it w i t h a y e r d e 8 3 smerte:

A n d al was conscience 8 1 and tendre herte.

F u l semely 8 4 hir w i m p e l 8 5 p i n c h e d 8 6 was;

H i r nose tretys; 8 7 hir eyen greye as glas;

H i r m o u t h ful smal, and ther-to softe and reed;

B u t sikerly she hadde a fair forheed.

It was almost a spanne brood, I trowe;

For , hardi ly , 8 8 she was nat undergrowe .

F u l fet is 8 9 was hir cloke, as I was w a r .

O f smal coral aboute hir arm she bar

A pe ire 8 0 of bedes, g a u d e d 9 1 al w i t h grene;

A n d ther-on h e n g a broche of go ld ful shene,

O n w h i c h ther was first write a crowned A ,

A n d after, Amor vincit omnia?"1

A n o t h e r N O N N E w i t h hir hadde she,

T h a t was hir chapeleyne, and PREESTES thre.

A M O N K ther was , a fair for the mais trye , 9 3

A n out-rydere, 9 4 that lovede venerye; 9 5

A manly m a n , to been an abbot able.

F u l m a n y a deyntee hors hadde he in stable:

A n d , w h a n he rood, m e n mighte his brydel here

G i n g l e n in a whis t l ing w y n d as clere,

A n d eek as loude as dooth the chapel-belle, Reached. 7 6 Certainly. 7 7 High spirits. 7 8 Took pains to imitate courtly manners. Dignified. 8 0 Worthy. 8 1 Sensibility. 8 2 Cake. 8 3 Stick. 8 4 Becomingly. Kerchief. 8 6 Plaited. 8 7 Well-formed. 8 8 Certainly. 8 9 Well-made. "String.

9 1 Having every eleventh bead green. 9 2 Love conquers all things. 9 3 In the highest degree.

9 4 He had charge of the manors attached to his monastery. 9 5 Hunting.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

T h e r - a s 9 6 this lord was keper of the cel le . 9 7

T h e reule of seint M a u r e or of seint Beneit,

By-cause that it w a s old and som-del streit, 9 8

T h i s i lke m o n k leet olde thinges pace,

A n d held after the n e w e wor ld the space.

H e yaf 9 9 nat of that text a p u l l e d 1 0 0 hen,

T h a t seith, that hunters been nat holy m e n ;

N e that a m o n k , w h a n he is cloisterlees 1 0 1

Is l ikned til a fish that is waterlees;

T h i s is to seyn, a m o n k out of his cloistre.

B u t thi lke text held he nat worth an oistre.

A n d I seyde his opin ioun w a s good .

W h a t sholde he studie, and m a k e him-selven w o o d , 1 0 2

U p o n a book in cloistre a lwey to poure,

O r s w i n k e n 1 0 3 w i t h his handes , and laboure,

A s A u s t i n b i t ? 1 0 4 H o w shal the wor ld be served?

L a t A u s t i n have his sw ink to h i m reserved.

T h e r f o r he w a s a pr icasour 1 0 5 aright;

G r e h o u n d e s he hadde , as swifte as fowel in flight;

O f p r i k i n g 1 0 6 and of h u n t i n g for the hare

W a s al his lust, for no cost w o l d e he spare.

I s e i g h 1 0 7 his sieves purf i l ed 1 0 8 at the hond

W i t h g r y s , 1 0 9 and that the fyneste of a lond;

A n d , for to festne his hood under his chin,

H e hadde of go ld y - w r o g h t a curious p in:

A love-knot in the gretter ende ther was .

H i s heed was balled, that shoon as any glas ,

A n d eek his face, as he hadde been anoint.

H e was a lord ful fat and in good p o i n t ; 1 1 0

H i s eyen s tepe , 1 1 1 and roll inge in his heed,

T h a t s t e m e d 1 1 2 as a forneys of a l eed; 1 1 3

H i s botes souple, his hors in greet estaat.

N o w certeinly he w a s a fair prelat;

H e w a s nat pale as a for -pyned 1 1 4 goost.

A fat swan loved he best of any roost.

H i s palfrey w a s as broun as is a berye.

A F R E R E ther was , a w a n t o w n and a merye, 9 6 Where. 97Branch monastery. 9 8 Somewhat strict. "Gave. 100Plucked. Vagabond. 1 0 2 Mad. 1 0 3 Work. 1 0 4 As St. Augustine bids. 1 0 5 Hard rider Riding, spurring. 1 0 7 Saw. 1 0 8 Trimmed. 1 0 9 Gray fur. 1 1 0 Plump

1 1 1 Prominent. 1 1 2 Shone. 1 1 3 Cauldron. 1 1 1 Wasted by torment.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 17

A l imi tour , 1 1 5 a ful so l empne 1 1 6 m a n . In alle the ordres f o u r e 1 1 7 is noon that c a n 1 1 8

So moche of dal iaunce and fair langage . H e hadde m a a d ful m a n y a mariage O f yonge w o m m e n , at his o w n e cost. Un- to his ordre he was a noble post. F u l wel biloved and famulier was he W i t h f ranke leyns 1 1 9 over-al in his contree, A n d eek w i t h worthy w o m m e n of the toun: F o r he had power of confessioun, A s seyde him-self, more than a curat, F o r of his ordre he was licentiat. F u l swetely herde he confessioun, A n d plesaunt was his absolucioun; H e was an esy m a n to yeve penaunce T h e r as he wiste to han a good p i t a u n c e ; 1 2 0

F o r unto a povre ordre for to y ive Is signe that a m a n is we l y-shr ive . 1 2 1

For if h e 1 2 2 yaf, he dorste m a k e avaunt , H e wiste that a m a n was repentaunt. F o r many a m a n so hard is of his herte, H e may nat w e p e al-thogh h i m sore smerte. Therfore , in stede of w e p i n g and preyeres, M e n m o o t 1 2 3 yeve silver to the povre freres. H i s tipet was ay farsed 1 2 4 ful of knyves A n d pinnes, for to yeven faire w y v e s . A n d certeinly he hadde a mery note; W e l coude he singe and pleyen on a ro te . 1 2 5

O f y e d d i n g e s 1 2 6 he bar utterly the prys. H i s n e k k e w h y t was as the flour-de-lys; Ther- to he strong was as a c h a m p i o u n . H e k n e w the tavernes we l in every toun, A n d everich hostiler and tappestere B e t 1 2 7 than a l a z a r 1 2 8 or a begges tere ; 1 2 9

For un-to swich a worthy m a n as he A c o r d e d nat, as by his facul tee , 1 3 0

Holding a license to beg within certain limits. 1 1 6 Impressive. 1 1 7 / . e., of friars. Knows. 1 1 9 Gentlemen farmers. 1 2 0 Where he knew he would get a handsome

present. 1 2 1 Absolved. 1 2 2 The penitent. 1 2 3 Must. 1 2 4 Stuffed. 1 2 5 Fiddle. 1 2 6 Proverbs.

Better. 1 2 8 Beggar. 1 2 9 Female beggar. 1 3 0 It was not fitting in a man of his ability.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

T o have w i t h seke lazars aqueyntaunce .

It is nat honest , 1 3 1 it m a y nat avaunce

F o r to delen w i t h no swich porai l le , 1 3 2

B u t al w i t h riche and sellers of vitaille.

A n d over-a l , 1 3 3 ther-as profit sholde aryse,

Curteys he was , and lowly of servyse.

T h e r nas no m a n nowher so vertuous . 1 3 4

H e was the beste beggere in his hous;

F o r t h o g h a w i d w e hadde noght a sho,

So plesaunt was his "In principio",™

Y e t w o l d e he have a ferthing, er he wente .

H i s purchas was we l bettre than his rente . 1 3 6

A n d r a g e 1 3 7 he coude as it were right a whelpe .

In love-dayes 1 3 8 ther coude he mochel helpe.

F o r ther he was nat lyk a cloisterer,

W i t h a thredbare cope, as is a povre scoler,

B u t he was l y k a maister or a pope.

O f double worsted was his semi-cope, 1 3 9

T h a t rounded as a belle out of the presse.

S o m w h a t he lipsed, for his wantownesse , 1 4 0

T o m a k e his E n g l i s h swete up-on his tonge;

A n d in his harping , w h a n that he had songe,

H i s eyen t w i n k l e d in his heed aright,

A s doon the sterres in the frosty night .

T h i s wor thy l imitour was c l eped 1 4 1 H u b e r d .

A MARCHANT was ther w i t h a forked berd,

In mot te lee , 1 4 2 and hye on horse he sat,

U p - o n his heed a Flaundrish bever hat;

H i s botes clasped faire and fet is ly . 1 4 3

H i s resons 1 4 4 he spak ful solempnely,

S o w n i n g e 1 4 5 a lway thencrees of his w i n n i n g .

H e w o l d e the see were k e p t 1 4 6 for any t h i n g 1 4 7

B i t w i x e M i d d l e b u r g h and Orewe l l e .

W e l coude he in eschaunge sheeldes 1 4 8 selle.

T h i s w o r t h y m a n ful wel his w i t bisette; 1 4 9

T h e r wiste no w i g h t that he was in dette, Proper. 1 3 2 Poor rabble. 1 3 3 Everywhere. 1 3 4 Capable. 1 3 5 John I, i; was

used as a greeting. 1 3 6 This probably means that he made more out of his begging than he paid for the privilege.

Behave wantonly. 1 3 8 Days for settling differences out of court. 1 3 9 Short cape. In affectation. 1 4 1 Called. 1 4 2 Motley. 1 4 3 Neatly. 1 4 4 Opinions. 1 4 5 Dealing with.

1 4 6 Guarded. 1 4 7 At any cost. 1 4 8 French crowns. 1 4 9 Used.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 19

So estat ly 1 5 0 was he of his g o v e r n a u n c e , 1 5 1

W i t h his bargaynes, and w i t h his chev i saunce . 1 5 2

For sothe he was a w o r t h y m a n with-alle,

But sooth to seyn, I noot h o w m e n h i m calle.

A C L E R K 1 5 3 ther was of O x e n f o r d also,

T h a t un-to log ik hadde longe y - g o . 1 5 4

A s lene was his hors as is a rake,

A n d he nas nat r ight fat, I undertake;

But loked ho lwe , and ther-to soberly.

F u l thredbar was his overest cour tepy; 1 5 5

For he had geten h i m yet no benefice,

N e was so worldly for to have office.

F o r h i m was l evere 1 5 6 have at his beddes heed

T w e n t y bokes, clad in blak or reed

O f Aristotle and his philosophye,

T h a n robes riche, or fithele,157 or g a y sautrye . 1 5 8

B u t al be that he was a philosophre,

Y e t hadde he but litel go ld in cofre;

But al that he m i g h t e of his frendes h e n t e , 1 5 9

O n bokes and on lerninge he it spente

A n d bisily g a n for the soules preye

O f h e m that yaf h i m wher -wi th to sco leye . 1 6 0

O f studie took he most cure and most hede.

N o g h t o word spak he more than was nede,

A n d that was seyd in forme and reverence,

A n d short and qu ik , and ful of hy sentence. 1 6 1

S o w n i n g e i n 1 6 2 moral vertu was his speche,

A n d g ladly w o l d e he lerne, and gladly teche.

A SERGEANT OF T H E L A W E , w a r 1 6 3 and w y s ,

T h a t often hadde been at the p a r v y s , 1 6 4

T h e r was also, ful riche of excellence.

Discreet he was , and of greet reverence:

H e seemed swich, his wordes weren so w y s e ,

Iustice he was ful often in assyse,

B y patente, and by p l e y n 1 6 5 commiss ioun;

For his science, and for his he igh renoun

O f fees and robes hadde he m a n y oon.

1 5 0 Dignified. 1 5 1 Conduce. 1 5 2 Borrowings. 1 5 3 Student. 1 5 4 Gone, devoted himself. 1 5 5 Outer short coat. 1 5 6 Rather.

1 5 7 Fiddle. 1 5 8 Psaltery. 1 5 9 Get. 1 6 0 Go to school. 1 6 1 Meaning. 1 6 2 Tending to. 1 6 3 Wary. 1 6 4 The portico of St. Paul's, where lawyers met. 1 6 5 Full.

2 0 GEOFFREY CHAUCER

So greet a purchasour 1 6 6 was nowher noon.

A l was fee simple to h i m in effect , 1 6 7

H i s p u r c h a s i n g 1 6 8 m i g h t e nat been infec t . 1 6 9

N o w h e r so bisy a m a n as he ther nas,

A n d yet he semed bisier than he was .

In termes hadde he caas and domes a l l e , 1 7 0

T h a t from the t y m e of k i n g W i l l i a m were falle.

T h e r t o he oude e n d y t e , 1 7 1 and m a k e a thing,

T h e r coude no w i g h t p i n c h e 1 7 2 at his wryt ing ;

A n d every statut c o u d e 1 7 3 he pleyn by rote.

H e rood but hoomly in a m e d l e e 1 7 4 cote

G i r t w i t h a ce in t 1 7 5 of silk, w i t h barres smale;

O f his array telle I no lenger tale.

A F R A N K E L E Y N was in his compaignye;

W h y t was his berd as is the dayesye.

O f his complex ioun he w a s s a n g w y n .

W e l loved he by the m o r w e 1 7 6 a sop in w y n .

T o l iven in delyt was evere his w o n e , 1 7 7

F o r he was Epicurus o w n e sone,

T h a t heeld opin ioun that pleyn delyt

W a s verraily felicitee parfyt.

A n householdere, and that a greet, was he;

Seynt I u l i a n 1 7 8 he was in his contree.

H i s breed, his ale, was a lwey after o o n ; 1 7 9

A bettre e n v y n e d 1 8 0 m a n w a s no-wher noon.

Wi th -oute bake mete was nevere his hous,

O f fish and flesh, and that so plentevous,

It s n e w e d 1 8 1 in his hous of mete and drinke,

O f alle deyntees that m e n coude thinke.

A f t e r the sondry sesons of the yeer,

So c haung ed he his mete and his soper.

F u l m a n y a fat partrich hadde he in m e w e , 1 8 2

A n d m a n y a b r e e m 1 8 3 and m a n y a l u c e 1 8 3 in stewe. 1 8 *

W o was his cook, but- i f 1 8 5 his sauce were

P o y n a u n t and sharp, and redy al his gere.

1 6 6 Conveyancer. 1 6 7 All forms of land-holding were as easy for him to handle as fee-simple. 1 6 8 Conveyancing. 1 6 9 Invalid. 1 7 0 He had definite knowledge of all cases and decisions. 1 7 1 Compose. 1 7 2 Find fault with. 1 7 3 Knew. 1 7 4 Motley. 1 7 5 Girdle. 1 7 6 In the morning. 1 7 7 Custom. mThe patron saint of hospitality.

1 7 9 Of uniform quality. 1 8 0 Provided with wine. 181Snowed. 1 8 2 Coop. 1 8 3 A kind of fish. 1 8 4 Fish-pond. 1 8 5 Unless.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 2 1

H i s table d o r m a n t 1 8 6 in his halle a lway

Stood redy covered al the longe day.

A t sessiouns ther was he lord and sire.

F u l ofte t y m e he was k n i g h t of the shire.

A n an las 1 8 7 and a g i p s e r 1 8 8 al of silk

H e n g at his girdel , w h y t as morne m i l k .

A shirreve hadde he been, and a c o u n t o u r ; 1 8 9

W a s nowher such a worthy v a v a s o u r . 1 9 0

A n HABERDASSHER and a CARPENTER,

A W E B B E , 1 9 1 a D Y E R E , and a T A P I C E R , 1 9 2

W e r e wi th us eek, clothed in o l iveree , 1 9 3

O f a solempne and greet fraternitee. 1 9 4

F u l fresh and newe hir gere a p y k e d 1 9 5 was;

H i r knyves were y - c h a p e d 1 9 6 noght w i t h bras,

B u t al w i th silver, w r o g h t ful clene and wee l ,

H i r girdles and hir pouches every-deel.

W e l semed ech of h e m a fair burgeys ,

T o sitten in a ye ldha l l e 1 9 7 on a d e y s . 1 9 8

E v e r i c h , 1 9 9 for the w i s d o m that he c a n , 2 0 0

W a s shaply 2 0 1 for to been an alderman.

. F o r ca te l 2 0 2 hadde they y n o g h and rente,

A n d eek hir w y v e s w o l d e it we l assente;

A n d elles certein were they to blame.

It is ful fair to been y -c l ept 2 0 3 "ma dame','

A n d goon to v i g i l y e s 2 0 4 al bifore,

A n d have a mantel roia l l iche 2 0 5 y -bore . 2 0 6

A C O O K they hadde w i t h h e m for the nones , 2 0 7

T o boille chiknes w i t h the mary-bones,

A n d poudre-marchant 2 0 8 tart, and g a l i n g a l e . 2 0 9

W e l coude he k n o w e a draughte of L o n d o n ale.

H e coude roste, and sethe , 2 1 0 and broille, and frye,

M a k e n mortreux , 2 1 1 and wel bake a pye .

But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me ,

T h a t on his shine a m o r m a l 2 1 2 hadde he;

For b l a n k m a n g e r , 2 1 3 that made he w i t h the beste.

1 8 6 Fixed. 1 8 7 Knife. 1 8 8 Pouch. 1 8 9 Treasurer. 1 9 0 Squire. 1 9 1 Weaver. 1 9 2 Upholsterer. 1 9 3 Livery.

Trade guild. 1 9 5 Trimmed. 1 9 6 Mounted. 1 9 7 Guild hall. 1 9 8 Dais. 1 9 9 Each one. Knows. 2 0 1 Fit. 2 0 2 Property. 2 0 3 Called. 2 0 4 Festival evens. 2 0 5 Royally. Carried before them. 2 0 7 For the occasion. 2 0 8 A flavoring powder.

2 0 9 Root of sweet cyperus. 2 1 0 Boil. A kind of soup. 2 1 2 Gangrene. 2 1 3 A delicacy made of minced capon, etc.

2 2 GEOFFREY CHAUCER

A S H I P M A N was ther, w o n i n g 2 1 4 fer by weste:

F o r a u g h t I woot , he was of Dertemouthe .

H e rood up-on a r o u n c y , 2 1 5 as he couthe , 2 1 6

In a g o w n e of f a l d i n g 2 1 7 to the knee .

A daggere h a n g i n g on a laas hadde he

A b o u t e his n e k k e under his arm adoun.

T h e hote somer had m a a d his hewe al broun;

A n d , certeinly, he was a good fe lawe.

F u l m a n y a draughte of w y n had he y - d r a w e 2 1 8

F r o m Burdeux-ward , w h y l that the c h a p m a n 2 1 9 sleep.

O f n y c e 2 2 0 conscience took he no k e e p . 2 2 1

If that he faught , and hadde the hyer hond,

B y water he sente h e m h o o m 2 2 2 to every lond.

B u t of his craft to rekene we l his tydes,

H i s s tremes 2 2 3 and his daungers h i m bisydes,

H i s h e r b e r w e 2 2 4 and his mone , his l odemenage , 2 2 5

T h e r nas noon swich from H u l l e to Cartage .

H a r d y he was , and w y s to under take ; 2 2 6

W i t h m a n y a tempest hadde his berd been shake.

H e k n e w we l alle the havenes, as they were,

F r o m Goot lond to the cape of Finistere,

A n d every cryke in Britayne and in Spayne;

H i s barge y-cleped was the M a u d e l a y n e .

W i t h us ther was a DOCTOUR OF P H I S Y K ,

In al this wor ld ne was ther noon h i m lyk

T o speke of phisik and of surgerye;

F o r he was grounded in astronomye.

H e k e p t e 2 2 7 his pacient a ful greet del

In houres , 2 2 8 by his m a g i k naturel.

W e l coude he fortunen the ascendent

O f his images for his pac ient . 2 2 9

H e k n e w the cause of everich maladye ,

W e r e it of hoot ,or cold, or moiste, or drye,

A n d w h e r e engendred, and of w h a t h u m o u r ; 2 3 0

H e was a verrey parfit practisour.

2 1 4 Dwelling. 2 1 5 Nag. 2 1 6 Could. 2 1 7 Frieze or serge. 2 1 8 Stolen. 2 1 9 Merchant. 2 2 0 Scrupulous. 2 2 1 Heed. 2 2 2 Drowned. 2 2 3 Currents. 2 2 4 Harbour. 2 2 5 Pilotage. 2 2 6 Clever in planning. 2 2 7 Watched. 2 2 8 Astrological hours favorable for cures. 2 2 9 Choose a fortunate star rising above the horizon, under which to treat images as

a charm to cure the patient. 2 3 0 Illness was supposed to be due to a humour in excess.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 23

T h e cause y -knowe , and of his h a r m the rote,

A n o n he yaf the seke m a n his bo te . 2 3 1

F u l redy hadde he his apothecaries,

T o sende h im d r o g g e s , 2 3 2 and his letuaries , 2 3 3

For ech of h e m ma de other for to winne;

H i r frendschipe nas nat newe to b ig inne .

W e i k n e w he the olde Esculapius ,

A n d Deiscorides, and eek R u f u s ;

O l d Ypocras , H a l y , and G a l i e n ;

Serapion, Raz i s , and A v i c e n ;

Averrois , Damasc i en , and Cons tantyn;

Bernard, and Gatesden, and G i l b e r t y n . 2 3 4

O f his diete mesurab le 2 3 5 was he,

For it was of no superfluitee,

B u t of greet norissing and digestible.

H i s studie was but litel on the Bible .

In s a n g w i n 2 3 6 and in pers 2 3 7 he clad was al,

L y n e d wi th taffata and w i t h sendal ; 2 3 8

A n d yet he was but esy of d i spence; 2 3 9

H e kepte that he w a n in pestilence.

F o r gold in phisik is a cordial,

Ther for he lovede go ld in special.

A good W Y F was ther of bisyde B A T H E ,

B u t she was som-del deef, and that was scathe . 2 4 0

O f c lo th-making she hadde swiche an h a u n t , 2 4 1

She passed h e m of Y p r e s and of G a u n t .

In al the parisshe w y f ne was ther noon

T h a t to the offring bifore hir sholde goon;

A n d if ther dide, certeyn, so wrooth was she,

T h a t she was out of alle charitee.

H i r coverchiefs ful fyne were of g r o u n d ; 2 4 2

I dorste swere they w e y e d e n ten pound

T h a t on a Sonday were upon hir heed.

H i r hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed,

F u l streite y - t e y d , 2 4 3 and shoos ful moiste and n e w e .

Bold was hir face, and fair, and reed of hewe .

2 3 1 Remedy. 2 3 2 Drugs. 2 3 3 Medicinal syrups. 2 3 4 These are the authors of the favorite medical text-books

of the Middle Ages. 2 3 5 Temperate. 2 3 6 Blood-red. 2 3 7 Bluish gray. 2 3 8 A kind of silk. 2 3 9 In spending. 2 4 0 Pity. 2 4 1 Skill. 2 4 2 Texture.

2 4 3 Tied.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

She w a s a w o r t h y w o m m a n al hir lyve ,

Housbondes at ch irche-dore 2 4 4 she hadde fyve,

W i t h o u t e n other compa ignye in youthe;

B u t therof nedeth nat to speke as nouthe . 2 4 5

A n d thryes hadde she been at Ierusalem;

B u t hadde passed m a n y a straunge streem;

A t R o m e she hadde been, and at Boloigne,

In Gal i ce at seint l ame , and at C o l o i g n e . 2 4 6

She coude moche of w a n d r i n g by the w e y e .

G a t - t o t h e d 2 4 7 was she, soothly for to seye.

U p - o n an amblere esily she sat,

Y - w i m p l e d 2 4 S we l , and on hir heed an hat

A s brood as is a bokeler or a t a r g e ; 2 4 9

A foot-mantel aboute hir hipes large,

A n d on hir feet a p a i r e 2 5 0 of spores sharpe.

In felaweschip wel coude she laughe and carpe . 2 5 1

O f remedies of love she k n e w per-chaunce,

F o r she coude of that art the olde d a u n c e . 2 5 2

A good m a n w a s ther of rel igioun,

A n d was a povre P E R S O U N 2 5 3 of a toun;

B u t riche he was of holy thoght and werk .

H e was also a lerned m a n , a clerk,

T h a t Cristes gospel trewely wo lde preche;

H i s parisshens devoutly wo lde he teche.

B e n i g n e he was , and wonder di l igent,

A n d in adversitee ful pacient;

A n d swich he was y - p r e v e d 2 5 4 ofte sythes . 2 5 5

F u l looth were h i m to cursen 2 5 6 for his tythes,

B u t ra ther ,wo lde he yeven, out of doute,

U n - t o his povre parisshens aboute

O f his offring, and eek of his substaunce.

H e coude in litel th ing han suffisaunce.

W y d was his parisshe, and houses fer a-sonder,

B u t he ne la f te 2 5 7 nat, for reyn ne thonder,

In siknes nor in meschief, to visyte

T h e ferreste in his parisshe, moche and l y t e , 2 5 8

U p - o n his feet, and in his hand a staf.

2 4 4 Marriages were performed in the church porch. 2 4 5 At present. These were all famous shrines. 2 4 7 Gap-toothed. 2 4 8 Kerchiefed. 2 4 9 Shield. Apparently she rode astride. 2 5 1 Talk. 2 5 2 The whole game. 2 5 3 Parson.

' 4 Proved. 2 5 5 Times. 2 5 6 Excommunicate. 2 5 7 Neglected. 2 5 8 Great and small.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 25

T h i s noble ensample to his sheep he yaf,

T h a t first he wroghte , and afterward he taughte;

O u t of the gospel he t h o 2 5 9 wordes caughte ;

A n d this figure he added eek ther-to,

T h a t if go ld ruste, w h a t shal yren do?

For if a preest be foul, on w h o m w e truste,

N o wonder is a l e w e d 2 6 0 m a n to ruste;

A n d shame it is, if a preest take k e e p , 2 6 1

A shiten shepherde and a clene sheep.

W e l oghte a preest ensample for to y ive ,

B y his clennesse, h o w that his sheep shold l ive .

H e sette nat his benefice to hyre,

A n d lee t 2 6 2 his sheep encombred in the myre ,

A n d ran to L o n d o n , un-to seynt Poules,

T o seken h im a chaunterie for soules,

O r w i th a bretherhed to been wi thholde;

But dwelte at hoom, and kepte we l his folde,

So that the wolf ne ma de it nat miscarie;

H e was a shepherde and no mercenarie.

A n d t h o u g h he holy were , and vertuous,

H e was to sinful m a n nat despi tous , 2 6 3

N e of his speche d a u n g e r o u s 2 6 4 ne d i g n e , 2 6 5

But in his teching discreet and benigne .

T o drawen folk to heven by fairnesse

B y good ensample, this w a s his bisynesse:

B u t it were any persone obstinat,

W h a t so he were, of he igh or lowe estat,

H i m wolde he sn ibben 2 6 6 sharply for the nones . 2 6 7

A bettre preest, I trowe that nowher non is.

H e wayted after no pompe and reverence,

N e m a k e d h i m a s p y c e d 2 6 8 conscience,

But Cristes lore, and his apostles twelve ,

H e taughte , but first he fo lwed it him-selve.

W i t h h i m ther was a PLOWMAN, was his brother,

T h a t hadde y-lad of d o n g ful m a n y a fo ther , 2 6 9

A trewe s w i n k e r e 2 7 0 and a good was he,

L i v i n g e in pees and parfit charitee.

G o d loved he best w i th al his hole herte

2 5 9 Those. 2 6 0 Ignorant. 2 6 1 Heed. 2 6 2 Left. Contemptuous. 2 6 4 Overbearing. 2 6 5 Haughty. 2 6 6 Rebuke. 2 6 7 This phrase often vaguely intensive. 2 6 8 Suspiciously fastidious. 2 6 9 Cartload. 2 7 0 Laborer.

26 GEOFFREY CHAUCER

A t alle tymes , t h o g h h i m g a m e d or smerte , 2 7 1

A n d thanne his neighebour right as him-selve.

H e w o l d e thresshe, and ther-to d y k e 2 7 2 and delve,

F o r Cristes sake, for every povre w i g h t ,

W i t h o u t e n hyre, if it lay in his m i g h t .

H i s tythes payed he ful faire and we l ,

Bothe of his propre s w i n k 2 7 3 and his ca te l . 2 7 4

I n a t a b a r d 2 7 5 he rood upon a mere.

T h e r was also a R e v e and a Mil lere ,

A Somnour and a Pardoner also,

A Maunc ip l e , and my-self; ther w e r n a m o . 2 7 '

T h e M I L L E R was a stout carl, for the nones , 2 6 7

F u l b i g he was of braun, and eek of bones;

T h a t proved we l , for over-al ther he cam,

A t wrast l ing he w o l d e have a lwey the r a m . 2 7 7

H e was short-sholdred, brood, a th ikke k n a r r e , 2 7 8

T h e r nas no dore that he n o l d e 2 7 9 heve of harre , 2 8 0

O r breke it, at a renning, w i t h his heed.

H i s berd as any sowe or fox was reed,

A n d ther-to brood, as t h o u g h it were a spade.

U p - o n the c o p 2 8 1 r ight of his nose he hade

A werte , and ther-on stood a tuft of heres,

Reed as the bristles of a sowes eres,

H i s nose-thirles blake were and w y d e .

A swerd and bokeler bar he by his syde;

H i s m o u t h as greet was as a greet forneys.

H e was a j a n g l e r e 2 8 2 and a go l iardeys , 2 8 3

A n d that was most of sinne and harlotryes.

W e l coude he stelen corn, and to l l en 2 8 4 thryes;

A n d yet he hadde a thombe of g o l d 2 8 5 pardee.

A w h y t cote and a b lew hood wered he.

A b a g g e p y p e we l coude he b lowe and sowne,

A n d therwithal he broghte us out of towne .

A genti l M A U N C I P L E 2 8 6 was ther of a t e m p l e , 2 8 7

O f w h i c h achatours 2 8 8 m ighte take exemple

F o r to be wyse in b y i n g of vitaille.

2 7 1 Pleased or pained him. 2 7 2 Also ditch. 2 7 3 Labor. 2 7 4 Property. 2 7 5 Smock frock. 2 7 6 No more. 2 7 7 The usual prize. 2 7 8 Knot.

2 7 9 Would not. 2 8 0 Hinges. 2 8 1 Tip. 2 8 2 Great talker. 2 8 3 Jester. 2 8 4 Take his commission. 2 8 5 Li\e all honest millers.

2 8 6 Steward. 2 8 7 Inn of court, where lawyers lived. 2 8 8 Purchasers.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 2J

F o r whether that he payde , or took by ta i l l e , 2 8 9

A l g a t e 2 9 0 he w a y t e d so in his a c h a t , 2 9 1

T h a t he was ay b i f o r n 2 9 2 and in good stat.

N o w is nat that of G o d a ful fair grace,

T h a t swich a l e w e d 2 9 3 mannes w i t shal p a c e 2 9 4

T h e w i s d o m of an heep of lerned m e n ?

O f maistres hadde he m o than thryes ten,

T h a t were of la w e expert and curious;

O f w h i c h ther were a doseyn in that hous,

W o r t h y to been stiwardes of rente and lond

O f any lord that is in E n g e l o n d ,

T o m a k e h i m live by his propre good ,

In honour dettelees, but he were w o o d , 2 9 5

O r live as scarsly 2 9 6 as h i m list desire;

A n d able for to helpen al a shire

In any cas that mighte falle or happe;

A n d yit this maunciple sette hir aller c a p p e . 2 9 7

T h e R E V E 2 9 8 was a sclendre colerik m a n ,

H i s berd was shave as ny as ever he can .

H i s heer was by his eres round y-shorn.

H i s top was d o k k e d l y k a preest biforn.

F u l longe were his legges , and ful lene,

Y - l y k a staf, ther was no calf y-sene.

W e l coude he kepe a g e r n e r 2 9 9 and a binne;

T h e r was noon auditour coude on h i m w i n n e .

W e l wiste he, by the droghte , and by the reyn,

T h e y e l d y n g of his seed, and of his greyn .

H i s lordes sheep, his neet, his dayerye,

H i s swyn , his hors, his s toor , 3 0 0 and his pultrye,

W a s hoolly in this reves govern ing ,

A n d by his covenaunt yaf the rekening,

Sin that his lord was twenty yeer of age;

T h e r coude no m a n bringe h i m in arrerage . 3 0 1

T h e r nas baillif, ne herde, ne other h y n e , 3 0 2

T h a t he ne k n e w his sleighte and his c o v y n c ; 3 0 3

T h e y were adrad of h im, as of the d e e t h . 3 0 4

H i s w o n i n g 3 0 5 was ful fair up-on an heeth, 2 8 9 Tally, credit.

2 9 0 Always. 2 9 1 Buying. 2 9 2 Ahead. 2 9 3 Ignorant. 2 9 4 Surpass. 2 9 5 Mad. 2 9 6 Sparingly. 2 9 7 Fooled them all. 2 9 8 Bailiff. 2 9 9 Garner. 3°° Stock.

3 0 1 Arrears. 3 0 2 Farm-laborer. 3 0 3 Deceit. 3 0 4 Pestilence. 3 0 5 Dwelling.

28 GEOFFREY CHAUCER

W i t h grene trees shadwed was his place.

H e coude bettre than his lord purchace.

F u l riche he was astored 3 0 6 prively,

H i s lord we l coude he plesen subtilly,

T o yeve and lene h i m of his owne good ,

A n d have a thank, and yet a cote, and hood.

In youthe he lerned hadde a good mister; 3 0 7

H e was a w e l good wr ighte , a carpenter.

T h i s reve sat up-on a ful good stot , 3 0 8

T h a t was al p o m e l y 3 0 9 grey, and h i g h t e 3 1 0 Scot.

A l o n g surcote 3 1 1 of pers 3 1 2 up-on he hade,

A n d by his syde he bar a rusty blade.

O f N o r t h f o l k was this reve, of w h i c h I telle,

Bisyde a toun m e n clepen Baldeswelle .

T u k k e d 3 1 3 he was , as is a frere, aboute,

A n d evere he rood the hindreste of our route.

A S O M N O U R 3 1 4 was ther w i th us in that place,

T h a t hadde a fyr-reed cherubinnes face,

F o r sawcef l em 3 1 5 he was , w i t h eyen narwe.

A s hoot he was , and lecherous as a sparvve,

W i t h scal led 3 1 6 browes blake, and p i l e d 3 1 7 berd;

O f his visage children were aferd.

T h e r nas quik-si lver, l i targe , 3 1 8 ne brimstoon,

B o r a s , 3 1 9 c eruce , 3 2 0 ne oille of tartre 3 2 1 noon,

N e oynement that w o l d e dense and byte,

T h a t h i m m i g h t e helpen of his w h e l k e s 3 2 2 w h y t e ,

N e of the knobbes sittinge on his chekes.

W e l loved he garleek, oynons, and eek lekes,

A n d for to dr inken strong w y n , reed as blood.

T h a n n e wolde he speke, and crye as he were w o o d . 3 2 3

A n d w h a n that he wel dronken hadde the w y n ,

T h a n w o l d e he speke no w o r d but L a t y n .

A fewe termes hadde he, t w o or thre,

T h a t he had lerned out of som decree;

N o wonder is, he herde it al the day;

A n d eek ye k n o w e n wel , h o w that a jay

* * Furnished with supplies. 3 0 7 Trade. 3 0 8 Cob. 3 0 9 Dappled. 3 1 0 Was called. 3 1 1 Overcoat. 3 1 2 Bluish gray. 3 1 3 With the skirts of his coat tucked up. 3 1 4 Apparitor, summoner to ecclesiastical courts. 3 1 5 Pimpled. . 3 1 6 Scabby. 3 1 7 Thin. 3 1 8 White lead. 3 1 9 Borax. 3 2 0 A kind of ointment made from white lead.

3 2 1 Cream of tartar. 3 2 2 Boils. 3 2 3 Mad.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 29

C a n clepen 'Watte , ' as wel l as can the pope.

B u t who-so coude in other th ing h i m g r o p e , 3 2 4

T h a n n e hadde he spent al his philosophye;

A y 'Questio quid iuris'325 w o l d e he crye.

H e was a genti l h a r l o t 3 2 6 and a k y n d e ;

A bettre felawe sholde m e n noght fynde.

H e wolde suffre for a quart of w y n

A good fe lawe to have his concubyn

A twelf -month, and excuse h i m atte fulle:

A n d prively a finch eek coude he pu l l e . 3 2 7

A n d if he fond owher a good felawe,

H e wolde techen h i m to have non a w e ,

In swich cas, of the erchedeknes curs,

But- i f 3 2 8 a mannes soule were in his purs;

For in his purs he sholde y-punisshed be.

'Purs is the erchedeknes helle,' seyde he.

But wel I w o o t he lyed r ight in dede;

O f cursing oghte ech gu l ty m a n h i m d r e d e —

For curs wo l slee r ight as assoi l l ing 3 2 9 save th—

A n d also w a r h i m of a significavit330

In d a u n g e r 3 3 1 hadde he at his o w n e g y s e 3 3 2

T h e yonge g i r l e s 3 3 3 of the diocyse,

A n d k n e w hir counseil, and was al hir r e e d . 3 3 4

A gerland hadde he set up-on his heed,

A s greet as it were for an ale-stake; 3 3 5

A bokeler hadde he m a a d h i m of a cake .

W i t h h i m ther rood a gentil PARDONER

O f Rouncivale , his frend and his compeer,

T h a t streight was comen fro the court of R o m e .

F u l loude he song, ' C o m hider, love, to me. '

T h i s somnour bar to h i m a stiff b u r d o u n , 3 3 6

W a s nevere trompe of half so greet a soun.

T h i s pardoner hadde heer as ye low as w e x ,

B u t smothe it heng , as doth a s tr ike 3 3 7 of flex;

B y ounces 3 3 8 henge his lokkes that he hadde ,

3 2 4 Test. 3 2 5 The question is, What is the law? 3 2 6 Fellow. 3 2 7 Fleece a greenhorn. 3 2 8 Unless. 3 2 9 Absolution. 3 3 0 The word which began the

writ of excommunication. 3 3 1 Under his control. 3 3 2 In his own way. 333Young people of both sexes.

3 3 4 Adviser. 3 3 5 As large as the garlands hung on a sta\e in front of alehouses. 3 3 6 Bass. 3 3 7 Hank. 3 3 8 Small bunches.

30 GEOFFREY CHAUCER

A n d ther-with he his shuldres overspradde; B u t thinne it lay, by co lpons 3 3 8 oon and oon; B u t hood, for jolitee, ne wered he noon, F o r it was trussed 3 3 9 u p in his walet . H i m thoughte , he rood al of the newe j e t ; 3 4 0

Discheve le , save his cappe, he rood al bare. S w i c h e g lar inge eyen hadde he as an hare. A vern ic l e 3 4 1 hadde he sowed on his cappe. H i s walet lay biforn h i m in his lappe, Bre t - fu l 3 4 2 of pardoun come from R o m e al hoot, A voys he hadde as smal as hath a goot . N o berd hadde he, ne nevere sholde have, A s smothe it was as it were late y-shave; I trowe he were a ge ld ing or a mare. B u t of his craft, fro B e r w i k into W a r e , N e was ther swich another pardoner. F o r in his m a l e 3 4 3 he hadde a pi lwe-beer , 3 4 4

W h i c h that, he seyde, was our l a d y 3 4 5 veyl : H e seyde, he hadde a g o b e t 3 4 6 of the seyl T h a t seynt Peter hadde, w h a n that he wente U p - o n the see, til Iesu Cris t h i m hente. H e hadde a croys of l a t o u n , 3 4 7 ful of stones, A n d in a glas he hadde p igges bones. B u t w i t h thise relikes, w h a n that he fond A povre person d w e l l i n g up-on lond, U p - o n a day he ga t h i m more moneye T h a n that the person gat in monthes tweye . A n d thus w i t h feyned flaterye and japes , 3 4 8

H e m a d e the person and the peple his apes. B u t trewely to tellen, atte laste, H e was in chirche a noble ecclesiaste. W e l coude he rede a lessoun or a storie, B u t a lderbest 3 4 9 he song an offertorie; F o r we l he wiste , w h a n that song was songe, H e moste preche, and we l a f fy le 3 5 0 his tonge, T o w i n n e silver, as he ful wel coude; There fore he song so meriely and loude .

3 3 9 Packed. 3 4 0 Fashion. 3 4 1 A small copy of the handkerchief of Veronica with the miraculous portrait of Christ. 3 4 2 Brimfull. 3 4 3 Bag. 3 4 4 Pillow-case. 3 4 5 Lady's. 3 4 6 Fragment.

3 4 7 A compound of, copper and zinc. 3 4 8 Jests. 3 4 9 Best of all. 3 5 0 Make smooth.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 31 N o w have I told you shordy, in a clause,

Thestat , tharray, the nombre , and eek the cause

W h y that assembled was this compa ignye

In Southwerk , at this gentil hostelrye,

T h a t h i g h t e 3 5 1 the T a b a r d , faste by the Belle.

But n o w is tyme to y o w for to telle

H o w that w e b a r e n 3 5 2 us that i l k e 3 5 3 n ight ,

W h a n w e were in that hostelrye a l ight .

A n d after w o l I telle of our v i a g e 3 5 4

A n d al the remenaunt of our p i lgr image .

But first I pray y o w of your curteisye,

T h a t ye naret te 3 5 5 it nat m y v i l e inye , 3 5 6

T h o g h that I pleynly speke in this matere,

T o telle y o w hir wordes and hir chere ; 3 5 7

N e thogh I speke hir wordes proprely.

For this ye k n o w e n a l - so 3 5 8 we l as I,

Who-so shal telle a tale after a m a n ,

H e moot reherce, as ny as evere he can,

Ever ich a word , if it be in his c h a r g e , 3 5 9

A l 3 6 0 speke he never so rudeliche and large; 3 * 1

O r elles he moot telle his tale untrewe,

O r feyne th ing , or fynde wordes newe .

H e may nat spare, al-thogh he were his brother;

H e moot as wel seye o word as another.

Crist spak him-self ful brode in holy wr i t ,

A n d wel ye woot , no v i l e i n y e 3 6 2 is it.

E e k Plato seith, who-so that can h i m rede,

" T h e wordes m o t e 3 0 3 be cosin to the dede."

Al so I prey y o w to foryeve it me ,

A l 3 6 0 have I nat set folk in h i r 3 6 4 degree

H e r e in this tale, as that they sholde stonde;

M y wi t is short, ye m a y wel understonde.

Greet chere m a d e our hoste us ever ichon , 3 6 5

A n d to the soper sette he us anon;

A n d served us w i t h vitaille at the beste.

Strong was the w y n , and we l to drinke us leste. 3 6'

A semely m a n our hoste was with-alle 3 5 1 Was called. 3 5 5 Reckon. 3 5 9 Task. 3 6 3 Must.

3 5 2 Bore, behaved. 3 5 3 Same. 3 5 6 Ill-breeding. 3 5 7 Behavior 3 6 0 Although. 3 6 1 Broad. 3 6 4 Their. 3 6 5 Every one.

3 5 4 Journey. 3 5 8 As. 362 Vulgarity. 3 6 6 It pleased us.

32 GEOFFREY CHAUCER F o r to han been a marshal in an halle;

A large m a n he was w i t h eyen stepe, 3 "

A fairer burgeys was ther noon in C h e p e : 3 0 8

Bold of his speche, and w y s , and wel y-taught,

A n d of m a n h o d h i m lakkede right naught .

E e k t h e r t o 3 6 9 he was r ight a mery m a n ,

A n d after soper pleyen he b igan ,

A n d spak of mirthe amonges othere thinges,

W h a n that w e hadde m a a d our rekeninges;

A n d seyde thus: ' N o w , lordinges, trewely

Y e ben to me right we l come hertely:

F o r by m y trouthe, if that I shal nat lye,

I ne s a u g h 3 7 0 this yeer so mery a compaignye

A t ones in this h e r b e r w e 3 7 1 as is n o w .

F a y n wolde I doon y o w mirthe, wiste I h o w .

A n d of a mirthe I a m right n o w bithoght ,

T o doon y o w ese, and it shall coste noght .

Y e goon to Caunterbury; G o d y o w spede,

T h e blisful martir quyte y o w your m e d e . 3 7 2

A n d we l I woot , as ye goon by the weye ,

Y e s h a p e n 3 7 3 y o w to t a l e n 3 7 4 and to pleye;

F o r trewely, confort ne mirthe is noon

T o ryde by the w e y e d o u m b as a stoon;

A n d therefore wo l I m a k e n y o w disport,

A s I seyde erst , 3 7 5 and doon y o w som confort.

A n d if y o w l y k e t h 3 7 6 alle, by oon assent,

N o w for to stonden at m y jugement ,

A n d for to w e r k e n as I shal y o w seye,

T o - m o r w e , w h a n ye ryden by" the weye ,

N o w , by m y f a d e r 3 7 7 soule, that is deed,

B u t 3 7 8 ye be merye , I w o l yeve y o w m y n heed.

H o l d u p your hond, withoute more speche.'

O u r counseil was nat longe for to seche;

U s thoughte it was noght worth to m a k e it w y s , 3 7 9

A n d graunted h i m with-outen more a v y s , 3 8 0

A n d bad h i m seye his verdit, as h i m leste.

'Lordinges , ' q u o d he, 'now herkneth for the beste;

B u t tak it not, I prey y o w , in desdeyn; 3 6 7 Prominent. 3 6 8 Cheapside. 3 6 5 Besides.

3 7 0 Saw. 3 7 1 Inn. 3 7 2 Give you your reward. 3 7 3 Prepare. 3 7 4 Tell tales. 3 7 5 Before. 3 7 6 It pleases you. 3 7 7 Father's. 3 7 8 Unless. 3 7 9 To deliberate. 3 8 0 Consideration.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 33

T h i s is the poynt , to speken short and pleyn,

T h a t ech of y o w , to shorte w i t h our weye , In this v iage, shal telle tales tweye ,

T o Caunterbury-ward , I mene it so,

A n d hom-ward he shal tellen othere t w o ,

O f aventures that w h y l o m 3 8 1 han bifalle. A n d w h i c h of y o w that bereth h i m best of alle,

T h a t is to seyn, that telleth in this cas

T a l e s of best sentence 3 8 2 and most solas , 3 8 3

Shal han a soper at our a l l er 3 8 4 cost

Here in this place, sitting by this post,

W h a n that w e come a g a y n fro Caunterbury .

A n d for to m a k e y o w the more mery, I wol my-selven g ladly w i t h y o w ryde,

R i g h t at m y n o w n e cost, and be your g y d e . A n d who-so w o l m y j u g e m e n t w i t h s e y e 3 8 5

Shal paye al that w e spenden by the w e y e .

A n d if ye vouche-sauf that it be so,

T e l me anon, with-outen wordes m o , A n d I wo l erly s h a p e 3 8 6 m e therfore.'

T h i s th ing was graunted, and our othes swore

W i t h ful g lad herte, and preyden h i m also T h a t he wold vouche-sauf for to do so,

A n d that he wolde been our governour,

A n d of our tales juge and reportour,

A n d sette a soper at a certeyn prys; A n d w e w o l d reuled been at his d e v y s , 3 8 7

In heigh and lowe; and thus, by oon assent,

W e been acorded to his jugement .

A n d ther-up-on the w y n was f e t 3 8 8 anoon;

W e dronken, and to reste wente echoon,

With-outen any lenger taryinge.

A - m o r w e , w h a n that day b igan to springe, U p roos our host, and was our aller c o k , 3 8 9

A n d gadrede us togidre, alle in a flok,

A n d forth w e riden, a litel more than p a s , 3 9 0

U n t o the w a t e r i n g 3 9 1 of seint T h o m a s .

A n d there our host b igan his hors areste , 3 9 2

3 8 1 Once upon a time. 3 8 2 Meaning. 3 8 3 Pleasure. 3 8 4 Of all of us. 3 8 5 Gainsay. 3 8 6 Prepare. 3 8 7 Judgment. 3 8 8 Fetched. 3 8 9 Cock of us all; i. e., waked us. 3 9 0 Walking. 3 9 1 Watering-place. 3 9 2 To pull up.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

A n d seyde; 'Lordinges , herkneth if y o w leste.

Y e woot your f o r w a r d , 3 9 3 and I it y o w recorde . 3 9 4

If even-song and morwe-song acorde,

L a t se n o w w h o shal telle the firste tale.

A s evere m o t e 3 9 5 I dr inke w y n or ale,

W h o - s o be rebel to m y j u g e m e n t

Shal paye for al that by the w e y e is spent.

N o w draweth cut, er that w e ferrer t w i n n e ; 3 9 8

H e w h i c h that hath the shortest shal biginne. '

'Sire kn ight , ' q u o d he, 'my maister and m y lord,

N o w draweth cut, for that is m y n acord.

C o m e t h neer,' q u o d he, 'my lady prioresse;

A n d ye, sir clerk, lat be your shamfastnesse,

N e studieth noght ; ley hond to, every man. '

A n o n to drawen every w i g h t b igan ,

A n d shortly for to tellen, as it was ,

W e r e it by aventure, or sort , 3 9 7 or c a s , 3 9 3

T h e sothe is this, the cut fil to the k n i g h t ,

O f w h i c h ful blythe and g lad was every w i g h t ;

A n d telle he moste his tale, as was resoun,

B y f o r w a r d 3 9 9 and by compos ic ioun , 3 9 9

A s ye han herd; w h a t nedeth wordes m o ?

A n d w h a n this goode m a n s a u g h 4 0 0 it was so,

A s he that w y s was and obedient

T o kepe his forward by his free assent,

H e seyde: 'Sin I shal b ig inne the g a m e ,

W h a t , w e l c o m e be the cut, a 4 0 1 G o d d e s name!

N o w lat us ryde, and herkneth w h a t I seye.'

A n d w i t h that word w e riden forth our w e y e ;

A n d he b igan w i t h r ight a mery chere

H i s tale anon, and seyde in this manere .

T H E N U N ' S P R I E S T ' S T A L E

H e r e b ig inneth the N o n n e Preestes T a l e of the C o k and H e n ,

Chauntec leer and Pertelote.

A POVRE w i d w e somdel stope 1 in age ,

W a s w h y l o m 2 d w e l l i n g in a narwe cotage,

Bisyde a grove , s tondyng in a dale.

Agreement. 3 9 4 Recall. 3 9 5 May. 3 9 6 Depart further. 3 9 7 Fate. 3 9 8 Chance. Agreement. 4 0 0 Saw. 4 0 1 In. 1 Somewhat advanced. 2 Once upon a time.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 35

T h i s w i d w e , of w h i c h I telle y o w m y tale,

Sin th i lke 3 day that she was last a wyf , In pacience ladde a ful simple lyf,

For litel was hir catel 4 and hir rente;

By housbondrye, of such as G o d hir sente, She fond 5 hir-self, and eek hir doghtren t w o .

T h r e e large sowes hadde she, and namo, T h r e e k y n , and eek a sheep that h i g h t e 6 M a l l e .

F u l sooty was hir hour, 7 and eek hir halle

In which she eet ful m a n y a sclendre meel .

O f poynaunt sauce hir neded never a deel. N o deyntee morsel passed thurgh hir throte;

H i r dyete was accordant to hir cote. Repleccioun ne made hir nevere syk;

At tempree dyete was al hir phisyk, A n d exercyse, and hertes suffisaunce.

T h e goute lette 8 hir no-thing for to daunce ,

N e poplexye 9 shente 1 0 nat hir heed;

N o w y n ne drank she, neither w h y t ne reed; H i r bord was served most w i th w h y t and blak,

M i l k and broun breed, in w h i c h she fond no lak,

S e y n d 1 1 bacoun, and somtyme an e y 1 2 or tweye ,

For she was as it were a maner d e y e . 1 3

A yerd she hadde, enclosed al aboute

W i t h stikkes, and a drye dich with-oute, In which she hadde a cok, h ight Chauntecleer ,

In al the land of c r o w i n g nas 1 4 his peer.

H i s vois was merier than the merye orgon

O n messe-dayes that in the chirche gon; W e l s ikerer 1 5 was his c r o w i n g in his l o g g e , 1 6

T h a n is a c lokke , or an abbey or logge . 1 7

B y nature k n e w he ech ascencioun

O f equinoxial in thi lke toun; F o r w h a n degrees fiftene were ascended, 1 8

T h a n n e crew he, that it mighte nat ben amended .

H i s comb was redder than the fyn coral,

A n d batai led, 1 9 as it were a castel-wal. 3 That. 4 Property. 5 Supported. 6 Was called. 7 Inner room. 8 Hindered.

9 Apoplexy. 1 0 Harmed. 1 1 Broiled. n Egg. 1 3 A kind of dairy-woman. 1 1 Was not. 1 5 More certain. 1 6 Lodge. 1 7 Clock. 1 8 / . e., every hour.

1 9 Indented.

JO GEOFFREY CHAUCER

H i s bile was blak, and as the jeet it shoon; L y k asur were his legges, and his toon; 2 0

H i s nayles whytter than the lilie flour,

A n d l y k the b u r n e d 2 1 go ld was his colour.

T h i s genti l cok hadde in his governaunce

Sevene hennes, for to doon al his plesaunce,

W h i c h e were his sustres and his paramours, A n d wonder l y k to h i m , as of colours.

O f whiche the faireste hewed on hir throte W a s c l eped 2 2 faire damoysele Pertelote.

C u r t e y s she was , discreet, and debonaire,

A n d compaignable , and bar hir-self so faire, Sin thi lke day that she was seven night old,

T h a t trewely she hath the herte in hold

O f Chauntecleer loken in every l i th ; 2 3

H e loved hir so, that w e l was h i m therwith. B u t such a joye was it to here h e m singe,

W h a n that the brighte sonne g a n to springe, In swete accord, *My lief is faren in l o n d e . ' 2 4

F o r t h i l k e 2 5 t y m e , as I have understonde,

Bestes and briddes coude speke and singe.

A n d so bifel, that in a d a w e n y n g e ,

A s Chauntec leer a m o n g his w y v e s alle

Sat on his perche, that was in the halle, A n d next h i m sat this faire Pertelote,

T h i s Chauntec leer g a n gronen in his throte, A s m a n that in his dreem is drecched 2 6 sore.

A n d w h a n that Pertelote thus herde h i m rore, She w a s agast, and seyde, ' O herte deere,

W h a t eyleth y o w , to grone in this manere?

Y e ben a verray sleper, fy for shame!'

A n d he answerde and seyde thus, ' M a d a m e , I pray y o w , that ye take it nat a-grief : 2 7

B y G o d , m e m e t t e 2 8 I was in swich meschief

R i g h t n o w , that yet m y n herte is sore afright. N o w G o d , ' q u o d he, 'my s w e v e n e 2 9 r ede 3 0 aright,

A n d keep m y body out of foul prisoun!

M e met te , 2 8 h o w that I romed u p and doun 2 0 Toes. 2 1 Burnished. 2 2 Called.

2 3 Locked in every limb. 2 4 'My dear is gone away'—a line from a popular song. 2 5 That. 2 6 Troubled. "Amiss. 2 8 1 dreamed. 2 9 Dream. 3 0 Interpret.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 37

W i t h i n n e our yerde, wher-as I saugh a beste, W a s lyk an hound, and wolde han m a a d areste 3 1

U p o n m y body, and wolde han had me deed. H i s colour was b i twixe ye lwe and reed; A n d tipped was his tail, and bothe his eres W i t h blak, un lyk the remenant of his heres; H i s snowte smal, w i th g l o w i n g e eyen tweye . Y e t of his look for fere almost I deye; T h i s caused me m y groning , douteles.'

' A v o y ! ' quod she, 'fy on y o w , herteles! Al ias ! ' q u o d she, 'for, by that G o d above, N o w han ye lost m y n herte and al m y love; I can nat love a coward, by m y feith. F o r certes, what , so any w o m m a n seith, W e alle desyren, if it mighte be, T o han housebondes hardy, wyse , and free, A n d secree, and no nigard, ne no fool, N e h i m that is agast of every tool , 3 2 ,

N e noon avauntour , 3 3 by that G o d above! H o w dorste ye sayn for shame unto youre love, T h a t any th ing mighte m a k e y o w aferd? H a v e ye no mannes herte, and han a berd? Al ias ! and conne ye been agast of s w e v e n i s ? 3 4

N o - t h i n g , G o d wot , but vanitee, in sweven is. Swevenes engendren of 3 5 replecciouns, A n d ofte of f u m e , 3 6 and of complecc iouns , 3 7

W h a n humours been to habundant in a w i g h t . Certes this dreem, w h i c h ye han met to-night, C o m e t h of the grete superfluitee O f youre rede colera™ pardee , 3 9

W h i c h causeth folk to dreden in here dremes O f arwes, and of fyr w i t h rede lemes , 4 0

O f grete bestes, that they wol h e m byte, O f contek, 4 1 and of whelpes grete and l y t e ; 4 2

R i g h t 4 3 as the humour of malencolye Cause th ful m a n y a m a n , in sleep, to crye,

3 1 Seized. 3 2 Weapon. 3 3 Boaster. 3 4 Dreams. 3 5 Are produced by. 3 6 Vapours rising from the stomach. 3 7 Particular combinations of humors. 3 8 Red choler was one of the four humors, the

proportionate amounts of which were supposed to determine the individual temperament or "complexion." 3 9 An oath.

4 0 Flames. 4 1 Strife. 4 2 Little. 4 3 Just.

38 GEOFFREY CHAUCER

F o r fere of blake beres, or boles 4 4 b lake, O r elles, blake develes wole h im take. O f othere humours coude I telle also, T h a t w e r k e n m a n y a m a n in sleep ful w o ; B u t I wo l passe as l ightly as I can.

L o C a t o u n , w h i c h that was so w y s a man, Seyde he nat thus, ne do no fors of 4 5 dremes? N o w , sire,' quod she, 'whan w e flee fro the bemes , 4 6

F o r G o d d e s love, as tak som laxatyf; U p peril of m y soule, and of m y lyf, I counseille y o w the beste, I wol nat lye, T h a t both of colere, and of malencolye Y e purge y o w ; and for ye shul nat tarie T h o u g h in this toun is noon apotecarie, I shal my-self to herbes techen 4 7 y o w , T h a t shul ben for your he le , 4 8 and for your p r o w ; 4 9

A n d in our yerd tho herbes shal I fynde, T h e w h i c h e han of here propretee, by k y n d e , 5 0

T o purgen y o w binethe, and eek above. F o r g e t not this, for G o d d e s owene love! Y e been ful colerik of compleccioun. W a r e 5 1 the sonne in his ascencioun N e fynde y o w nat repleet 5 2 of humours hote; A n d if it do , I dar we l l e y e 5 3 a grote, T h a t ye shul have a fevere terciane, O r an agu , that m a y be youre bane . 5 4

A day or t w o ye shul have digestyves O f wormes , er ye take your laxatyves, O f lauriol , 5 5 centaure , 5 6 and fumetere , 5 7

O r elles of ellebor, that groweth there, O f catapuce , 5 8 or of gaytres 5 9 beryis, O f erbe y v e , 6 0 g r o w i n g in our yerd, that m e r y 6 1 is; P e k k e h e m up right as they g r o w e , and ete hem in. Be mery, housbond, for your fader k y n ! 6 2

D r e d e t h no dreem; I can say y o w na-more.'

' M a d a m e , ' quod he,'graunt mercy63 of your lore. B u t natheles, as touching daun C a t o u n ,

4 4 Bulls. 4 5 Pay no attention to. 4 0 Perch. 4 7 Direct. 4 8 Health. 4 9 Profit. 5 0 Nature. 5 1 Beware. 5 2 Too full. 5 3 Bet. 5 4 Death. 5 5 Spurge-laurel.

5 6 Centaury. 5 7 Fumitory. 5 8 Caper-spurge. 5 9 Buck-thorn. 6 0 Herb ivy. 6 1 Pleasant. 6 2 Father's kin. 6 3 Many thanks.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 39

T h a t hath of w i s d o m such a gret renoun, T h o u g h that he bad no dremes for to drede,

B y G o d , m e n may in olde bokes rede

O f m a n y a m a n , more of auctoritee

T h a n evere C a t o u n was , so moot I thee , 6 4

T h a t al the revers seyn of this sentence, A n d han wel founden by experience,

T h a t dremes ben significaciouns,

A s wel of joye as tribulaciouns T h a t folk enduren in this lyf present.

T h e r nedeth m a k e of this noon argument ; T h e verray preve 6 5 sheweth it in dede.

O o n of the gretteste auctours that m e n r e d e 6 8

Seith thus, that w h y l o m t w o felawes wente

O n pi lgrimage, in a ful good entente; A n d happed so, thay come into a toun,

Wher-as ther was swich congregacioun

O f peple, and eek so streit of herbergage , 6 7

T h a t they ne founde as m u c h e as o 6 8 cotage,

In which they bothe mighte y - l o g g e d 6 9 be . Wherfor thay mosten, of necessitee,

A s for that night , departen 7 0 c o m p a i g n y e ;

A n d ech of h e m goth to his hostelrye,

A n d took his l o g g i n g as it wo lde fa l le . 7 1

T h a t oon of h e m was logged in a stalle,

Fer in a yerd, w i th oxen of the p lough;

T h a t other m a n w a s logged we l y -nough ,

A s was his aventure , 7 2 or his fortune, T h a t us governeth alle as in c o m m u n e .

A n d so bifel, that, longe er it were day,

T h i s m a n m e t t e 7 3 in his bed, ther-as 7 4 he lay ,

H o w that his fe lawe g a n up-on h i m calle,

A n d seyde, 'alias! for in an oxes stalle

T h i s night I shal be mordred t h e r 7 4 1 lye . N o w help me , dere brother, or I dye;

In alle haste c o m to me, ' he sayde.

T h i s m a n out of his sleep for fere abrayde ; 7 5

But w h a n that he was w a k n e d of his sleep, 6 4 So may I thrive. 6 5 True proof. 6 6 Cicero. 6 7 Such crowding in the inns. 68 One. 6 9 Lodged, 7 0 Part, 7 1 Happen. "Chance. 7 3 Dreamed. 7 4 Where.

7 5 Started.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

H e turned h i m , and took of this no k e e p ; 7 6

H i m thoughte his dreem nas but a vanitee.

T h u s twyes in his sleping dremed he.

A n d atte thridde t y m e yet his felawe

C o m , as h i m thoughte , and seide, 'I a m n o w s lawe; 7 7

Bihold m y bloody woundes , depe and w y d e !

A r y s up erly in the morwe-tyde ,

A n d at the west gate of the toun,' q u o d he,

' A carte ful of donge ther shaltow see,

In w h i c h m y body is hid ful prively;

D o thi lke carte arresten boldely.

M y gold caused m y mordre, sooth to sayn;'

A n d tolde h i m every poynt h o w he was slayn,

W i t h a ful pitous face, pale of hewe .

A n d truste we l , his dreem he fond ful trewe;

F o r on the m o r w e , as sone as it was day,

T o his felawes in he took the w a y ;

A n d w h a n that he cam to this oxes stalle,

Af ter his felawe he b igan to calle.

T h e hostiler answerde h i m anon,

A n d seyde, 'sire, your felawe is agon,

A s sone as day he wente out of the toun.'

T h i s m a n g a n fallen in suspecioun,

R e m e m b r i n g on his dremes that he mette , 7 8

A n d forth he goth , no lenger wo lde he lette, 7 9

U n t o the west gate of the toun, and fond

A dong-carte, as it were to donge lond,

T h a t was arrayed in that same wyse

A s ye han herd the dede m a n devyse ; 8 0

A n d w i t h an hardy herte he gan to crye

V e n g e a u n c e and justice of this fe lonye:—

' M y fe lawe mordred is this same night ,

A n d in this carte he lyth gap inge upr ig h t . 8 1

I crye out on the minis tres , ' 8 2 quod he,

' T h a t sholden kepe and reulen this citee;

H a r r o w ! alias! her lyth m y felawe slayn!'

W h a t sholde I more un-to this tale sayn?

T h e peple out-sterte, and caste the cart to grounde,

Heed. 7 7 Slain. 7 8 Dreamed. 7 9 Delay. 8 0 Describe. 8 1 On his back. 8 2 Magistrates.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 41 A n d in the midde l of the d o n g they founde

T h e dede m a n , that mordred was al n e w e .

O blisful G o d , that art so just and trewe!

L o , h o w that thou biwreyest mordre a lway l

Mordre wol out, that se w e day by day.

Mordre is so w l a t s o m 8 3 and abhominable

T o G o d , that is so just and resonable,

T h a t he ne wo l not suffre it h e l e d 8 4 be;

T h o u g h it abyde a yeer, or t w o , or three,

Mordre wo l out, th i s 8 5 m y conclusioun.

A n d right anoon, ministres of that toun

H a n h e n t 8 6 the carter, and so sore h i m p y n e d , 8 7

A n d eek the hostiler so sore e n g y n e d , 8 8

T h a t thay b i k n e w e 8 9 hir wikkednesse anoon,

A n d were an-hanged by the nekke-boon.

H e r e may m e n seen that dremes been to drede . 9 0

A n d certes, in the same book I rede,

R i g h t in the nexte chapitre after this,

( I g a b b e 9 1 nat, so have I joye or blis,)

T w o men that wolde han passed over see,

F o r certeyn cause, in-to a fer contree,

If that the w i n d ne hadde been contrarie,

T h a t made h e m in a citee for to tarie,

T h a t stood ful mery upon an haven-syde.

B u t on a day, a g a y n 9 2 the even-tyde,

T h e w i n d g a n chaunge , and b lew r ight as h e m leste.

Jolif and glad they wente un-to hir reste,

A n d casten 9 3 h e m ful erly for to saille;

But to that o o 9 4 m a n fel a greet mervail le .

T h a t oon of hem, in sleping as he lay,

H i m met te 9 5 a wonder dreem, a g a y n 9 2 the day;

H i m t h o u g h t e 9 6 a m a n stood by his beddes syde,

A n d h im comaunded, that he sholde abyde,

A n d seyde h im thus, 'If thou to-morwe w e n d e ,

T h o u shalt be dreynt ; 9 7 m y tale is at an ende.'

H e w o o k , and tolde his felawe w h a t he met te , 9 5

A n d preyde h i m his v iage for to lette; 9 8

A s for that day, he preyde h i m to abyde. 8 3 Heinous. 8 4 Concealed. 8 5 This is. 8 6 Seized. 8 7 Tortured. 8 8 Racked.

8 9 Confessed. 9 0 To be dreaded. 9 1 Lie. 9 2 Towards. 9 3 Planned. 9 4 The one. 9 5 He dreamed. 9 6 It seemed to him. 9 7 Drowned. 9 8 Delay.

42 GEOFFREY CHAUCER

H i s felawe, that lay by his beddes syde,

G a n for to laughe , and scorned h i m ful faste.

' N o dreem,' q u o d he, 'may so m y n herte agaste ,"

T h a t I wo l le t te 9 8 for to do m y thinges.

I sette not a straw by thy dreminges ,

F o r s w e v e n e s 1 0 0 been but vanitees and japes . 1 0 1

M e n dreme al-day of owles or of apes,

A n d eek of m a n y a m a s e 1 0 2 therwithal;

M e n dreme of t h i n g that nevere was ne shal.

B u t sith I see that thou wo l t heer abyde,

A n d thus for-s leuthen 1 0 3 wi l ful ly thy tyde,

G o d w o t it r e w e t h 1 0 4 me; and have good day.'

A n d thus he took his leve, and wente his w a y .

B u t er that he hadde halfe his cours y-seyled,

N o o t 1 0 5 I nat w h y , ne w h a t mischaunce it eyled,

B u t casue l ly 1 0 6 the shippes botme rente,

A n d ship and m a n under the water wente

In sighte of othere shippes it byside,

T h a t w i t h h e m seyled at the same tyde .

A n d therfor, faire Pertelote so dere,

B y swiche ensamples olde maistow lere , 1 0 7

T h a t no m a n sholde been to recchelees

O f dremes, for I sey thee, doutelees,

T h a t m a n y a dreem ful sore is for to drede.

' L o , in the lyf of seint K e n e l m , I rede,

T h a t was K e n u l p u s sone, the noble k i n g

O f Mercenr ike , h o w K e n e l m mette a th ing;

A l y t e 1 0 8 er he was mordred, on a day.

H i s mordre in his avisioun he sa y . 1 0 9

H i s norice h i m expouned every del

H i s s w e v e n , 1 1 0 and bad h i m for to k e p e 1 1 1 h i m we l

F o r 1 1 2 traisoun; but he nas but seven yeer old,

A n d therfore litel tale hath he t o l d 1 1 3

O f any dreem, so holy was his herte.

B y G o d , I hadde l evere 1 1 4 than m y sherte

T h a t ye had rad his legende, as have I .

D a m e Pertelote, I sey y o w trewely,

9 9 Frighten. 1 0 0 Dreams. 1 0 1 Trifles. 1 0 2 Bewilderment. 1 0 3 Lose through sloth. 1 0 4 Makes me sorry. 1 0 5 Know not. 1 0 6 By an accident. l m Mayst thou learn.

1 0 8 Little. 1 0 9 Saw. 1 1 0 Dream. 1 1 1 Guard. 1 1 2 Against. 1 1 3 Heed hath he paid, 1 1 4 Rather.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

Macrobeus , that wr i t the avis ioun

In Affr ike of the w o r t h y C i p i o u n ,

Affermeth dremes, and seith that they been

W a r n i n g of thinges that m e n after seen.

A n d forther-more, I pray y o w loketh w e l

In the olde testament, of Dan ie l ,

If he held dremes any vanitee.

Reed eek of Joseph, and ther shul ye see

W h e r dremes ben somtyme (I sey nat al le)

W a r n i n g of thinges that shul after falle.

L o k e of E g i p t the k i n g , daun Pharao,

H i s bakere and his boteler also,

W h e r they ne felte noon effect in dremes.

Who- s o wo l seken actes of sondry remes , 1 1 5

M a y rede of dremes m a n y a w o n d e r th ing .

' L o Cresus, w h i c h that was of L y d e k i n g ,

Mette he nat that he sat upon a tree,

W h i c h signified he sholde a nha ng ed be?

L o heer A n d r o m a c h a , Ectores wyf ,

T h a t day that Ector sholde lese 1 1 6 his lyf,

She dremed on the same n ight biforn,

H o w that the lyf of Ector sholde be l o r n , 1 1 7

If thilke day he wente in-to bataille;

She warned h im, but it m i g h t e nat avail le;

H e wente for to fighte natheles,

But he was slayn anoon of Achi l l e s .

But t h i l k e 1 1 8 tale is al to long to telle,

A n d eek it is n y 1 1 9 day, I may nat dwel le .

Shortly I seye, as for conclusioun,

T h a t I shal han of this a v i s i o u n 1 2 0

Advers i tee; and I seye forther-more,

T h a t I ne te l l e 1 2 1 of laxatyves no store,

For they ben venimous , I w o o t it we l ;

I h e m d e f y e , 1 2 2 I love h e m nevere a d e l . 1 2 3

' N o w let us speke of mirthe, and s t inte 1 2 4 al this;

M a d a m e Pertelote, so have I blis,

O f o 1 2 5 th ing G o d hath sent m e large grace;

F o r w h a n I see the beautee of your face,

Realms. 1 1 6 Lose. "7Lost. » 8That. 1 1 9 Nigh. ' 2 ° Vision. 1 2 1 Count. 1 2 2 Despise. 1 2 3 Not a bit. 1 2 4 Stop. 1 2 5 One.

G E O F F R E Y C H A U C E R

Y e ben so scarlet-reed about youre yen, It m a k e t h al m y drede for to dyen; F o r , also siker as In principio,m

Mulier est hominis confusio; 127

M a d a m e , the sentence of this L a t i n i s— W o m m a n is mannes joye and al his blis. F o r w h a n I fele a-night your softe syde, I a m so ful of joye and of solas T h a t I defyye bothe sweven and dreem.' A n d w i t h that w o r d fley d o u n fro the beem, F o r it was day , and eek his hennes alle; A n d w i t h a c h u k he g a n h e m for to calle, F o r he h a d founde a corn, lay in the yerd . Roia l he was , he was namore aferd; . . . H e loketh as it were a g r i m leoun; A n d on his toos he rometh u p and doun , H i m deyned not to sette his foot to grounde . H e c h u k k e t h , w h a n he hath a corn y-founde, A n d to h i m rennen thanne his w y v e s alle. T h u s roial, as a prince is in his halle, L e v e I this Chauntec leer in his pasture; A n d after w o l I telle his aventure.

W h a n that the m o n t h in w h i c h the world b igan, T h a t h ighte M a r c h , w h a n G o d first m a k e d m a n , W a s complet , and y-passed were also, Sin M a r c h b igan , thritty dayes and t w o , Bifel that Chauntecleer , in al his pryde, H i s seven w y v e s w a l k i n g by his syde, Caste u p his eyen to the brighte sonne, T h a t in the signe of T a u r u s hadde y-ronne T w e n t y degrees and oon, and s o m w h a t more; A n d k n e w by k y n d e , 1 2 8 and by noon other lore, T h a t it was pryme , and crew w i t h blisful s tcvene . 1 2 9

' T h e sonne,' he sayde, 'is c lomben u p on hevene F o u r t y degrees and oon, and more, y - w i s . 1 3 0

M a d a m e Pertelote, m y worldes blis, H e r k n e t h thise blisful briddes h o w they singe, A n d see the fresshe floures h o w they springe;

'In the beginning," John I. I. 1 2 7 "Woman is man's confusion." 1 2 8 Nature. 1 2 9 Voice. 1 3 0 Certainly.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 45 F u l is m y n hert of revel and so la s . ' 1 3 1

B u t sodeinly h i m f i l 1 3 2 a sorweful c a s ; 1 3 3

F o r evere the latter ende of joye is w o .

G o t woot that worldly joye is sone a g o ; 1 3 4

A n d if a rethor coude faire e n d y t e , 1 3 5

H e in a chronique saufly m i g h t e it write ,

A s for a sovereyn notabi l i tee . 1 3 6

N o w every w y s m a n , lat h i m herkne m e ;

T h i s storie is a l - so 1 3 7 trewe, I undertake,

A s is the book of Launce lo t de L a k e ,

T h a t w o m m e n holde in ful gret reverence.

N o w wol I torne a g a y n to m y sentence. 1 3 8

A col- fox, 1 3 9 ful of sly iniquitee,

T h a t in the grove hadde w o n e d 1 4 0 yeres three,

B y he igh imaginac ioun forn-cast , 1 4 1

T h e same n ight thurgh-out the hegges brast

Into the yerd, t h e r 1 4 2 Chauntec leer the faire

W a s wont , and eek his w y v e s , to repaire;

A n d in a bed of w o r t e s 1 4 3 stille he lay,

T i l it was passed u n d e r n 1 4 4 of the day,

W a y t i n g his tyme on Chauntec leer to falle

A s gladly doon thise homicydes alle,

T h a t in a w a y t l iggen to mordre m e n .

O false mordrer, lurk ing in thy den!

O newe Scariot, newe Gen i lon !

False dissimilour, O G r e e k Sinon,

T h a t broghtest T r o y e al outrely to sorwe!

O Chauntecleer , acursed be that m o r w e ,

T h a t thou into that yerd flough145 fro the bemes!

T h o u were ful wel y-warned by thy dremes,

T h a t thilke day was perilous to thee.

But w h a t that G o d f o r w o t 1 4 6 m o t 1 4 7 nedes be,

Af ter the opinioun of certeyn clerkis.

Witnesse on h i m , that any perfit clerk is,

T h a t in scole is gret altercacioun

In this matere, and greet disputisoun,

A n d hath ben of an hundred thousand m e n . 1 3 1 Delight. 132Befel. 1 3 3 Accident. 1 3 4 Gone. 1 3 5 Write. 1 3 6 Notorious fact.

1 3 7 As. 1 3 8 Thread of my story. 1 3 9 Fox with black tips. 1 4 0 Dwelt. 1 4 1 Premeditated. 1 4 2 Where. 1 4 3 Herbs. 1 4 4 About 10.30 A. M . 1 4 5 Flew.

1 4 6 Fore-knows. 1 4 7 Must.

G E O F F R E Y C H A U C E R

B u t I ne can not bulte it to the b r e n , 1 4 8

A s can the holy doctour A u g u s t y n ,

O r Boece, or the bishop B r a d w a r d y n ,

W h e t h e r that G o d d e s worthy f o r w i t i n g 1 4 9

S t r e y n e t h 1 5 0 m e n e d e l y 1 5 1 for to doon a th ing ,

( N e d e l y c l e p e 1 5 2 I s imple necessitee);

O r elles, if free choys be graunted me

T o do that same thing , or do it noght ,

T h o u g h G o d forwoot it, er that it was w r o g h t ;

O r if his wr i t ing s treyneth 1 5 0 nevere a del

B u t by necessitee condicionel .

I wo l not han to do of swich matere;

M y tale is of a cok , as ye m a y here,

T h a t took his counseil of his wyf , w i t h sorwe,

T o w a l k e n in the yerd upon that m o r w e

T h a t he had met the dreem, that I y o w tolde.

W o m m e n n e s counseils been ful ofte co lde ; 1 5 3

W o m m a n n e s counseil broghte us first to w o ,

A n d m a d e A d a m fro paradys to g o ,

T h e r as he was ful mery, and we l at ese.

B u t for I noot, to w h o m it mighte displese,

If I counseil of w o m m e n w o l d e blame,

Passe over, for I seyde it in m y g a m e .

R e d e auctours, w h e r they trete of swich matere,

A n d w h a t thay seyn of w o m m e n ye may here.

T h i s e been the cokkes wordes , and nat m y n e ;

I can noon harme of no w o m m a n d ivyne .

Faire in the sond, to bathe hire merily,

L y t h Pertelote, and alle hir sustres by,

A g a y n 1 5 4 the sonne; and Chauntecleer so free

S o n g merier than the m e r m a y d e in the see;

F o r Phis iologus seith sikerly,

H o w that they s ingen we l and meri ly .

A n d so bifel, that as he caste his ye,

A m o n g the wortes, on a boterflye,

H e was w a r of this fox that lay ful lowe .

N o - t h i n g ne liste h i m thanne for to crowe,

B u t cryde anon, 'cok, cok,' and up he sterte,

1 4 8 Sift it thoroughly. 1 4 9 Fore-knowledge. Constraineth. 1 5 1 Of necessity. 1 5 2 Call. 1 5 3 Disastrous.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 47

A s man that was affrayed in his herte.

For naturelly a beest desyreth flee

F r o his contrarie, if he m a y it see,

T h o u g h he never erst had seyn it w i t h his ye .

T h i s Chauntecleer , w h a n he g a n h i m espye

H e wolde han fled, but that the fox anon

Seyde, 'Genti l sire, alias! wher w o l ye g o n ?

Be ye affrayed of m e that a m your freend ?

N o w certes, I were worse than a feend,

If I to y o w w o l d e h a r m or vi le inye.

I am nat come your counseil for tespye;

B u t trewely, the cause of m y c o m i n g e

W a s only for to herkne h o w that ye s inge.

F o r trewely ye have as mery a s tevene , 1 5 5

A s eny aungel hath, that is in hevene;

T h e r w i t h ye han in mus ik more fel inge

T h a n hadde Boece, or any that can singe.

M y lord your fader ( G o d his soule blesse!)

A n d eek your moder , of hir gentilesse,

H a n in m y n hous y-been, to m y gret ese;

A n d certes, sire, ful fayn w o l d e I y o w plese.

But for m e n speke of s ing ing , I w o l saye,

So m o t e 1 5 6 I b r o u k e 1 5 7 w e l m y n eyen tweye ,

Save y o w , I herde nevere m a n so singe,

A s dide your fader in the m o r w e n i n g e ;

Certes , it was of herte, al that he song.

A n d for to m a k e his voys the more strong,

H e wolde so peyne h i m , that w i t h both his yen

H e moste w i n k e , so loude he w o l d e cryen,

A n d stonden on his t iptoon ther-with-al,

A n d strecche forth his n e k k e long and smal .

A n d eek he was of swich discrecioun,

T h a t ther nas no m a n in no regioun

T h a t h i m in song or w i s d o m m i g h t e passe.

I have weel rad in d a u n 1 5 8 Burnel the Asse ,

A m o n g his vers, how that ther was a cok,

For that a prestes sone yaf him a k n o k

U p o n his leg, w h y l he was y o n g and n y c e , 1 5 9

H e made him for to l e se 1 6 0 his benefyce. 1 5 5 Pleasant a voice. 1 5 8 May. 1 5 7 Enjoy. 1 5 8 Sir, Mr. 1 5 9 Foolish. 1 6 0 Lose.

48 GEOFFREY CHAUCER

B u t certeyn, ther nis no comparisoun

B i t w i x the w i s d o m and discrecioun

O f your fader, and of his subtiltee.

N o w singeth, sire, for seinte charitee,

L e t se, conne ye your fader c o u n t r e f e t e ? ' 1 6 1

T h i s Chauntec leer his w inges gan to bete,

A s m a n that coude his tresoun nat espye,

So was he ravisshed w i t h his flaterye.

A l ia s ! ye lordes, m a n y a fals flatour

Is in your courtes, and m a n y a losengeour , 1 8 2

T h a t plesen y o w we l more, by m y feith,

T h a n he that soothfastnesse unto y o w seith.

Rede th Ecclesiaste of flaterye;

Beth war , ye lordes, of hir trecherye.

T h i s Chauntec leer stood hye up-on his toos,

Strecching his nekke , and held his eyen cloos,

A n d g a n to crowe loude for the nones ; 1 6 3

A n d d a u n 1 5 8 Russel the fox sterte up at ones,

A n d by the g a r g a t 1 6 4 h e n t e 1 6 5 Chauntecleer ,

A n d on his bak toward the w o d e h i m beer,

F o r yet ne was ther no m a n that h i m s e w e d . 1 6 6

O destinee, that mayst nat ben eschewed!

Al ia s , that Chauntec leer fleigh167 fro the bemes!

Al ias , his w y f ne r o g h t e 1 6 8 nat of dremes!

A n d on a Fr iday fil al this meschaunce.

O V e n u s , that art goddesse of plesaunce,

Sin that thy servant was this Chauntecleer,

A n d in thy service dide al his poweer,

M o r e for delyt, than world to mult iplye ,

W h y woldes tow suffre h i m on thy day to dye ?

O G a u f r e d , dere mayster soverayn,

T h a t , w h a n thy worthy k i n g Richard was slayn

W i t h shot, compleynedest his deth so sore,

W h y ne hadde I n o w thy sentence and thy lore,

T h e F r i d a y for to chide, as d iden ye?

( F o r on a F r i d a y soothly slayn was he.)

T h a n w o l d e I shewe y o w h o w that I coude pleyne

For Chauntecleres drede, and for his peyne.

1 6 1 Imitate. 1 6 2 Flatterer. 1 6 3 Extremely. 1 6 4 Throat. 1 6 5 Seized. 1 6 8 Pursued. 1 6 7 Flew. 1 6 8 Recked.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER 49 Certes, swich cry ne lamentacioun

W a s nevere of ladies m a a d , w h a n Il ioun

W a s wonne , and Pirrus w i t h his streite 1 6 9 swerd,

W h a n he hadde h e n t 1 6 5 k i n g P r i a m by the berd,

A n d slayn h i m (as saith us Eneydos),

A s maden alle the hennes in the c los , 1 7 0

W h a n they had seyn of Chauntec leer the sighte.

B u t sovereynly 1 7 1 d a m e Pertelote shr ighte , 1 7 2

F u l louder than dide Hasdrubales wyf ,

W h a n that hir housbond hadde lost his lyf,

A n d that the R o m a y n s hadde brend C a r t a g e ,

She was so ful of torment and of rage,

T h a t wi l ful ly into the fyr she sterte,

A n d brende hir-selven w i t h a stedfast herte.

O woful hennes, r ight so cryden ye,

A s , w h a n that N e r o brende the citee

O f R o m e , cryden senatoures w y v e s ,

F o r that hir housbondes losten alle hir lyves;

W i t h o u t e n gilt this N e r o hath h e m slayn.

N o w wo l I t o m e to m y tale a g a y n :

T h i s se ly 1 7 3 w i d w e , and eek hir doghtres t w o ,

H e r d e n thise hennes crye and m a k e n w o ,

A n d out at dores sterten thay anoon,

A n d s y e n 1 7 4 the fox toward the grove goon ,

A n d bar upon his bak the cok a w a y ;

A n d cryden, ' O u t ! harrow! and w e y l a w a y !

H a , ha, the fox!' and after h i m they ran,

A n d eek wi th staves m a n y another m a n ;

R a n Col le our d o g g e , and T a l b o t , and G e r l a n d ,

A n d M a l k i n , w i t h a distaf in hir hand;

R a n cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges

So were they fered for berk ing of the dogges

A n d shouting of the m e n and w i m m e n eke,

T h e y ronne so, h e m thoughte hir herte breke.

T h e y yelleden as feendes doon in helle;

T h e dokes cryden as m e n wolde h e m que l l e ; 1 7 5

T h e gees for fere flowen over the trees;

O u t of the h y v e cam the swarm of bees;

So hidous was the noyse, a! benedicitel 1 6 9 Naked. 1 7 0 Yard. 1 7 1 Especially. 1 7 2 Shrieked. 1 7 3 Harmless. 1 7 4 Saw. 1 7 5 Kill.

GEOFFREY CHAUCER

Certes , he Jakke Straw, and his m e y n e e , 1 7 '

N e m a d e n nevere shoutes half so shrille,

W h a n that they w o l d e n any F l e m i n g kil le,

A s thi lke day was m a a d upon the fox.

O f bras thay broghten b e m e s , 1 7 7 and of box,

O f horn, of boon, in whiche they blewe and pouped , 1 7 '

A n d therwithal thay shryked and they houped;

It semed as that hevene sholde falle.

N o w , gode men , I pray y o w herkneth alle!

L o , h o w fortune turneth sodeinly

T h e hope and pryde eek of hir enemy!

T h i s cok, that lay upon the foxes bak,

In al his drede, un-to the fox he spak,

A n d seyde, 'sire, if that I were as ye,

Y e t sholde I seyn (as w i s 1 7 9 G o d helpe m e ) ,

T u r n e t h agayn , ye proude cherles alle!

A verray pestilence u p o n y o w falle!

N o w a m I come un-to this wodes syde,

M a u g r e e 1 8 0 your heed, the cok shal heer abyde;

I wo l h i m ete in feith, and that anon. '—

T h e fox answerde, 'In feith, it shal be don, '—

A n d as he spak that word , al sodeinly

T h i s cok brak from his m o u t h de l iver ly , 1 8 1

A n d he ighe up-on a tree he fleigh anon.

A n d w h a n the fox saugh that he was y-gon,

'Al ias! ' q u o d he, ' O Chauntecleer , alias!

I have to yow, ' q u o d he, 'y-doon trespas,

In-as-muche as I m a k e d y o w aferd,

W h a n I y o w h e n t e , 1 8 2 and broghte out of the yerd;

B u t , sire, I dide it in no w i k k e entente;

C o m d o u n , and I shal telle y o w w h a t I mente.

I shal seye sooth to y o w , G o d help m e so.'

' N a y than,' q u o d he, 'I s h r e w e 1 8 3 us bothe t w o ,

A n d first I shrewe my-self, bothe blood and bones,

If thou bigyle m e ofter than ones.

T h o u shalt namore, thurgh thy flaterye

D o me to singe and w i n k e w i t h m y n ye.

F o r he that w i n k e t h , w h a n he sholde see,

Followers. '"Trumpets. 1 7 8 Puffed. 1 7 9 Surely. 1 8 0 In spite of. 1 8 1 Nimbly. 1 8 2 Seized. 1 8 3 Curse.

T H E DOUGLAS TRAGEDY 51 A l wi l ful ly , G o d lat h i m never t h e e ! ' 1 8 4

' N a y , ' q u o d the fox, 'but G o d yeve h i m meschaunce,

T h a t is so undiscreet of governaunce ,

T h a t iangleth w h a n he sholde holde his pees.'

L o , swich it is for to be recchelees,

A n d necligent, and truste on flaterye.

B u t ye that holden this tale a folye,

A s of a fox, or of a cok and hen,

T a k e t h the moralitee, good m e n .

F o r seint P a u l seith, that al that wr i ten is,

T o our doctryne it is y-write, y - w i s . 1 8 5

T a k e t h the fruyt , and lat the chaf be stille.

N o w , gode G o d , if that it be thy wi l le ,

A s seith m y lord, so m a k e us alle good m e n ;

A n d bringe us to his he ighe blisse. A m e n .

H e r e is ended the N o n n e Preestes T a l e .

E P I L O G U E TO T H E N U N ' S P R I E S T ' S T A L E

' S I R N o n n e Preest,' our hoste seyde anoon,

'Y-blessed be thy breche, and every stoon!

T h i s was a mery tale of Chauntec leer .

B u t by m y trouthe, if thou were seculer,

T h y woldest been a trede-foul a-right.

F o r , if thou have corage as thou hast m i g h t ,

T h e e were nede of hennes, as I w e n e ,

Y a , m o than seven tymes seventene.

See, w h i c h e braunes hath this gentil Preest,

S o greet a n e k k e , and swich a large breest!

H e loketh as a sperhauk w i t h his yen;

H i m nedeth not his colour for to dyen

W i t h brasil, ne w i t h greyn of Port ingale .

N o w sire, faire falle y o w for youre tale!'

" R I S E u p , rise u p , n o w , L o r d D o u g l a s , " she says,

" A n d put on your armour so bright ,

1 This and the following ballads are of unknown authorship and of uncertain date.

3 THE DOUGLAS TRAGEDY1

1 8 4 Thrive. 1 8 5 Certainly.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

L e t it never be said that a daughter of thine

W a s married to a lord under night .

"Rise u p , rise up , m y seven bold sons,

A n d put on your armour so bright,

A n d take better care of your youngest sister.

For your eldest's a w a 2 the last night ."

He ' s mounted her on a mi lk-whi te steed,

A n d himself on a dapple grey,

W i t h a bugelet horn h u n g d o w n by his side,

A n d l i g h d y they rode a w a y .

L o r d W i l l i a m lookit oer his left shoulder,

T o see w h a t he could see,

A n d there he spy'd her seven brethren bold,

C o m e r id ing over the lee.

" L i g h t d o w n , l ight d o w n , L a d y Margret ," he said,

" A n d hold m y steed in your hand,

U n t i l that against your seven brethren bold,

A n d your father I m a k a stand."

She held his steed in her mi lk-whi te hand,

A n d never shed one tear,

U n t i l that she saw her seven brethren fa,

A n d her father hard fighting, w h o lovd her so dear

"O hold your hand, L o r d W i l l i a m ! " she said,

"For your strokes they are wondrous sair;

T r u e lovers I can get m a n y a ane,

B u t a father I can never get mair ."

O she's taen out her handkerchief,

It was o the hol land sae fine,

A n d aye she d i g h t e d 3 her father's bloody wounds ,

T h a t were redder than the w i n e .

"O chuse, O chuse, L a d y Margret ," he said,

"O whether wi l l ye g a n g or b i d e ? " 2 Away. 3 Wiped.

T H E DOUGLAS TRAGEDY

"I'll g a n g , I'll g a n g , L o r d W i l l i a m , " she said,

"For ye have left m e no other gu ide ."

He's lifted her on a mi lk-whi te steed,

A n d himself on a dapple grey,

W i t h a bugelet horn h u n g d o w n by his side,

A n d slowly they baith rade a w a y .

O they rade on, and on they rade,

A n d a' by the l ight of the moon ,

Unt i l they came to yon w a n water ,

A n d there they l ighted d o w n .

T h e y l ighted d o w n to tak a dr ink

O f the spring that ran sae clear,

A n d d o w n the stream ran his g u d e heart's blood,

A n d sair she g a n to fear.

" H o l d up , hold up , L o r d W i l l i a m , " she says,

"For I fear that you are slain;"

" ' T i s naething but the shadow of m y scarlet c loak,

T h a t shines in the water sae plain."

O they rade on, and on they rade,

A n d a' by the l ight of the moon ,

Unt i l they c a m to his mother's ha door,

A n d there they l ighted d o w n .

" G e t up, get up , lady mother," he says,

" G e t up , and let me in!

G e t u p , get up , lady mother," he says,

"For this n ight m y fair lady I've w i n .

" O m a k m y bed, lady mother," he says,

" O m a k e it braid and deep,

A n d lay lady Margre t close at m y back,

A n d the sounder I wi l l sleep."

L o r d W i l l i a m was dead lang ere m i d n i g h t ,

L a d y Margret lang ere day,

A n d all true lovers that g o thegither,

M a y they have mair luck than they!

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

L o r d W i l l i a m was buried in St. Mary's k irk ,

L a d y Margre t in Mary's quire; O u t o the lady's grave g r e w a bonny red rose,

A n d out o the knight 's a brier.

A n d they t w a met , and they twa plat , 4

A n d fain they w a d be near; A n d a' the war ld m i g h t k e n right weel

T h e y were t w a lovers dear.

B u t bye and rade the Black D o u g l a s ,

A n d w o w but he was rough! F o r he pul ld u p the bonny brier,

A n d flang't in St. Mary ' s L o c h .

THE TWA SISTERS

THERE was t w a sisters in a bowr ,

Binnorie , O Binnorie

T h e r e was t w a sisters in a bowr ,

Binnorie , O Binnorie

T h e r e w a s t w a sisters in a bowr ,

T h e r e came a k n i g h t to be their wooer,

B y the bonny mil l -dams of Binnorie.

H e courted the eldest w i g love an ring, B u t he lovd the youngest above a' th ing .

H e courted the eldest w i brotch an knife ,

B u t lovd the youngest as his life.

T h e eldest she was vexed sair,

A n m u c h envi 'd her sister fair.

Into her b o w r she could not rest,

W i grief an spite she almos brast.

U p o n a m o r n i n g fair an clear,

She cried upon her sister dear:

" O sister, c o m e to yon sea stran,

A n see our father's ships come to lan." 4 Intertwined.

T H E T W A SISTERS 55

She's taen her by the mi lk -whi te han,

A n d led her d o w n to yon sea stran.

T h e y o u n g e s f t ] stood u p o n a stane,

T h e eldest came an threw her in.

She tooke her by the middle sma,

A n d dashd her bonny back to the j a w . 1

" O sister, sister, tak m y han,

A n Ise 2 m a c k you heir to a' m y lan.

" O sister, sister, tak m y middle ,

A n yes 3 get m y g o u d 4 and m y g o u d e n girdle .

" O sister, sister, save m y life,

A n I swear Ise never be nae man's wi fe ."

"Foul fa the han that I should tacke,

It t w i n ' d 5 m e an m y wardles m a k e . 6

" Y o u r cherry cheeks an yal low hair

G a r s 7 m e gae maiden for evermair."

Sometimes she sank, an sometimes she s w a m ,

T i l l she came d o w n yon bonny mi l l -dam.

O out it came the miller's son,

A n saw the fair maid s w i m m i n in.

" O father, father, d r a w your d a m ,

Here's either a mermaid or a swan ."

T h e miller quickly drew the d a m ,

A n there he found a d r o w n d w o m a n .

Y o u coudna see her ya l low hair

F o r gold and pearle that were so rare.

Y o u coudna see her middle sma

F o r gouden girdle that was sae braw.

'Current. 2 1 will. 3 Ye shall. 4 Gold. 5 Separated. 6 World's mate. 'Causes.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

Y o u coudna see her fingers white ,

F o r g o u d e n rings that was sae gryte . 8

A n by there came a harper fine,

T h a t harped to the k i n g at dine.

W h e n he d id look that lady upon,

H e s ighd and made a heavy moan .

He's taen three locks o her yal low hair,

A n w i them strung his harp sae fair.

T h e first tune he did play and sing,

W a s , "Farewel l to m y father the k i n g . "

T h e nextin tune that he playd syne, 9

W a s , "Farewel l to m y mother the queen."

T h e lasten tune that he playd then,

W a s , " W a e to m y sister, fair El len ."

EDWARD

" W H Y dois your brand sae drap w i bluid,

E d w a r d , E d w a r d ,

W h y dois your brand sae drap w i bluid,

A n d w h y sae sad g a n g 1 yee O ? "

" O I hae killed m y hauke sae g u i d , 2

Mither , mither,

O I hae kil led m y hauke sae g u i d ,

A n d I h a d nae mair bot hee O . "

" Y o u r haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,

E d w a r d , E d w a r d ,

Y o u r haukis bluid was nevir sae reid,

M y deir son I tell thee O . "

" O I hae kil led m y reid-roan steid,

Mither , mither, 8 Great. 9 Then. 1 Go. 2 So good.

EDWARD

O I hae killed m y reid-roan steid,

T h a t erst was sae fair and frie O . "

" Y o u r steid was auld , and ye hae ga t mair ,

E d w a r d , E d w a r d ,

Y o u r steid was auld, and ye hae gat mair ,

S u m other du le 3 ye drie 4 O . "

" O I hae killed m y fadir deir,

Mither , mither,

O I hae killed m y fadir deir,

A l a s , and w a e is mee O ! "

" A n d w h a t t e n 5 penance w u l ye drie for that,

E d w a r d , E d w a r d ,

A n d whatten penance wi l l ye drie for that?

M y deir son, n o w tell me O . "

"He set m y feit in yonder boat,

Mither , mither,

He set m y feit in yonder boat,

A n d lie fare ovir the sea O . "

" A n d w h a t w u l ye doe w i your towirs and your ha ,

E d w a r d , E d w a r d ?

A n d w h a t w u l you doe w i your towirs and your ha,

T h a t were sae fair to see O ? "

"He let thame stand tul they doun fa,

Mither , mither,

He let thame stand till they d o w n fa,

For here nevir mair m a u n I bee O . "

" A n d w h a t w u l ye leive to your bairns and your wi fe ,

E d w a r d , E d w a r d ?

A n d w h a t w u l ye leive to your bairns and your wi fe ,

W h a n ye g a n g ovir the sea O ? "

" T h e warldis room, late t h e m beg thrae life,

Mither , mither,

T h e warldis room, late t h e m b e g thrae life,

F o r thame nevir mair w u l I see O . "

" A n d w h a t w u l ye leive to your ain mither deir,

E d w a r d , E d w a r d ? 3 Sorrow. 4 Suffer. 5 What kind ok

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

A n d w h a t w u l ye leive to your ain mither deir?

M y deir son, n o w tell m e O . "

" T h e curse of hell frae m e sail ye beir,

Mither , mither,

T h e curse of hell frae m e sail ye beir,

Sic counseils ye g a v e to m e O . "

BABYLON; OR, THE BONNIE BANKS O FORME

T H E R E were three ladies l ived in a bower,

E h v o w bonnie

A n d they w e n t out to pull a flower,

O n the bonnie banks o Ford ie

T h e y hadna pu'ed a flower but ane,

W h e n u p started to t h e m a banisht m a n .

He's taen the first sister by her hand,

A n d he's turned her round and made her stand.

"It's whether wi l l ye be a rank robber's wi fe ,

O r wi l l ye die by m y w e e pen-kn i fe?"

"It's I'll not be a rank robber's wife ,

B u t I'll rather die by your wee pen-knife."

H e ' s ki l led this m a y , and he's laid her b y ,

F o r to bear the red rose company .

H e ' s taken the second ane by the hand,

A n d he's turned her round and made her stand.

"It's whether wi l l ye be a rank robber's wi fe ,

O r wi l l ye die by m y w e e pen-kn i fe?"

"I'll not be a rank robber's w i f e ,

B u t I'll rather die b y your w e e pen-knife ."

He ' s ki l led this m a y , and he's laid her by,

F o r to bear the red rose company .

B A B Y L O N ; OR, T H E BONNIE BANKS O FORDIE

He's taken the youngest ane by the hand,

A n d he's turned her round and m a d e her stand.

Says, " W i l l ye be a rank robber's wi fe ,

O r wi l l ye die by m y w e e pen-kn i fe?"

"I'll not be a rank robber's wi fe ,

N o r wi l l I die by your w e e pen-knife .

"For I hae a brother in this w o o d ,

A n d g i n ye kil l m e , it's he'll kill thee."

"What ' s thy brother's n a m e ? come tell to me."

" M y brother's n a m e is Baby L o n . "

" O sister, sister, what have I done!

O have I done this ill to thee!

" O since I've done this evil deed,

G o o d sail 1 never be seen o me."

He's taken out his w e e pen-knife,

A n d he's t w y n e d 2 himsel o his ain sweet life.

H I N D H O R N

IN Scotland there was a babie born,

A n d his n a m e it w a s called y o u n g H i n d H o r n .

Li l ie lal , etc. W i t h a fal lal , etc.

H e sent a letter to our k i n g

T h a t he was in love with his daughter Jean.

He's g ien to her a silver w a n d ,

W i t h seven l iv ing lavrocks 3 sitting thereon.

She's gien 4 to h i m a d i a m o n d ring,

W i t h seven bright d iamonds set therein.

" W h e n this ring grows pale and w a n ,

Y o u may know by it m y love is gane."

'Shall. 2 Deprived. 3 Larks. 4 Given.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

O n e day as he looked his r ing upon,

H e saw the d iamonds pale and w a n .

H e left the sea and came to land,

A n d the first that he m e t was an old beggar m a n .

" W h a t news , w h a t n e w s ? " said y o u n g H i n d H o r n ;

" N o news , h o news ," said the old beggar m a n .

" N o news ," said the beggar , "no news at a',

B u t there's a w e d d i n g in the king's ha.

"But there is a w e d d i n g in the king's ha,

T h a t has ha lden 5 these forty days and twa ."

" W i l l ye lend m e your b e g g i n g coat?

A n d I'll lend you m y scarlet cloak.

" W i l l you lend m e your beggar's r u n g ? 8

A n d I'll g ie you m y steed to ride upon.

" W i l l you lend m e your w i g o hair,

T o cover mine , because it is fa ir?"

T h e auld beggar m a n was bound for the mil l ,

B u t y o u n g H i n d H o r n for the king's hall .

T h e auld beggar m a n was bound for to ride,

B u t y o u n g H i n d H o r n was bound for the bride.

W h e n he came to the king's gate,

H e sought a drink for H i n d Horn's sake.

T h e bride came d o w n w i t h a glass of wine ,

W h e n he drank out of the glass, and dropt in the r ing

" O got ye this by sea or land?

O r got ye it off a dead man's h a n d ? "

"I got not it by sea, I got it by land,

A n d I g o t it, m a d a m , out of your o w n hand ." 5 Been held. 6 Staff.

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR A N N E T

" O I'll cast off m y g o w n s of brown,

A n d beg w i you frae t o w n to t o w n .

"O I'll cast off m y g o w n s of red,

A n d I'll beg w i you to w i n m y bread."

" Y e needna cast off your g o w n s of brown,

F o r I'll m a k e you lady o m a n y a t o w n .

" Y e needna cast off your g o w n s of red,

It's only a sham, the b e g g i n g o m y bread."

T h e br idegroom he had w e d d e d the bride,

B u t y o u n g H i n d H o r n he took her to bed.

L O R D T H O M A S AND F A I R A N N E T

LORD T H O M A S and Fair A n n e t

Sate a' day on a hill;

W h a n night was c u m , and sun was sett,

T h e y had not talkt their fill.

L o r d T h o m a s said a word in jest,

Fair A n n e t took it ill:

" A , I wi l l nevir w e d a wi fe

A g a i n s t m y ain friends' wi l l ."

" G i f ye wul l nevir w e d a wi fe ,

A wife wul l neir w e d yee:"

Sae he is hame to tell his mither,

A n d knelt upon his knee .

" O rede, 1 O rede, mither," he says,

" A g u d e rede g i e 2 to mee;

O sail I tak the nut-browne bride,

A n d let Faire A n n e t b e e ? "

" T h e nut-browne bride haes g o w d 3 and gear,'

Fair A n n e t she has gat nane;

A n d the little beauty Fa ir A n n e t haes

0 it wul l soon be gane ." 1 Advice. 2 Give. 3 Gold. 4 Goods.

62 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

A n d he has till his brother gane:

" N o w , brother, rede 5 ye mee;

A , sail I marrie the nut-browne bride,

A n d let Fa i r A n n e t b e e ? "

" T h e nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,

T h e nutrbrowne bride has k y e ; 6

I w a d hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,

A n d cast Fa i r A n n e t bye ."

" H e r oxen m a y dye i the house, billie,

A n d her k y e into the byre , 7

A n d I sail hae noth ing to mysell

B o t a fat f a d g e 8 by the fyre."

A n d he has till his sister g a n e :

" N o w , sister, rede ye mee;

O sail I marrie the nut-browne bride,

A n d set Fa ir A n n e t free?"

"Ise rede ye tak Fa ir A n n e t , T h o m a s ,

A n d let the browne bride alane;

Les t ye sould sigh, and say, A lace ,

W h a t is this w e brought hame!"

" N o , I wi l l tak m y mither's counsel,

A n d marrie m e o w t o h a n d ; 9

A n d I wi l l tak the nut-browne bride,

Fa ir A n n e t m a y leive the land."

U p then rose Fa ir Annet ' s father,

T w a hours or it wer day ,

A n d he is gane into the bower

W h e r e i n Fa ir A n n e t lay.

"Rise u p , rise u p , Fair A n n e t , " he says,

"Put on your silken sheene;

L e t us gae to St. Marie's k irke ,

A n d see that rich weddeen ." 5 Advise. 8 Cattle. 7 Cow-stable. 8 Clumsy woman. 9 At once.

LORD THOMAS AND FAIR A N N E T

" M y maides, gae to m y dressing-roome,

A n d dress to m e m y hair;

Whaire ir yee laid a plait before,

See yee lay ten times mair .

" M y maids, gae to m y dressing-room,

A n d dress to m e m y smock;

T h e one half is o the hol land fine,

T h e other o needle-work."

T h e horse Fair A n n e t rade upon ,

H e ambli t l ike the w i n d ;

W i siller 1 0 he was shod before,

W i burning g o w d behind.

Four and t w a n t y siller bells

W e r a' tyed till his mane ,

A n d yae tift o the norland w i n d ,

T h e y t inkled ane by ane.

Four and twanty gay g u d e knichts

Rade by Fair Annet ' s side,

A n d four and twanty fair ladies,

A s g in she had bin a bride.

A n d w h a n she c a m to Marie's k irk ,

She sat on Marie's stean:

T h e c l e a d i n g 1 1 that Fa i r A n n e t had on

It s k i n k l e d 1 2 in their een.

A n d w h a n she c a m into the k irk ,

She sh immerd l ike the sun;

T h e belt that was about her waist

W a s a' w i pearles bedone . 1 3

She sat her by the nut-browne bride,

A n d her een they wer sae clear,

L o r d T h o m a s he clean forgat the bride,

W h a n Fair A n n e t drew near. 1 0 Silver. 1 1 Clothing. 1 2 Sparkled. 1 3 Ornamented.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

H e had a rose into his hand,

H e gae it kisses three,

A n d reaching by the nut-browne bride,

L a i d it on Fair Annet ' s knee .

U p then spak the nut-browne bride,

She spak w i meikle spite:

" A n d whair ga t ye that rose-water,

T h a t does m a k yee sae w h i t e ? "

" O I did get the rose-water

W h a i r ye w u l l neir get nane,

F o r I d id get that very rose-water

Into m y mither's w a m e . " 1 4

T h e bride she drew a long b o d k i n "

Frae out her g a y head-gear,

A n d strake Fair A n n e t unto the heart,

T h a t w o r d spak nevir mair .

L o r d T h o m a s he saw Fa ir A n n e t w e x pale,

A n d marvel i t w h a t m o t e 1 6 bee;

B u t w h a n he saw her dear heart's blude,

A ' w o o d - w r o t h 1 7 w e x e d hee.

H e drew his dagger , that was sae sharp,

T h a t was sae sharp and meet,

A n d drave it into the nut-browne bride,

T h a t fell deid at his feit.

" N o w stay for me , dear A n n e t , " he sed,

" N o w stay, m y dear," he cry'd;

T h e n strake the dagger untill his heart,

A n d fell deid by her side.

L o r d T h o m a s was buried wi thout k i r k w a ,

Fa i r A n n e t wi th in the quiere,

A n d o the tane thair g r e w a birk,

T h e other a bonny briere.

Womb. 1 5 Dagger. 1 6 Might. 1 7 Mad with anger.

LOVE GREGOR

A n d ay they g r e w , and ay they threw,

A s they w a d faine be neare;

A n d by this ye m a y k e n right wei l

T h e y were t w a luvers deare.

LOVE GREGOR

" O WHA wil l shoe m y fu fair foot?

A n d w h a wi l l g love m y h a n d ?

A n d w h a wi l l lace m y middle j i m p , 1

W i the n e w made L o n d o n band?

" A n d w h a wil l k a i m 2 m y yel low hair,

W i the n e w made silver k a i m ?

A n d w h a wi l l father m y y o u n g son,

T i l l L o v e G r e g o r come h a m e ? "

" Y o u r father wil l shoe your fu fair foot,

Y o u r mother wi l l g love your hand;

Y o u r sister wil l lace your middle j i m p

W i the n e w made L o n d o n band.

" Y o u r brother wil l k a i m your ye l low hair,

W i the n e w m a d e silver k a i m ;

A n d the k i n g of heaven wi l l father your bairn,

T i l l L o v e G r e g o r come haim."

"But I wil l get a bonny boat,

A n d I wi l l sail the sea,

F o r I m a u n g a n g 3 to L o v e Gregor ,

Since he canno come hame to me ."

O she has gotten a bonny boat,

A n d sailld the sa't sea f a m e ; 4

She langd to see her ain true-love,

Since he could no c o m e hame .

" O row your boat, m y mariners,

A n d bring m e to the land,

For yonder I see m y love's castle,

Closs by the sa't sea strand." 1 Slim. 2 Comb. 3 Must go. 4 Foam.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

She has taen her y o u n g son in her arms,

A n d to the door s h e ' s gone ,

A n d lang she's k n o c k e d and sair she ca'd,

B u t answer got she none.

" O open the door, L o v e Gregor ," she says,

" O open, and let me in;

F o r the w i n b laws thro m y yel low hair,

A n d the rain draps oer m y chin."

" A w a , a w a , ye ill w o m a n ,

Y o u ' r nae come here for g o o d ;

You 'r but some wi tch , or wi le war lock , 5

O r mer-maid of the flood."

"I a m neither a w i t ch nor a wi le war lock ,

N o r mer-maid of the sea,

I a m Fair A n n i e of R o u g h Royal ;

O open the door to me."

" G i n ye be A n n i e of R o u g h R o y a l —

A n d I trust ye are not she—

N o w tell m e some of the love-tokens

T h a t past between you and me."

" O dinna you m i n d n o w , L o v e G r e g o r ,

W h e n w e sat at the wine ,

H o w w e changed the rings frae our fingers?

A n d I can show thee thine.

" O yours was good , and good enneugh ,

B u t ay the best was mine;

F o r yours was o the good red goud ,

B u t mine o the d imonds fine.

"But open the door now, L o v e G r e g o r ,

O open the door I pray,

F o r your y o u n g son that is in m y arms

W i l l be dead ere it be day ." 5 Wizard.

LOVE GREGOR

" A w a , awa , ye ill w o m a n ,

F o r here ye shanno w i n 6 in;

G a e d r o w n ye in the rag ing sea,

O r h a n g on the gal lows-pin."

W h e n the cock had crawn, and day did d a w n ,

A n d the sun began to peep,

T h e n it raise h i m L o v e G r e g o r ,

A n d sair, sair d id he w e e p .

" O I dreamd a dream, m y mother dear,

T h e thoughts o it gars 7 m e greet , 8

T h a t Fa ir A n n i e of R o u g h Roya l

L a y cauld dead at m y feet."

" G i n it be for A n n i e of R o u g h Roya l

T h a t ye m a k e a' this din,

She stood a' last n ight at this door,

B u t I trow she w a n 9 no in."

" O w a e betide ye , ill w o m a n ,

A n ill d e a d 1 0 may ye die!

T h a t ye w o u d n o open the door to her,

N o r yet w o u d w a k e n me ."

O he has gone d o w n to yon shore-side,

A s fast as he could fare;

H e saw F a i r A n n i e in her boat,

B u t the w i n d it tossed her sair.

A n d " H e y , A n n i e ! " and " H o w , A n n i e !

O A n n i e , w i n n a ye b i d e ? "

B u t ay the mair that he cried A n n i e ,

T h e braider g r e w the t ide.

A n d " H e y , A n n i e ! " and " H o w , A n n i e !

D e a r A n n i e , speak to me!"

B u t ay the louder he cried A n n i e ,

T h e louder roard the sea.

• Shall not get. 'Makes. 8Weep. 9Got. "Death.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

T h e w i n d b lew loud, the sea g r e w rough,

A n d dashd the boat on shore;

Fa i r A n n i e floats on the rag ing sea,

B u t her y o u n g son raise no more.

L o v e G r e g o r tare his ye l low hair,

A n d made a heavy moan;

Fa ir Annie ' s corpse lay at his feet,

B u t his bonny y o u n g son was gone .

O cherry, cherry was her cheek,

A n d g o w d e n was her hair,

B u t clay cold were her rosy lips,

N a e spark of life was there.

A n d first he's kissd her cherry cheek,

A n d neist he's kissed her chin;

A n d saftly pressed her rosey lips,

B u t there was nae breath wi th in .

" O w a e betide m y cruel mother,

A n d an ill dead may she die!

For she turnd m y true-love frae m y door,

W h e n she came sae far to me."

BONNY BARBARA ALLAN

IT was in and about the Mart inmas t ime,

W h e n the green leaves were a fall ing,

T h a t Sir John G r x m e , in the W e s t Country ,

Fe l l in love w i th Barbara A l l a n .

H e sent his m a n d o w n through the t o w n ,

T o the place where she was dwel l ing:

" O haste and come to m y master dear,

G i n ye be Barbara A l l a n . "

O hooly , 1 hooly rose she u p ,

T o the place where he was ly ing ,

A n d w h e n she drew the curtain by,

" Y o u n g m a n , I th ink you're dy ing ." 1 Softly.

BONNY BARBARA A L L A N

" O it's I'm sick, and very, very sick,

A n d 'tis a' for Barbara A l l a n : "

" O the better for me ye's never be,

T h o your heart's blood were a spill ing.

" O dinna ye m i n d , y o u n g man," said she,

" W h e n ye was in the tavern a dr inking ,

T h a t ye made the healths gae round and round,

A n d sl ighted Barbara A l l a n ? "

H e turned his face unto the wa l l ,

A n d death was w i th h i m deal ing:

" A d i e u , adieu, m y dear friends all,

A n d be k ind to Barbara A l l a n . "

A n d slowly, s lowly raise she u p ,

A n d slowly, s lowly left h im,

A n d s ighing said, she coud not stay,

Since death of life had reft h i m .

She had not gane a mile but t w a ,

W h e n she heard the dead-bell r ing ing ,

A n d every jow that the dead-bell g ied,

It cry'd, W o e to Barbara A l l a n !

" O mother, mother, m a k e m y bed!

O m a k e it saft and narrow!

Since m y love died for m e to-day,

I'll die for h im to-morrow."

THE GAY GOSS-HAWK

" O WELL's me o m y g a y goss-hawk,

T h a t he can speak and flee;

He' l l carry a letter to m y love,

Br ing back another to me."

" O h o w can I your true-love k e n , 1

O r h o w can I her k n o w ?

W h a n frae her m o u t h I never heard couth , 2

N o r w i m y eyes her saw." 1 Know. 2 Sound.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

" O wel l sal ye m y true-love ken,

A s soon as you her see;

F o r , of a' the flowrs in fair E n g l a n ,

T h e fairest flowr is she.

" A t even at m y love's bowr-door

T h e r e g r o w s a b o w i n g birk , 3

A n sit ye d o w n and sing thereon,

A s she g a n g s to the k i rk .

" A n four-and-twenty ladies fair

W i l l wash and g o to k irk ,

B u t wel l shall ye m y true-love ken ,

F o r she wears g o u d on her skirt.

" A n four and twenty g a y ladies

W i l l to the mass repair,

B u t wel l sal ye m y true-love ken ,

F o r she wears g o u d on her hair."

O even at that lady's bowr-door

T h e r e g r o w s a b o w i n birk,

A n he set d o w n and sang thereon,

A s she g e d to the k i r k .

" O eet and dr ink, m y m a r y s 4 a',

T h e w i n e flows you a m o n g ,

T i l l I g a n g to m y shot -window,

A n hear yon bonny bird's song.

"S ing on, s ing on , m y bonny bird,

T h e song ye sang the streen, 5

F o r I k e n by your sweet s ingin

Y o u ' r e frae m y true-love s e n . " 6

O first h e sang a merry song ,

A n then he sang a grave ,

A n then he peckd his feathers gray ,

T o her the letter g a v e . 3 Birch. 4 Maids. 5 Last night. 6 Sent.

T H E GAY GOSS-HAWK

H a , there's a letter frae your love,

H e says he sent you three;

H e canno wai t your love langer,

B u t for your sake he'll die.

" H e bids you write a letter to h i m ;

H e says he's sent you five;

H e canno wai t your love langer,

T h o you're the fairest w o m a n alive."

" Y e bid h i m bake his bridal-bread,

A n d brew his bridal-ale,

A n I'll meet h i m in fair Scotlan

L a n g , lang or it be stale."

She's doen 7 her to her father dear,

F a ' n l o w d o w n on her knee:

" A boon, a boon, m y father dear,

I pray you, grant it me."

" A s k on, ask on, m y daughter ,

A n granted it sal be;

Except ae squire in fair Scotlan,

A n h im you sail never see."

" T h e only boon, m y father dear,

T h a t I do crave of thee,

Is, g i n 8 I die in southin 9 lands,

In Scotlan to bury m e .

" A n the firstin10 k irk that ye come till,

Y e gar the bells be rung,

A n the nextin kirk that ye come till,

Y e gar the mess be sung.

" A n the thirdin k irk that ye come till,

Y o u deal gold for m y sake,

A n the fourthin k irk that ye come till,

Y o u tarry there till n ight ."

'Gone. 8If. 9 Southern. "First.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

She is doen her to her b ig ly b o w r , 1 1

A s fast as she coud fare,

A n she has tane a sleepy draught ,

T h a t she had m i x e d w i care.

She's laid her d o w n upon her bed,

A n soon she's fa'n asleep,

A n d soon oer every tender l i m b

C a u l d death began to creep.

W h a n n ight was flown, an day was come,

N a e ane that did her see

B u t thought she was as surely dead

A s ony lady coud be.

H e r father an her brothers dear

G a r d 1 2 m a k e to her a bier;

T h e t a e 1 3 half was o g u i d red go ld ,

T h e t i ther 1 4 o silver clear.

H e r mither an her sisters fair

G a r d w o r k for her a sark;

T h e tae half was o cambrick fine,

T h e tither o needle w a r k .

T h e firstin k irk that they came till,

T h e y gard the bells be rung,

A n the nextin k irk that they came till,

T h e y gard the mess be sung.

T h e thirdin k irk that they came till,

T h e y dealt go ld for her sake,

A n the fourthin k irk that they came ti l l ,

L o , there they met her m a k e I

" L a y d o w n , lay d o w n the b ig ly bier.

L a t me the dead look on;"

W i cheery cheeks and ruby lips

She lay an smil'd on h im.

1 1 Handsome chamber. 1 2 Caused. 1 3 One. 1 4 Other.

T H E THREE RAVENS

" O ae sheave 1 5 o your bread, true-love,

A n ae glass o your wine ,

F o r I hae fasted for your sake

T h e s e fully days is nine.

" G a n g hame, g a n g hame, m y seven bold brothers,

G a n g hame and sound your horn;

A n ye may boast in southin lans

Y o u r sister's playd you scorn."

THE THREE RAVENS

THERE were three rauens sat on a tree,

D o w n e a downe , hay d o w n , hay d o w n e

T h e r e were three rauens sat on a tree,

W i t h a d o w n e

T h e r e were three rauens sat on a tree,

T h e y were as blacke as they m i g h t be.

W i t h a d o w n e derrie, derrie, derrie, d o w n e , d o w n e .

T h e one of them said to his mate,

" W h e r e shall w e our breakefast t a k e ? "

" D o w n e in yonder greene field,

T h e r e lies a kn ight slain vnder his shield.

"His hounds they lie d o w n e at his feete,

So well they can their master keepe .

"His haukes they flie so eagerly,

There's no fowle dare h i m c o m e nie." 1

D o w n e there comes a fal low doe,

A s great w i th y o n g as she m i g h t goe .

She lift v p his b loudy hed,

A n d kist his w o u n d s that were so red.

She got h i m v p vpon her backe ,

A n d carried h im to earthen l a k e . 2

1 5 Slice. 1 Nigh. 2 Pit.

74 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

She buried h i m before the prime, She was dead herselfe ere euen-song t ime.

G o d send euery g e n d e m a n ,

Such haukes , such hounds , and such a l eman. 1

THE TWA CORBIES1

A s I was w a l k i n g all alane, I heard t w o corbies m a k i n g a mane; T h e tane unto the t' other say, " W h e r e sail w e g a n g and dine t o - d a y ? "

"In behint yon auld fai l 2 d y k e , I w o t 3 there lies a n e w slain k n i g h t ; A n d naebody k e n s 4 that he lies there, B u t his h a w k , his hound , and lady fair.

"His h o u n d is to the hunt ing gane , H i s h a w k to fetch the wi ld- fowl hame , H i s lady's ta'en another mate, So w e m a y m a k our dinner sweet.

"Ye'11 sit on his whi te hause-bane, 5

A n d I'll p ike out his bonny blue een; W i ae lock o his g o w d e n hair W e ' l l theek 6 our nest w h e n it grows bare.

" M o n y a one for h i m makes m a n e , 7

B u t nane sail ken where he is gane; O e r his whi te banes w h e n they are bare, T h e w i n d sail b law for evermair."

14 SIR PATRICK SPENCE

THE k i n g sits in D u m f e r l i n g toune, D r i n k i n g the blude-reid w i n e :

" O w h a r wi l l I get g u i d sailor,

T o sail this schip of m i n e ? "

3 Sweetheart. 1 Crows. 2 Turf. 3 Know. 4 Knows. 5 Neck-bone. 6 Thatch. 7 Moan.

SIR PATRICK SPENCE

U p and spak an e ldern 1 knicht ,

Sat at the k ings richt k n e :

"Sir Patrick Spence is the best sailor

T h a t sails upon the se."

T h e k i n g has writ ten a braid letter,

A n d signd it w i his hand ,

A n d sent it to Sir Patrick Spence,

W a s w a l k i n g on the sand.

T h e first line that Sir Patrick red,

A loud lauch lauched he;

T h e next line that Sir Patrick red,

T h e teir bl inded his ee.

" O w h a is this has don this deid,

T h i s ill deid don to m e ,

T o send m e out this t ime o' the yeir,

T o sail upon the se!

" M a k haste, m a k haste, m y mirry m e n all,

O u r g u i d schip sails the morne:"

" O say na sae, m y master deir,

F o r I feir a deadlie storme.

"Late late yestreen I saw the n e w moone ,

W i the auld moone in her arme,

A n d I feir, I feir, m y deir master,

T h a t w e wi l l c u m to harme."

O our Scots nobles wer richt laith

T o weet their cork-heild schoone;

Bot lang owre a' the play wer play'd,

T h a i r hats they s w a m aboone.

O lang, l ang m a y their ladies sit,

W i thair fans into their hand,

O r eir they se Sir Patrick Spence

C u m sailing to the land.

'Old.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

0 lang, lang m a y the ladies stand,

W i thair go ld kerns in their hair,

W a i t i n g for thair ain deir lords,

F o r they'll se thame na mair .

H a f owre , 2 half owre to Aberdour ,

It's fiitie f adom deip,

A n d thair lies g u i d Sir Patrick Spence,

W i the Scots lords at his feit.

THOMAS RYMER AND THE QUEEN OF ELFLAND

TRUE THOMAS lay oer yond grassy bank,

A n d he beheld a ladie gay ,

A ladie that was brisk and bold,

C o m e r id ing oer the fernie brae. 1

H e r skirt was of the grass-green silk,

H e r mantel of the velvet fine,

A t i lka tett 2 of her horse's mane

H u n g fifty silver bells and nine.

T r u e T h o m a s he took off his hat,

A n d b o w e d h i m l o w d o w n till his knee:

" A l l hail , thou m i g h t y Q u e e n of H e a v e n ! F o r your peer on earth I never did see."

" O no, O no, T r u e T h o m a s , " she says,

" T h a t name does not belong to me;

1 a m but the queen of fair Elfland,

A n d I 'm come here for to visit thee.

" B u t ye m a u n g o w i m e n o w , T h o m a s ,

T r u e T h o m a s , ye m a u n go w i me,

F o r ye m a u n 3 serve m e seven years,

T h r o weel or w a e as m a y chance to be."

She turned about her mi lk-whi te steed,

A n d took T r u e T h o m a s up behind,

A n d aye wheneer her bridle rang,

T h e steed flew swifter than the w i n d . 2 Over. 'Brow (of a hill). 2 Lock. 3 Must.

T H O M A S R Y M E R

F o r forty days and forty nights

H e w a d e thro red blude to the knee ,

A n d he saw neither sun nor moon ,

B u t heard the roar ing of the sea.

O they rade on , and further on ,

Unt i l they came to a garden green:

" L i g h t d o w n , l ight d o w n , ye ladie free,

Some of that fruit let m e pul l to thee."

" O no, O no, T r u e T h o m a s , " she says,

" T h a t fruit m a u n not be touched by thee,

F o r a' the plagues that are in hell

L i g h t on the fruit of this countrie.

"But I have a loaf here in m y lap,

L i k e w i s e a bottle of claret w ine ,

A n d n o w ere w e g o farther on,

W e '11 rest a whi le , and ye m a y dine."

W h e n he had eaten and d r u n k his fill,

" L a y d o w n your head u p o n m y knee,"

T h e lady sayd, "ere w e c l imb yon hill ,

A n d I wi l l show y o u fairlies 4 three.

" O see not ye yon narrow road,

So thick beset w i thorns and briers?

T h a t is the path of righteousness,

T h o after it but f ew enquires.

" A n d see not ye that braid braid road,

T h a t lies across yon lillie l even 5 ?

T h a t is the path of wickedness ,

T h o some call it the road to heaven.

" A n d see not ye that bonnie road,

W h i c h winds about the fernie brae?

T h a t is the road to fair Elfland,

W h e [ r e ] you and I this n ight m a u n gae .

* Wonders. 5 Meadow.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS 78 "But T h o m a s , ye m a u n hold your tongue,

W h a t e v e r you m a y hear or see,

F o r g in ae word you should chance to speak,

Y o u wi l l neer get back to your ain countrie."

H e has gotten a coat of the even cloth, A n d a pair of shoes of velvet green,

A n d till seven years were past and gone T r u e T h o m a s on earth was never seen.

16 SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST

WHAN bells war rung , an mass was sung,

A w a t a' m a n to bed were gone,

C l a r k Sanders came to Margret's w i n d o w ,

W i t h m o n y a sad sigh and groan.

" A r e ye sleeping, Margret ," he says,

" O r are ye w a k i n g , presentlie?

G i v e m e m y faith and trouthe again,

A w a t , 1 trew-love, I g i e d 2 to thee."

" Y o u r faith and trouth ye's 3 never get, N o r our trew love shall never t w a i n , 4

T i l l ye come wi th m e in m y bower, A n d kiss me both cheek and chin."

" M y m o u t h it is full cold, Margret ,

It has the smell n o w of the ground;

A n d if I kiss thy comely mouth , T h y life-days wi l l not be long.

" C o c k s are c r o w i n g a merry mid-larf , !

I w a t the wi ld fule 6 boded day; G i e m e m y faith and trouthe again ,

A n d let m e fare m e on m y w a y . "

" T h y faith and trouth thou shall na get ,

N o r our trew love shall never t w i n , 4

T i l l ye tell me w h a t comes of w o m e n

A w a t 1 that dy's in strong travell ing." 1 1 know. 2 Gave. 3 Ye shall. 4 Part. s Unintelligible. 6 Fowl.

S W E E T W I L L I A M ' S G H O S T 79

"The ir beds are made in the heavens h igh , D o w n at the foot of our good Lord's knee,

W e l l set about w i gilly-flowers, A w a t sweet c o m p a n y for to see.

" O cocks are c r o w i n g a merry midd-larf, A wat the wi lde foule boded day;

T h e salms of H e a v e n wi l l be sung,

A n d ere n o w I'le be misst away ."

U p she has tain a bright l o n g w a n d , A n d she has s traked 7 her trouth thereon;

She has g iven ( i t ) h i m out at the shot -window, 8

W i m a n y a sad s igh and heavy groan.

"I thank you , Margre t , I thank you , Margre t ,

A n d I thank you hartilie; G i n e 9 ever the dead come for the quick ,

Be sure, Margre t , I'll come again for thee."

It's hose an shoon and g o u n d 1 0 alane She d a m e the wal l and fol lowed h i m ,

Unt i l she came to a green forest, O n this she lost the sight of h im.

"Is there any room at your head, Sanders?

Is there any room at your feet? O r any room at your t w a sides?

W h a r e fain, fain w o u d I sleep."

" T h e i r is na room at m y head, Margre t ,

T h e i r is na room at m y feet; T h e r e is room at m y t w a sides,

F o r ladys for to sleep.

" C o l d m e a l 1 1 is m y cover ing owre , But an m y w i n d i n g sheet;

M y bed it is full low, I say,

D o w n a m o n g the hongerey w o r m s I sleep. 7 Stroked. 8 A window opening out on a hinge; or a bow-window. 9 If.

1 0 Stockings and shoes and gown. 1 1 Mould.

8o TRADITIONAL BALLADS

" C o l d meal is m y covering owre ,

B u t an m y w i n d i n g sheet;

T h e d e w it falls na sooner d o w n

T h e n ay it is full weet ."

iy THE WIFE OF USHER'S WELL

THERE l ived a wi fe at Usher's W e l l ,

A n d a weal thy wi fe was she;

She had three stout and stalwart sons,

A n d sent them oer the sea.

T h e y hadna been a w e e k from her,

A w e e k but barely ane,

W h a n word came to the carline 1 w i f e

T h a t her three sons were gane .

T h e y hadna been a w e e k from her,

A w e e k but barely three,

W h a n word came to the carlin wi fe

T h a t her sons she'd never see.

"I wish the w i n d may never cease,

N o r fashes 2 in the flood,

T i l l m y three sons come hame to m e ,

In earthly flesh and blood."

It fell about the Mart inmass ,

W h e n nights are l ang and m i r k . 3

T h e carlin wife's three sons came hame,

A n d their hats were o the b irk . 4

It neither g r e w in syke 5 nor di tch,

N o r yet in ony sheugh; 6

B u t at the gates o Paradise,

T h a t birk g r e w fair e n e u g h .

" B l o w u p the fire, m y maidens,

Br ing water from the wel l ;

F o r a' m y house shall feast this night ,

Since m y three sons are wel l ."

'Old woman. 2 Storms(?). 3 Dark. 4Birch. 5 Trench. 6Furrow.

T H E W I F E OF U S H E R S W E L L

A n d she has m a d e to t h e m a bed,

She's m a d e it large and w i d e ,

A n d she's taen her mantle her about ,

Sat d o w n at the bed-side.

U p then crew the red, red cock,

A n d u p and crew the gray;

T h e eldest to the youngest said,

" ' T i s t ime w e were a w a y . "

T h e cock he hadna c r a w d but once,

A n d c lappd his w i n g s at a',

W h e n the youngest to the eldest said,

"Brother, w e must a w a . "

" T h e cock doth craw, the day doth d a w ,

T h e channer in 7 w o r m doth chide;

G i n w e be mist out o our place,

A sair pain w e m a u n bide .

" L i e still, lie still bu t a little w e e whi le ,

L i e still but if w e m a y ;

G i n m y mother should miss us w h e n she wakes ,

She'll g o m a d ere it be day ."

"Faer ye wee l , m y mother dear!

Farewee l to barn and byre!

A n d fare ye weel , the bonny lass

T h a t kindles m y mother's fire!"

HUGH OF LINCOLN

FOUR and twenty bonny boys

W e r e p lay ing at the ba , 1

A n d b y it came h i m sweet Sir H u g h ,

A n d he p layd oer t h e m a'.

H e k icked the ba w i t h his right foot,

A n d catchd it w i his knee, 7 Fretting. 1 Ball.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

A n d throuch-and-thro the Jew's w i n d o w

H e gard the bonny ba flee.

He's doen h i m to the Jew's castell,

A n d w a l k d it round about;

A n d there he saw the Jew's daughter ,

A t the w i n d o w look ing out.

" T h r o w d o w n the ba, ye Jew's daughter ,

T h r o w d o w n the ba to me!"

" N e v e r a bit," says the Jew's daughter ,

" T i l l u p to m e come ye ."

" H o w wi l l I come u p ? H o w can I come u p ?

H o w can I come to thee?

F o r as ye did to m y auld father,

T h e same ye'll do me."

She's gane till her father's garden,

A n d pu'd an apple red and green;

' T w a s a' to w y l e 2 h i m sweet Sir H u g h ,

A n d to entice h i m in.

She's led h i m in through ae dark door,

A n d sae has she thro nine;

She's laid h i m on a dressing-table,

A n d stickit h i m l ike a swine.

A n d first came out the thick, thick blood,

A n d syne came out the thin,

A n d syne came out the bonny heart's blood;

T h e r e was nae mair wi th in .

She's r o w d 3 h i m in a cake o lead,

Bade h i m lie still and sleep;

She's thrown h i m in O u r L a d y ' s draw-wel l ,

W a s fifty fa thom deep.

W h e n bells were rung, and mass was sung,

A n d a' the bairns came h a m e , 2 Entice. 3 Rolled.

H U G H OF L I N C O L N

4 Gone. s If.

W h e n every lady ga t h a m e her son,

T h e L a d y Maisry gat nane.

She's taen her mant le her about,

H e r coffer by the hand,

A n d she's gane out to seek her son,

A n d w a n d e r d oer the land.

She's doen her to the Jew's castell,

W h e r e a' were fast asleep:

" G i n ye be there, m y sweet Sir H u g h ,

I pray you to m e speak."

She's doen* her to the Jew's garden,

T h o u g h t he had been gather ing fruit:

" G i n 5 ye be there, m y sweet Sir H u g h ,

I pray you to m e speak."

She heard O u r L a d y ' s deep draw-wel l ,

W a s fifty fa thom deep:

"Whareer ye be, m y sweet Sir H u g h ,

I pray you to m e speak."

" G a e hame, gae hame, m y mither dear,

Prepare m y w i n d i n g sheet,

A n d at the back o merry L inco ln

T h e morn I wi l l you meet."

N o w L a d y Maisry is gane hame,

M a d e h i m a w i n d i n g sheet,

A n d at the back o merry L inco ln

T h e dead corpse did her meet .

A n d a' the bells o merry L i n c o l n

W i t h o u t men's hands were rung ,

A n d a' the books o merry L inco ln

W e r e read wi thout man's tongue ,

A n d neer was such a burial

Sin A d a m ' s days b e g u n .

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

YOUNG BICHAM

IN L o n d o n city was B i c h a m born,

H e longd strange countries for to see,

B u t he was taen by a savage Moor ,

W h o handld h i m r ight cruely.

F o r thro his shoulder he put a bore, 1

A n thro the bore has pi t ten 2 a tree, 3

A n he's g a r d 4 h i m draw the carts o w ine ,

W h e r e horse and oxen had w o n t to be .

He's casten [ h i m ] in a d u n g e o n deep,

W h e r e he coud neither hear nor see;

He ' s shut h i m u p in a prison strong,

A n d he's handld h i m right cruely.

O this M o o r he had but ae daughter ,

I w o t her n a m e w a s Shusy P y e ;

She's doen her to the prison-house,

A n d she's calld Y o u n g B i c h a m one word

" O hae ye ony lands or rents,

O r citys in your ain country,

C o u d free you out of prison strong,

A n coud mantain a lady free?"

" O L o n d o n city is m y o w n ,

A n other citys t w a or three

C o u d loose m e out o prison strong,

A n coud mantain a lady f r e e . "

O she has bribed her father's m e n

W i meik le g o u d and whi te money ,

She's gotten the k e y o the prison doors,

A n she has set Y o u n g B i c h a m free.

She's g i 'n h i m a loaf o good whi te bread,

B u t an a flask o Spanish wine ,

'Hole. 2Put. 3Piece of wood. 4Made.

Y O U N G B I C H A M

A n d she bad h i m m i n d o n 5 the ladie's love

T h a t sae k ind ly freed h i m out o pine . 6

" G o set your foot on good ship-board,

A n haste you back to your ain country,

A n before that seven years has an end,

C o m e back aga in , love, and marry m e . "

It was l ang or seven years had an end

She longd fu sair her love to see;

She's set her foot on good ship-board,

A n turnd her back on her ain country.

She's saild u p , so has she doun ,

T i l l she came to the other side;

She's landed at Y o u n g Bicham's gates,

A n I hop this day she sal be his bride.

"Is this Y o u n g Bicham's ga te s?" says she,

" O r is that noble prince w i t h i n ? "

"He's u p the stairs w i his bonny bride,

A n m o n n y a lord and lady w i h im."

" O has he taen a bonny bride,

A n has he clean forgotten me!"

A n s ighing said that g a y lady,

"I w i sh I were in m y ain country!"

B u t she's pi t ten 7 her han in her pocket ,

A n g in the porter guineas three;

Says, " T a k e ye that, ye proud porter,

A n bid the br idegroom speak to m e . "

O w h a n the porter came u p the stair,

He's fa'n 8 l o w d o w n upon his knee :

" W o n 9 u p , w o n u p , ye proud porter,

A n w h a t makes a' this courtesy?"

" O I've been porter at your gates

T h i s mair nor seven years an three, 5 Recall. 'Suffering. 7 Put. 8 Fallen. 9 Get.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

B u t there is a lady at t h e m n o w

T h e l ike of w h o m I never did see.

" F o r on every finger she has a ring,

A n on the mid-finger she has three,

A n there's as me ik le g o u d aboon her b r o w

A s w o u d buy an earldome o lan to me."

T h e n u p it started Y o u n g B icham,

A n sware so loud by O u r L a d y ,

"It can be nane but Shusy Pye ,

T h a t has come oer the sea to me ."

O quick ly ran he d o w n the stair,

O fifteen steps he has m a d e but three;

H e ' s t a n e 1 0 his bonny love in his arms,

A n a w o t 1 1 he kissed her tenderly.

" O h a e " you taen a bonny bride?

A n hae you quite forsaken m e ?

A n hae ye quite forgotten her

T h a t g a e 1 3 y o u life an l iberty?"

She's lookit oer her left shoulder

T o hide the tears stood in her ee;

" N o w fare thee wel l , Y o u n g Bicham," she says,

"I'll strive to th ink nae mair on thee."

" T a k e back your daughter , m a d a m , " he says,

" A n a double dowry I'll g i her w i ;

F o r I m a u n 1 4 marry m y first true love,

T h a t ' s done and suffered so m u c h for me."

H e ' s take his bonny love by the han,

A n d led her to yon fountain stane;

H e ' s c h a n g d her n a m e frae Shusy Pye ,

A n he's cald her his bonny love, L a d y Jane. 1 0Taken. 1 1 1 know. 1 2Have. "Gave. "Must.

GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR

GET UP AND BAR THE DOOR

IT fell about the Mart inmas t ime,

A n d a gay t ime it was then,

W h e n our good wi fe g o t p u d d i n g s to m a k e ,

A n d she's boild t h e m in the pan.

T h e w i n d sae cauld b lew south and north,

A n d b lew into the floor;

Q u o t h our g o o d m a n to our goodwi fe ,

" G a e 1 out and bar the door."

" M y hand is in m y hussyfskap, 2

G o o d m a n , as ye m a y see;

A n it shoud nae be barrd this hundred year,

It's no be barrd for me ."

T h e y made a paction tween t h e m t w a ,

T h e y made it f irm and sure,

T h a t the first w o r d whaeer shoud speak,

Shoud rise and bar the door.

T h e n by there came t w o g e n d e m e n ,

A t twelve o'clock at n ight ,

A n d they could neither see house nor hall,

N o r coal nor candle-l ight.

" N o w whether is this a rich man's house,

O r whether is it a p o o r ? "

B u t neer a w o r d w a d ane o t h e m speak,

F o r barring of the door.

A n d first they ate the whi te puddings ,

A n d then they ate the black;

T h o m u c k l e t h o u g h t the g o o d w i f e to hersel,

Y e t neer a w o r d she spake.

T h e n said the one unto the other,

"Here , m a n , tak ye m y kni fe ;

D o ye tak aff the auld man's beard,

A n d I'll kiss the goodwi fe ." 1 Go. J Housewifery.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

" B u t there's nae water in the house,

A n d w h a t shall w e do t h a n ? "

" W h a t ails thee at the pudding-broo , 3

T h a t boils into the p a n ? "

O up then started our g o o d m a n ,

A n angry m a n was he:

" W i l l ye kiss m y wife before m y een,

A n d scad 4 m e w i pudding-bree?"

T h e n u p and started our goodwi fe ,

G i e d three skips on the floor:

" G o o d m a n , you've spoken the foremost word ,

G e t up and bar the door."

THE BATTLE OF OTTERBURN

IT fell about the L a m m u s t ime,

W h e n the muir-men w o n 1 their hay,

T h a t the doughty Earl D o u g l a s went

Into E n g l a n d to catch a prey.

H e chose the Gordons and the Graemes ,

W i t h the L indsays l ight and gay ;

B u t the Jardines w a d n a w i h i m ride,

A n d they rued it to this day .

A n d he has burnt the dales o T i n e

A n d part of A lmonsh ire .

A n d three good towers on R o x b u r g h fells

H e left them all on fire.

T h e n he marched u p to N e w c a s d e ,

A n d rode it round about:

" O whae's the lord of this casde,

O r whae's the lady o ' t?"

B u t up spake proud Lord Piercy then,

A n d O but he spake hie! 2

8 Water in which the puddings were boiled. 4 Scald. 1 Dry, make. 2 High.

T H E BATTLE OF OTTERBTJRN

"I a m the lord of this castle,

A n d m y wife's the lady gaye ."

"If you are lord of this casde,

Sae weel it pleases m e ;

For ere I cross the borden aga in

T h e ane of us shall die."

H e took a l ang speir in his hand ,

W a s ma de of the metal free,

A n d for to meet the D o u g l a s then

H e rode most furiously.

B u t O h o w pale his lady lookd, •

Frae off the castle w a ,

W h e n d o w n before the Scottish spear

She saw brave Piercy fa!

H o w pale and w a n his lady lookd,

Frae off the castle h ieght ,

W h e n she beheld her Piercy yield

T o D o u g h t y D o u g l a s ' m i g h t !

" H a d w e t w a been upon the green,

A n d never an eye to see,

I should have had ye flesh and fell;

B u t your sword shall gae w i m e . "

"But g a e 3 you up to Otterburn,

A n d there wa i t dayes three,

A n d if I come not ere three days' end

A fause 4 lord ca ye me."

" T h e Otterburn's a bonny burn,

'T i s pleasant there to be,

B u t there is n a u g h t at Otterburn

T o feed m y m e n and me .

" T h e deer rins w i l d o w r hill and dale,

T h e birds fly w i l d frae tree to tree, 3 Go. 4 False.

90 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

A n d there is neither bread nor k a l e 5

T o f end 6 m y m e n and m e .

" B u t I wi l l stay at Otterburn,

W h e r e you shall we lcome be;

A n d if ye come not at three days' end

A coward I'll ca thee."

" T h e n gae your w a y s to Otterburn,

A n d there wa i t dayes three;

A n d if I come not ere three days' end

A coward ye's ca me."

T h e y l ighted h i g h on Otterburn,

U p o n the bent 7 so brown,

T h e y l ighted h igh on Otterburn,

A n d threw their pal l ions 8 d o w n .

A n d he that had a bonny boy

Sent his horses to grass,

A n d he that had not a bonny boy,

H i s a in 9 servant he w a s .

B u t u p then spak a little page ,

Before the peep of the d a w n ;

" O w a k e n ye , w a k e n ye, m y good lord,

F o r Piercy's hard at hand!"

" Y e lie, ye lie, ye loud liar,

Sae loud I hear ye lie!

T h e Piercy hadna m e n yestreen 1 0

T o d i g h t 1 1 m y m e n and m e .

"But I have seen a dreary dream;

B e y o n d the isle o S k y ;

I saw a dead m a n w o n the fight,

A n d I th ink that m a n w a s I ."

H e belted on his good broad-sword

A n d to the field he ran,

5 Broth. 6 Support. 7 Grassy field. 8 Pavilions. 9 Own. 1 0 Last night. 1 1 Dress; attack.

T H E B A T T L E OF OTTERBURN

W h e r e he met w i the proud Piercy,

A n d a' his goodly train.

W h e n Piercy w i the D o u g l a s met ,

I wat he was right keen;

T h e y s w a k k e d 1 2 their swords till sair they swat ,

A n d the blood ran them between.

B u t Piercy w i his g o o d broad-sword,

W a s made o the metal free,

H a s w o u n d e d D o u g l a s on the b r o w

T i l l backward he d id flee.

T h e n he calld on his little page ,

A n d said, R u n speedily,

A n d bring m y ain dear sister's son,

Sir H u g h M o n t g o m e r y .

[ W h o , w h e n he saw the D o u g l a s bleed,

H i s heart was wonder w a e :

" N o w , by m y sword, that h a u g h t y lord

Shall rue before he gae ."

" M y nephew bauld," the D o u g l a s said,

" W h a t boots the death of a n e ? 1 3

Last n ight I dreamed a dreary dream,

A n d I k e n the day's thy a i n . 1 4

"I dreamd I saw a battle fought

Beyond the isle o Sky ,

W h e n lo! a dead m a n w a n the field,

A n d I thought that m a n was I.

" M y w o u n d is deep, I fain w a d sleep,

N a e mair I'll f ight ing see;

G a e lay m e in the b r e a k e n 1 5 bush

T h a t grows on yonder lee . 1 6

"But tell na ane of m y brave men

T h a t I lye bleeding w a n , 1 2 Smote. 1 3 One. 1 4 Own. 1 5 Fern. 1 6 Meadow.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

B u t let the n a m e of D o u g l a s still

B e shouted in the van .

" A n d bury me here on this lee,

Beneath the b looming briar,

A n d never let a mortal ken

A k ind ly Scot lyes here."

H e liftit u p that noble lord,

W i the saut tear in his ee,

A n d hid h i m in the breaken bush,

O n yonder lily lee.

T h e m o o n was clear, the day drew near,

T h e spears in flinters flew,

B u t m o n y gal lant E n g l i s h m a n

E r e day the Scotsman slew.

Sir H u g h M o n t g o m e r y he rode

T h r o all the field in sight,

A n d loud the name of D o u g l a s still

H e urgd w i a' his m i g h t .

T h e G o r d o n s good , in Eng l i sh blood

T h e y steeped their hose and shoon,

T h e L indsays flew like fire about,

T i l l a' the fray was doon.]

W h e n stout Sir H u g h w i Piercy met ,

I w a t he was r ight fain;

T h e y s w a k k e d their swords till sair they s

A n d the blood ran d o w n like rain.

" O yield thee, Piercy," said Sir H u g h ,

" O yield, or ye shall die!"

"Fa in w a d I yield," proud Piercy said,

"But neer to l o u n 1 7 l ike thee."

" T h o u shalt not yield to k n a v e nor loun,

N o r shalt thou yield to m e ; 1 7 Fellow.

CHEVY CHASE

B u t yield thee to the breaken bush

T h a t grows on yonder lee."

"I wi l l not yield to bush or brier,

N o r wi l l I yield to thee;

B u t I wil l yield to L o r d D o u g l a s ,

O r Sir H u g h M o n t g o m e r y . "

[ W h e n Piercy k n e w it was Sir H u g h ,

H e fell l ow on his knee,

But soon he raisd h i m u p again ,

W i mickle courtesy.]

H e left not an E n g l i s h m a n on the field

T h a t he hadna either ki l ld or taen

Ere his heart's blood was cauld.

CHEVY CHASE

GOD prosper long our noble king,

our liffes 1 and saftyes all!

A woeful l hunt ing once there did

in C h e u y C h a s e befall.

T o dr/ue the deere w / t h h o u n d and h o m e

Erie Pearcy took the w a y :

T h e child m a y rue that is vnborne

the hunt ing of that, day!

T h e stout Erie of N o r t h u m b e r l a n d

a v o w to G o d did m a k e

H i s pleasure in the Scottish woods

three sommers days to take ,

T h e cheefest harts in C h e u y C [ h ] a s e

to kill and beare a w a y :

T h e s e tydings to Erie D o u g l a s came

in Scottland, where he lay. 1 Lives.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

W h o sent Erie Pearcy present w o r d

he w o u l d prevent his sport;

T h e E n g l i s h erle, not fearing that ,

did to the woods resort,

W / t h fifteen hundred b o w m e n bold,

A l l chosen m e n of m i g h t ,

W h o k n e w ffull wel l in t ime of neede

to a y m e their shafts arright.

T h e gal lant g r e y h o u n d [ s ] swiftly ran

to chase the fal low deere;

O n M u n d a y they began to hunt ,

ere day l ight d id appeare.

A n d l o n g before h igh noone the had

a hundred fat buckes slaine;

T h e n hau ing dined, the drouyers went

to rouze the deare againe .

T h e b o w m e n mustered on the hills,

wel l able to endure;

T h e i r e backsids all w / t h speciall care

that day were guarded sure.

T h e hounds ran swiftly through the woods

the n imble deere to take,

That w / th their cryes the hills and dales

an eccho shrill d id m a k e .

L o r d Pearcy to the querry 2 w e n t

to v i e w the tender deere;

Q « o t h he, "Erie D o u g l a s promised once

this day to meete me heere;

"But if I t h o u g h t he w o l d not come,

noe longer w o l d I stay."

W / t h that a braue younge g e n t l m a n

thus to the erle d id say:

2 Slaughtered game.

CHEVY CHASE

"Loe , yonder doth Erie D o u g l a s come,

hys men in armour bright;

Fu l l twenty hundred Scottish speres

all march ing in our sight.

" A l l m e n of pleasant T i u y d a l e ,

fast by the riuer T w e e d e : "

" O ceaze your sportts!" Erie Pearcy said,

"and take your bowes w / t h speede.

" A n d n o w w / t h me , m y countrymen,

yoz*r courage forth advance!

F o r there was neuer champion yett,

in Scottland nor in Ffrance ,

"That euer did on horsbacke come,

[ b u t ] , and if m y hap it were ,

I durst encounter m a n for m a n ,

w / t h h i m to break a spere."

Erie D o u g l a s on his mi lke-white steede,

most l ike a baron bold,

R o d e formost of his company ,

whose armor shone l ike go ld .

"Shew me ," sayd hee, "whose m e n you bee

that hunt soe boldly heere,

That w / thout m y consent doe chase

and kil l m y fal low deere."

T h e first m a n that did answer m a k e

was noble Pearcy hee,

W h o sayd, " W e e list not to declare

nor shew whose m e n wee bee;

"Yet t wee wil l spend our deerest blood

thy cheefest harts to slay."

T h e n D o u g l a s swore a solempne oathe,

and thus in rage did say:

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

"Ere thus I wi l l outbraued bee,

one of vs tow shall dye;

I k n o w thee wel l , an erle thou art;

L o r d Pearcy, soe a m I.

"But trust me , Pearcye, pittye it were,

and great offence, to kill

T h e n any of these our guiltlesse m e n ,

for they haue done none ill.

" L e t thou and I the battell trye,

and set our m e n aside:"

"Accurst bee [ h e ! ] " Erie Pearcye sayd,

"by w h o m e it is denyed."

T h e n stept a gal lant squire forth—

W i t h e r i n g t o n was his n a m e —

W h o said, "I w o l d not haue it told

T o H e n e r y our king, for shame,

"That ere m y captaine fought on foote,

and I stand look ing on.

Y o u bee t w o Erles," q « o t h Wi ther ing ton ,

"and I a squier alone;

' T i e doe the best that doe I may ,

whi l e I haue power to stand;

W h i l e I haue power to wee ld m y sword,

I'lt f ight w / th hart and hand."

O u r E n g l i s h archers bent their bowes;

their harts were good and trew;

A t t the first flight of arrowes sent,

full foure score Scotts the slew.

T o driue the deere w / t h hound and h o m e ,

D o u g l a s b a d e 3 on the bent;

T w o captaines moued w / t h m i c k l e 4 might ,

their speres to shiuers went . 3 Abode. 4 Great.

CHEVY CHASE

T h e y closed full fast on eu^rye side

noe slackness there was found,

But many a gallant gent l eman

lay gasp ing on the g r o u n d .

0 Christ ! it was great greeue 5 to see

h o w eche m a n chose his spere,

A n d h o w the blood out of their brests

did gush like water cleare.

A t last these t w o stout erles did meet ,

l ike captaines of great m i g h t ;

L i k e lyons w o o d e 6 they layd on lode;

the made a cruell f ight.

T h e fought vntil they both did sweat,

w / th swords of tempered Steele,

T i l l blood d o w n e their cheekes l ike raine

the trickl ing d o w n e d id feele.

" O yeeld thee, Pearcye!" D o u g l a s sayd,

" A n d in faith I wi l l thee bringe

W h e r e thou shall h igh advanced bee

by lames our Scottish king.

" T h y ransome I wi l l freely g iue ,

and this report of thee,

T h o u art the most couragious knight

[that ever I did see.]"

"Noe , D o u g l a s ! " quoth Erie Percy then,

"thy profer I doe scorne;

1 wi l l not yeelde to any Scott

that euer yett was borne!"

W / t h that there came an arrow keene,

out of an Eng l i sh b o w ,

W h i c h stroke Erie D o u g l a s on the brest

a deepe and deadlye b low. 5 Grief. 6 Mad.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

W h o neuer sayd more words than these;

" F i g h t on, m y merry men all!

F o r w h y , m y life is att [an] end,

lord Pearcy sees m y fall ."

T h e n leauing liffe, Er ie Pearcy tooke

the dead m a n by the hand;

W h o said, "Erie D o w g l a s , for thy life,

W o l d I had lost m y land!

" O Chr i s t ! m y verry hart doth bleed

for sorrow for thy sake,

F o r sure, a more redoubted knight

mischance cold neuer take."

A knight amongs t the Scotts there was

which, saw Erie D o u g l a s dye,

W h o streight in hart did v o w revenge

v p o n the L o r d Pearcye.

Sir H u g h M o u n t g o m e r y e was he called,

w h o , with a spere full bright ,

W e l l m o u n t e d on a gal lant steed,

ran feircly through the fight,

A n d past the Eng l i sh archers all,

w i t h o u t all dread or feare,

A n d through Erie Percyes body then

h e thrust his hatfull spere.

W / t h such a vehement force and m i g h t

his body he d id gore,

T h e staff ran through the other side

a large cioth-yard and more .

T h u s d id both those nobles dye ,

whose courage none cold staine;

A n Eng l i sh archer then perceiued

the noble erle was slaine.

CHEVY CHASE

H e had [a] good b o w in his h a n d ,

m a d e of a trusty tree;

A n arrow of a cloth-yard l o n g

to the hard head haled hee .

A g a i n s t S/r H u g h M o u n t g o m e r y e

his shaft full r ight he sett;

T h e grey-goose-winge that was there-on

in his harts bloode was wet t .

T h i s fight from breake of day d id last

till setting of the sun,

F o r w h e n the r u n g the euening-bell

the battele scarse was done .

W / t h stout Erie Percy there w a s slaine

S/r Iohn of Eger ton ,

S/r Robert Harcl i ffe and S/r W i l l i a m ,

S/r lames , that bold barron.

A n d wi th S/r G e o r g e and S/r lames ,

both knights of good account,

G o o d S/r R a p h e Rebbye there w a s slaine,

whose prowesse d id surmount .

F o r W i t h e r i n g t o n needs must I w a y l e

as one in dolefull dumpes ,

F o r w h e n his leggs were smitten of,

he fought vpon his stumpes.

A n d w / t h Erie D o w g l a s there w a s slaine

S/r H u g h M o u n t g o m e r y e ,

A n d S/r Charles Morrel l , that from feelde

one foote w o l d neuer flee;

S/r Roger H e u e r of Harcl i ffe t o w ,

his sisters sonne was hee;

S/r D a v i d L a m b w e l l , wel l esteemed,

but saved he cold not bee.

1 0 0 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

A n d the "Lard M a x w e l l , in like case,

w / t h D o u g l a s he did dye;

O f twenty hundred Scottish speeres,

scarce fifty-fiue did flye.

O f fifteen hundred E n g l i s h m e n

w e n t h o m e but fifty-three;

T h e rest in C h e u y C h a s e were slaine,

vnder the greenwoode tree.

N e x t day did m a n y w i d d o w e s come

their husbands to bewayle ;

T h e y washt their w o u n d s in brinish teares,

but all w o l d not prevayle.

T h e y r bodyes, bathed in purple blood,

the bore w / t h them a w a y ;

T h e y kist them dead a thousand times

ere the were cladd in clay.

T h e newes was brought to Eddenborrow,

where Scottlands king did rayne,

That braue Erie D o u g l a s soddainlye

was w / t h an arrow slaine.

" O heauy newes!" King lames can say;

"Scotland may wittenesse bee

I haue not any captaine more

of such account as hee."

L i k e tydings to King H e n e r y came,

w/ th in as short a space,

That Pearcy of N o r t h u m b e r l a n d

w a s slaine in C h e u y Chase .

" N o w G o d be w / t h h i m ! " said our king,

"sith it wi l l noe better bee;

I trust I haue wi th in m y realme

fiue hundred as good as hee.

J O H N I E ARMSTRONG

"Yet t shall not Scotts nor Scottland say

but I wi l l vengeance take ,

A n d be revenged on t h e m all

for braue Erie Percyes sake."

T h i s v o w the king d id wel l performe

after on H u m b l e - d o w n e ;

In one day fifty knights were slayne,

w / th lords of great renowne .

A n d of the rest, of small account,

did m a n y hundreds d y e :

T h u s endeth the h u n t i n g in C h e u y C h a s e ,

m a d e by the Erie Pearcye.

G o d saue our king, and blesse this land

w / t h plentye, ioy, and peace,

A n d grant hencforth that foule debate

twixt noble m e n m a y ceaze!

JOHNIE ARMSTRONG

THERE dwel t a m a n in faire Wes tmer land ,

Ionne Armes trong men did h im call,

H e had nither lands nor rents c o m i n g in,

Y e t he kept e ight score m e n in his hall .

H e had horse and harness for them all,

G o o d l y steeds were all mi lke-whi te ;

O the golden bands an about their necks,

A n d their weapons , they were all al ike.

N e w e s then was brought unto the k i n g

T h a t there was sicke a w o n 1 as hee,

T h a t lived lyke a bold out-law,

A n d robbed all the north country.

T h e k i n g he writt an letter then,

A letter w h i c h was large and long;

H e signed it w i th his o w n e hand,

A n d he promised to doe h i m no w r o n g . 1 Such a one.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

W h e n this letter came Ionne' untill ,

H i s heart it was as blythe as birds on the tree:

" N e v e r was I sent for before any k ing ,

M y father, m y grandfather, nor none but mee .

" A n d if w e e goe the k i n g before,

I w o u l d w e w e n t most orderly;

E v e r y m a n of you shall have his scarlet cloak,

L a c e d w i t h silver laces three.

" E v e r y w o n of you shall have his velvett coat,

L a c e d w i t h sillver lace so whi te ;

O the go lden bands an about your necks,

B l a c k hatts, wh i t e feathers, all a lyke."

B y the m o r r o w morn inge at ten of the clock,

T o w a r d s E d e n b u r o u g h g o n was hee,

A n d w i t h h i m all his e ight score men;

G o o d lord, it was a goodly sight for to see!

W h e n Ionne came befower the k i n g ,

H e fell d o w n e on his knee;

" O pardon, m y soveraine leige," he said,

" O pardon m y e ight score m e n and mee!"

" T h o u shalt have no pardon, thou traytor strong,

F o r thy e ight score men nor thee;

F o r to-morrow m o r n i n g by ten of the clock,

Both thou and t h e m shall h a n g on the gallow-tree."

B u t Ionne look'd over his left shoulder,

G o o d L o r d , w h a t a grevious look looked hee!

Say ing , " A s k i n g grace of a graceles face—

W h y there is none for you nor me."

B u t Ionne had a br ight sword by his side,

A n d it w a s m a de of the mettle so free,

T h a t had not the k i n g stept his foot aside,

H e had smitten his head from his faire bodde.

J O H N I E ARMSTRONG IO3

Saying , " F i g h t on, m y merry m e n all ,

A n d see that none of you be taine;

F o r rather then m e n shall say w e were hange'd ,

L e t them report h o w w e were slaine."

T h e n , G o d wott , faire E d d e n b u r r o u g h rose,

A n d so besett poore Ionne rounde,

T h a t fowerscore and tenn of Ionnes best m e n

L a y gasp ing all upon the ground .

T h e n like a m a d m a n Ionne laide about,

A n d l ike a m a d m a n then fought hee,

Unt i l l a falce Scot came Ionne behinde,

A n d runn h i m through the faire boddee.

Say ing , " F i g h t on, m y merry m e n all,

A n d see that none of you be taine;

F o r I wi l l stand by and bleed but awhi le ,

A n d then wi l l I come and fight againe."

N e w e s then was brought to y o u n g Ionne A r m e s t r o n g ,

A s he stood by his nurses knee,

W h o v o w e d if ere he live'd for to be a m a n ,

O the treacherous Scots revengd hee'd be.

CAPTAIN CAR

IT befell at M a r t y n m a s ,

W h e n wether w a x e d colde,

Capta ine C a r e said to his m e « ,

W e must g o take a holde.

Syck , sike, and to-towe sike,

A n d sike and l ike to die;

T h e sikest n ighte that euer I abode,

G o d lord haue mercy on m e ! 1

"Hail le , master, and wether you wi l l ,

A n d wether ye l ike it best";

" T o the castle of Crecrynbroghe ,

A n d there w e wi l l take our reste."

The refrain here, as often, has no significance for the story.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

"I k n o w e wher is a g a y castle,

Is bui lded of l y m e and stone;

W i t h i n their is a g a y ladie,

H e r lord is riden and gone ."

T h e ladie she l end 2 on her castle-walle,

She loked v p p and d o w n e ;

T h e r e was she ware of an host of men,

C o m e r id ing to the t o w n e .

"Se y o w , m y meri m e n all,

A n d se y o w w h a t I see?

Y o n d e r I see a host of men,

I muse w h o they bee."

She t h o u g h t he had ben her w e d lord,

A s he c o m d r id ing home;

T h e n was it traitor Capta ine C a r e ,

T h e lord of Ester- towne.

T h e y w e r no soner at supper sett,

T h e n after said the grace,

O r C a p t a i n e C a r e and all his m e n

W e r l ighte aboute the place.

" G y u e oner thi howsse, thou lady gay ,

A n d I wi l l m a k e the a bande; 3

T o - n i g h t e thou shall ly w/ t^ in m y a r m « ,

T o - m o r r o w e thou shall ere m y lande."

T h e n bespacke the eldest sonne,

T h a t was both whi t t and redde:

" O mother dere, geue oner your howsse,

O r e l l « w e shalbe deade,"

"I wi l l not geue ou<?r m y hous," she saithe,

" N o t for feare of m y lyffe;

It shalbe talked throughout the land,

T h e slaughter of a wyffe . 2 Leaned. 3 Agreement.

C A P T A I N CAR

"Fetch m e m y pestilett, 4

A n d charge m e m y gonne ,

T h a t I may shott at yonder b loddy butcher,

T h e lord of Easter-towne."

Styfly vpon her wal l she stode,

A n d lett the pel lettw flee;

B u t then she myst the blody bucher,

A n d she slew other three.

"[I w i l l ] not g e u e ouer m y hous," she saithe,

"Netheir for lord nor lowne;

N o r yet for traitowr Capta ine C a r e ,

T h e lord of Easter-towne.

"I desire of Capta ine C a r e ,

A n d all his b loddye band,

T h a t he w o u l d saue m y eldest sonne,

T h e eare 5 of all m y lande."

" L a p h i m in a shete," he sayth,

" A n d let h i m d o w n e to me ,

A n d I shall take h i m in m y armes,

H i s w a r a n 6 shall I be."

T h e captayne sayd unto h i m selfe:

W y t h sped, before the rest,

H e cut his tonge out of his head,

H i s hart out of his brest.

H e lapt them in a handkerchef,

A n d knet it of k n o t « three,

A n d cast them ouer the castell-wall,

A t that g a y ladye.

" F y e vpon the, C a p t a y n e C a r e ,

A n d all thy bloddy band!

F o r thou hast slayne m y eldest sonne,

T h e ayre 5 of all m y land." 4 Pistolet. s Heir. 6 Warrant.

106 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

T h e n bespake the yongest sonne,

T h a t sat on the nurses knee,

Sayth , "Mother g a y , geue ouer your house;

It smoldereth me ."

"I w o l d geue m y gold ," she saith,

" A n d so I w o l d e m y flee, 7

F o r a blaste of the westryn w i n d ,

T o dryue the smoke from thee.

" F y v p o » the, John H a m l e t o n ,

T h a t euer I paid the hyre!

F o r thou hast broken m y castle-wall,

A n d k y n d l e d in the ffyre."

T h e lady g a t e 8 to her close parler,

T h e fire fell aboute her head;

She toke v p her children thre,

Set, " B a b « , w e are all dead."

T h e n bespake the hye steward,

T h a t is of h y e degree;

Saith, "Ladie g a y , you are in close,

W e t h e r ye fighte or flee."

L o r d H a m l e t o n dremd in his dream,

In Carual l where he laye,

H i s halle were all of fyre,

H i s ladie slayne or daye .

" B u s k 9 and b o w n e , 1 0 m y mery men all,

E v e n and g o ye w i t h me;

F o r I d r e m d that m y haal w a s on fyre,

M y lady slayne o r 1 1 day ."

H e buskt h i m and b o w n d h y m ,

A n d l ike a worth i kn ighte ;

A n d w h e n he saw his hall burning ,

H i s harte w a s no dele l ighte.

* Property. 8 Went. 9 Prepare. 1 0 Make ready. 1 1 Ere.

C A P T A I N CAR

H e sett a tru/npett till his m o u t h ,

H e blew as it plesd his grace;

T w e n t y score of H a w l e n t o n s

W a s l ight aboute the place.

" H a d I k n o w n e as m u c h yesternighte

A s I do to-daye,

Capta ine C a r e and all his men

Should not haue gone so qui te .

" F y e v p o n the, Capta ine Care ,

A n d all thy blody bande!

T h o u haste slayne m y lady gay ,

More w « r t h then all thy lande.

"If thou had ought eny ill wil l ," he saith,

" T h o u shoulde haue taken m y lyffe,

A n d haue saved m y children, thre,

A l l and m y louesome wyffe ."

THE BONNY EARL OF MURRAY

YE H i g h l a n d s , and ye L a w l a n d s ,

O h where have you been?

T h e y have slain the Earl of M u r r a y ,

A n d they layd h i m on the green.

" N o w w a e 1 be to thee, H u n t l y !

A n d wherefore did you sae?

I bade you bring h i m w i you,

B u t forbade you h i m to slay."

H e was a braw gallant,

A n d he rid at the r ing;

A n d the bonny Earl of M u r r a y ,

O h he m i g h t have been a k i n g !

H e was a braw gal lant ,

A n d he playd at the ba;

'Woe.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

A n d the bonny Earl of Murray

W a s the flower a m a n g them a'.

H e was a b r a w gal lant ,

A n d he played at the g love;

A n d the bonny Earl of Murray ,

O h he was the Queen's love!

O h lang wi l l his lady

L o o k oer the castle D o w n ,

Eer she see the Earl of Murray

C o m e sounding thro the t o w n !

E e r she, etc.

KINMONT WILLIE

O HAVE ye na heard o the fause Sakelde ?

O have ye na heard o the keen L o r d Scroop?

H o w they hae taen bauld K i n m o n t Wi l l i e ,

O n Hair ibee to h a n g h i m u p ?

H a d Wi l l i e had but twenty men ,

B u t twenty m e n as stout as he,

Fause Sakelde had never the K i n m o n t taen,

W i e ight score in his companie .

T h e y band his legs beneath the steed,

T h e y tied his hands behind his back;

T h e y guarded h i m , fivesome on each side,

A n d they brought h i m ower the Liddel -rack.

T h e y led h i m thro the Liddel -rack,

A n d also thro the Carlisle sands;

T h e y brought h i m to Carlisle castell,

T o be at m y L o r d Scroope's commands .

" M y hands are tied, but m y tongue is free,

A n d w h a e wil l dare this deed a v o w ?

O r answer by the border l a w ?

O r answer to the bauld B u c c l e u c h ? "

K I N M O N T W I L L I E

" N o w haud thy tongue , thou rank reiver! 1

There 's never a Scot shall set ye free;

Before ye cross m y castle-yate, 2

I trow ye shall take farewell o me."

"Fear na ye that, m y lord," q u o Wi l l i e ;

"By the faith o m y bodie, L o r d Scroop," he said,

"I never yet lodged in a hostelrie

B u t I paid m y l a w i n g 3 before I gaed ."

N o w word is gane to the bauld Keeper ,

In Branksome H a where that he lay,

T h a t L o r d Scroope has taen the K i n m o n t W i l l i e

Be tween the hours of n ight and day.

H e has taen the table w i his hand ,

H e garrd 4 the red w i n e spring on hie;

" N o w Christ 's curse on m y head," he said,

"But avenged of L o r d Scroop I'll be!

" O is m y basnet 5 a w i d o w ' s curch?

O r m y lance a w a n d of the wil low-tree?

O r m y arm a ladye's lilye hand ?

T h a t an Eng l i sh lord should l ight ly 6 me .

" A n d have they taen h i m K i n m o n t Wi l l i e ,

A g a i n s t the truce of Border tide,

A n d forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch

Is keeper here on the Scottish side?

" A n d have they een taen h i m K i n m o n t W i l l i e ,

W i t h o u t e n either dread or fear,

A n d forgotten that the bauld Bacleuch

C a n back a steed, or shake a spear?

" O were there w a r between the lands,

A s well I w o t that there is none,

I w o u l d s l ight 7 Carlisle castell h igh ,

T h o it were bui lded of marble-stone.

'Robber. 2 Gate. 3 Bill. 4 Made. 5 Helmet. 6 Treat scornfully. 7 Demolish.

n o TRADITIONAL BALLADS

"I w o u l d set that castell in a l ow , 8

A n d s loken 9 it w i t h Eng l i sh blood;

There 's nevir a m a n in C u m b e r l a n d

Should k e n where Carlisle castell stood.

"But since nae war's between the lands,

A n d there is peace, and peace should be,

I'll neither h a r m Eng l i sh lad or lass,

A n d yet the K i n m o n t freed shall be!"

H e has calld h i m forty m a r c h m e n bauld,

I t row they were of his ain name,

E x c e p t Sir Gi lbert El l iot , calld

T h e L a i r d of Stobs, I m e a n the same.

H e has calld h i m forty m a r c h m e n bauld,

W e r e k insmen to the bauld Buccleuch,

W i t h spur on heel, and splent on spauld , 1 0

A n d gleuves of green, and feathers blue.

T h e r e were five and five before them a',

W i hunting-horns and bugles bright;

A n d five and five came w i Buccleuch,

L i k e W a r d e n ' s m e n , arrayed for fight.

A n d five and five l ike a mason-gang,

T h a t carried the ladders lang and hie;

A n d five and five l ike broken men;

A n d so they reached the Woodhouse lee .

A n d as w e crossed the Bateable L a n d ,

W h e n to the Eng l i sh side w e held,

T h e first o m e n that w e met w i ,

W h a e sould it be but fause Sakelde!

" W h e r e be ye g a u n , ye hunters k e e n ? "

Q u o fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!"

" W e g o to hunt an E n g l i s h stag,

H a s trespassed on the Scots countrie." 8 Flame. 9 Slake. 1 0 Armor-plates on shoulder.

K I N M O N T W I L L I E I I I

" W h e r e be ye g a u n , ye marsha l -men?"

Q u o fause Sakelde; "come tell to m e true!"

" W e g o to catch a rank reiver,

H a s broken faith w i the bauld Bucc leuch."

" W h e r e are ye g a u n , ye mason-lads,

W i a' your ladders l ang and h i e ? "

" W e g a n g to herry 1 1 a corbie's 1 2 nest,

T h a t wons not far frae Woodhouse lee ."

" W h e r e be ye g a u n , ye broken m e n ? "

Q u o fause Sakelde; "come tell to me!"

N o w D i c k i e of D r y h o p e led that band,

A n d the never a w o r d o l ear 1 3 had he .

" W h y trespass ye on the E n g l i s h side

R o w - f o o t e d 1 4 o u d a w s , stand!" q u o he;

T h e neer a w o r d had D i c k i e to say,

Sae he thrust the lance thro his fause bodie.

T h e n on w e held for Carlisle toun ,

A n d at Staneshaw-bank the E d e n w e crossd;

T h e water was great, and meik le of spait , 1 5

B u t the nevir a horse nor m a n w e lost.

A n d w h e n w e reached the Stanshaw-bank,

T h e w i n d was rising loud and h ie ; 1 6

A n d there the laird g a r r d 1 7 leave our steeds,

F o r fear that they should s tamp and n ie . 1 3

A n d w h e n w e left the Staneshaw-bank,

T h e w i n d began full loud to b law;

B u t 'twas w i n d and weet , and fire and sleet

W h e n w e came beneath the castel-wa.

W e crept on knees, and held our breath,

T i l l w e placed the ladders against the w a ;

A n d sae ready was Bucc leuch himsell

T o m o u n t the first before us a'. 1 1 Rob. 1 2 Crow's. 1 3 Learning. 1 4 Rough-footed. 1 5 In high flood. 1 6 High.

1 7 Caused. 1 8 Neigh.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

H e has taen the w a t c h m a n by the throat,

H e flung h i m d o w n upon the lead:

" H a d there not been peace between our lands,

U p o n the other side thou hadst gaed.

" N o w sound out, trumpets!" q u o Buccleuch;

"Let's w a k e n L o r d Scroope right merriliel"

T h e n loud the Warden ' s trumpets b lew

" O w h a e dare meddle w i m e ? "

T h e n speedilie to w a r k w e gaed ,

A n d raised the s logan 1 9 ane and a',

A n d cut a hole thro a sheet of lead,

A n d so w e w a n to the castel-ha.

T h e y thought K i n g James and a' his m e n

H a d w o n the house w i b o w and speir:

It w a s but twenty Scots and ten

T h a t put a thousand in sic a stear! 2 0

W i coulters and w i forehammers,

W e garrd the bars b a n g merrilie,

Unt i l l w e came to the inner prison,

W h e r e W i l l i e o K i n m o n t he did lie.

A n d w h e n w e c a m to the lower prison,

W h e r e W i l l i e o K i n m o n t he did lie,

" O sleep ye, w a k e ye, K i n m o n t Wi l l i e ,

U p o n the morn that thou's to d i e ? "

" O I sleep saft, and I w a k e aft,

It's l ang since sleeping was f leyd 2 1 frae me;

G i e m y service back to m y w y f e and bairns,

A n d a' g u d e fellows that speer 2 2 for me."

T h e n R e d R o w a n has hente 2 3 h i m u p ,

T h e starkest m e n in T e v i o t d a l e :

" A b i d e , abide n o w , R e d R o w a n ,

T i l l of m y L o r d Scroope I take farewell . 1 9 War-cry. 2 0 Stir. 2 1 Scared. 2 2 Ask. "Taken.

K I N M O N T W I L L I E

"Farewel l , farewell , m y g u d e L o r d Scroope!

M y g u d e L o r d Scroope, farewell!" he cried;

"I'll pay you for m y l o d g i n g - m a i l l 2 4

W h e n first w e meet o n the border-side."

T h e n shoulder h i g h , w i t h shout and cry,

W e bore h i m d o w n the ladder lang;

A t every stride R e d R o w a n m a d e ,

I w o t the K i n m o n t ' s a i m s p layd c lang .

" O m o n y a t ime," q u o K i n m o n t W i l l i e ,

"I have ridden horse baith w i l d and w o o d ;

B u t a rougher beast than R e d R o w a n

I w e e n m y legs have neer bestrode.

" A n d m o n y a t ime," q u o K i n m o n t Wi l l i e ,

"I've pricked a horse out oure the furs ; 2 5

B u t since the day I backed a steed

I nevir wore sic cumbrous spurs."

W e scarce had w o n the Staneshaw-bank,

W h e n a' the Carlisle bells were rung,

A n d a thousand men , in horse and foot,

C a m w i the keen L o r d Scroope a long .

Buccleuch has turned to E d e n W a t e r ,

E v e n where it flowd frae bank to br im,

A n d he has p lunged in w i a' his band,

A n d safely s w a m them thro the stream.

H e turned h i m on the other side,

A n d at L o r d Scroope his g love flung he:

"If ye l ike na m y visit in merry E n g l a n d ,

In fair Scotland come visit me!"

A l l sore astonished stood L o r d Scroope,

H e stood as still as rock of stane;

H e scarcely dared to trew his eyes

W h e n thro the water they had gane . 2 4 Rent. 2 5 Furrows.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

" H e is either himsell a devil frae hell,

O r else his mother a wi tch m a u n be;

I w a d na have r idden that w a n water

F o r a' the g o w d in Christentie ."

BONNIE GEORGE CAMPBELL

HIE upon Hie lands ,

and la igh upon T a y ,

Bonnie G e o r g e C a m p b e l l

rode out on a day .

H e saddled, he bridled,

and gal lant rode he,

A n d h a m e c a m his g u i d horse,

but never c a m he.

O u t c a m his mother dear,

greet ing fu sair,

A n d out cam his bonnie bryde,

r i v ing 1 her hair.

" T h e m e a d o w lies green,

the corn is unshorn,

B u t bonnie G e o r g e C a m p b e l l

wi l l never return,"

Saddled and bridled

and booted rode he,

A p lume in his helmet,

A sword at his knee .

B u t t o o m 2 c a m his saddle,

all bloody to see,

O h , hame cam his g u i d horse,

but never c a m he! 1 Tearing. 2 Empty.

THE DOWY H O U M S O YARROW

THE DOWY HOUMS O YARROW

LATE at een, dr inkin the w ine ,

O r early in a mornin ,

T h e set a combat them between,

T o fight it in the d a w n i n .

" O stay at hame, m y noble lord!

O stay at hame , m y marrow!

M y cruel brother wi l l you betray,

O n the d o w y 1 h o u m s 2 o Y a r r o w . "

" O fare ye weel , m y lady g a y e !

0 fare ye weel , m y Sarah!

F o r I m a u n gae , tho I neer return

Frae the d o w y banks o Y a r r o w . "

She kissed his cheek, she k a i m d 3 his hair,

A s she had done before, O ;

She belted on his noble brand,

A n he's a w a to Y a r r o w .

O he's gane up yon h igh , h igh h i l l—

1 w a t he gaed w i sorrow—

A n d in a den spied nine armd m e n ,

I the d o w y h o u m s o Y a r r o w .

" O ir 4 ye come to drink the w i n e ,

A s ye hae doon before, O ?

O r ir ye come to wie ld the brand,

O n the bonny banks o Y a r r o w ? "

"I i m no come to dr ink the w i n e ,

A s I hae don before, O ,

B u t I i m come to wie ld the brand,

O n the d o w y h o u m s o Y a r r o w . "

F o u r he hurt, and five he slew,

O n the d o w y h o u m s o Y a r r o w , 1 Sad. 2 Flat land by a river. 3 Combed. 4 Are.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

T i l l that stubborn k n i g h t came h i m behind.

A n ran his body thorrow.

" G a e hame, gae hame, good-brother John,

A n d tell your sister Sarah

T o come and lift her noble lord,

W h o ' s , sleepin sound on Y a r r o w . "

"Yestreen 5 I dreamed a dolefu dream;

I k e n d 6 there w a d be sorrow;

I dreamd I pu'd the heather green,

O n the d o w y banks o Y a r r o w . "

She gaed u p yon h igh , h igh h i l l—

I w a t she gaed w i sorrow—

A n in a den spy'd nine dead men ,

O n the d o w y h o u m s o Y a r r o w .

She kissed his cheek, she k a i m d his hair,

A s oft she d id before, O ;

She drank the red blood frae h i m ran,

O n the d o w y houms o Y a r r o w .

" O h a u d your tongue , m y douchter dear,

F o r w h a t needs a' this sorrow?

I'll w e d you on a better lord

T h a n h i m you lost on Y a r r o w . "

" O haud your tongue , m y father dear,

A n dinna grieve your Sarah;

A better lord was never born

T h a n h i m I lost on Y a r r o w .

" T a k h a m e your ousen, 7 tak hame your k y e , 8

F o r they hae bred our sorrow;

I wiss that they had a' gane mad

W h a n they cam first to Y a r r o w . "

5Last night. 6Knew. 'Oxen. 8Cows.

M A R Y H A M I L T O N

MARY HAMILTON

WORD'S gane to the ki tchen,

A n d word's gane to the ha,

T h a t Marie H a m i l t o n has born a bairn

T o the hichest Stewart of a'.

She's tyed it in her apron

A n d she's thrown it in the sea;

Says, 'Sink ye, s w i m ye, bonny w e e babe,

You' l l ne'er ge t mair o me. '

D o w n then cam the auld Q u e e n ,

G o u d 1 tassels ty ing her hair:

' O Marie , where's the bonny wee babe

T h a t I heard greet 2 sae s a i r ? ' 3

'There was never a babe infil l 4 m y room,

A s little designs to be;

It was but a touch o m y sair side,

C a m e o'er m y fair bodie.'

' O Marie , put on your robes o black,

O r else your robes o brown,

F o r ye m a u n g a n g 5 w i m e the n ight ,

T o see fair E d i n b r o town. '

'I w i n n a put on m y robes o black,

N o r yet m y robes o b r o w n ;

B u t I'll put on m y robes o whi te ,

T o shine through E d i n b r o town. '

W h e n she gaed u p the C a n n o g a t e ,

She laughd loud laughters three;

B u t w h e n she c a m d o w n the C a n n o g a t e

T h e tear bl inded her ee.

W h e n she gaed u p the Parl iament stair,

T h e heel cam aff her shee; 6

J Gold . 2 Weep. 3 Sore. 4 Into, in. 5 Must go. 6 Shoe.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

A n d lang or she cam d o w n again

She was c o n d e m n d to dee.

W h e n she came d o w n the C a n n o g a t e ,

T h e C a n n o g a t e sae free,

M a n y a ladie lookd o'er her w i n d o w ,

W e e p i n g for this ladie.

' M a k e never m e e n 7 for me,' she says,

' M a k e never meen for me;

Seek never grace frae a graceless face,

F o r that ye'll never see.

'Br ing m e a bottle of wine, ' she says,

' T h e best that eer ye h a e , ' 8

T h a t I m a y drink to m y weil-wishers,

A n d they may drink to me .

' A n d here's to the jolly sailor lad

T h a t sails upon the faem;

A n d let not m y father nor mother get w i t

B u t that I shall come again .

' A n d here's to the jolly sailor lad

T h a t sails upon the sea;

B u t let not m y father nor mother get w i t 9

O the death that I m a u n dee.

'O little did m y mother think,

T h e day she cradled me ,

W h a t lands I was to travel through,

W h a t death I was to dee.

'O little did m y father th ink ,

T h e day he held u p me ,

W h a t lands I was to travel through,

W h a t death I was to dee.

'Last nicht I w a s h d the Queen's feet,

A n d g e n d y laid her d o w n ; 7 Moan. 8 Ever you have. 9 Knowledge.

T H E BARON OF BRACKLEY 119

A n d a' the thanks I've gotten the nicht

T o be h a n g d in E d i n b r o t o w n !

'Last nicht there was four Maries ,

T h e nicht there'll be but three;

T h e r e was Mar ie Seton, and Mar ie Beton,

A n d Mar ie Carmichae l , and me. '

3 0 THE BARON OF BRACKLEY

INVEREY cam doun Dees ide , whist l in and playin,

H e was at brave Braikley's yet t 1 ere it was d a w i n . 2

H e rappit fu loudly an w i a great roar,

Cr ied , ' C u m doun, c u m d o u n , Braikley , and open the door.

'Are ye sleepin, Baronne, or are ye w a k i n ?

Ther ' s sharpe swords at your yett, wi l l g a r 3 your blood spin.

' O p e n the yett, Braikley , and lat us w i th in ,

T i l l w e on the green turf gar your bluid rin.'

U p spak his ladie, at his bak where she lay,

'Get up , get u p , Braikley, an be not afraid;

T h e ' r but y o u n g hir'd w i d i f u s 4 w i belted plaids.'

' C u m kiss m e , m i P e g g y , F ie nae langer stay,

F o r I wi l l g o out and meet Inverey.

'But haud your tongue , P e g g y , and m a k nae sic d in ,

F o r yon same hir'd wid i fus wi l l prove themselves men. '

She called on her marys , 5 they c a m to her hand;

Cries , 'Bring me your rocks, 6 lassies, w e wi l l t h e m c o m m a n d .

'Get u p , get up , Braikley, and turn bak your k y , 7

O r m e an m i w o m e n wi l l t h e m defy.

' C u m forth then, m i maidens , and show t h e m some play; We' l l ficht them, and shortly the cowards wi l l fly.

1 Gate. 2 Dawning. 3 Make. * Gallows-birds. 5 Maidens. 6 Distaffs. 7 Cattle.

1 2 0 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

' G i n I had a husband, whereas I hae nane,

H e w o u d nae ly i his bed and see his k y taen. 8

'Ther's four-and-twenty mi lk -whi t calves, twal o them k y , '

In the woods o Glentanner , it's ther thei a' ly.

'Ther's goat i the Etnach , and sheep o the brae,

A n a' wil l be plundered by y o u n g Inverey.'

' N o w haud your tongue, P e g g y , and gie me a g u n ,

Ye' l l see me gae furth, but I'll never c u m in.

'Cal l m i brother W i l l i a m , mi u n k l also,

M i cousin James G o r d o n ; we'll mount and we'll go . '

W h e n Braikley was ready and stood i the doss ,

H e was the bravest baronne that eer mounted horse.

W h a n all wer assembled o the castell green,

N o m a n l ike brave Braikley was ther to be seen.

' T u r n bak , brother W i l l i a m , ye are a bridegroom;

' W i bonnie Jean G o r d o n , the maid o the mill;

O sichin and sobbin she'll soon get her fill.'

'I'm no coward, brother, 'tis kend I'm a man;

'I'll ficht, m y dear brother, w i heart and gudewi l l ,

'I'll ficht i your quarral as lang's I can stand.

A n d so wi l l y o u n g H a r r y that lives at the mil l .

'But turn, mi dear brother, and nae langer stay:

W h a t ' l l c u m o your ladie, g in Braikley thei slay?

'What ' l l c u m o your ladie and bonnie y o u n g son?

O what' l l c u m o them w h e n Braikley is g o n e ? '

'I never wi l l turn: do you think I wil l fly?

B u t here I wi l l ficht, and here I wi l l die.' 8 Taken. 9 Cows.

T H E BARON OF BRACKLEY

'Strik dogs, ' crys Inverey, 'and ficht till ye're slayn,

For we are four hundred , ye are but four men .

'Strik, strik, ye proud boaster, your honour is gone ,

Y o u r lands w e wi l l p lunder, your castell we'll burn.'

A t the head o the Etnach the battel began,

A t Litt le Aucho i l z i e thei ki l ld the first m a n .

First thei ki l ld ane, and soon they kil ld t w a ,

T h e i ki l ld gal lant Braikley, the flour o them a',

T h e i kil ld W i l l i a m G o r d o n , and James o the K n o x ,

A n d brave Alexander , the flour o G l e n m u i c k .

W h a t sichin and m o a n i n g was heard i the g len,

For the Baronne o Braikley , w h o basely was slayn!

' C a m ye bi the castell, and was ye in there?

S a w ye pretty P e g g y tearing her ha ir? '

'Yes , I cam by Braikley, and I gaed in there,

A n d there saw his ladie braiding her hair.

'She was rant in ,and dancin, and singin for joy,

A n d v o w i n that nicht she w o u d feest Inverey.

'She eat wi h im, drank w i h im, w e l c o m d h i m in,

W a s kind to the m a n that had slain her baronne.'

U p spake the son on the nourice's knee,

' G i n I live to be a m a n , revenged I'll be.'

Ther's d o o l 1 0 i the ki tchin , and mirth i the ha,

T h e Baronne o Braikley is dead and a w a .

BEWICK AND GRAHAME

O l d G r a h a m e he is to Carlisle gone,

W h e r e Sir Robert B e w i c k there met he;

In arms to the w ine they are gone ,

A n d drank till they were both merry. 1 0 Grief.

1 2 2 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

O l d G r a h a m e he took u p the cup ,

A n d said, 'Brother B e w i c k , here's to thee,

A n d here's to our t w o sons at home,

F o r they l ive best in our country.'

' N a y , were thy son as good as mine ,

A n d of some books he could but read,

W i t h sword and buckler by his side,

T o see h o w he could save his head,

' T h e y m i g h t have been calld t w o bold brethren

W h e r e ever they did g o or ride;

T h e y m i g h t have been calld t w o bold brethren,

T h e y m i g h t have c r a c k d 1 the Border-side.

' T h y son is bad, and is but a lad,

A n d bu l ly 2 to m y son cannot be;

F o r m y son B e w i c k can both write and read,

A n d sure I a m that cannot he.'

'I put h i m to school, but he w o u l d not learn,

I b o u g h t h i m books, but he w o u l d not read;

B u t m y blessing he's never have

T i l l I see h o w his hand can save his head.'

O l d G r a h a m e called for an account,

A n d he askd w h a t was for to pay;

T h e r e he paid a crown, so it went round,

W h i c h was all for good w i n e and hay.

O l d G r a h a m e is into the stable gone ,

W h e r e stood thirty good steeds and three;

He's taken his o w n steed by the head,

A n d h o m e rode he r ight wantonly .

W h e n he came home , there did he espy

A l ov ing s ight to spy or see,

T h e r e did he espy his o w n three sons,

Y o u n g Chris ty G r a h a m e , the foremost was he.

1 Defied. 2 Mate, chum, sworn brother.

B E W I C K AND G R A H A M E

T h e r e d id he espy his o w n three sons,

Y o u n g Christy G r a h a m e , the foremost was he:

'Where have you been all day, father,

T h a t no counsel you w o u l d take by m e ? '

' N a y , I have been in Carl is le t o w n ,

W h e r e Sir Robert B e w i c k there met m e ;

H e said thou was bad, and calld thee a lad,

A n d a baffled m a n by thou I be.

' H e said thou was bad , and calld thee a lad,

A n d bul ly to his son cannot be;

F o r his son B e w i c k can both write and read,

A n d sure I a m that cannot thee.

'I put thee to school, but thou w o u l d not learn,

I bought thee books, but thou w o u l d not read;

B u t m y blessing thou's never have

T i l l I see w i t h B e w i c k thou can save thy head.'

' O , pray forbear, m y father dear;

T h a t ever such a th ing should be!

Shall I venture m y body in field to fight

W i t h a m a n that's faith and troth to m e ? '

'What ' s that thou sayst, thou l immer l o o n ? 3

O r h o w dare thou stand to speak to m e ?

If thou do not end this quarrel soon,

Here is m y g love thou shalt f ight me. '

Chris ty stoopd l o w unto the ground ,

U n t o the ground , as you'll understand:

' O father, put on your g love aga in ,

T h e w i n d hath b l o w n it from your hand. '

'What's that thou sayst, thou l immer loon ?

O r how dare thou stand to speak to m e ?

If thou do not end this quarrel soon,

Here is m y hand thou shalt f ight me. '

3 Rascally fellow.

T R A D I T I O N A L B A L L A D S

Chris ty G r a h a m e is to his chamber gone ,

A n d for to study, as wel l m i g h t be,

W h e t h e r to fight w i t h his father dear,

O r w i t h his bully B e w i c k he.

'If it be m y fortune m y bul ly to ki l l ,

A s you shall boldly understand,

I n every t o w n that I ride through,

T h e y ' l l say, T h e r e rides a brotherless m a n !

' N a y , for to ki l l m y bul ly dear,

I th ink it wi l l be a deadly sin;

A n d for to ki l l m y father dear,

T h e blessing of heaven I ne'er shall w i n .

' O g ive m e m y blessing, father,' he said,

' A n d pray wel l for me for to thrive;

If it be m y fortune m y bully to kill ,

I swear I'll neer come h o m e alive.'

H e put on his back a good plate-jack,

A n d on his head a cap of steel,

W i t h sword and buckler by his side;

0 g i n 4 he d id not become them weel !

' O fare thee wel l , m y father dear!

A n d fare thee wel l , thou Carlisle t o w n !

If it be m y fortune m y bully to kil l ,

1 swear I'll neer eat bread again. '

N o w we'll leave ta lk ing of Christy G r a h a m e ,

A n d talk of h i m aga in bel ive; 5

B u t w e wi l l talk of bonny Bewick ,

W h e r e he was teaching his scholars five.

N o w w h e n he had learnd them well to fence,

T o handle their swords wi thout any doubt,

He ' s taken his o w n sword under his arm,

A n d w a l k d his father's close about.

<If. 5 Soon.

B E W I C K AND GRAHAME

H e lookd between h i m and the sun,

T o see w h a t farleys 6 he could see;

T h e r e he spy'd a m a n w i t h armour on,

A s he came r id ing over the lee.

'I wonder m u c h w h a t m a n yon be

T h a t so boldly this w a y does come;

I think it is m y nighest friend,

I think it is m y bul ly G r a h a m e .

' O welcome, O we lcome , bully G r a h a m e !

O man, thou art m y dear, we lcome!

0 man , thou art m y dear, we l come!

For I love thee best in Chr i s tendom. '

' A w a y , away , O bul ly B e w i c k ,

A n d of thy bully ship let m e be!

T h e day is come I never t h o u g h t on;

Bully , I 'm come here to fight w i th thee.'

' O no! not so, O bully G r a h a m e !

T h a t eer such a word should spoken be!

1 was thy master, thou was m y scholar:

So well as I have learned thee.'

' M y father he was in Carlisle t o w n ,

W h e r e thy father B e w i c k there met he;

H e said I was bad, and he calld me a lad,

A n d a baffled m a n by thou I be.'

' A w a y , a w a y , O bully G r a h a m e ,

A n d of all that talk, m a n , let us be!

We' l l take three m e n of either side

T o see if w e can our fathers agree.'

' A w a y , a w a y , O bully B e w i c k ,

A n d of thy bully ship let m e be!

But if thou be a m a n , as I trow thou art,

C o m e over this ditch and fight w i t h me. '

* Wonders.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

' O no, not so, m y bul ly G r a h a m e !

T h a t eer such a w o r d should spoken be!

Shall I venture m y body in field to fight

W i t h a m a n that's faith and troth to m e ? '

' A w a y , a w a y , O bul ly B e w i c k ,

A n d of all that care, m a n , let us be!

If thou be a m a n , as I trow thou art,

C o m e over this di tch and fight w i th me.'

' N o w , if it be m y fortune thee, G r a h a m e , to kill ,

A s G o d ' s wi l l , m a n , it all must be;

B u t if it be m y fortune thee, G r a h a m e , to kill ,

' T i s h o m e again I'll never gae. '

' T h o u art of m y m i n d , then, bully Bewick ,

A n d sworn-brethren wi l l w e be:

If thou be a m a n , as I t row thou art,

C o m e over this di tch and fight w i t h me. '

H e flang his c loak from off his shoulders,

H i s psalm-book out of his hand flung he,

H e clapd his hand upon the hedge ,

A n d oer l a p 7 he r ight wanton ly .

W h e n G r a h a m e did see his bully come,

T h e salt tear stood l o n g in his eye:

' N o w needs must I say that thou art a man,

T h a t dare venture thy body to fight w i th me .

' N o w I have a harness on m y back;

I k n o w that thou hath none on thine;

B u t as little as thou hath on thy back,

Sure as l i tde shall there be on mine. '

H e flang his jack from off his back,

H i s steel cap from his head flang he;

He ' s taken his sword into his hand,

He ' s tyed his horse unto a tree. 7 Leapt.

B E W I C K AND G R A H A M E

N o w they fell to it w i t h t w o broad swords,

F o r t w o l o n g hours fought B e w i c k and he;

M u c h sweat was to be seen on them both,

B u t never a drop of blood to see.

N o w G r a h a m e g a v e B e w i c k an a c k w a r d stroke,

A n ackward stroke surely struck he;

H e struck h i m n o w under the left breast,

T h e n d o w n to the g r o u n d as dead fell he .

'Arise, arise, O bully B e w i c k ,

Arise , and speak three words to m e !

W h e t h e r this be thy deadly w o u n d ,

O r G o d and good surgeons wi l l m e n d thee.'

' O horse, O horse, O bul ly G r a h a m e ,

A n d pray do get thee far from m e !

T h y sword is sharp, it hath w o u n d e d m y heart,

A n d so no further can I gae .

' O horse, O horse, O bul ly G r a h a m e ,

A n d get thee far from m e w i t h speed!

A n d get thee out of this country quite!

T h a t none m a y k n o w who's done the deed.'

' O if this be true, m y bully dear,

T h e words that thou dost tell to me ,

T h e v o w I made , and the v o w I'll keep ,

I swear I'll be the first to die.'

T h e n he stuck his sword in a moudie-hi l l , 8

W h e r e he lap thirty good foot and three;

First he bequeathed his soul to G o d ,

A n d upon his o w n sword-point lap he .

N o w G r a h a m e he was the first that died,

A n d then came R o b i n B e w i c k to see;

'Arise, arise, O son,' he said,

'For I see thou's w o n the victory.

8 Mole-hill.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

'Arise, arise, O son,' he said,

'For I see thou's w o n the victory;'

'Father, could ye not d r u n k your w ine at home,

A n d letten m e and m y brother be?

' N a y , d ig a grave both l o w and wide ,

A n d in it us t w o pray bury;

B u t bury m y bully G r a h a m e on the sun-side,

F o r I'm sure he's w o n the victory.'

N o w we'll leave ta lk ing of these two brethren,

In Carlisle t o w n where they lie slain,

A n d talk of these t w o good old men ,

W h e r e they were m a k i n g a pitiful m o a n .

W i t h that bespoke n o w Robin B e w i c k :

' O m a n w a s I not m u c h to b lame?

I have lost one of the liveliest lads

T h a t ever was bred unto m y name.'

W i t h that bespoke m y good lord G r a h a m e :

' O m a n , I have lost the better block;

I have lost m y comfort and m y joy,

I have lost m y key , I have lost m y lock.

' H a d I gone through all Ladderdale ,

A n d forty horse had set on me,

H a d Chr i s ty G r a h a m e been at m y back,

So wel l as he w o u l d guarded me. '

I have no more of m y song to sing,

B u t t w o or three words to you I'll name;

B u t 'twill be ta lked in Carlisle t o w n

T h a t these t w o old m e n were all the blame.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE c. 15th century

L y t h e 1 and listin, gent i lmen,

T h a t be of frebore 2 blode; 1 Listen. 2 Freeborn.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE 1 2 0 .

T h a t may pay for the best,

O r some k n y g h t or som squyer

T h a t dwel leth here bi west .

A gode maner than had R o b y n ;

In londe where that he were,

E v e r y day or he w o l d dyne

T h r e messis w o l d e he here.

T h e one in the worsh ip of the Fader ,

A n d another of the H o l y Gost ,

* Proud. 4 Found. 5 Worthy of a man. 6 If. 7 Strange.

I shall you tel of a gode y e m a n ,

H i s n a m e was R o b y n H o d e .

R o b y n was a p r u d e 3 out law,

W h y l e s he w a l k e d on grounde;

So curteyse an out law as he was one

W a s never non y f o u n d e . 4

R o b y n stode in Bernesdale,

A n d lenyd h y m to a tre;

A n d bi h im stode Litel l Johnn

A gode y e m a n was he.

A n d alsoo dyd gode Scarlok,

A n d M u c h , the miller's son;

T h e r e was none ynch of his bodi

B u t it was worth a g r o m e . 5

T h a n bespake Lyte l l Johnn

A l l untoo R o b y n H o d e :

Maister, a n d 6 ye wo lde dyne be tyme

It wo lde doo you moche gode .

T h a n bespake h y m gode R o b y n :

T o dyne have I noo lust,

T i l l that I have som bolde baron

O r som u n k o u t h 7 gest.

130 TRADITIONAL BALLADS T h e thirde was of O u r dere L a d y

T h a t he loved allther 8 moste.

R o b y n loved O u r e dere L a d y ;

F o r dout 9 of dydly synne,

W o l d e he never do compani harme

T h a t any w o m a n was in .

'Maistar,' than sayde L y t i l Johnn,

' A n d w e our horde shal sprede,

T e l l us wheder that w e shall g o

A n d w h a t life that w e shall lede.

' W h e r e w e shall take , where w e shall leve,

W h e r e w e shall abide behynde;

W h e r e w e shall robbe, where w e shall reve,

W h e r e w e shall bete and bynde. '

'Thereof no f o r c e , ' 1 0 than sayde R o b y n ;

' W e shall do wel l i n o w e ; 1 1

B u t loke ye do no husbonde harme

T h a t tilleth w i t h his p loughe .

' N o more ye shall no gode y e m a n

T h a t w a l k e t h by grene-wode shawe;

N e no k n y g h t ne no squyer

T h a t w o l be a gode fe lawe.

'These bisshoppes and these archebishoppes,

Y e shall them bete and bynde;

T h e hye sherif of N o t y n g h a m ,

H y m holde ye in your mynde . '

' T h i s wo rde shalbe holde,' sayde Lyte l l Johnn,

' A n d this lesson w e shall lere;

It is fer d a y e s ; 1 2 G o d sende us a gest,

T h a t w e were at our dynere. '

' T a k e thy gode b o w e in thy honde,' sayde Robyn;

' L a t e 1 3 M u c h w e n d e w i t h the; 8 Of all. 'Fear. 1 0 No matter. "Enough. 1 2 Late in the day. 1 3 Let.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

A n d so shal W i l l y a m Scarlok,

A n d no m a n abyde w i t h me .

' A n d w a l k e u p to the Saylis

A n d so to W a t l i n g e Strete,

A n d wayte after some u n k u t h gest,

U p chaunce ye m a y t h e m mete .

'Be he erle, or ani baron,

A b b o t , or ani k n y g h t ,

Br inghe h y m to lodge to me;

H i s dyner shall be d i g h t . ' 1 4

T h e y wente u p to the Saylis,

T h e s e yemen all three;

T h e y loked est, they loked weest ,

T h e y m y g h t no m a n see.

B u t as they loked in to Bernysdale ,

Bi a derne 1 5 strete,

T h a n came a k n y g h t r id inghe;

Fu l l sone they g a n h y m mete .

A l l dreri was his semblaunce,

A n d lytell was his pryde;

H i s one fote in the styrop stode,

T h a t othere w a v y d beside.

H i s hode hanged in his i y n 1 6 t w o ;

H e rode in symple aray;

A soriar m a n than he was one

R o d e never in somer d a y .

Lite l l Johnn was full curteyes,

A n d sette h y m on his k n e :

' W e l c o m be ye, gentyl l k n y g h t ,

W e l c o m ar ye to m e .

' W e l c o m be thou to grene w o d e ,

H e n d e 1 7 k n y g h t and fre;

"Prepared. "Secret. 1 6 Eyes. "Gentle.

I 3 2 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

M y maister hath abiden you fastinge,

Syr , al these oures thre.'

' W h o is thy maister?' sayde the k n y g h t ;

Johnn sayde, 'Robyn Hode ' ;

' H e is a gode yoman, ' sayde the k n y g h t ,

' O f h y m I have herde moche gode .

'I graunte, ' he sayde, 'with you to wende ,

M y bretherne, all in fere; 1 8

M y purpos was to have dyned to day

A t Bl i th or Dancastere. '

F u r t h than w e n t this gentyl kn ight ,

W i t h a carefull chere;

T h e teris oute of his iyen ran,

A n d fell d o w n e by his lere . 1 9

T h e y brought h i m to the lodge-dore;

W h a n R o b y n g a n h y m see,

Fu l l curtesly d y d of his hode

A n d sette h y m on his knee .

' W e l c o m e , sir kn ight , ' than sayde R o b y n ,

' W e l c o m e art thou to me;

I have abyden you fastinge, sir,

A l l these ouris thre.'

T h a n answered the gentyl l kn ight ,

W i t h wordes fay re and fre:

' G o d the save, goode R o b y n ,

A n d all thy fayre m e y n e . ' 2 0

T h e y wasshed togeder and w y p e d bothe,

A n d sette to theyr dynere;

Brede and w y n e they had right ynoughe ,

A n d n o u m b l e s 2 1 of the dere.

Swannes and fessauntes 2 2 they had full gode ,

A n d foules of the ryvere;

"Together. 19Cheek. 20Retinue. 2 1 Entrails. 2 2 Pheasants.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

T h e r e fayled none so litell a birde

T h a t ever w a s bred on bryre.

' D o gladly , sir kn ight , ' sayde R o b y n ;

'Gramarcy , sir,' sayde he;

'Suche a dinere had I nat

O f all these w e k y s thre.

'If I come ageyne , R o b y n ,

Here by thys contre,

A s gode a dyner I shall the m a k e

A s thou haest m a d e to me. '

'Gramarcy , k n y g h t , ' sayde R o b y n ;

' M y dyner w h a n I have,

I was never so gredy , by dere worthi G o d ,

M y dyner for to crave.

'But pay or ye wende , ' sayde R o b y n ;

' M e thynketh it is gode ryght ;

It was never the maner, by dere worthi G o d ,

A y o m a n to pay for a k n y g h t . '

T have nought in m y coffers,' saide the k n y g h t ,

' T h a t I may profer for shame':

'Litell John, g o loke,' sayde R o b y n ,

' N e lat not for no blame.

' T e l m e truth,' than saide R o b y n ,

'So G o d have parte of the':

'I have no more but ten shelynges,' sayde the

k n y g h t ,

'So G o d have parte of me. '

'If thou have no more, ' sayde R o b y n ,

'I wol l nat one peny;

A n d yf thou have nede of any more,

More shall I lend the.

' G o nowe furth, Litel l Johnn,

T h e truth tell thou me;

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

If there be no more but ten shelinges,

N o peny that I se.'

Lyt te l l Johnn sprede d o w n e hys mantell

F u l l fayre upon the grounde ,

A n d there he fonde in the knyghtes cofer

B u t even halfe a pounde .

Litte l l Johnn let it lye full styll,

A n d w e n t to hys maysteer full lowe;

' W h a t tydynges , Johnn?' sayde R o b y n ;

'Sir, the k n y g h t is true inowe.'

'Fy l l of the best wine , ' sayde R o b y n ,

' T h e k n y g h t shall begynne;

M o c h e wonder thinketh me

T h y c lothynge is so thinne.

'Te l l me one worde, ' sayde R o b y n ,

' A n d counsel shal it be;

I trowe thou wert m a d e a k n y g h t of force,

O r ellys of yemanry .

' O r ellys thou hast been a sori husbande , 2 3

A n d lyved in stroke and strife;

A n okerer , 2 4 or ellis a lechoure,' sayde Robyn ,

' W y t h w r o n g e hast led thy lyfe.'

'I a m none of those,' sayde the k n y g h t ,

'By G o d that ma de me;

A n hundred wynter here before

M y n auncetres kny g hte s have be.

'But oft it hath befal, R o b y n ,

A m a n hath be disgrate; 2 5

B u t G o d that sitteth in heven above

M a y amende his state.

' W i t h y n this t w o yere, Robyne, ' he sayde,

' M y neghbours wel l it k n o w e ,

Manager. 2 4 Usurer. 2 5 Fallen in fortune.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

Foure hundred pounde of gode m o n e y

F u l wel l than m y g h t I spende.

' N o w e have I no gode, ' saide the k n y g h t ,

' G o d hath shapen such an ende,

B u t m y chyldren and m y w y f e ,

T y l l G o d yt m a y amende. '

'In what maner,' than sayde R o b y n ,

'Hast thou lorne 2 6 thy rychesse?'

'For m y greate foly,' he sayde,

' A n d for m y kyndenesse .

T had a sone, forsoth, R o b y n ,

T h a t shulde have ben m y n ayre,

W h a n n e he was twenty w y n t e r o l d e ,

In felde wo lde just full fayre.

' H e slewe a k n y g h t of Lancashire ,

A n d a squyer bolde;

F o r to save h i m in his ryght

M y godes beth sette and solde.

' M y londes beth sette to w e d d e , 2 7 R o b y n ,

U n t y l l a certayn day ,

T o a ryche abbot here besyde

O f Seynt M a r i A b b e y . '

' W h a t is the s o m ? ' sayde R o b y n ;

'Trouth than tell thou me';

'Sir,' he sayde, 'foure hundred pounde;

T h e abbot told it to me. '

' N o w e and thou lese 2 8 thy lond,' sayde R o b y n ,

' W h a t shall fall of the? '

'Hastely I wo l m e b u s k e 2 9 [sayd the k n y g h t ]

O v e r the salte see,

' A n d se where Criste was q u y k e and dede,

O n the m o u n t of Ca lvere ;

Lost. 2 7 Pledge. 2 8 Lose. 2 9 Get ready to go.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

Fare wel , frende, and have gode day;

It m a y not better be.'

T e r i s fell out of hys eyen t w o ;

H e wolde have gone hys w a y ;

'Farewel , frendes, and have gode day ,

I have no more to pay.'

'Where be thy frendes?' sayde R o b y n :

'Syr, never one wo l me k n o w e ;

W h i l e I was ryche y n o w e at home

G r e a t boste than wolde they b lowe.

' A n d nowe they renne a w a y fro me ,

A s bestis on a rowe;

T h e y take no more hede of me

T h a n n e they m e never sawe.'

F o r ruthe thanne wept Litel l Johnn,

Scarlok and M u c h in fere;

'Fy l of the best w y n e , ' sayde R o b y n ,

'For here is a symple chere . 3 0

'Hast thou any frends,' sayde Robyn ,

' T h y borowes 3 1 that wyl l be? '

'I have none,' than sayde the k n y g h t ,

'But G o d that dyed on tree.'

' D o a w a y thy j a p i s , ' 3 2 sayde R o b y n ,

'Thereof wo l I r ight none;

W e n e s t thou I wo lde have G o d to borowe,

Peter, Poule, or Johnn?

' N a y , by h y m that made me ,

A n d shope 3 3 both sonne and mone,

F y n d e me a better borowe,' sayde R o b y n ,

'Or money getest thou none.'

'I have none other,' sayde the k n y g h t ,

' T h e sothe for to say,

Entertainment. 3 1 Securities. 3 2 Jests. 3 3 Created.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

B u t yf y t be O u r dere L a d y ;

She fayled m e never or thys day. '

'By dere worthy G o d , ' sayde R o b y n ,

' T o seche all E n g l o n d e thorowe,

Y e t fonde I never to m y p a y 3 4

A moche better borowe.

' C o m e n o w e furth, Litel l Johnn,

A n d g o to m y tresoure,

A n d bringe m e foure hundered p o u n d ,

A n d loke wel l tolde it be.'

F u r t h than w e n t Litel l Johnn,

A n d Scarlok w e n t before;

H e told oute four hundred pounde

B y e ight and twenty score.

'Is thys wel l to lde? ' sayde litell M u c h ;

Johnn sayde: ' W h a t greveth the?

It is a l m u s 3 5 to helpe a genty l l k n y g h t

T h a t is fal in poverte.

'Master,' than sayde L i ty l l John,

'His c lothinge is full thynne;

Y e must g y v e the k n i g h t a lyveray,

T o lappe his body therein.

'For ye have scarlet and grene, mayster,

A n d m a n y a riche aray;

T h e r is no marchaunt in m e r y E n g l o n d

So ryche, I dare wel l say.'

' T a k e h y m thre yerdes of every colour,

A n d loke wel l m e t e 3 6 that it be';

Lyte l l Johnn toke none other mesure

But his bowe-tree.

A n d at every handful l that he met

H e lept over fotes three; 3 4 Satisfaction. 3 5 Alms. 3 6 Measured.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

' W h a t devylles drapar,' sayd litell M u c h ,

' T h y n k e s t thou for to be? '

Scarlok stode full stil and loughe ,

A n d sayd, 'By G o d A l m y g h t ,

Johnn m a y g y v e h y m gode mesure,

F o r it costeth h y m but lyght . '

'Mayster, ' than said Litel l Johnn

A l l unto R o b y n H o d e ,

' Y e mus t g ive the k n i g h t a hors

T o lede h o m e al this gode. '

' T a k e h i m a gray coursar,' sayde R o b y n ,

' A n d a saydle newe;

H e is O u r e Ladye ' s messangere;

G o d graunt that he be true.'

' A n d a gode palfray,' sayde lytell M u c h ,

' T o mayntene h y m in his right';

' A n d a peyre of botes,' sayde Scarlok,

'For he is a gentyl l knight . '

' W h a t shalt thou g y v e h y m , Litel l John?' [

R o b y n ; ]

'Sir, a peyre of gi lt sporis clene,

T o pray for all this company;

G o d bringe h y m oute of t e n e . ' 3 7

' W h a n shal mi day be,' said the knight ,

'Sir, and your wy l l b e ? '

' T h i s day twe lve moneth, ' saide R o b y n ,

'Under this grene-wode tre.

'It were greate shame,' sayde R o b y n ,

' A k n i g h t alone to ryde,

W i t h o u t e squyre, yoman , or page,

T o w a l k e by his syde. 3 7 Sorrow.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

'I shal the lende Litel l Johnn, m y m a n ,

F o r he shalbe thy k n a v e ; 3 8

In a yeman's stede he may the stande,

If thou greate nede have.'

THE SECOND FYTTE

N o w is the k n i g h t gone on his w a y ;

T h i s g a m e h y m thought full gode ;

W h a n n e he loked on Bernesdale

H e blessyd R o b y n H o d e .

A n d w h a n n e he thought on Bernysdale,

O n Scarlok, M u c h and Johnn,

H e blessyd them for the best c o m p a n y

T h a t ever he in come.

T h a n spake that gentyl l k n y g h t ,

T o Lyte l Johan g a n he saye,

'To-morrowe I must to Y o r k e toune

T o Saynt M a r y abbay.

' A n d to the abbot of that place

Foure hundred pounde I must pay;

A n d but I be there upon this n y g h t

M y londe is lost for ay.'

T h e abbot sayd to his covent ,

T h e r e he stode on grounde ,

' T h i s day twelfe moneth came a k n y g h t

A n d borowed foure hondred pounde .

[ 'He borowed four hondred pounde]

U p o n his londe and fee;

B u t he come this y l k e 1 day

Disher i ted 2 shall he be.'

'It is full erely,' sayd the pryoure,

T h e day is not yet ferre gone; 5 8 Servant. 1 Same. 2 Dispossessed.

140 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

I had lever 3 to pay an hondred pounde,

A n d lay it d o w n e anone.

T h e k n y g h t is ferre beyonde the see,

In E n g l o n d e is his ryght ,

A n d suffreth honger and colde

A n d m a n y a sory n y g h t .

'It were grete pyte,' said the pryoure,

'So to have his londe;

A n d ye be so l yght of your consyence,

Y e do to h y m m o c h wronge . '

"Thou arte ever in m y b e r d e , ' 4 sayd the abbot,

'By G o d and Saynt Rycharde' ;

W i t h that cam in a fat-heded m o n k e ,

T h e h e y g h selerer. 5

' H e is dede or hanged, ' sayd the monke ,

'By G o d that b o u g h t me dere,

A n d w e shall have to spende in this place

Foure hondred pounde by yere.'

T h e abbot and the hy selerer

Sterte forthe full bolde,

T h e h ighe justyce of E n g l o n d e

T h e abbot there dyde holde.

T h e hye justyce and many m o

H a d taken into theyr honde

H o l y 6 all the knyghtes det,

T o put that k n y g h t to w r o n g e .

T h e y demed the k n y g h t wonder sore,

T h e abbot and his meyne

' B u t 7 he come this y lke day

Disherited shall he be.'

3 Rather. 4 You are always in open opposition to me. 5 Cellarer, purveyor. 6 Wholly. 'Unless.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE 141 ' H e wy l l not c o m e yet,' sayd the justyce,

'I dare wel l undertake';

B u t in sorowe tyme for t h e m all

T h e k n y g h t came to the gate .

T h a n bespake that gentyl l k n y g h t

Unty l l his m e y n e :

' N o w put on your symple w e d e s 8

T h a t ye brought fro the see.'

[ T h e y put on their symple wedes , ]

T h e y came to the gates anone;

T h e porter was redy hymselfe

A n d we lcomed t h e m everychone.

'Welcome , syr k n y g h t , ' sayd the porter,

' M y lorde to mete is he,

A n d so is m a n y a gentyl l m a n ,

For the love of the.'

T h e porter swore a full grete othe:

'By G o d that m a d e me,

H e r e be the best coresed 9 hors

T h a t ever yet sawe I me .

'Lede them in to the stable,' he sayd,

' T h a t eased m y g h t they be';

T h e y shall not come therin,' sayd the k n y g h t ,

'By G o d that dyed on a tre.'

Lordes were to mete isette 1 0

In that abbotes hall;

T h e k n y g h t w e n t forth and kneled d o w n e ,

A n d salued t h e m grete and small .

' D o gladly , syr abbot,' sayd the k n y g h t ,

'I a m come to holde m y day':

T h e fyrst word that the abbot spake,

'Hast thou brought m y p a y ? '

Plain clothes. 9 Harnessed (?), or conditioned (?). 1 0Set at meat

142 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

' N o t one peny,' sayd the k n y g h t ,

'By G o d that m a k e d me';

' T h o u art a s h r e w e d 1 1 dettour,' sayd the abbot;

'Syr justyce, drynke to me .

' W h a t doost thou here,' sayd the abbot,

'But thou haddest brought thy p a y ? '

'For G o d , ' than sayed the k n y g h t ,

' T o pray of a lenger daye.'

' T h y daye is broke, ' sayd the justyce,

'Londe gettest thou none':

' N o w , good syr justyce, be m y frende

A n d fende m e of m y f o n e ! ' 1 2

'I a m holde w i t h the abbot,' sayd the justyce,

'Both w i t h cloth and fee':

' N o w , good syr sheryf, be m y frende!'

' N a y , for G o d , ' sayd he .

' N o w , good syr abbot, be m y frende,

F o r thy curteyse,

A n d holde m y londes in thy honde

T y l l I have m a d e the gree ! 1 3

' A n d I wy l l be thy true servaunte,

A n d trewely serve the,

T y l l ye have foure hondred pounde

O f m o n e y good and free.'

T h e abbot sware a full grete othe,

'By G o d that dyed on a tree,

G e t thy londe where thou m a y ,

F o r thou getest none of me. '

'By dere worthy G o d , ' then sayd the k n y g h t ,

' T h a t all this worlde wrought ,

B u t I have m y londe agayne ,

F u l l dere it shall be bought . 1 1 Cursed. 1 2 Defend me from my foes. " Satisfaction.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

' G o d , that was of a m a y d e n borne,

L e v e us wel l to spede!

For it is good to assay a frende

O r 1 4 that a m a n have nede.'

T h e abbot lothely on h y m g a n loke,

A n d vylaynesly h y m g a n call;

'Out , ' he sayd, 'thou false k n y g h t ,

Spede the out of m y hall!'

' T h o u lyest,' then sayd the genty l l k n y g h t ,

'Abbot , in thy hal;

False k n y g h t was I never,

B y G o d that made us all.'

U p then stode that gentyl l k n y g h t ,

T o the abbot sayd he,

' T o suffre a k n y g h t to knele so longe,

T h o u canst no curteysye.

'In joustes and in tournaments

Ful l ferre than have I be,

A n d put myself as ferre in prees 1 5

A s ony that ever I see.'

' W h a t wy l l ye g y v e more,' sayd the justyce,

' A n d the k n y g h t shall m a k e a releyse?

A n d elles dare I safly swere

Y e holde never your londe in pees.'

' A n hondred pounde, ' sayd the abbot;

T h e justice sayd, ' G y v e h y m two';

' N a y , be G o d , ' sayd the k n y g h t ,

' Y e get not m y land so.

' T h o u g h ye w o l d e g y v e a thousand more ,

Y e t were ye never the nere;

Shal there never be m y n heyre

A b b o t , justice ne frere.' 1 4 Before. 1 5 The thick of the fight.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

H e stert 1 6 h y m to a horde anone,

T y l l a table rounde,

A n d there he shoke oute of a b a g g e

E v e n four hundred pound.

' H a v e here thi golde, sir abbot,' saide the kn ight ,

' W h i c h that thou lentest m e ;

H a d thou ben curtes at m y c o m y n g e ,

I w o u l d have rewarded thee.'

T h e abbot sat styll, and ete no more,

F o r all his ryall fare;

H e cast his hede on his shulder,

A n d fast began to stare.

' T a k e 1 7 m e m y golde agayne, ' saide the abbot,

'Sir justice, that I toke the.'

' N o t a peni,' said the justice,

'Bi G o d , that d y e d on tree.'

'Sir abbot, and ye m e n of lawe,

N o w have I holde m y daye;

N o w shall I have m y londe agayne ,

F o r o u g h t that you can saye.'

T h e k n y g h t stert out of the dore,

A w a y e was all his care,

A n d on he put his good c lothynge

T h e other he lefte there.

H e wente h y m forth full mery syngynge ,

A s m e n have told in tale;

H i s lady met h y m at the gate,

A t h o m e in Verysdale .

' W e l c o m e , m y lorde,' sayd his lady;

'Syr, lost is all your g o o d ? '

'Be mery, dame, ' sayd the k n y g h t ,

' A n d pray for R o b y n H o d e , 1 6 Turned quickly. 1 7 Give.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE 145

' T h a t ever his soule be in blysse:

H e holpe me out of tene;

N e had b e 1 8 his kyndenesse ,

Beggers had w e bene.

' T h e abbot and I accorded ben ,

H e is served of his pay;

T h e g o d y o m a n lent it m e

A s I c a m by the way . '

T h i s k n i g h t than dwel l ed fayre at home ,

T h e sothe for to saye,

T y l l he had got four hundred pound,

A l redy for to pay .

H e purveyed h i m an hundred bowes ,

T h e strynges wel l y d y g h t ,

A n hundred shefe of arowes gode ,

T h e hedys burneshed full bryght ;

A n d every arowe an elle longe ,

W i t h pecok wel l idyght ,

I n o c k e d 1 9 all w i t h w h y t e silver;

It was a semely syght .

H e purveyed h i m an hondreth m e n ,

W e l l harnessed in that stede,

A n d h y m selfe in that same suite,

A n d clothed in w h y t e and rede.

H e bare a l a u n s g a y 2 0 in his honde,

A n d a m a n ledde his m a l e , 2 1

A n d reden wi th a l y g h t songe

U n t o Bernysdale .

[But at W e n t b r y d g e ] there was a wraste lyng,

A n d there taryed was he,

A n d there was all the best yemen

O f all the west countree. 1 8 If it had not been. 1 9 Notched. 2 0 Spear. 2 1 Pack, baggage.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS I46 A full fayre g a m e there was u p set,

A w h y t e bulle up i -pyght , 2 2

A grete courser, w i t h sadle and brydil ,

W i t h go lde burnyssht full bryght .

A payre of g loves , a rede golde rynge ,

A pype of w y n e , in f a y ; 2 3

W h a t m a n that bereth h y m best i - w y s 2 4

T h e pryce shall bere a w a y .

T h e r e was a y o m a n in that place,

A n d best wor thy was he,

A n d for he w a s ferre and frembde bested, 2 5

Slayne he shulde have be.

T h e k n i g h t had ruthe of this y o m a n ,

In place where that he stode;

H e sayde that y o m a n shulde have no harme,

F o r love of R o b y n H o d e .

T h e k n y g h t pressed in to the place,

A n hundreth fo lowed h y m free,

W i t h bowes bent and arowes sharpe,

F o r to shende 2 6 that companye .

T h e y shulderd all and made h y m rome,

T o w e t e 2 7 w h a t he wo lde say;

H e toke the y e m a n bi the hande ,

A n d g a v e h y m al the play.

H e gave h y m five marke for his w y n e ,

T h e r e it lay on the m o l d e , 2 8

A n d bad it shulde be set a broche , 2 9

D r y n k e w h o so w o l d e .

T h u s longe taried this gentyl l k n y g h t ,

T y l l that play was done;

S o longe abode R o b y n fastinge

T h r e houres after the none.

2 2 Pitched, set up as a prize. 2 3 In faith. 2 4 Certainly. 2 5 Because he was far from home and situated as a stranger. 2 8 Punish. 2 7 Know. 2 8 Ground.

2 9 Tapped and left running.

A GEST OF R O B Y N HODE 147

THE THIRDE FYTTE

L y t h and lystyn, gent i lmen ,

A l l that n o w e be here;

O f Litel l Johnn, that was the knightes m a n ,

G o o d e myrth ye shall here.

It was upon a mery day

T h a t yonge m e n w o l d e g o shete;

Lyte l l Johnn fet his b o w e anone,

A n d sayde he w o l d e t h e m mete .

T h r e tymes Litel l Johnn shet aboute,

A n d a lway cleft the w a n d e ;

T h e proude sherif of N o t i n g h a m

B y the markes g a n stande.

T h e sherif swore a full greate othe:

B y h y m that dyede on a tre,

T h i s m a n is the best arschere

T h a t ever I d y d see.

'Say m e nowe , w i g h t y o n g e m a n ,

W h a t is n o w e thy n a m e ?

In w h a t countre were thou borne,

A n d where is thy w o n y n g e w a n e ? ' 1

'In Holdernes , sir, I was borne,

I-wys al of m y d a m e ;

M e n cal m e Reynolde Grenelef

W h a n I a m at home. '

'Sey me , Reynolde Grenelefe ,

W o l d e thou dwel l w i t h m e ?

A n d every yere I wol l the g y v e

T w e n t y m a r k e to thy fee.'

'I have a maister,' sayde Lite l l Johnn,

' A curteys k n i g h t is he; 1 Dwelling place.

148 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

M a y ye leve gete of h y m ,

T h e better m a y it be.'

T h e sherif gate Litel l John

T w e l v e moneths of the kn ight ;

Therefore he gave h i m right anone

A gode hors and a w i g h t . 2

N o w e is Litel l John the sherifes m a n ,

G o d lende us wel l to spede!

B u t a lwey thought Lyte l l John

T o quyte h y m wele his m e d e . 3

' N o w e so G o d m e helpe,' sayde Litell John,

' A n d by m y true leutye, 4

I shall be the worst servaunt to h y m

T h a t ever yet had he.'

It fell upon a W e d n e s d a y

T h e sherif on h u n t y n g e was gone ,

A n d L i te l John lay in his bed,

A n d was foriete 5 at home .

Ther fore he w a s fastinge

T i l it was past the none;

' G o d e sir stuarde, I pray to the,

G y v e m e m y dynere,' saide Litell John.

'It is to longe for Grenelefe

Fast inge thus for to be;

Ther for I pray the, sir stuarde,

M i dyner gif thou me. '

'Shalt thou never ete ne drynke, ' saide the stuarde,

' T y l l m y lorde be come to towne':

'I m a k e m y n a v o w e to G o d , ' saide Litel l John,

'I had lever to crake thy crowne.'

T h e boteler was full uncurteys,

T h e r e he stode on flore; 2 Strong. 3 To reward him well. 4 Loyalty. 5 Forgotten.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

H e start to the botery

A n d shet fast the dore.

Lyte l l Johnn g a v e the boteler suche a tap

H i s backe w e n t nere in t w o ;

T h o u g h he l iveth an hundred wynter ,

T h e wors he still shall goe .

H e sporned the dore w i t h his fote;

It went open we l and fyne;

A n d there he m a d e large lyveray , 6

Bothe of ale and of w y n e .

'Sith ye wol nat dyne, ' sayde Lite l l John,

'I shall g y v e you to dr inke;

A n d t h o u g h ye lyve an hundred wynter ,

O n L y t e l Johnn ye shall th inke . '

Litel l John ete, and Li te l John drank,

T h e whi le that he wolde;

T h e sherife had in his k e c h y n a coke ,

A stoute m a n and a bolde.

'I m a k e m y n a v o w e to G o d , ' saide the coke ,

' T h o u arte a shrewde h y n e 7

In ani householde for to dwe l ,

F o r to aske thus to dyne. '

A n d there he lent Litel l John

G o d e strokis thre;

'I make m y n avowe, ' sayde Lyte l l John,

'These strokis l y k e d wel l m e .

' T h o u arte a bolde m a n and a hardy,

A n d so th inketh m e ;

A n d or I pas fro this place •

Assayed better shalt thou be.'

Lyte l l Johnn d r e w a ful gode sworde,

T h e coke toke another in hande; 6 Delivery of rations. 7 Cursed fellow.

i5o TRADITIONAL BALLADS

T h e y thought no thynge for to fle,

B u t stifly for to stande.

T h e r e they faught sore togedere

T w o myle w a y 8 and more;

M y g h t neyther other harme done,

T h e mountnaunce of an o w r e . 9

'I m a k e m y n a v o w e to G o d , ' sayde Litel l Johnn,

' A n d by m y true lewte;

T h o u art one of the best sworde-men

T h a t ever yit sawe I me .

' C o w d e s t thou shote as wel l in a bowe ,

T o grene w o d e thou shuldest w i th me ,

A n d t w o times in the yere thy clothinge

C h a u n g e d shulde be;

' A n d every yere of R o b y n H o d e

T w e n t y merke to thy fe;'

'Put u p thy swerde,' saide the coke

' A n d felowes wol l w e be.'

T h a n n e he fet to Lyte l l Johnn

T h e nowmbles of a do,

G o d e brede and full gode w y n e ;

T h e y ete and drank theretoo.

A n d w h e n they had d r o n k y n wel l ,

T h e y r e trouthes togeder they pl ight

T h a t they w o l d e by w i t h R o b y n

T h a t y lke s a m e 1 0 n y g h t .

T h e y dyd t h e m 1 1 to the tresoure-hows,

A s fast as they m y g h t gone;

T h e lokkes , that were of full gode stele,

T h e y brake them everichone.

As long as it would take to go two miles. same. 1 1 '

9 The length of an hour. 1 0 Very 1 1 Went.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

T h e y toke a w a y the silver vessell,

A n d all that thei m i g h t get;

Pec is , 1 2 masars , 1 3 ne sponis,

W o l d e thei not forget.

A l s o they toke the g o d e pens,

T h r e hundred pounde and more,

A n d did them streyte to R o b y n H o d e ,

U n d e r the grene w o d e hore.

' G o d the save, m y dere mayster,

A n d Criste the save and se!'

A n d thanne sayde R o b y n to Lite l l Johnn

'Welcome m y g h t thou be.

'Also be that fayre y e m a n

T h o u bryngest there w i t h the;

W h a t tydynges fro N o t y n g h a m ?

Lyt i l l Johnn, tell thou me. '

'Wel l the gretith the proude sheryf.

A n d sendeth the here by me

H i s cok and his silver vessell,

A n d thre hundred pounde and thre.'

'I m a k e m y n e a v o w e to G o d , ' sayde R o b y n ,

' A n d to the T r e n y t e ,

I t was never by his gode w y l l

T h i s gode is come to me. '

L y t y l l Johnn there h y m bethought

O n a shrewde w y l e ; 1 4

F y v e myle in the forest he ran,

H y m happed all his w y l l . 1 5

T h a n he met the proude sheref,

H u n t y n g e w i th houndes and h o m e ; Lyte l l Johnn c o u d e 1 6 of curtesye,

A n d knelyd h y m befome. 1 2 Cups. 1 3 Bowls. 1 4 Wicked trick. 1 5 What he wished happened to him.

1 6 Knew.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

' G o d the save, m y dere mayster,

A n d Criste the save and se!'

'Reynolde Grenelefe , ' sayde the shyref,

' W h e r e hast thou nowe b e ? '

'I have be in this forest;

A fayre syght can I se;

It was one of the fayrest syghtes

T h a t ever yet sawe I me .

'Yonder I sawe a r y g h t fayre harte,

H i s coloure is of grene;

Seven score of dere upon a herde

Be w i t h h y m all b y d e n e . 1 7

' T h e i r t y n d e s 1 8 are so sharp, maister,

O f sexty, and wel l m o ,

T h a t I durst not shote for drede,

Les t they w o l d e m e s lo . 1 9

'I m a k e m y n a v o w e to G o d , ' sayde the shyref,

' T h a t syght w o l d e I fayne se':

'Buske y o u thyderwarde , m i dere mayster,

A n o n e , and w e n d e w i t h me. '

T h e sherif rode, and Lite l l Johnn

O f fote he was full smerte,

A n d w h a n e they came before R o b y n ,

' L o , here is the mayster-herte.'

Still stode the proude sherief,

A sory m a n was he;

' W o the worthe , Rayno lde Grenelefe ,

T h o u hast betrayed me. '

T m a k e m y n a v o w e to G o d , ' sayde Litel l Johnn,

'Mayster, ye be to b lame;

I was mysserved of m y dynere

W h e n I w a s w i t h you at home.'

" A t once. 18Tines. 19Slay.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

Sone he was to souper sette,

A n d served w i t h silver whi te ,

A n d w h e n the sherif sawe his vessell,

F o r sorowe he m y g h t nat ete.

' M a k e glad chere,' sayde R o b y n H o d e ,

'Sherif, for charite,

A n d for the love of Lit i l l Johnn

T h y lyfe I graunt to the.'

W h a n they had souped wel l ,

T h e day was al gone;

R o b y n c o m m a u n d e d Lite l l Johnn

T o drawe of his hose and shone;

H i s kirtell, and his cote a p y e , 2 0

T h a t was fured wel l and fine

A n d toke h y m a grene mante l ,

T o lap his body therein.

R o b y n c o m m a u n d y d his w i g h t y o n g e m e n ,

U n d e r the grene w o d e tree,

T h e y shulde lye in that same sute

T h a t the sherif m y g h t them see.

A l l nyght lay the proude sherif

In his breche and in his schert;

N o wonder it was , in grene w o d e ;

T h o u g h his sydes g a n to smerte.

' M a k e g lad chere,' sayde R o b y n H o d e ,

'Sheref, for charite;

F o r this is our ordre i-wys

U n d e r the grene-wode tree.

' T h i s is harder order,' sayde the sherief,

' T h a n any a n k i r 2 1 or frere;

F o r all the golde in mery E n g l o n d e

I wolde nat longe dwel l her.' 2 0 Short coat. 2 1 Anchorite, hermit.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

' A l l this twe lve monthes, ' sayde Robin ,

' T h o u shalt dwel l w i th me;

I shall the teche, proude sherif,

A n o u d a w e for to be.'

' O r I here another n y g h t lye,' sayde the sherif,

' R o b y n , n o w e pray I the,

S m y t e of m i j n hede rather to-morowe,

A n d I forgyve it the.

' L a t m e go , ' than sayde the sherif,

'For saynte charite,

A n d I wo l l be the best frende

T h a t ever yet had ye.'

' T h o u shalt swere m e an othe,' sayde Robyn ,

' O n m y bright bronde;

Shalt thou never awayte me scathe 2 2

B y water ne b y lande.

' A n d if thou fynde any of m y men ,

B y n y g h t or b y day,

U p o n t h y n othe thou shalt swere

T o helpe t h e m that thou may. '

N o w e hathe the sherif sworne his othe,

A n d h o m e he began to gone;

H e was as full of grene w o d e

A s ever was h e p e 2 3 of stone.

THE FOURTH FYTTE

THE sherif dwel led in N o t i n g h a m ;

H e w a s fayne he was agone;

A n d R o b y n and his mery m e n

W e n t to w o d e anone.

' G o w e to dyner, ' sayde Littel l Johnn;

R o b y n H o d e sayde, ' N a y ; 2 2 Lie in wait to harm me. 2 3 Hip.

A GEST OF R O B Y N HODE

For I drede O u r L a d y be wro th w i t h m e ,

F o r she sent m e nat m y pay.'

' H a v e no doute, maister,' sayde Litel l Johnn;

'Yet is not the Sonne at rest;

F o r I dare say, and savely swere,

T h e k n i g h t is true and truste.'

' T a k e thy b o w e in thy hande, ' sayde R o b y n ,

'Late M u c h w e n d e wi th the,

A n d so shal W y l l y a m Scarlok,

A n d no m a n abyde w i t h me .

' A n d w a l k e u p under the Sayles,

A n d to Watlynge-strete ,

A n d wayte after some unketh gest;

Up-chaunce ye m a y them mete .

'Whether he be messengere,

O r a m a n that myrthes can,

O f m y good he shall have some,

Y f he be a pore man. '

For th then stert L y t e l Johan,

H a l f in tray and tene, 1

A n d gyrde h y m wi th a full good swerde,

U n d e r a mantel of grene.

T h e y went u p to the Sayles,

T h e s e yemen all thre;

T h e y loked est, they loked west,

T h e y m y g h t no m a n se.

But as they loked in Bernysdale,

By the hye w a y e ,

T h a n were they ware of t w o blacke monkes ,

Eche on a good palferay.

T h e n bespake Lyte l l Johan,

T o M u c h he g a n say, 1 Grief and sorrow.

156 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

'I dare lay m y lyfe to w e d d e , 2

T h e s e monkes have brought our pay.

' M a k e g lad chere,' sayd Lyte l l Johan,

' A n d frese 3 our bowes of ewe ,

A n d loke your hertes be seker 4 and sad, 8

Y o u r strynges trusty and trewe.

' T h e m o n k e hath t w o and fifty men, A n d seven somers 6 full stronge;

T h e r e rydeth no bysshop in this londe So ryally, I understond.

'Brethren,' sayd Lyte l l Johan,

'Here are no more but w e thre; B u t w e brynge them to dyner,

O u r mayster dare w e not se.

'Bende your bowes, ' sayd Lyte l l Johan,

' M a k e all yon prese 7 to stonde;

T h e formost m o n k e , his lyfe and his deth

Is closed in m y honde .

' A b y d e , chorle 8 monke , ' sayd Lyte l l Johan,

' N o ferther that thou gone;

Y f thou doost, by dere worthy G o d ,

T h y deth is in m y honde.

' A n d evyl l thryfte 9 on thy hede,' sayd Lyte l l Johan,

' R y g h t under thy hattes bonde,

F o r thou hast m a d e our mayster wroth,

H e is fastynge so longe. '

' W h o is your mayster? ' sayd the m o n k e ;

Lyte l l Johan sayd, R o b y n H o d e ;

' H e is a stronge thefe,' sayd the monke ,

' O f h y m herd I never good. '

2 Pledge. 3 Apparently, prepare. 4 Firm. 5 Steadfast. 6 Pack-horses. 7 Throng. 8 Churl. 9 111 luck.

A GEST OF R O B Y N HODE 157 ' T h o u lyest,' than sayd Lyte l l Johan,

' A n d that shall rewe the;

H e is a y e m a n of the forest,

T o dyne he hath b o d e 1 0 the.'

M u c h was redy w i t h a bolte,

Redly and anone,

H e set" the m o n k e to-fore the brest,

T o the grounde that he can gone .

O f t w o and fyfty w y g h t yonge yemen

T h e r e abode not one,

Saf a lytell page and a grome,

T o lede the somers w i t h L y t e l Johan.

T h e y brought the m o n k e to the lodge-dore,

W h e t h e r he were loth or le fe , 1 2

For to speke w i t h R o b y n H o d e ,

M a u g r e i n 1 3 theyr tethe.

R o b y n dyde a d o w n e his hode ,

T h e m o n k e w h a n that he se;

T h e m o n k e was not so curteyse,

H i s hode then let he be.

' H e is a chorle, mayster, by dere worthy G o d , '

T h a n sayd Lyte l l Johan:

'Thereof no force,' sayd R o b y n ,

'For curteysy can he none.

' H o w many men, ' sayd R o b y n ,

' H a d this m o n k e , Johan?'

'Fyfty and t w o w h a n that w e met ,

But many of them be gone. '

'Let b lowe a h o m e , ' sayd R o b y n ,

' T h a t fe laushyp m a y us knowe ' ;

Seven score of w y g h t yemen,

C a m e pryckynge on a r o w e . 1 4

"Invited. 1 1 Shot. "Unwilling or willing. 1 3 In spite of. "Spurring one behind another.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS I 5 8 A n d everych of them a good mantell

O f scarlet and of raye; 1 5

A l l they came to good R o b y n ,

T o w y t e 1 6 w h a t he wolde say.

T h e y m a d e the m o n k e to wasshe and w y p e ,

A n d syt at his denere,

R o b y n H o d e and Lyte l l Johan

T h e y served h i m both in-fere. 1 7

' D o g ladly , monke , ' sayd R o b y n .

'Gramercy , syr,' sayd he.

' W h e r e is your abbay, w h a n ye are at home,

A n d w h o is your a v o w e ? ' 1 8

'Saynt M a r y abbay,' sayd the m o n k e ,

' T h o u g h I be symple here.'

'In w h a t offyce?' said R o b y n :

'Syr, the hye selerer.'

' Y e be the more welcome, ' sayd R o b y n ,

'So ever mote I t h e : 1 9

F y l l of the best w y n e , ' sayd R o b y n ,

' T h i s m o n k e shall drynke to me .

'But I have grete mervayle , ' sayd R o b y n ,

' O f all this longe day;

I drede O u r L a d y be wroth w i t h me ,

She sent m e not m y pay.'

' H a v e no doute, mayster,' sayd Lyte l l Johan,

' Y e have no nede, I saye;

T h i s m o n k e hath brought it, I dare well swere,

F o r he is of her abbay.'

' A n d she was a b o r o w e , ' 2 0 sayd R o b y n ,

'Betwene a k n y g h t and me,

O f a lytell money that I h y m lent,

U n d e r the grene-wode tree. 1 5 Striped cloth. 1 6 Know. 1 7 Together. 1 8 Patron. 1 9 May I thrive. 2 0 Security.

A GEST OF R O B Y N HODE

' A n d yf thou hast that sylver ibrought ,

I pray the let m e se;

A n d I shall helpe the eftsones, 2 1

Y f thou have nede to me. '

T h e m o n k e swore a full grete othe,

W i t h a sory chere,

' O f the borowehode thou spekest to m e ,

H e r d e I never ere.'

'I m a k e m y n a v o w e to G o d , ' sayd R o b y n ,

' M o n k e , thou art to blame;

F o r G o d is holde a r y g h t w y s m a n ,

A n d so is his d a m e .

' T h o u toldest w i t h t h y n o w n e tonge ,

T h o u m a y not say nay,

H o w thou arte her servaunt,

A n d servest her every day .

' A n d thou art m a d e her messengere.

M y money for to pay;

Therefore I cun the more thanke

T h o u arte come at thy day.

' W h a t is in your cofers?' sayd R o b y n ,

' T r e w e than tell thou me':

'Syr,' he sayd, ' twenty m a r k e ,

A l so mote I the.'

' Y f there be no more, ' sayd R o b y n ,

'I w y l l not one peny;

Y f thou hast m y s t e r 2 2 of ony more,

Syr, more I shall lende to the.'

' A n d yf I fynde more, ' sayd R o b y n ,

' I - w y s 2 3 thou shake it for g o n e ; 2 4

For of thy spendynge-sylver, m o n k e ,

Thereof w y l l I ryght none.

Again. 2 2 Need. 2 3 Certainly. 2 4 Give up.

l6o TRADITIONAL BALLADS

' G o n o w e forthe, Lyte l l Johan,

A n d the trouth tell thou m e ;

If there be no more but twenty marke ,

N o peny that I se.'

Lyte l l Johan spred his mantel l d o w n e ,

A s he had done before,

A n d he tolde out of the monkes m a l e 2 5

E y g h t hondred pounde and more.

L y t e l l Johan let it lye full styll,

A n d w e n t to his mayster in hast;

'Syr,' he sayd, 'the m o n k e is trewe y n o w e ,

O u r L a d y hath doubled your c a s t . ' 2 6

'I m a k e m y n a v o w e to G o d , ' sayd R o b y n —

' M o n k e , w h a t tolde I t h e ? —

O u r L a d y is the trewest w o m a n

T h a t ever yet founde I me .

' B y dere worthy G o d , ' sayd R o b y n ,

' T o seche all E n g l o n d thorowe,

Y e t founde I never to m y p a y 2 7

A moche better borowe.

'Fy l l of the best w y n e , and do h y m drynke, ' sayd

R o b y n ,

' A n d grete wel l thy lady hende , 2 8

A n d yf she have nede to R o b y n H o d e ,

A frende she shall h y m fynde.

' A n d yf she nedeth ony more sylver,

C o m e thou agayne to me,

A n d , by this token she hath m e sent,

She shall have such thre.'

T h e m o n k e w a s g o y n g e to L o n d o n w a r d ,

T h e r e to hold grete m o t e , 2 9

T h e k n y g h t that rode so hye on hors,

T o brynge h y m under fote.

"Wallet . 2 6 Venture. 2 7 Satisfaction. 2 8 Gentle. 2 9 Meeting.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE l6l

'Whether be ye a w a y ? ' sayd R o b y n : 'Syr, to maners in this londe,

T o o reken w i t h our reves,

T h a t have done m o c h wronge . '

' C o m e n o w forth, Lyte l l Johan,

A n d harken to m y tale;

A better yemen I k n o w e none,

T o s c k e 3 0 a monkes male. '

' H o w moch is in yonder other c o r s e r ? ' 3 1 sayd R o b y n ,

' T h e soth must w e see';

B y O u r L a d y , ' than sayd the m o n k e ,

' T h a t were no curteysye,

' T o bydde a m a n to dyner ,

A n d s y t h 3 2 h y m bete and bynde . '

'It is our olde maner,' sayd R o b y n ,

' T o leve but lytell behynde. '

T h e m o n k e toke the hors w i t h spore,

N o lenger wo lde he abyde: ' A s k e to drynke, ' than sayd R o b y n ,

' O r that ye forther ryde.'

' N a y , for G o d , ' than sayd the m o n k e ,

' M e r e w e t h 3 3 I c a m so nere;

F o r better chepe I m y g h t have dyned

In Blythe or in Dankestere . '

'Grete well your abbot,' sayd R o b y n ,

' A n d your pryour, I you pray, A n d byd h y m send m e such a m o n k e

T o dyner every day.'

N o w lete w e that m o n k e be styll, A n d speke w e of that k n y g h t :

Y e t he came to holde his day, W h y l e that it was lyght .

8 0 Search. 3 1 Perhaps a mistake for forcer = coffer. 8 2 Afterwards. 3 3 It repents me.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

H e dyde h i m streyt to Bernysdale,

U n d e r the grene-wode tre,

A n d he founde there R o b y n H o d e ,

A n d all his mery meyne .

T h e k n y g h t l y g h t doune of his good palfray;

R o b y n w h a n he g a n see,

So curteysly he dyde adoune his hode,

A n d set h y m o n his knee .

' G o d the save, R o b y n H o d e ,

A n d all this company' :

' W e l c o m e be thou, gentyl l k n y g h t ,

A n d ryght we l come to me. '

T h a n bespake h y m R o b y n H o d e ,

T o that k n y g h t so fre:

W h a t nede dryveth the to grene-wode?

I praye the, syr k n y g h t , tell me .

' A n d w e l c o m e be thou , gentyl l k n y g h t ,

W h y hast thou be so l onge? '

'For the abbot and the hye iustyce

W o l d e have had m y londe.'

'Has t thou thy londe a g a y n e ? ' sayd Robyn;

' T r e u t h than tell thou me':

' Y e , for G o d , ' sayd the k n y g h t ,

' A n d that thanke I G o d and the.

' B u t t a k e no grefe, that I have be so longe; I came by a wraste lynge,

A n d there I holpe a pore yeman,

W i t h w r o n g e w a s put behynde. '

' N a y , for G o d , ' sayd R o b y n ,

'Syr k n y g h t , that thanke I the;

W h a t m a n that helpeth a good yeman,

H i s frende than w y l l I be.'

A GEST OF R O B Y N HODE 163

' H a v e here foure hondred pounde, ' sayd the k n y g h t ,

' T h e whiche ye lent to m e ;

A n d here is also twenty m a r k e

F o r your curteysy.'

' N a y , for G o d , ' sayd R o b y n ,

' T h o u b r o k e 3 4 it wel l for ay;

F o r O u r L a d y , by her hye selerer,

H a t h sent to m e m y pay.

' A n d yf I toke it i-twyse,

A shame it were to m e ;

B u t trewely, gentyl l k n y g h t ,

W e l c o m e arte thou to me . '

W h a n R o b y n had tolde his tale,

H e Ieugh and m a d e good chere:

' B y m y trouthe,' then sayd the k n y g h t ,

'Your money is redy here.'

'Broke it well , ' said R o b y n ,

' T h o u gentyl l k n y g h t so fre;

A n d we lcome be thou, gentyl l k n y g h t ,

U n d e r m y trystell-tre. 3 5

'But w h a t shall these bowes d o ? ' sayd R o b y n ,

' A n d these arowes i fedred 3 6 fre?'

'By G o d , ' than sayd the k n y g h t ,

' A pore present to the.'

' C o m e n o w forth, Lyte l l Johan,

A n d g o to m y treasure,

A n d brynge m e there foure hondred pounde;

T h e m o n k e over-tolde it me .

' H a v e here foure hondred pounde ,

T h o u gentyl l k n y g h t and trewe,

A n d bye thee hors and harnes good ,

A n d gylte thy spores all newe .

** Enjoy. 3 5 Tree appointed for meetings. 3 6 Feathered.

164 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

' A n d yf thou fayle ony spendynge ,

C o m to R o b y n H o d e ,

A n d by m y trouth thou shalt none fayle,

T h e whyles I have any good .

' A n d broke we l l thy foure hondred pound,

W h i c h e I lent to the,

A n d m a k e thy selfe no more so bare,

B y the counseil of me. '

T h u s than holpe h y m good R o b y n ,

T h e k n y g h t all of his care:

G o d , that sy t 3 7 in heven hye,

G r a u n t e us wel l to fare!

THE FYFTH FYTTE

N o w hath the k n y g h t his leve i-take,

A n d wente h y m on his w a y ;

R o b y n H o d e and his mery m e n

D w e l l e d styll full m a n y a day .

L y t h and lysten, genti l men ,

A n d herken w h a t I shall say,

H o w the proud sheryfe of N o t y n g h a m

D y d e crye 1 a full fayre play;

T h a t all the best archers of the north

Sholde come upon a day,

A n d he that shoteth al l ther 2 best

T h e g a m e shall bere a w a y .

H e that shoteth allther best,

Furthest fayre and lowe ,

A t a payre of fyn ly 3 buttes,

U n d e r the grene w o d e shawe,

A ryght good arowe he shall have,

T h e shaft of sylver w h y t e ,

T h e hede and feders of ryche rede golde,

In E n g l o n d is none lyke .

3 7 Sitteth. 1 Caused to be announced. 2 Of all. 3 Goodly.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

T h i s than herde good R o b y n ,

U n d e r his trystell-tre:

' M a k e you redy, ye w y g h t y o n g e m e n ;

T h a t shotynge w y l l I se.

' B u s k e 4 you, m y mery y o n g e m e n ;

Y e shall g o w i t h m e ;

A n d I wyl l w e t e 5 the shryves fayth ,

T r e w e and yf he b e . '

W h a n they had theyr bowes i-bent,

T h e y r takles fedred fre,

Seven score of w y g h t y o n g e m e n

Stode by R o b y n s kne .

W h a n they c a m to N o t y n g h a m ,

T h e buttes were fayre and longe;

M a n y was the bolde archere

T h a t shot w i t h bowes stronge.

'There shall but syx shote w i t h m e ;

T h e other shal kepe m y h e [ v e ] d e , '

A n d stande w i t h good bowes bent,

T h a t I be not desceyved.'

T h e fourth out lawe his b o w e g a n bende,

A n d that was R o b y n H o d e ,

A n d that behelde the proud sheryfe,

A l l by the but he stode.

T h r y e s R o b y n shot about,

A n d a lway he slist the w a n d ,

A n d so dyde good Gylber te

W i t h the w h y t e hande .

Lyte l l Johan and good Scatheloke

W e r e archers good and fre;

Lyte l l M u c h and good Reynolde ,

T h e worste w o l d e they not be. 4 Prepare. 5 Know. 6 Head, safety.

i66 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

W h a n they had shot aboute, T h e s e archours fayre and good,

E v e r m o r e was the best, F o r soth, R o b y n H o d e .

H y m w a s delyvered the good arowe, F o r best worthy was he;

H e toke the yeft7 so curteysly, T o g r e n e - w o d e wolde he.

T h e y cryed out o n R o b y n H o d e , A n d grete h o m e s gan they blowe:

' W o worth the,8 treason!' sayd R o b y n 'Ful l evyl thou art to knowe.

' A n wo be thou! thou proude sheryf, T h u s gladdynge thy gest;

O t h e r wyse thou behote9 m e In yonder wylde forest.

'But had I the in grene-wode, U n d e r my trystell-tre,

T h o u sholdest leve me a better w e d d e T h a n thy trewe lewte.

F u l l many a b o w e there was bent, A n d arowes let they glyde;

M a n y a kyrtell there was rent, A n d hurt many a syde.

T h e outlawes shot was so stronge T h a t no man myght them dryve,

A n d the proud sheryfes men, T h e y fled away full blyve. 1 0

R o b y n sawe the busshement11 to-broke, In grene wode he wolde have be;

M a n y an arowe there was shot A m o n g e that company.

'Gift. 8Woe be to thee. 9Promised. 10Quickly. "Ambuscade.

A GEST OF R O B Y N HODE

Lyte l l Johan w a s hurte full sore,

W i t h an arowe in his kne ,

T h a t he m y g h t neyther g o 1 2 nor ryde;

It was full grete pyte .

'Mayster, ' then sayd Lyte l l Johan,

'If ever thou lovedst m e ,

A n d for that y lke lordes love

T h a t dyed u p o n a tre,

' A n d for the medes of m y servyce,

T h a t I have served the,

L e t e never the proud sheryf

A l y v e n o w fynde m e .

' B u t take out thy b r o w n e swerde,

A n d smyte all of m y hede,

A n d g y v e m e w o u n d e s depe and w y d e ;

N o lyfe on m e be lefte.'

' I w o l d e not that,' sayd R o b y n ,

'Johan, that thou were s lawe, 1 3

F o r all the golde in merry E n g l o n d e ,

T h o u g h it lay n o w on a rawe.'

' G o d forbede,' sayd L y t e l l M u c h ,

' T h a t dyed on a tre,

T h a t thou sholdest, Lyte l l Johan,

Parte our company. '

U p he toke h y m on his backe ,

A n d bare h y m wel l a myle ;

M a n y a t y m e he layd h i m d o w n e ,

A n d shot another w h y l e .

T h e n was there a fayre castell,

A lytell w i t h i n the w o d e ;

Double -dyched it was about,

A n d wal led, by the rode. 1 2 Walk. 1 3 Slain.

i68 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

A n d there dwel led that gentyl l k n y g h t ,

Syr R y c h a r d at the L e e ,

T h a t R o b y n had lent his good ,

U n d e r the grene-wode tree.

I n he toke g o o d R o b y n ,

A n d all his company:

' W e l c o m e be thou, R o b y n H o d e ,

W e l c o m e art thou to m e ;

' A n d moche I thanke the of thy comfort,

A n d of thy curteysye,

A n d of thy grete kyndnesse ,

U n d e r the grene-wode tre.

T love no m a n in all this wor lde

So m u c h as I do the;

F o r all the proud sheryf of N o t y n g h a m ,

R y g h t here shalt thou be.

'Shutte the gates, and drawe the brydge ,

A n d let no m a n come in,

A n d arme y o u wel l , and m a k e you redy,

A n d to the walles ye w y n n e . 1 4

'For one thynge , R o b y n , I the behote;

I swere by Saynt Q u y n t y n e ,

T h e s e forty dayes thou w o n n e s t 1 5 w i t h m e ,

T o soupe, ete, and dyne. '

Bordes were layde , and clothes were spredde,

R e d e l y 1 6 and anone;

R o b y n H o d e and his merry m e n

T o mete can they g o n e . 1 7

THE SIXTH FYTTE

L y t h e and lysten, genty lmen ,

A n d herkyn to your songe;

H o w e the proude shyref of N o t y n g h a m ,

A n d m e n of armys stronge, 1 4 Go. 15Dwellest. 1 6 Quickly. 1 7 Did they go.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

F u l l fast c a m to the hye shyref,

T h e contre u p to route,

A n d they besette the knyghte s castell,

T h e walles all aboute.

T h e proude shyref loude g a n crye,

A n d sayde, ' T h o u traytour k n i g h t ,

T h o u kepest here the k y n g e s enemys ,

A g a y n s t the l a w e and right. '

'Sir, I w y l l a v o w that I have done ,

T h e dedys that here be d y g h t , 1

U p o n all the landes that I have ,

A s I a m a trewe k n y g h t .

' W e n d e furth, sirs, on your w a y ,

A n d do no more to m e

T y l l ye w y t oure k y n g e s wi l l e ,

W h a t he w y l l say to the.'

T h e shyref thus had his answere,

W i t h o u t any lesynge; 2

F o r t h he y e d e 3 to L o n d o n towne ,

A l l for to tel our k i n g e .

T h e r he telde h i m of that k n i g h t ,

A n d eke of R o b y n H o d e ,

A n d also of the bolde archars,

T h a t were soo noble and g o d e .

' H e wy l l a v o w e that he hath done,

T o mayntene the o u d a w e s stronge;

H e wyl l be lorde, and set you at nought ,

In all the northe londe.'

'I wi l be at N o t y n g h a m , ' saide our k y n g e ,

'Wi th in this fourteenyght ,

A n d take I wy l l R o b y n H o d e

A n d so I wy l l that kn ight . 1 Prepared. 2 Falsehood. 3 Went.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

' G o n o w e home, shyref,' sayde our k y n g e ,

' A n d do as I b y d the;

A n d ordeyn gode archers y n o w e ,

O f all the w y d e contre.'

T h e shyref had his leve i-take,

A n d w e n t h y m on his w a y ,

A n d R o b y n H o d e to grene w o d e ,

U p o n a certen day .

A n d L y t e l John was hole of the arowe

T h a t shot was in his kne ,

A n d d y d h y m streyght to R o b y n H o d e ,

U n d e r the grene w o d e tree.

R o b y n H o d e w a l k e d in the forest,

U n d e r the levys grene;

T h e proude shyref of N o t y n g h a m

Thereo f he had grete tene. 4

T h e shyref there fayled of R o b y n H o d e ,

H e m y g h t not have his pray;

T h a n he a w a y t e d 5 this gentyl l k n y g h t ,

Bothe by n y g h t and day .

E v e r he w a y t e d 5 the gentyl l k n y g h t ,

Syr Richarde at the L e e ,

A s he went on h a u k y n g e by the ryver-syde,

A n d lete his haukes flee.

T o k e he there this gentyl l kn ight ,

W i t h men of armys stronge,

A n d led h y m to N o t y n g h a m w a r d e ,

B o u n d bothe fote and hande .

T h e shyref sware a full grete othe,

Bi h i m that dyed on rode,

H e had lever than an hundred pound

T h a t he had R o b y n H o d e . 4 Annoyance. 5 Lay in wait for.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

'For soth as I the say;

H e is nat yet thre myles

Passed on his w a y . '

U p than sterte gode R o b y n ,

A s m a n that had ben w o d e :

'Buske you , m y mery m e n ,

F o r h y m that dyed on rode.

' A n d he that this sorowe forsaketh,

B y h y m that dyed on tre,

Shall he never in grene w o d e

N o lenger dwel w i t h me . ' 6 Retinue.

T h i s harde the k n y g h t e s w y f e ,

A fayr lady and a free;

She set hir o n a gode palfrey,

T o grene w o d e anone rode she.

W h a n n e she c a m in the forest,

U n d e r the grene w o d e tree,

F o n d e she there R o b y n H o d e ,

A n d al his fayre m e n e . 6

' G o d the save, g o d e R o b y n ,

A n d all thy c o m p a n y ;

F o r O u r dere L a d y e s sake,

A bone graunte thou m e .

'Late never m y w e d d e d lorde

Shameful ly slayne be;

H e is fast bound to N o t i n g h a m w a r d e ,

F o r the love of the.'

A n o n e than saide g o o d e R o b y n

T o that lady so fre,

' W h a t m a n hath your lorde y t a k e ? '

' T h e proude shirife,' than sayd she.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

Sone there were gode bowes bent,

M o than seven score;

H e d g e ne dyche spared they none

T h a t was t h e m before.

T m a k e m y n a v o w e to G o d , ' sayde R o b y n

' T h e sherif w o l d e I fayne see;

A n d if I m a y h i m take ,

I -quyt 7 then shall he be.'

A n d w h e n they came to N o t i n g h a m ,

T h e y w a l k e d in the strete;

A n d w i t h the proude sherif i -wys

Sone can they mete .

' A b y d e , thou proude sherif,' he sayde,

' A b y d e , and speke w i t h me;

O f some t idinges of oure k inge

I w o l d e fayne here of the.

' T h i s seven yere, by dere worthy G o d ,

N e y e d e 8 I this fast on fote;

I m a k e m y n a v o w e to G o d , thou proude sherif,

It is not for thy gode. '

R o b y n bent a full goode bo we ,

A n arrowe he dro we at w y l l ;

H e hit so the proude sherife

U p o n the g r o u n d e he lay full still.

A n d or he m y g h t u p aryse,

O n his fete to stonde,

H e smote of the sherifs hede

W i t h his br ight bronde.

' L y e thou there, thou proude sherife;

E v y l l m o t e 9 thou thryve:

T h e r e m y g h t no m a n to the truste

T h e why le s thou were a lyve. ' 7 Requited. 8 Went. 9 May.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

H i s m e n drewe out theyr bryght swerdes,

T h a t were so sharpe and kene ,

A n d layde on the sheryves men ,

A n d dryved t h e m d o w n e b y d e n e . 1 0

R o b y n stert to that k n y g h t ,

A n d cut a t w o his bonde,

A n d toke h y m in his hand a bo we ,

A n d bad h y m by h y m stonde.

'Leve thy hors the behynde ,

A n d lerne for to renne;

T h o u shalt w i t h m e to grene w o d e ,

T h r o u g h myre , mosse, and fenne.

' T h o u shalt w i t h m e to grene w o d e ,

W i t h o u t ony leasynge,

T y l l that I have gete us grace

O f E d w a r d e , our comly k y n g e . '

THE SEVENTH FYTTE

T h e k y n g e came to N o t y n g h a m e ,

W i t h knyghtes in grete araye,

F o r to take that gentyl l k n y g h t

A n d R o b y n H o d e , and yf he m a y .

H e asked men of that countre,

Af ter R o b y n H o d e ,

A n d after that gentyl l k n y g h t ,

T h a t was so bolde and stout.

W h a n they had tolde h y m the case

O u r k y n g e understode ther tale,

A n d seased in his honde

T h e knyghtes londes all. '

A l l the passe 1 of Lancasshyre

H e went both ferre and nere,

10Quickly. 'Extent (?).

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

T y l l he came to P l o m t o n Parke;

H e f a y l y d 2 m a n y of his dere.

T h e r e 3 our k y n g e was w o n t to se

Herdes m a n y one,

H e coud unneth fynde one dere,

T h a t bare ony good h o m e .

T h e k y n g e w a s w o n d e r wroth wi th all,

A n d swore by the T r y n y t e ,

T wo lde I had R o b y n H o d e ,

W i t h eyen I m y g h t h y m se.

' A n d he that w o l d e smyte of the knyghtes hede,

A n d brynge it to me ,

H e shall have the kny g hte s londes,

Syr Rycharde at the L e .

T g y v e it h y m w i t h m y charter,

A n d sele it w i t h m y honde,

T o have and holde for ever more,

In all mery E n g l o n d e . '

T h a n bespake a fayre olde k n y g h t ,

T h a t was treue in his fay:

' A , m y leege lorde the k y n g e ,

O n e worde I shall you say.

'There is no m a n in this countre

M a y have the kny g hte s londes,

W h y l e R o b y n H o d e may ryde or gone,

A n d bere a b o w e in his hondes.

' T h a t he ne shall lese* his hede,

T h a t is the best ball in his hode:

G i v e it no m a n , m y lorde the k y n g e ,

T h a t ye w y l l any good. '

H a l f a yere dwel led our comly k y n g e

In N o t y n g h a m , and wel l more; 2 Missed. 3 Where. 4 Lose.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE 175

C o u d e he not here of R o b y n H o d e ,

In w h a t countre that he were .

B u t a lway w e n t good R o b y n

B y h a l k e 5 and eke by hyl l ,

A n d a lway slewe the k y n g e s dere,

A n d w e l t 6 t h e m at his w y l l .

T h a n bespake a proude fostere,

T h a t stode b y our k y n g e s k n e :

' Y f ye w y l l see g o o d R o b y n ,

Y e must d o after m e .

' T a k e fyve of the best k n y g h t e s

T h a t be in your lede, 7

A n d w a l k e d o w n e by yon abbay,

A n d gete you m o n k e s w e d e . 8

A n d I wy l l be your ledes-man, 9

A n d lede you the w a y ,

A n d or ye c o m e to N o t y n g h a m ,

M y n hede then dare I lay,

T h a t ye shall mete w i t h g o o d R o b y n ,

O n l y v e 1 0 yf that he be;

O r ye come to N o t y n g h a m ,

W i t h eyen ye shall h y m se.

F u l l hastely our k y n g e was d y g h t , 1 1

So were his kny g hte s fyve,

E v e r y c h of t h e m in m o n k e s wede ,

A n d hasted t h e m thyder b l y v e . 1 2

O u r k y n g e w a s grete above his co le , 1 3

A brode hat on his crowne,

R y g h t as he were abbot-lyke,

T h e y rode u p into the towne . 5 Hiding place. 6 Controlled. 7 Company. * Garments. ' Guide. 1 0 Alive.

1 1 Prepared. 1 2 Quickly. 1 3 Cowl.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS 176 Styf botes our k y n g e had on,

Forsoth as I you say;

H e rode s y n g y n g e to grene w o d e ,

T h e c o v e n t 1 4 was clothed in graye.

H i s male-hors 1 5 and his grete somers 1 6

F o l o w e d our k y n g e behynde ,

T y l l they came to grene w o d e ,

A my le under the l y n d e . 1 7

T h e r e they met w i t h good R o b y n ,

S tondynge on the w a y e ,

A n d so dyde m a n y a bolde archere,

F o r soth as I you say.

R o b y n toke the k y n g e s hors,

Haste ly in that stede,

A n d sayd, Syr abbot, by your leve,

A w h y l e ye must abyde .

' W e be y e m e n of this foreste,

U n d e r the grene-wode tre;

W e lyve by our k y n g e s dere,

O t h e r shift have not wee .

' A n d ye have chyrches and rentes both,

A n d go ld full grete plente;

G y v e us some of your spendynge ,

F o r saynt charyte.'

T h a n bespake our c u m l y k y n g e ,

A n o n e than sayd he;

'I brought no more to grene-wode

B u t forty pounde w i t h m e .

'I have layne at N o t y n g h a m ,

T h i s fourtynyght w i t h our k y n g e ,

A n d spent I have full moche good

O n m a n y a grete lordynge .

1 4 The knights dressed as members of a convent. 1 5 Pack-horse. 1 6 Sumpter-horse. 1 7 Linden.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

' A n d I have but forty pounde ,

N o more than have I me:

But if I had an hondred pounde ,

I w o u l d g ive it to thee.'

R o b y n toke the forty pounde ,

A n d departed it in t w o partye;

H a l f e n d e l l 1 8 he g a v e his mery m e n ,

A n d bad t h e m m e r y to be.

F u l l curteysly R o b y n g a n say;

'Syr, have this for your spendyng;

W e shall mete another day;'

'Gramercy , ' than sayd our k y n g e .

'But wel l the greteth E d w a r d e , our k y n g e ,

A n d sent to the his seale,

A n d byddeth the c o m to N o t y n g h a m ,

Both to mete and mele. '

H e toke out the brode t a r g e , 1 9

A n d sone he lete h y m se;

R o b y n coud his courteysy,

A n d set h y m on his kne .

'I love no m a n in all the wor lde

So wel l as I do m y k y n g e ;

W e l c o m e is m y lordes seale;

A n d , m o n k e , for thy t y d y n g e ,

'Syr abbot, for thy tydynges ,

T o day thou shalt d y n e w i t h m e ,

F o r the love of m y k y n g e ,

U n d e r m y trystell-tre.'

For th he lad our comly k y n g e ,

Fu l l fayre b y the honde;

M a n y a dere there w a s slayne,

A n d full fast d y g h t a n d e . 2 0

"Half. 1 9 Charter. 2 0 Preparing.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS 178 R o b y n toke a full grete h o m e ,

A n d loude he g a n b lowe;

Seven score of w y g h t y o n g e m e n

C a m e redy on a rowe .

A l l they kneled on theyr k n e ,

F u l l fayre before R o b y n :

T h e k y n g e sayd h y m selfe untyl l ,

A n d swore by Saynt A u s t y n ,

'Here is a w o n d e r semely sight;

M e thynketh , by G o d d e s p y n e , 2 1

H i s m e n are more at his b y d d y n g e

T h e n m y m e n be at m y n . '

F u l l hastely was theyr dyner i d y g h t , "

A n d therto g a n they gone;

T h e y served our k y n g e w i t h all theyr m y g h t ,

Both R o b y n and Lyte l l Johan.

A n o n e before our k y n g e was set

T h e fatte venyson,

T h e good w h y t e brede, the good rede w y n e ,

A n d therto the fyne ale and browne.

' M a k e good chere,' said R o b y n ,

' A b b o t , for charyte;

A n d for this y l k e 2 3 t y d y n g e ,

Blyssed mote thou be .

' N o w shalte thou se w h a t lyfe w e lede,

O r 2 4 thou hens w e n d e ;

T h a n thou m a y enfourme our k y n g e ,

W h a n ye togyder l e n d e . ' 2 5

U p they sterte all in hast,

T h e y r bowes were smartly bent;

O u r k y n g e was never so sore agast,

H e w e n d e 2 6 to have be shente. 2 7

"Passion. 2 2 Got ready. 2 3 Same. "Before. 2 5 Dwell. 26Thought. 2 7 Injured.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE 179 T w o yerdes there were u p set,

There to gan they g a n g e ;

B y fyfty pase, our k y n g e sayd,

T h e merkes were to longe .

O n every syde a rose-garlonde,

T h e y shot under the l y n e : 2 8

' W h o so fayleth of the rose-garlonde,' sayd R o b y n ,

'His takyl l he shall t y n e . 2 9

' A n d yelde it to his mayster,

Be it never so fyne;

F o r no m a n w y l l I spare,

So drynke I ale or w y n e ;

' A n d bere a buffet on his hede,

I-wys ryght all bare':

A n d all that fell in Robyns lote,

H e smote t h e m wonder sare.

T w y s e R o b y n shot aboute,

A n d ever he cleved the w a n d e ,

A n d so dyde good Gylber te

W i t h the w h y t e hande.

Lyte l l Johan and good Scathelocke,

For nothynge wo lde they spare;

W h e n they fayled of the gar londe,

R o b y n smote t h e m full sore.

A t the last shot that R o b y n shot,

F o r all his frendes fare , 3 0

Y e t he fayled of the gar londe

T h r e fyngers and mare.

T h a n bespake good Gylberte ,

A n d thus he gan say;

'Mayster,' he sayd, 'your takyl l is lost,

Stande forth and take your pay. '

2 8 Linden-tree. 2 9 Lose. 3 0 In spite of. what his friends had done.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

'If it be so,' sayd R o b y n ,

' T h a t m a y no better be,

Syr abbot, I delyver the m y n arowe,

I pray the, syr, serve thou me.'

'It falleth not for m y n ordre,' sayd our k y n g e ,

'Robyn, by thy leve,

F o r to smyte no good yeman,

F o r doute I sholde h y m greve. '

'Smyte on boldely,' sayd R o b y n ,

'I g ive the large leve':

A n o n e our k y n g e , w i t h that worde ,

H e folde u p his sieve.

A n d sych a buffet he gave R o b y n ,

T o grounde he y e d e 3 1 full nere:

'I m a k e m y n a v o w e to G o d , ' sayd R o b y n ,

' T h o u arte a stalworthe frere.

' T h e r e is pith in thyn arme,' sayd R o b y n ,

'I trowe thou canst wel l shete';

T h u s our k y n g e and R o b y n H o d e

T o g e d e r g a n they mete .

R o b y n behelde our comly k y n g e

W y s t l y 3 2 in the face,

So dyde Syr Rycharde at the L e ,

A n d kneled d o w n e in that place.

A n d so dyde all the w y l d e oudawes ,

W h a n they se them knele:

' M y lorde the k y n g e of E n g l o n d e ,

N o w I k n o w e you well . '

'Mercy then, R o b y n , ' sayd our k y n g e ,

'Under your trystyll-tre,

O f thy goodnesse and thy grace,

F o r m y m e n and me!' 3 1 Went. 3 2 Thoughtfully.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE l8l

'Yes , for G o d , ' sayd R o b y n ,

' A n d also G o d m e save,

I aske mercy, m y lorde the k y n g e ,

A n d for m y m e n I crave.'

'Yes , for G o d , ' than sayd our k y n g e ,

' A n d therto sent I m e ,

W i t h that thou leve the grene-wode ,

A n d all thy company;

' A n d come home, syr, to m y courte,

A n d there dwel l w i t h me.'

'I m a k e m y n a v o w e to G o d , ' sayd R o b y n ,

' A n d ryght so shall it be.

'I wy l l come to your courte,

Y o u r servyse for to se,

A n d brynge w i th me of m y m e n

Seven score and thre.

'But me l y k e 3 3 wel l your servyse,

I wy l l come agayne full soone,

A n d shote at the d o n n e 3 4 dere,

A s I a m wonte to done.'

THE EIGHTH FYTTE

'Haste thou ony grene cloth,' sayd our k y n g e ,

' T h a t thou wyl te sell nowe to m e ? '

' Y e , for G o d , ' sayd R o b y n ,

' T h y r t y yerdes and thre.'

'Robyn, ' sayd our k y n g e ,

' N o w pray I the,

Sell me some of that cloth,

T o me and m y meyne . '

'Yes , for G o d , ' then sayd R o b y n ,

' O r elles I were a fole;

A n o t h e r day ye wy l l me clothe,

I trowe, ayenst the Y o l e . ' 1

3 3 Unless I like. 3 4 Dun. 1 In preparation for Christmas.

l82 TRADITIONAL BALLADS

T h e k y n g e kest of his cole then ,

A grene garment he dyde on ,

A n d every k n y g h t also, i w y s ,

A n o t h e r had full sone.

W h a n they were clothed in L y n c o l n e grene,

T h e y keste a w a y theyr graye;

' N o w w e shall to N o t y n g h a m , '

A l l thus our k y n g e g a n say.

T h e y bente theyr bowes and forth they went ,

Shotynge all in-fere, 2

T o w a r d e the t o w n e of N o t y n g h a m ,

O u t l a w e s as they were .

O u r k y n g e and R o b y n rode togyder ,

F o r soth as I you say,

A n d they shote plucke-buffet ,

A s they w e n t by the w a y .

A n d m a n y a buffet our k y n g e w a n

O f R o b y n H o d e that day,

A n d no thynge spared good R o b y n

O u r k y n g e w h e n he did pay.

'So G o d m e helpe,' sayd our k y n g e ,

' T h y g a m e is n o u g h t to lere 3 ;

I sholde not ge t a shote of the,

T h o u g h I shote all this yere.'

A l l the people of N o t y n g h a m

T h e y stode and behelde;

T h e y sawe no thynge but mantels of grene

T h a t covered all the felde.

T h a n every m a n to other g a n say,

'I drede our k y n g e be slone 4 ;

C o m e R o b y n H o d e to the towne , i-wys

O n lyve he lefte never one.' 2 Together. 3 You do not need to learn your game. 4 Slain.

A GEST OF R O B Y N HODE

F u l l hastely they began to fie,

Both y e m e n and knaves ,

A n d olde w y v e s that m y g h t evyl l g o o ,

T h e y h y p p e d on theyr staves.

T h e k y n g e l o u g h e full fast,

A n d c o m m a u n d e d t h e y m agayne ;

W h e n they se our c o m l y k y n g e ,

I -wys they were full fayne .

T h e y ete and dranke , and m a d e t h e m g lad ,

A n d sange w i t h notes hye ;

T h a n bespake our comly k y n g e

T o Syr Richarde at the L e e .

H e g a v e h y m there his londe agayne ,

A good m a n he bad h y m be;

R o b y n thanked our comly k y n g e ,

A n d set h y m on his kne .

H a d R o b y n dwel led in the k y n g e s courte

B u t twe lve monethes and thre,

T h a t he had spent an hondred pounde ,

A n d all his mennes fe.

In every place w h e r e R o b y n c a m e

E v e r more he layde d o w n e , 5

Both for knyghte s and for squyres,

T o gete h y m grete renowne .

B y than the yere w a s all agone

H e had no m a n but twayne ,

Lyte l l Johan and good Scathelocke,

W i t h h y m all for to g o n e .

R o b y n sawe y o n g e m e n shote

Fu l l faire upon a day;

'Alas! ' than sayd good R o b y n ,

' M y wel the is w e n t a w a y . 5 Paid liberally.

TRADITIONAL BALLADS

' S o m t y m e I was an archere good ,

A styffe and eke a stronge;

I was compted the best archere

T h a t was in mery E n g l o n d e .

'Alas! ' then sayd good R o b y n ,

'Alas and wel l a w o o !

Y f I dwele lenger w i t h the k y n g e ,

Sorowe wy l l m e sloo.'

F o r t h than w e n t R o b y n H o d e

T y l l he came to our k y n g e :

' M y lorde the k y n g e of Eng londe ,

G r a u n t e m e m y n askynge .

'I m a d e a chapell in Bernysdale,

T h a t semely is to se,

I t is of M a r y M a g d a l e y n e ,

A n d thereto w o l d e I be .

'I m y g h t never in this seven n y g h t

N o tyme to slepe ne w y n k e ,

N o t h e r all these seven dayes

N o t h e r ete ne drynke .

' M e longeth sore to Bernysdale,

I m a y not be therfro;

Barefote and w o l w a r d e 6 I have h y g h t 7

T h y d e r for to go . '

' Y f it be so,' than sayd our k y n g e ,

'It m a y no better be;

Seven n y g h t I g y v e the leve,

N o lengre, to dwel l fro me. '

'Gramercy , lorde,' then sayd Robyn ,

A n d set h y m on his kne;

H e toke his leve full courteysly,

T o grene w o d e then w e n t he.

ling penance by wearing wool next the skin. 'Promised.

A GEST OF ROBYN HODE

W h a n he came to grene w o d e ,

In a mery m o r n y n g e , T h e r e he herde the notes small

O f byrdes mery s y n g y n g e .

'It is ferre gone, ' sayd R o b y n , ' T h a t I was last here;

M e lyste 8 a lytell for to shote

A t the donne dere.'

R o b y n slewe a full grete harte; H i s h o m e than g a n he b low,

T h a t all the outlawes of that forest

T h a t h o m e coud they k n o w e ,

A n d gadred them togyder,

In a lytell throwe. Seven score of w y g h t yonge m e n

C a m e redy on a rowe,

A n d fayre dyde of theyr hodes, A n d set t h e m on theyr kne :

'Welcome, ' they sayd, 'our mayster, U n d e r this grene-wode tre.'

R o b y n dwel led in grene w o d e T w e n t y yere and t w o ;

F o r all drede of E d w a r d e our k y n g e ,

A g a y n e w o l d e he not g o o .

Y e t he was begyled, i -wys,

T h r o u g h a w y c k e d w o m a n ,

T h e pryoresse of K y r k e s l y ,

T h a t nye was of hys k y n n e :

F o r the love of a k n y g h t , Syr Roger of Donkes ly ,

T h a t was her o w n e speciall;

Fu l l evyll mote they the! 9

• i t pleases me. 9May they thrive!

A N O N Y M O U S

T h e y toke togyder theyr counseil

R o b y n H o d e for to sle,

A n d h o w they m y g h t best do that dede,

H i s ban i s 1 0 for to be .

T h a n bespake good R o b y n ,

In place where as he stode,

' T o m o r o w I muste to K y r k e [ s ] l y ,

C r a f t e l y 1 1 to be leten blode.'

Syr Roger of Donkestere ,

B y the pryoresse he lay,

A n d there they betrayed good R o b y n H o d e ,

T h r o u g h theyr false playe .

C r y s t have mercy on his soule,

T h a t dyed on the rode!

F o r he was a good o u d a w e ,

A n d dyde pore m e n m o c h g o d .

A N O N Y M O U S

[16th Century]

BALOW

BALOW, m y babe, lie still and sleep!

It grieves m e sore to see thee w e e p .

W o u l d s t thou be quiet I'se be g lad ,

T h y m o u r n i n g m a k e s m y sorrow sad:

B a l o w m y boy, thy mother's joy,

T h y father breeds me great a n n o y —

B a l o w , la- low!

W h e n he began to court m y love,

A n d w i t h his sugred words m e move ,

H i s faynings false and flattering cheer

T o m e that t ime did not appear:

B u t n o w I see most cruellye.

H e cares ne for m y babe nor m e —

Ba low, la-low!

"Murderer. 1 1 Skillfully.

B A L O W

L i e still, m y darl ing, sleep awhi le ,

A n d w h e n thou wak'st thou'le sweetly smile:

B u t smile not as thy father did,

T o cozen maids : nay, G o d forbid!

B u t yet I fear thou wi l t g o near

T h y father's heart and face to bear—

B a l o w , la-low!

I cannot choose but ever wi l l

Be lov ing to thy father still;

Where'er he g o , where'er he ride,

M y love w i t h h i m doth still abide;

In weal or woe , where'er he g o ,

M y heart shall ne'er depart h i m f r o —

B a l o w , la-low!

B u t do not, do not, pretty mine ,

T o faynings false thy heart incl ine!

Be loyal to thy lover true,

A n d never change her for a n e w :

If good or fair, of her have care

F o r women's banning's wondrous sare-

B a l o w , la- low!

Bairn, by thy face I wi l l beware;

L i k e Sirens' words , I'll come not near;

M y babe and I together wi l l l ive;

He' l l comfort me w h e n cares do grieve .

M y babe and I r ight soft wi l l lie,

A n d ne'er respect man's crue l tye—

B a l o w , la- low!

Farewel l , farewell , the falsest youth

T h a t ever kist a woman's m o u t h !

I wish all maids be warn'd by m e

N e v e r to trust man's curtesye;

For if w e do but chance to b o w ,

T h e y ' l l use us then they care not h o w —

B a l o w , la- low!

A N O N Y M O U S

THE OLD CLOAK

[16th Century (?)]

THIS winter's weather it w a x e t h cold,

A n d frost it freezeth on every hill,

A n d Boreas b lows his blast so bold

T h a t all our cattle are l ike to spill.

Bel l , m y wi fe , she loves no strife;

She said unto m e quietlye,

Rise u p , and save c o w C r u m b o c k ' s life!

M a n , put thine old cloak about thee!

0 Bell m y wi fe , w h y dost thou flyte ?

T h o u kens m y cloak is very thin:

It is so bare and over worn ,

A cricke thereon cannot renn.

T h e n I'll no longer borrow nor lend;

F o r once I'll n e w apparell'd be;

T o - m o r r o w I'll to t o w n and spend;

F o r I'll have a n e w cloak about m e .

C o w C r u m b o c k is a very good c o w :

She has been a lways true to the pail;

She has helped us to butter and cheese, I

A n d other things she wil l not fail.

1 w o u l d be loth to see her pine.

G o o d husband, counsel take of me:

It is not for us to g o so f ine—

M a n , take thine old cloak about thee!

M y cloak it was a very good cloak,

It hath been a lways true to the wear;

B u t n o w it is not wor th a groat:

I have had it four and forty year'.

Somet ime it was of cloth in grain:

' T i s n o w but a sigh clout, as you may i

It wi l l neither hold out w i n d nor rain;

A n d I'll have a n e w cloak about m e .

T H E OLD C L O A K 189 She.

It is four and forty years a g o

Sine the one of us the other did k e n ;

A n d w e have had, be twixt us t w o ,

O f children either nine or ten:

W e have brought them u p to w o m e n and m e n :

In the fear of G o d I trow they be.

A n d w h y wi l t thou thyself m i s k e n ?

M a n , take thine old c loak about thee!

He. O Bell m y wi fe , w h y dost thou flyte?

N o w is n o w , and then was then:

Seek n o w all the wor ld throughout ,

T h o u kens not c lowns from g e n d e m e n :

T h e y are clad in black, green, ye l low and blue,

So far above their o w n degree.

O n c e in m y life I'll take a v i e w ;

F o r I'll have a n e w cloak about m e .

She. K i n g Stephen w a s a wor thy peer;

H i s breeches cost h i m but a crown;

H e held them sixpence all too dear,

Therefore he called the tailor ' lown. '

H e was a k i n g and wore the c r o w n ,

A n d thou'se but of a l o w degree:

It's pride that puts this country d o w n :

M a n , take thy o ld c loak about thee!

He. Bell m y wi fe , she loves not strife,

Y e t she wi l l lead me , if she can;

A n d to maintain an easy life

I oft must yield, t h o u g h I'm g o o d - m a n .

It's not for a m a n wi th a w o m a n to threap,

Unless he first g ive o'er the plea:

A s w e began, so wil l w e keep,

A n d I'll take m y old cloak about me .

A N O N Y M O U S

JOLLY GOOD ALE AND OLD

[16th Century]

Back and side g o bare, go bare,

Both hand and foot g o cold;

B u t , belly, G o d send thee good ale enough

W h e t h e r it be n e w or old.

B u t if 1 that I m a y have truly

G o o d ale m y belly full,

I shall look l ike one, by sweet Saint John,

W e r e shorn against the wool .

T h o u g h I g o bare, take ye no care,

I a m noth ing a-cold;

I stuff m y skin so full w i th in

O f jolly good ale and old.

I cannot eat but little meat ,

M y stomach is not good;

B u t sure I th ink that I could drink

W i t h h i m that weareth an hood.

D r i n k is m y life; a l though m y wife

Some t ime do chide and scold,

Y e t spare I not to ply the pot

O f jolly good ale and old.

I love no roast but a brown toast,

O r a crab in the fire;

A little bread shall do m e stead,

M u c h bread I never desire.

N o r frost, nor snow, nor w i n d , I trow,

C a n hurt me if it wo lde ;

I a m so wrapped wi th in , and lapped

W i t h jolly good ale and old.

I care r ight nought , I take no thought

F o r clothes to keep me w a r m ;

H a v e I good drink, I surely th ink

N o t h i n g can do me harm. 1 Unless.

J O L L Y GOOD ALE AND OLD

F o r truly than I fear no m a n ,

Be he never so bold,

W h e n I a m armed and throughly w a r m e d

W i t h jolly g o o d ale and old.

B u t n o w and than I curse and ban,

T h e y m a k e their ale so small!

G o d g ive them care, and evil to fare!

T h e y strye 2 the malt and all.

Such peevish p e w , 3 I tell you true,

N o t for a crown of go ld

T h e r e cometh one sip w i th in m y l ip,

W h e t h e r it be n e w or old.

G o o d ale and strong m a k e t h m e a m o n g

F u l l jocund and full l ight ,

T h a t oft I sleep, and take no keep

F r o m m o r n i n g until n ight .

T h e n start I u p and flee to the c u p ,

T h e right w a y on I hold;

M y thirst to stanch I fill m y paunch

W i t h jolly good ale and old.

A n d K i t , m y wi fe , that as her life

L o v e t h wel l good ale to seek,

F u l l oft drinketh she that ye m a y see

T h e tears run d o w n her cheek.

T h e n doth she troll to me the b o w l

A s a good m a l t - w o r m should,

A n d say, "Sweetheart, I take m y part

O f jolly good ale and old."

T h e y that do drink till they nod and w i n k ,

E v e n as good fellows should do ,

T h e y shall not miss to have the bliss

T h a t good ale hath brought t h e m to.

A n d all poor souls that scour black bowls ,

A n d hath them lustily troll'd,

2 Destroy. 3 Wretched stuff.

SIR THOMAS W Y A T T

G o d save the lives of them and their wives ,

W h e t h e r they be y o u n g or old!

Back and side, etc.

SIR T H O M A S W Y A T T

. [ ' 5 ° i ( ? ) - / 5 4 2 ]

A SUPPLICATION

FORGET not yet the tried intent

O f such a truth as I have meant;

M y great travail so g ladly spent,

Forget not yet!

Forge t not yet w h e n first began

T h e weary life ye k n o w , since w h a n

T h e suit, the service none tell can;

Forget not yet!

Forge t not yet the great assays,

T h e cruel w r o n g , the scornful ways ,

T h e painful patience in delays,

Forget not yet!

F o r g e t not! O , forget not this,

H o w long a g o hath been, and is

T h e m i n d that never meant amiss—

Forge t not yet !

F o r g e t not then thine o w n approved

T h e w h i c h so long hath thee so loved,

W h o s e steadfast faith yet never m o v e d —

F o r g e t not this!

THE LOVER'S APPEAL

AND wi l t thou leave m e thus!

Say nay! say nay! for shame!

T o save thee from the b lame

O f all m y grief and g r a m e .

A n d wi l t thou leave m e thus?

Say nay! say nay!

SIR T H O M A S W Y A T T

A n d wilt thou leave m e thus,

T h a t hath loved thee so long

In wealth and w o e a m o n g :

A n d is thy heart so strong

A s for to leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!

A n d wi l t thou leave m e thus,

T h a t hath g i v e n thee m y heart

N e v e r for to depart

Ne i ther for pain nor smart:

A n d wi l t thou leave m e thus?

Say nay! say nay!

A n d wi l t thou leave m e thus,

A n d have no more pity

O f h im that loveth thee?

A l a s ! thy cruelty!

A n d wi l t thou leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!

H E N R Y H O W A R D , E A R L O F S U R R E Y

l'517(?)-I547]

COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER LOVER BEING UPON THE SEA

O HAPPY dames! that may embrace

T h e fruit of your del ight,

H e l p to bewail the wofu l case

A n d eke the heavy pl ight

O f me, that wonted to rejoice

T h e fortune of m y pleasant choice:

G o o d ladies, help to fill m y m o u r n i n g voice.

In ship, freight w i th rememberance

O f thoughts and pleasures past,

H e sails that hath in governance

M y life whi le it wi l l last:

W i t h scalding sighs, for lack of gale ,

Further ing his hope, that is his sail,

T o w a r d me , the swete port of his avai l .

EARL OF SURREY

A l a s ! h o w oft in dreams I see

T h o s e eyes that were m y food;

W h i c h sometime so del ighted m e ,

T h a t yet they do m e good:

W h e r e w i t h I w a k e wi th his return

W h o s e absent flame did m a k e m e burn:

B u t w h e n I find the lack, L o r d ! h o w I mourn!

W h e n other lovers in arms across

Rejoice their chief del ight ,

D r o w n e d in tears, to m o u r n m y loss

I stand the bitter n ight

In m y w i n d o w where I may see

Before the w i n d s h o w the clouds flee:

L o ! w h a t a mariner love hath made mel

A n d in green waves w h e n the salt flood

D o t h rise by rage of w i n d ,

A thousand fancies in that mood

Assai l m y restless m i n d .

A l a s ! n o w drencheth m y sweet foe,

T h a t w i t h the spoil of m y heart did g o ,

A n d left m e ; but alas! w h y did he so?

A n d w h e n the seas w a x ca lm again

T o chase fro me annoy,

M y doubtful hope doth cause me pain;

So dread cuts off m y joy.

T h u s in m y weal th ming led wi th woe

A n d of each thought a doubt doth grow;

— N o w he comes! W i l l he come? A l a s ! no, no .

THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE

MARTIAL, the things that do attain

T h e happy life be these, I f ind:—

T h e richesse left, not got w i th pain;

T h e fruitful ground , the quiet mind;

T h e equal friend; no g r u d g e , no strife;

N o charge of rule, nor governance;

GEORGE GASCOIGNE

W i t h o u t disease, the healthful l ife;

T h e household of cont inuance;

T h e m e a n diet, no delicate fare;

T r u e w i s d o m join'd w i t h simpleness;

T h e n ight discharged of all care,

W h e r e w ine the w i t m a y not oppress.

T h e faithful wi fe , w i t h o u t debate;

Such sleeps as m a y begui le the n ight :

Contented w i t h thine o w n estate

N e wi sh for death, ne fear his m i g h t .

G E O R G E G A S C O I G N E

A LOVER'S LULLABY

SING lullaby, as w o m e n do,

W h e r e w i t h they bring their babes to rest;

A n d lullaby can I sing too,

A s w o m a n l y as can the best.

W i t h lullaby they still the chi ld;

A n d if I be not m u c h begui led,

F u l l m a n y a w a n t o n babe have I,

W h i c h must be still'd w i t h lul laby.

First lullaby m y youthful years,

It is n o w t ime to g o to bed:

For crooked age and hoary hairs

H a v e w o n the haven wi th in m y head.

W i t h lullaby, then, youth be still;

W i t h lullaby content thy wi l l ;

Since courage quails and comes behind,

G o sleep, and so begui le thy m i n d !

N e x t lullaby m y g a z i n g eyes,

W h i c h w o n t e d were to g lance apace;

F o r every glass m a y n o w suffice

T o show the furrows in thy face.

NICHOLAS BRETON

W i t h lullaby then w i n k awhi le; W i t h lullaby your looks begui le; L e t no fair face, nor beauty bright, Ent ice you eft w i t h vain del ight .

A n d lullaby m y wanton wi l l ;

L e t reason's rule n o w reign thy thought;

Since all too late I find by skill H o w dear I have thy fancies bought ;

W i t h lullaby n o w take thine ease, W i t h lul laby thy doubts appease; F o r trust to this, if thou be still, M y body shall obey thy wi l l .

T h u s lullaby m y youth , mine eyes,

M y wi l l , m y ware , and all that was :

I can no more delays devise;

B u t we lcome pain, let pleasure pass.

W i t h lullaby n o w take your leave; W i t h lullaby your dreams deceive; A n d w h e n you rise w i t h w a k i n g eye,

R e m e m b e r then this lullaby.

N I C H O L A S B R E T O N

[I545(?)-I626(?)]

PHILLIDA AND CORIDON

IN the merry m o n t h of M a y ,

In a morn by break of day, F o r t h I w a l k ' d by the wood-side

W h e n as M a y was in his pride:

T h e r e I spied all alone

Phi l l ida and C o r i d o n . M u c h ado there was , G o d w o t !

H e w o u l d love and she w o u l d not.

She said, N e v e r m a n was true;

H e said, N o n e was false to you. H e said, H e had loved her long;

She said, L o v e should have no w r o n g .

A SWEET L U L L A B Y

C o r i d o n w o u l d kiss her then;

She said, M a i d s must kiss no m e n

T i l l they did for good and all;

T h e n she m a de the shepherd call

A l l the heavens to witness truth

N e v e r loved a truer youth .

T h u s w i t h m a n y a pretty oath,

Y e a and nay, and faith and troth,

Such as silly shepherds use

W h e n they wi l l not L o v e abuse,

L o v e , w h i c h had been long de luded,

W a s w i th kisses sweet concluded;

A n d Phil l ida, w i th garlands g a y ,

W a s m a de the L a d y of the M a y .

A N O N Y M O U S

A SWEET LULLABY

From The Arbor of Amorous Devices

COME little babe, come silly soul,

T h y father's shame, thy mother's grief,

Born as I doubt to all our dole,

A n d to thyself u n h a p p y chief:

S ing lullaby, and lap it w a r m ,

Poor soul that thinks no creature h a r m .

T h o u little think'st and less dost k n o w

T h e cause of this thy mother's moan;

T h o u want'st the wi t to wai l her w o e ,

A n d I myself a m all alone:

W h y dost thou w e e p ? w h y dost thou wai l

A n d know'st not yet w h a t thou dost ail.

C o m e , litde w r e t c h — a h , silly heartl

M i n e only joy, w h a t can I more?

If there be any w r o n g thy smart,

T h a t may the destinies implore:

' T w a s I, I say, against m y wi l l ,

I wai l the t ime, but be thou still.

A N O N Y M O U S A n d dost thou smile? O h , thy sweet face!

W o u l d G o d Himse l f H e m i g h t thee see!—

N o doubt thou wouldst soon purchase grace,

I k n o w right wel l , for thee and m e :

B u t come to mother, babe, and play,

F o r father false is fled a w a y .

Swee t boy, if it by fortune chance

T h y father h o m e again to send,

If death do strike m e wi th his lance,

Y e t mayst thou me to h i m c o m m e n d :

If any ask thy mother's name,

T e l l h o w by love she purchased blame.

T h e n wi l l his gentle heart soon yield:

I k n o w h i m of a noble m i n d :

A l t h o u g h a lion in the field,

A lamb in t o w n thou shalt h i m find:

A s k blessing, babe, be not afraid,

H i s sugar'd words hath me betray'd.

T h e n mayst thou joy and be right g lad;

A l t h o u g h in w o e I seem to moan,

T h y father is no rascal lad,

A noble youth of blood and bone:

H i s g lanc ing looks, if he once smile,

R i g h t honest w o m e n may beguile .

C o m e , little boy, and rock asleep;

S i n g lullaby and be thou still;

I, that can do n a u g h t else but weep ,

W i l l sit by thee and wai l m y fill:

G o d bless m y babe, and lullaby

F r o m this thy father's quality.

PREPARATIONS

From a Christ Church MS.

YET if H i s Majesty , our sovereign lord,

Should of his o w n accord

T H E U N F A I T H F U L SHEPHERDESS

Friendly himself invite ,

A n d say T i l be your guest to-morrow night, '

H o w should w e stir ourselves, call and c o m m a n d

A l l hands to w o r k ! 'Le t no m a n idle stand!'

'Set m e fine Spanish tables in the hall;

See they are fitted all;

L e t there be room to eat

A n d order taken that there w a n t no meat .

See every sconce and candlestick made bright ,

T h a t wi thout tapers they m a y g ive a l ight .

' L o o k to the presence: are the carpets spread,

T h e dazie o'er the head,

T h e cushions in the chairs,

A n d all the candles l ighted on the stairs?

Perfume the chambers , and in any case

L e t each m a n g ive attendance in his place!'

T h u s , if a k i n g were c o m i n g , w o u l d w e d o ;

A n d 'twere good reason too;

F o r 'tis a duteous t h i n g

T o show all honour to an earthly k i n g ,

A n d after all our travail and our cost,

So he be pleased, to th ink no labour lost.

B u t at the c o m i n g of the K i n g of H e a v e n

Al l ' s set at six and seven;

W e w a l l o w in our sin,

Chris t cannot find a chamber in the inn.

W e entertain H i m a lways l ike a stranger,

A n d , as at first, still l odge H i m in the m a n g e r .

THE UNFAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS

[From Byrd's Songs of Sundry Natures, / 5 S 9 ]

WHICH that the sun w i t h his beams hot

Scorched the fruits in vale and mounta in ,

Phi lon the shepherd, late forgot,

Sitt ing beside a crystal fountain,

2 0 0 A N O N Y M O U S

In shadow of a green oak tree

U p o n his pipe this song play'd he:

A d i e u L o v e , adieu L o v e , untrue L o v e ;

U n t r u e L o v e , untrue L o v e , adieu L o v e ;

Y o u r m i n d is l ight , soon lost for n e w love.

So l o n g as I was in your sight

I was your heart, your soul, and treasure;

A n d evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd

B u r n i n g in flames beyond all measure:

— T h r e e days endured your love to me,

A n d it was lost in other three!

A d i e u L o v e , adieu L o v e , untrue L o v e ,

U n t r u e L o v e , untrue L o v e , adieu L o v e ;

Y o u r m i n d is l ight , soon lost for n e w love.

A n o t h e r Shepherd you did see

T o w h o m your heart was soon enchained;

F u l l soon your love was leapt from me ,

F u l l soon m y place he had obtained.

Soon came a third, your love to w i n ,

A n d w e were out and he was in.

A d i e u L o v e , adieu L o v e , untrue L o v e ,

U n t r u e L o v e , untrue L o v e , adieu L o v e ;

Y o u r m i n d is l ight , soon lost for n e w love .

Sure you have m a d e m e passing g lad

T h a t you your m i n d so soon removed,

Before that I the leisure had

T o choose you for m y best beloved:

F o r all your love was past and done

T w o days before it w a s b e g u n : —

A d i e u L o v e , adieu L o v e , untrue L o v e ,

U n t r u e L o v e , untrue L o v e , adieu L o v e ;

Y o u r m i n d is l ight , soon lost for n e w love.

A N T H O N Y M U N D A Y 2 0 1

A N T H O N Y M U N D A Y

[i553-1663]

BEAUTY BATHING

BEAUTY sat bathing by a spring

W h e r e fairest shades d id hide her;

T h e w i n d s b lew ca lm, the birds d id sing,

T h e cool streams ran beside her.

M y wanton thoughts enticed m i n e eye

T o see w h a t was forbidden:

B u t better m e m o r y said, fie!

So vain desire was c h i d d e n : —

H e y nonny nonny O!

H e y nonny nonny!

Into a slumber then I fell,

W h e n fond imaginat ion

Seemed to see, but could not tell

H e r feature or her fashion.

But , ev'n as babes in dreams do smile,

A n d sometimes fall a-weeping,

So I a w a k e d , as wise this whi le

A s w h e n I fell a-sleeping:—

H e y nonny nonny O !

H e y nonny nonny!

R I C H A R D E D W A R D E S

[1523-1566]

AMANTIUM IRAE

IN g o i n g to m y naked bed as one that w o u l d have slept,

I heard a wi fe sing to her chi ld, that l ong before had w e p t ;

She sighed sore and sang full sweet, to br ing the babe to rest,

T h a t w o u l d not cease but cried still, in sucking at her breast.

She was full weary of her watch , and grieved w i t h her chi ld,

She rocked it and rated it, till that on her it smiled.

T h e n did she say, N o w have I found this proverb true to prove,

T h e fal l ing out of faithful friends renewing is of love.

2 0 2 RICHARD EDWARDES

T h e n took I paper, pen, and ink, this proverb for to write ,

In register for to remain of such a worthy w i g h t :

A s she proceeded thus in song unto her little brat,

M u c h matter utter'd she of we igh t , in place whereas she sat:

A n d proved plain there was no beast, nor creature bearing life,

C o u l d wel l be k n o w n to live in love wi thout discord and strife:

T h e n kissed she her little babe, and sware by G o d above,

T h e fal l ing out of faithful friends r e n e w i n g is of love.

She said that neither k i n g nor prince nor lord could live aright,

U n t i l their puissance they did prove, their m a n h o o d and their might .

W h e n m a n h o o d shall be matched so that fear can take no place,

T h e n weary w o r k s m a k e warriors each other to embrace,

A n d left their force that failed them, w h i c h did consume the rout,

T h a t m i g h t before have l ived their t ime, their strength and nature out:

T h e n did she s ing as one that thought no m a n could her reprove,

T h e fal l ing out of faithful friends r e n e w i n g is of love.

She said she saw no fish nor fowl , nor beast w i th in her haunt ,

T h a t met a stranger in their k i n d , but could g ive it a taunt:

Since flesh m i g h t not endure, but rest must wrath succeed,

A n d force the fight to fall to play in pasture where they feed,

So noble nature can we l l end the w o r k she hath begun ,

A n d bridle wel l that wi l l not cease her tragedy in some:

T h u s in song she oft rehearsed, as did her wel l behove.

T h e fa l l ing out of faithful friends renewing is of love.

I marvel m u c h pardy ( q u o t h she) for to behold the rout,

T o see m a n , w o m a n , boy and beast, to toss the world about:

S o m e kneel , some crouch, some beck, some check, and some can

smoothly smile

A n d some embrace others in arm, and there think many a wile ,

S o m e stand aloof at cap and knee, some humble and some stout,

Y e t are they never friends in deed until they once fall out:

T h u s ended she her song and said, before she did remove,

T h e fa l l ing out of faithful friends renewing is of love.

SIR W A L T E R RALEIGH

S I R W A L T E R R A L E I G H

[I552(?)-I6I8]

H i s PILGRIMAGE

GIVE m e m y scallop-shell of quiet ,

M y staff of faith to w a l k upon ,

M y scrip of joy, immorta l diet,

M y bottle of salvation,

M y g o w n of g lory, hope's true g a g e ;

A n d thus I'll take m y p i lgr image .

Blood must be m y body's balmer;

N o other b a l m wi l l there be g iven;

W h i l s t m y soul,-like quiet palmer,

Trave l l e th towards the land of heaven;

O v e r the silver mountains ,

W h e r e spring the nectar fountains:

T h e r e wi l l I kiss

T h e bowls of bliss;

A n d drink mine everlasting fill

U p o n every mi lken hill .

M y soul wi l l be a-dry before;

But , after, it wi l l thirst no more .

T h e n by that happy blissful day,

More peaceful pi lgrims I shall see,

T h a t have cast off their rags of clay,

A n d w a l k apparelled fresh l ike m e .

I'll take them first

T o quench their thirst

A n d taste of nectar suckets,

A t those clear wel ls

W h e r e sweetness dwel ls ,

D r a w n up by saints in crystal .buckets .

A n d w h e n our bottles and all w e

A r e filled wi th immortal i ty ,

T h e n the blessed paths we'll travel,

Strowed w i t h rubies thick as gravel ;

SIR W A L T E R RALEIGH

Cei l ings of d iamonds , sapphire floors,

H i g h walls of coral and pearly bowers .

F r o m thence to heaven's bribeless hall,

W h e r e no corrupted voices brawl ;

N o conscience molten into go ld ,

N o forged accuser b o u g h t or sold,

N o cause, deferred, no vain-spent journey,

F o r there Chris t is the king's Attorney ,

W h o pleads for all w i thout degrees,

A n d H e hath angels , but no fees.

A n d w h e n the grand twelve-mil l ion jury

O f our sins, w i t h direful fury,

A g a i n s t our souls black verdicts g ive ,

Chr i s t pleads H i s death, and then w e l ive.

Be T h o u m y speaker, taintless pleader,

Unblo t ted lawyer , true proceeder!

T h o u givest salvation even for a lms;

N o t w i t h a bribed lawyer's pa lms .

A n d this is mine eternal plea

T o H i m that made heaven, earth, and sea,

T h a t , since m y flesh must die so soon,

A n d w a n t a head to dine at noon,

Just at the stroke, w h e n m y veins start and spread,

Set on m y soul an everlasting head!

T h e n a m I ready, l ike a palmer fit,

T o tread those blest paths w h i c h before I writ .

O f death and j u d g m e n t , heaven and hell,

W h o oft doth think, mus t needs die wel l .

THE LIE

G o , Soul , the body's guest,

U p o n a thankless arrant:

Fear not to touch the best;

T h e truth shall be thy warrant:

G o , since I needs must die,

A n d g ive the wor ld the lie.

Say to the court, it g l o w s

A n d shines l ike rotten w o o d ;

SIR W A L T E R RALEIGH

Say to the church, it shows

W h a t ' s good , and doth no good:

If church and court reply,

T h e n g ive t h e m both the lie.

T e l l potentates, they l ive

A c t i n g by others' action;

N o t loved unless they g ive ,

N o t strong, but by a fact ion:

If potentates reply,

G i v e potentates the lie.

T e l l men of h i g h condit ion,

T h a t m a n a g e the estate,

T h e i r purpose is ambit ion,

T h e i r practice only hate:

A n d if they once reply,

T h e n g ive them all the lie.

T e l l t h e m that brave it most ,

T h e y beg for more by spending,

W h o , in their greatest cost,

Seek nothing but c o m m e n d i n g :

A n d if they m a k e reply,

T h e n g ive them all the lie.

T e l l zeal it wants devot ion;

T e l l love it is but lust;

T e l l t ime it is but motion;

T e l l flesh it is but dust:

A n d wish t h e m not reply,

F o r thou must g ive the lie.

T e l l age it daily wasteth;

T e l l honour h o w it alters;

T e l l beauty h o w she blasteth;

T e l l favour h o w it falters:

A n d as they shall reply,

G i v e every one the lie.

T e l l w i t h o w m u c h it wrangles

In tickle points of niceness;

SIR W A L T E R RALEIGH

T e l l w i s d o m she entangles

Herself in over-wiseness:

A n d w h e n they do reply,

Straight g ive t h e m both the lie.

T e l l physic of her boldness;

T e l l skill it is pretension;

T e l l charity of coldness;

T e l l l a w it is contention:

A n d as they do reply,

So g ive them still the lie.

T e l l fortune of her blindness;

T e l l nature of decay;

T e l l friendship of unkindness;

T e l l justice of delay;

A n d if they wi l l reply,

T h e n g ive them all the lie.

T e l l arts they have no soundness,

B u t vary by esteeming;

T e l l schools they w a n t profoundness,

A n d stand too m u c h on seeming:

If arts and schools reply,

G i v e arts and schools the lie.

T e l l faith it's fled the city;

T e l l h o w the country erreth;

T e l l , m a n h o o d shakes off pity;

T e l l , virtue least preferreth:

A n d if they do reply,

Spare not to g i v e the lie.

So w h e n thou hast, as I

C o m m a n d e d thee, done b labbing ,—

A l t h o u g h to g ive the lie

Deserves no less than stabbing,—

Stab at thee he that wi l l ,

N o stab the soul can kil l .

SIR W A L T E R RALEIGH 207

4 9 VERSES

FOUND IN HIS BIBLE IN THE GATE-HOUSE AT WESTMINSTER. SAID TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS DEATH

EVEN such is time, that takes in trust

O u r youth, our joys, our all w e have ,

A n d pays us but w i t h earth and dust;

W h o , in the dark and silent grave,

W h e n w e have wandered all our w a y s ,

Shuts u p the story of our days;

B u t from this earth, this grave , this dust ,

M y G o d shall raise me u p , I trust.

5 0 WHAT IS OUR LIFE

WHAT is our life? T h e play of passion.

O u r mirth? T h e music of divis ion:

O u r mothers' w o m b s the tiring-houses be,

W h e r e w e are dressed for life's short c o m e d y .

T h e earth the stage; H e a v e n the spectator is,

W h o sits and views whosoe'er doth act amiss.

T h e graves w h i c h hide us from the scorching sun

A r e l ike d r a w n curtains w h e n the play is done .

T h u s p lay ing post w e to our latest rest,

A n d then w e die in earnest, not in jest.

S I R E D W A R D D Y E R

[D. i6oy]

5 / MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS

M y mind to m e a k i n g d o m is;

Such present joys therein I find,

T h a t it excels all other bliss

T h a t earth affords or g ro ws by k i n d :

T h o u g h m u c h I w a n t that most w o u l d have ,

Y e t still m y m i n d forbids to crave.

N o princely p o m p , no wea l thy store,

N o force to w i n the victory,

N o wi ly w i t to salve a sore,

SIR EDWARD DYER

N o shape to feed a lov ing eye;

T o none of these I yield as thrall;

F o r w h y ? m y m i n d doth serve for all.

I see h o w plenty surfeits oft,

A n d hasty cl imbers soon do fall;

I see that those w h i c h are aloft

M i s h a p doth threaten most of all:

T h e y get w i t h toil, they keep w i t h fear:

Such cares m y m i n d could never bear.

C o n t e n t I l ive, this is m y stay;

I seek no more than may suffice;

I press to bear no haughty sway;

L o o k , w h a t I lack m y m i n d supplies.

L o , thus I t r iumph like a k i n g ,

C o n t e n t w i th that m y m i n d doth bring.

S o m e have too m u c h , yet still do crave;

I little have, and seek no more.

T h e y are but poor, t h o u g h m u c h they have,

A n d I a m rich w i t h little store;

T h e y poor, I rich; they beg , I g ive ;

T h e y lack, I leave; they pine, I live.

I l a u g h not at another's loss,

I g r u d g e not at another's ga in ;

N o wor ld ly waves m y m i n d can toss;

M y state at one doth still remain:

I fear no foe, I f a w n no friend;

I loathe not life, nor dread m y end.

S o m e w e i g h their pleasure by their lust,

T h e i r w i s d o m by their rage of wi l l ;

T h e i r treasure is their only trust,

A cloaked craft their store of skill;

B u t all the pleasure that I find

Is to maintain a quiet m i n d .

M y weal th is health and perfect ease,

M y conscience clear m y chief defence;

I neither seek by bribes to please,

J O H N L Y L Y

N o r by deceit to breed offence: T h u s do I l ive; thus wi l l I die; W o u l d all did so as wel l as I!

J O H N L Y L Y

[I55}-I6O6]

CUPID AND CAMPASPE

CUPID and m y C a m p a s p e play'd A t cards for k i s ses—Cupid paid:

H e stakes his quiver , b o w , and arrows, H i s mother's doves, and team of sparrows;

Loses them too; then d o w n he throws

T h e coral of his l ip, the rose

G r o w i n g on's cheek (but none k n o w s h o w ) ;

W i t h these, the crystal of his brow,

A n d then the d imple of his ch in:

A l l these did m y C a m p a s p e w i n .

A t last he set her both his eyes—

She won , and C u p i d blind did rise. O L o v e ! has she done this for thee?

W h a t shall, alas! become of m e ?

SPRING'S WELCOME

WHAT bird so sings, yet so does w a i l ? O 'tis the ravish'd n ight ingale . 'Jug> iuS> iuS' iui> tereul' she cries! A n d still her woes at m i d n i g h t rise, Brave prick-song! W h o is't n o w w e hear? N o n e but the lark so shrill and clear; N o w at heaven's gate she claps her w i n g s , T h e morn not w a k i n g till she sings. H a r k , hark, w i t h w h a t a pretty throat Poor robin redbreast tunes his note! H a r k h o w the jolly cuckoos sing Cuc\oo! to we lcome in the spring! Cuc\oo! to w e l c o m e in the spring!

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

SIR P H I L I P S I D N E Y

[i 554-1

SONG

DOUBT you to w h o m m y M u s e these notes intendeth;

W h i c h n o w m y breast o'ercharged to music lendeth!

T o you! to you! all song of praise is due:

O n l y in you , m y song begins and endeth.

W h o hath the eyes w h i c h marry State w i t h Pleasure?

W h o keeps the key of Nature's chiefest treasure?

T o y o u ! to y o u ! all song of praise is due:

O n l y for you , the heaven forgat all measure.

W h o hath the lips, where W i t in fairness reigneth ?

W h o m a n k i n d at once both decks and staineth?

T o y o u ! to you! all song of praise is due:

O n l y by you , C u p i d his c r o w n maintaineth.

W h o hath the feet, whose step all sweetness planteth?

W h o else, for w h o m F a m e worthy trumpets wanteth?

T o you! to you! all song of praise is due:

O n l y to you , her sceptre V e n u s granteth.

W h o hath the breast, whose m i l k doth passions nourish?

W h o s e grace is such, that w h e n it chides doth cherish?

T o y o u ! to you! all song of praise is due:

O n l y through you , the tree of life doth flourish.

W h o hath the hand, w h i c h w i t h o u t stroke subdueth?

W h o long-dead beauty w i t h increase reneweth?

T o you! to you! all song of praise is due:

O n l y at you , all envy hopeless rueth.

W h o hath the hair, w h i c h loosest fastest tieth?

W h o m a k e s a m a n live, then g lad w h e n he dieth?

T o y o u ! to y o u ! all song of praise is due:

O n l y of you , the flatterer never lieth.

SIR P H I L I P SIDNEY

W h o hath the voice, w h i c h soul f rom senses sunders?

W h o s e force but yours the bolts of beauty thunders?

T o you! to you! all song of praise is due :

O n l y w i t h you , not miracles are wonders .

D o u b t you to w h o m m y M u s e these notes intendeth,

W h i c h n o w m y breast o'ercharged to music lendeth?

T o y o u ! to y o u ! all song of praise is d u e :

O n l y in you , m y song begins and endeth .

A DIRGE

RING out your bells, let m o u r n i n g shews be spread;

F o r L o v e is dead.

A l l L o v e is dead, infected

W i t h p lague of deep disdain;

W o r t h , as nought worth , rejected,

A n d Fa i th , fair scorn doth g a i n .

F r o m so ungrateful fancy,

F r o m such a female franzy,

F r o m t h e m that use m e n thus ,

G o o d L o r d , deliver us!

W e e p , neighbours, w e e p ; do you not hear it said

T h a t L o v e is dead?

H i s death-bed, peacock's folly;

H i s winding-sheet is shame;

H i s wi l l , false-seeming holy;

H i s sole exec'tor, b lame.

F r o m so ungrateful fancy,

F r o m such a female franzy,

F r o m them that use m e n thus,

G o o d L o r d , deliver us!

L e t d irge be sung, and trentals r ight ly read,

F o r L o v e is dead.

Sir W r o n g his t o m b ordaineth,

M y mistress' marble heart;

W h i c h epitaph containeth,

" H e r eyes were once his dart ."

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

F r o m so ungrateful fancy,

F r o m such a female franzy,

F r o m t h e m that use m e n thus,

G o o d L o r d , deliver us!

A l a s , I lie: rage hath this error bred;

L o v e is not dead.

L o v e is not dead, but sleepeth

In her unmatched m i n d ,

W h e r e she his counsel keepeth,

T i l l due deserts she find.

Therefore from so vile fancy,

T o call such w i t a franzy,

W h o L o v e can temper thus ,

G o o d L o r d , deliver us!

A DITTY

MY true-love hath m y heart, and I have his,

B y just exchange one for another g i v e n :

I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss,

T h e r e never w a s a better bargain driven:

M y true-love hath m y heart, and I have his.

H i s heart in me keeps h i m and me in one,

M y heart in h i m his thoughts and senses guides :

H e loves m y heart, for once it w a s his o w n ,

I cherish his because in m e it bides:

M y true-love hath m y heart, and I have his.

LOVING IN TRUTH

LOVING in truth, and fain in verse m y love to show,

T h a t She, dear She , m i g h t take some pleasure of m y pain;

Pleasure m i g h t cause her read, reading m i g h t make her k n o w ,

K n o w l e d g e m i g h t pity w i n , and pity grace obtain;

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe ,

S t u d y i n g inventions fine, her wits to entertain;

O f t turn ing others' leaves, to see if thence w o u l d flow

S o m e fresh and fruitful showers upon m y sunburned brain.

B u t words came hal t ing forth, w a n t i n g Invention's stay;

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's b lows;

A n d others' feet still seemed but strangers in m y w a y .

T h u s , great w i th child to speak, and helpless in m y throes,

Bi t ing m y truant pen, beat ing myself for spite.

"Fool," said m y M u s e to me , "look in thy heart, and w i i t e

BE YOUR WORDS MADE, GOOD SIR, OF INDIAN WARE

BE your words m a d e , good Sir, of Indian ware ,

T h a t you al low m e t h e m by so small rate?

O r do you cutted Spartans imitate?

O r do you mean m y tender ears to spare

T h a t to m y questions you so total are?

W h e n I d e m a n d of Phoenix-Stella's state,

Y o u say, forsooth, you left her wel l of late:

0 G o d , th ink you that satisfies m y care?

1 w o u l d k n o w whether she d id sit or w a l k ;

H o w clothed; h o w wai ted on; s ighed she, or smiled;

Whereof , w i th w h o m , h o w often did she talk;

W i t h w h a t pastime T i m e ' s journey she begui led;

If her lips de igned to sweeten m y poor name:

Say all; and, all wel l said, still say the same.

T o SLEEP

COME, Sleep; O Sleep! the certain k n o t of peace,

T h e baiting-place of wi t , the balm of woe ,

T h e poor man's wealth , the prisoner's release,

T h ' indifferent judge between the h igh and low;

W i t h shield of proof, shield m e from out the prease

O f those fierce darts Despair at m e doth throw:

0 m a k e in me those civil wars to cease;

1 wil l good tribute pay, if thou do so.

T a k e thou of me smooth pi l lows, sweetest bed,

A chamber deaf to noise and blind to l ight ,

A rosy garland and a weary head:

A n d if these things, as be ing thine by r ight ,

M o v e not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me ,

Livel ier than elsewhere, Stella's i m a g e see.

T H O M A S LODGE

To THE MOON

WITH h o w sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies!

H o w silently, and w i t h h o w w a n a face!

W h a t ! m a y it be that even in heavenly place

T h a t busy archer his sharp arrows tries?

Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes

C a n j u d g e of love, thou feel'st a lover's case:

I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace

T o me , that feel the l ike, thy state descries.

T h e n , even of fel lowship, O M o o n , tell me ,

Is constant love deem'd there but w a n t of w i t ?

A r e beauties there as proud as here they be ?

D o they above love to be loved, and yet

T h o s e lovers scorn w h o m that love doth possess?

D o they call 'virtue' there—ungratefulness?

THOMAS LODGE [1558-1625]

ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL LOVE in m y bosom l ike a bee

D o t h suck his sweet:

N o w w i t h his w i n g s he plays w i t h me ,

N o w w i t h his feet.

W i t h i n mine eyes he makes his nest,

H i s bed amidst m y tender breast;

M y kisses are his daily feast

A n d yet he robs m e of m y rest:

A h ! wanton , wi l l ye?

A n d if I sleep, then percheth he

W i t h pretty flight,

A n d makes his pi l low of m y knee

T h e l ive long night .

Strike I m y lute, he tunes the string;

H e music plays if so I sing,

H e lends m e every lovely thing,

Y e t cruel he m y heart doth sting:

W h i s t , wanton , still ye!

T H O M A S LODGE

Else I w i t h roses every day

W i l l w h i p you hence,

A n d bind you , w h e n you long to play,

F o r your offence.

I'll shut mine eyes to keep you in;

I'll m a k e you fast it for your sin;

I'll count your power not wor th a p in .

— A l a s ! w h a t hereby shall I w i n

If he gainsay m e ?

W h a t if I beat the wanton boy

W i t h m a n y a rod?

H e wi l l repay m e w i t h annoy,

Because a g o d .

T h e n sit thou safely on m y knee ;

T h e n let thy bower m y bosom be;

L u r k in mine eyes, I l ike of thee;

O C u p i d , so thou pity me ,

Spare not, but play thee!

ROSALINE

LIKE to the clear in highest sphere

W h e r e all imperial glory shines,

O f selfsame colour is her hair

W h e t h e r unfolded, or in twines:

H e i g h ho, fair Rosaline!

H e r eyes are sapphires set in snow

Resembl ing heaven by every w i n k ;

T h e G o d s do fear whenas they g l o w ,

A n d I do tremble w h e n I th ink

H e i g h ho, w o u l d she were mine !

H e r cheeks are l ike the b lushing c loud

T h a t beautifies Aurora's face,

O r l ike the silver crimson shroud

T h a t Phoebus' smi l ing looks doth grace;

H e i g h ho, fair Rosaline!

H e r lips are l ike t w o budded roses

W h o m ranks of lilies neighbour n igh ,

W i t h i n w h i c h bounds she ba lm encloses

T H O M A S LODGE

A p t to entice a deity:

H e i g h ho, w o u l d she were mine!

H e r neck is l ike a stately tower

W h e r e L o v e himself imprison'd lies,

T o watch for glances every hour

F r o m her divine and sacred eyes:

H e i g h ho, fair Rosaline!

H e r paps are centres of del ight,

H e r breasts are orbs of heavenly frame,

W h e r e N a t u r e moulds the d e w of l ight

T o feed perfection wi th the same:

H e i g h ho, w o u l d she were mine!

W i t h orient pearl, wi th ruby red,

W i t h marble whi te , w i th sapphire blue

H e r body every w a y is fed,

Y e t soft in touch and sweet in v i e w :

H e i g h ho, fair Rosaline!

N a t u r e herself her shape admires;

T h e G o d s are w o u n d e d in her sight;

A n d L o v e forsakes his heavenly fires

A n d at her eyes his brand doth l ight:

H e i g h ho, w o u l d she were mine!

T h e n muse not, N y m p h s , though I bemoan

T h e absence of fair Rosaline,

Since for a fair there's fairer none,

N o r for her virtues so div ine:

H e i g h ho, fair Rosaline!

H e i g h ho , m y heart! w o u l d G o d that she were mine!

PHILLIS

LOVE guards the roses of thy lips

A n d flies about them l ike a bee;

If I approach he forward skips,

A n d if I kiss he stingeth me.

L o v e in thine eyes doth build his bower,

A n d sleeps wi th in their pretty shine;

GEORGE PEELE 2 1 7

G E O R G E P E E L E

[1558-1597]

64 PARIS AND CENONE CEnone.

FAIR and fair, and twice so fair,

A s fair as any m a y be;

T h e fairest shepherd on our green,

A love for any lady.

Paris. Fair and fair, and twice so fair,

A s fair as any m a y be;

T h y love is fair for thee alone,

A n d for no other lady.

CEnone. M y love is fair, m y love is g a y ,

A s fresh as bin the flowers in M a y ,

A n d of m y love m y roundelay,

M y merry, merry, merry roundelay.

Concludes w i t h C u p i d ' s curse,—

' T h e y that do change old love for n e w

Pray gods they change for worse!'

A n d if I look the boy wi l l lower,

A n d from their orbs shoot shafts divine.

L o v e works thy heart w i th in his fire,

A n d in m y tears doth firm the same;

A n d if I tempt it wi l l retire,

A n d of m y plaints doth m a k e a g a m e .

L o v e , let me cull her choicest flowers;

A n d pity me , and ca lm her eye;

M a k e soft her heart, dissolve her lowers;

T h e n wi l l I praise thy deity.

B u t if thou do not, L o v e , I'll truly serve her

In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her.

2 l 8 Atnbo Simul.

CEnone.

Paris.

CEnone.

Paris.

Ambo.

65

ROBERT S O U T H W E L L

T h e y that do change old love for new,

Pray gods they change for worse!

Fa i r and fair, etc.

Fa ir and fair, etc.

T h y love is fair, etc.

M y love can pipe, m y love can sing,

M y love can m a n y a pretty th ing ,

A n d of his lovely praises r ing

M y merry, merry, merry roundelays

A m e n to C u p i d ' s curse,—

' T h e y that do change, ' etc.

T h e y that do change , etc.

Fa ir and fair, etc.

R O B E R T S O U T H W E L L

[ / 5 6 / ( ? ) - / 5 o 5 ]

THE BURNING BABE

A s I in hoary winter's n ight

Stood shivering in the snow,

Surprised I was w i t h sudden heat

W h i c h m a d e m y heart to g l o w ;

A n d l i f t ing u p a fearful eye

T o v i e w w h a t fire was near,

A pretty babe all burn ing br ight

D i d in the air appear;

W h o , scorched wi th excessive heat,

Such floods of tears did shed,

A s t h o u g h H i s floods should quench H i s flames,

W h i c h wi th H i s tears were bred:

'Alas! ' quoth H e , 'but n e w l y born

I n fiery heats I fry,

S A M U E L DANIEL

Y e t none approach to w a r m their hearts

O r feel m y fire but I!

' M y faultless breast the furnace is;

T h e fuel, w o u n d i n g thorns;

L o v e is the fire, and sighs the smoke;

T h e ashes, shames and scorns;

T h e fuel Justice layeth on,

A n d M e r c y b lows the coals,

T h e metal in this furnace w r o u g h t

A r e men's defiled souls:

F o r w h i c h , as n o w on fire I a m

T o w o r k them to their good ,

So wil l I melt into a bath,

T o wash them in m y blood.'

W i t h this H e vanish'd out of sight

A n d swiftly shrunk a w a y ,

A n d straight I called unto m i n d

T h a t it was Chr is tmas D a y .

S A M U E L D A N I E L

[ 7 5 6 2 - / 6 / 9 ]

BEAUTY, TIME, AND LOVE

SONNETS

1 FAIR is m y L o v e and cruel as she's fair;

H e r brow-shades frown, a l though her eyes are sunny,

H e r smiles are l ightn ing , t h o u g h her pride despair,

A n d her disdains are gal l , her favours honey:

A modest maid , deck'd w i t h a blush of honour,

W h o s e feet do tread green paths of youth and love;

T h e wonder of all eyes that look upon her,

Sacred on earth, design'd a Saint above.

Chast i ty and Beauty, w h i c h were deadly foes,

L i v e reconciled friends w i th in her brow;

A n d had she Pity to conjoin w i t h those,

T h e n w h o had heard the plaints I utter n o w ?

For had she not been fair, and thus u n k i n d ,

M y M u s e had slept, and none had k n o w n m y m i n d .

2 2 0 S A M U E L DANIEL

II M y spotless love hovers w i t h purest w i n g s ,

A b o u t the temple of the proudest frame,

W h e r e blaze those l ights, fairest of earthly things,

W h i c h clear our clouded world w i t h brightest flame.

M y ambit ious thoughts , confined in her face

Af fec t no honour but w h a t she can g ive ;

M y hopes do rest in limits of her grace;

I w e i g h no comforts unless she relieve.

F o r she, that can m y heart imparadise,

H o l d s in her fairest hand w h a t dearest is;

M y Fortune's wheel's the circle of her eyes,

W h o s e rol l ing grace de ign once a turn of bliss.

A l l m y life's sweet consists in her alone;

S o m u c h I love the most U n l o v i n g one.

in

A n d yet I cannot reprehend the flight

O r b lame th' attempt presuming so to soar;

T h e m o u n t i n g venture for a h igh del ight

D i d m a k e the honour of the fall the more.

F o r w h o gets wea l th , that puts not from the shore?

D a n g e r hath honour, great designs their fame;

G l o r y doth fol low, courage goes before;

A n d t h o u g h th' event oft answers not the same—

Suffice that h i g h attempts have never shame.

T h e m e a n observer, w h o m base safety keeps,

L i v e s w i thout honour, dies wi thout a name,

A n d in eternal darkness ever sleeps.—

A n d therefore, Delia, 'tis to me no blot

T o have attempted, tho' attain'd thee not.

IV

W h e n m e n shall find thy flow'r, thy glory, pass,

A n d thou w i t h careful brow, sitting alone,

Received hast this message from thy glass,

T h a t tells the truth and says that All is gone;

Fresh shalt thou see in me the w o u n d s thou mad'st,

T h o u g h spent thy flame, in m e the heat remaining:

S A M U E L DANIEL 2 2 1

I that have loved thee thus before thou fad'st—

M y faith shall w a x , w h e n thou art in thy w a n i n g .

T h e world shall find this miracle in m e ,

T h a t fire can burn w h e n all the matter's spent:

T h e n w h a t m y faith hath been thyself shalt see,

A n d that thou wast u n k i n d thou may'st repent .—

T h o u may'st repent that thou hast scorn'd m y tears,

W h e n W i n t e r snows upon thy sable hairs.

v

Beauty, sweet L o v e , is l ike the m o r n i n g d e w ,

W h o s e short refresh upon the tender green

Cheers for a t ime, but till the sun doth show,

A n d straight 'tis g o n e as it had never been.

Soon doth it fade that m a k e s the fairest flourish,

Short is the glory of the b lushing rose;

T h e hue w h i c h thou so carefully dost nourish,

Y e t w h i c h at l ength thou must be forced to lose.

W h e n thou, surcharged w i t h burthen of thy years,

Shalt bend thy wrinkles h o m e w a r d to the earth;

A n d that, in Beauty's Lease expired, appears

T h e D a t e of A g e , the Ca lends of our D e a t h —

B u t ah, no more!—this mus t not be foretold,

F o r w o m e n grieve to th ink they must be old.

VI

I must not gr ieve m y L o v e , whose eyes w o u l d read

Lines of del ight , whereon her youth m i g h t smile;

F lowers have t ime before they come to seed,

A n d she is y o u n g , and n o w must sport the whi l e .

A n d sport, Sweet M a i d , in season of these years,

A n d learn to gather flowers before they wither;

A n d where the sweetest blossom first appears,

L e t L o v e and Y o u t h conduct thy pleasures thither.

L i g h t e n forth smiles to clear the c louded air,

A n d calm the tempest w h i c h m y sighs d o raise;

Pity and smiles do best become the fair;

Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise.

M a k e me to say w h e n all m y griefs are gone ,

H a p p y the heart that s ighed for such a one!

M I C H A E L DRAYTON

VII L e t others sing of K n i g h t s and Paladines

In aged accents and unt imely words ,

Paint shadows in imaginary lines,

W h i c h wel l the reach of their h igh wi t records:

B u t I mus t s ing of thee, and those fair eyes

A u t h e n t i c shall m y verse in t ime to come;

W h e n yet th' unborn shall say, Lo, where she lies!

Whose beauty made him spea\, that else was dumb! T h e s e are the arcs, the trophies I erect,

T h a t fortify thy n a m e against old age;

A n d these thy sacred virtues must protect

A g a i n s t the D a r k , and T i m e ' s consuming rage.

T h o u g h th' error of m y youth in them appear,

Suffice, they show I l ived, and loved thee dear.

T o SLEEP CARE-CHARMER Sleep, son of the sable N i g h t ,

Brother to D e a t h , in silent darkness born,

Rel ieve m y languish, and restore the l ight;

W i t h dark forgett ing of m y care return.

A n d let the day be t ime e n o u g h to m o u r n

T h e shipwreck of m y i l ladventured youth:

L e t w a k i n g eyes suffice to wai l their scorn,

W i t h o u t the torment of the night's untruth.

Cease , dreams, the images of day-desires,

T o model forth the passions of the morrow;

N e v e r let ris ing Sun approve you liars,

T o add more grief to aggravate m y sorrow:

Still let me sleep, embrac ing clouds in vain,

A n d never w a k e to feel the day's disdain.

M I C H A E L D R A Y T O N

[1563-1631]

AGINCOURT FAIR stood the w i n d for France

W h e n w e our sails advance,

N o r n o w to prove our chance

L o n g e r wi l l tarry;

M I C H A E L DRAYTON

B u t put t ing to the main ,

A t C a u x , the m o u t h of Seine,

W i t h all his martial train

L a n d e d K i n g H a r r y .

A n d t a k i n g m a n y a fort,

Furnish'd in war l ike sort,

Marche th tow'rds A g i n c o u r t

In happy hour;

Sk irmish ing day by day

W i t h those that stopp'd his w a y ,

W h e r e the F r e n c h gen'ral lay

W i t h all his power .

W h i c h , in his he ight of pride,

K i n g H e n r y to deride,

H i s ransom to provide

U n t o h i m sending;

W h i c h he neglects the wh i l e

A s from a nation vile,

Y e t w i t h an angry smile

T h e i r fall portending.

A n d turning to his m e n ,

Q u o t h our brave H e n r y then,

' T h o u g h they to one be ten

Be not a m a z e d :

Y e t have w e wel l b e g u n ;

Battles so bravely w o n

H a v e ever to the sun

B y fame been raised.

' A n d for myself ( q u o t h h e )

T h i s m y full rest shall be:

E n g l a n d ne'er m o u r n for m e

N o r more esteem m e :

Victor I wi l l remain

O r on this earth lie slain,

N e v e r shall she sustain

Loss to redeem me .

M I C H A E L DRAYTON

'Poitiers and Cressy tell,

W h e n most their pride did swell ,

U n d e r our swords they fell:

N o less our skill is

T h a n w h e n our grandsire great,

C l a i m i n g the regal seat,

B y m a n y a warl ike feat

L o p p ' d the French lilies.'

T h e D u k e of Y o r k so dread

T h e eager vaward led;

W i t h the main H e n r y sped

A m o n g his henchmen.

Excester had the rear,

A braver m a n not there;

O L o r d , h o w hot they were

O n the false F r e n c h m e n !

T h e y n o w to fight are gone ,

A r m o u r on armour shone,

D r u m n o w to d r u m did groan,

T o hear was wonder .

T h a t w i th the cries they m a k e

T h e very earth did shake:

T r u m p e t to trumpet spake,

T h u n d e r to thunder.

W e l l it thine age became,

O noble E r p i n g h a m ,

W h i c h didst the signal a im

T o our hid forces!

W h e n from a m e a d o w by,

L i k e a storm suddenly

T h e E n g l i s h archery

Stuck the F r e n c h horses.

W i t h Spanish y e w so strong,

A r r o w s a cloth-yard long

T h a t l ike to serpents stung,

Pierc ing the weather;

M I C H A E L DRAYTON

N o n e from his fel low starts,

B u t p lay ing m a n l y parts,

A n d l ike true Eng l i sh hearts

Stuck close together.

W h e n d o w n their bows they threw,

A n d forth their bilbos drew,

A n d on the F r e n c h they flew,

N o t one was tardy;

A r m s were from shoulders sent,

Scalps to the teeth were rent,

D o w n the F r e n c h peasants w e n t —

O u r m e n were hardy.

T h i s whi le our noble k i n g ,

H i s broadsword brandishing,

D o w n the F r e n c h host did d i n g

A s to o 'erwhelm it;

A n d m a n y a deep w o u n d lent,

H i s arms w i t h blood besprent,

A n d m a n y a cruel dent

Bruised his helmet .

Gloster, that d u k e so good ,

N e x t of the royal blood,

F o r famous E n g l a n d stood

W i t h his brave brother;

Clarence , in steel so bright ,

T h o u g h but a maiden k n i g h t ,

Y e t in that furious fight

Scarce such another.

W a r w i c k in blood did w a d e ,

O x f o r d the foe invade,

A n d cruel slaughter m a d e

Still as they ran u p ;

Suffolk his axe did ply,

Beaumont and W i l l o u g h b y

Bare them right dought i ly ,

Ferrers and F a n h o p e .

M I C H A E L DRAYTON

U p o n Saint Crispin's D a y

F o u g h t was this noble fray,

W h i c h fame did not delay

T o E n g l a n d to carry;

O w h e n shall Eng l i sh m e n

W i t h such acts fill a pen?

O r E n g l a n d breed again

Such a K i n g H a r r y ?

To THE VIRGINIAN VOYAGE

Y o u brave heroic minds

W o r t h y your country's name,

T h a t honour still pursue;

G o and subdue!

W h i l s t loitering hinds

L u r k here at h o m e w i t h shame.

Britons, you stay too long:

Q u i c k l y aboard bestow you ,

A n d w i t h a merry gale

Swel l your stretch'd sail

W i t h v o w s as strong

A s the w i n d s that b low you.

Y o u r course securely steer,

W e s t and by south forth keep!

Rocks , lee-shores, nor shoals

W h e n Eo lus scowls

Y o u need not fear;

So absolute the deep.

A n d cheerfully at sea

Success you still entice

T o get the pearl and go ld ,

A n d ours to hold

Virginia, Earth's only paradise.

W h e r e nature hath in store

F o w l , venison, and fish,

M I C H A E L DRAYTON 2 2 /

A n d the fruitfull'st soil

W i t h o u t your toil

T h r e e harvests more,

A l l greater than your wish .

A n d the ambit ious vine

C r o w n s w i t h his purple mass

T h e cedar reaching h i g h

T o kiss the sky,

T h e cypress, pine,

A n d useful sassafras.

T o w h o m the G o l d e n A g e

Still nature's laws doth g ive ,

N o other cares attend,

B u t them to defend

F r o m winter's rage,

T h a t l ong there doth not l ive .

W h e n as the luscious smell

O f that delicious land

A b o v e the seas that flows

T h e clear w i n d throws,

Y o u r hearts to swell

A p p r o a c h i n g the dear strand;

In k e n n i n g of the shore

( T h a n k s to G o d first g i v e n )

O you the happiest m e n ,

Be frolic then!

L e t cannons roar,

F r i g h t i n g the w i d e heaven.

A n d in regions far,

Such heroes br ing ye forth

A s those from w h o m w e came;

A n d plant our n a m e

U n d e r that star

N o t k n o w n unto our N o r t h .

228 H E N R Y CONSTABLE

A n d as there plenty grows

O f laurel everywhere—

Apol lo 's sacred tree—

Y o u it may see

A poet's brows

T o crown, that m a y s ing there.

T h y Voyages attend,

Industrious H a k l u y t ,

W h o s e reading shall inflame

M e n to seek fame,

A n d m u c h c o m m e n d

T o after times thy w i t .

LOVE'S FAREWELL

SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part ,—

N a y I have done, you get no more of me;

A n d I a m glad, yea, g lad wi th all m y heart,

T h a t thus so cleanly I myself can free;

S h a k e hands for ever, cancel all our vows ,

A n d w h e n w e meet at any t ime aga in ,

B e it not seen in either of our brows

T h a t w e one jot of former love retain.

N o w at the last gasp of love's latest breath,

W h e n his pulse fai l ing, passion speechless lies,

W h e n faith is knee l ing by his bed of death,

A n d innocence is closing u p his eyes,

— N o w if thou would'st , w h e n all have g iven h i m over,

F r o m death to life thou might'st h i m yet decover!

H E N R Y C O N S T A B L E

[1562-1613]

DIAPHENIA

DIAPHENIA l ike the daffadowndi l ly ,

W h i t e as the sun, fair as the lily,

H e i g h ho, h o w I do love thee!

I do love thee as m y lambs

A r e beloved of their dams;

H o w blest were I if thou would'st prove me.

E D M U N D SPENSER

Diaphen ia l ike the spreading roses,

T h a t in thy sweets all sweets encloses,

Fa ir sweet, h o w I do love thee!

I do love thee as each flower

Loves the sun's l i fe-giving power;

F o r dead, thy breath to life m i g h t m o v e m e .

D iaphen ia l ike to all things blessed,

W h e n all thy praises are expressed,

D e a r joy, h o w I do love thee!

A s the birds d o love the spring,

O r the bees their careful k i n g :

T h e n in requite, sweet v irgin , love m e !

E D M U N D S P E N S E R

[i55*-i599]

PROTHALAMION

CALME was the day, and through the trembl ing ayre

Sweete-breathing Zephyrus did softly play

A gentle spirit, that l ightly did delay

H o t T i tans beames, w h i c h then did glyster fayre;

W h e n I , ( w h o m sullein care,

T h r o u g h discontent of m y long fruidesse stay

In Princes Court , and expectation vayne

O f idle hopes, w h i c h still doe fly away ,

L i k e empty shaddowes, did afflict m y brayne,)

W a l k t forth to ease m y payne

A l o n g the shoare of silver streaming T h e m m e s ;

W h o s e rutty Bancke , the w h i c h his River hemmes ,

W a s paynted all w i th variable flowers,

A n d all the meades adornd w i t h daintie g e m m e s

F i t to decke maydens bowres,

A n d crowne their Paramours

A g a i n s t the Brydale dale, w h i c h is not long:

Sweete T h e m m e s ! runne softly, till I end m y S o n g .

T h e r e , in a M e a d o w , by the Rivers side,

A F locke of N y m p h e s I chaunced to espy,

A l l lovely Daughters of the F l o o d thereby,

E D M U N D SPENSER

W i t h goodly greenish locks, all loose untyde ,

A s each had bene a Bryde;

A n d each one had a little wicker basket,

M a d e of fine twigs , entrayled curiously,

In w h i c h they gathered flowers to fill their flasket,

A n d w i t h fine F ingers cropt full featously

T h e tender stalkes on hye .

O f every sort, w h i c h in that M e a d o w g r e w ,

T h e y gathered some; the Vio let , pallid b lew,

T h e little D a z i e , that at even ing closes,

T h e v irg in Li l l ie , and the Primrose trew,

W i t h store of vermeil Roses,

T o decke their Bridegromes posies

A g a i n s t the Brydale day, w h i c h was not long:

Sweete T h e m m e s ! runne softly, till I end m y Song .

W i t h that I saw t w o Swannes of goodly h e w e

C o m e softly s w i m m i n g d o w n e a long the L e e ;

T w o fairer Birds I yet did never see;

T h e snow, w h i c h doth the top of P indus strew,

D i d never whiter shew;

N o r Jove himselfe, w h e n he a S w a n w o u l d be,

F o r love of L e d a , whiter did appeare;

Y e t L e d a was ( they say) as whi te as he,

Y e t not so whi te as these, nor nothing neare;

So purely whi te they were ,

T h a t even the gentle streame, the w h i c h them bare,

Seem'd foule to them, and bad his bil lowes spare

T o wet their si lken feathers, least they m i g h t

Soyle their fayre plumes w i t h water not so fayre,

A n d marre their beauties bright ,

T h a t shone as heavens l ight ,

A g a i n s t their Brydale day, w h i c h w a s not long:

Sweete T h e m m e s ! runne softly, till I end m y Song.

Eftsoones the N y m p h e s , w h i c h n o w had Flowers their fill,

R a n all in haste to see that silver brood,

A s they came floating on the Cristal F lood;

W h o m w h e n they sawe, they stood amazed still,

T h e i r w o n d r i n g eyes to fill;

E D M U N D SPENSER

T h e m seem'd they never saw a s ight so fayre,

O f Fowles , so lovely, that they sure d id deeme

T h e m heavenly borne, or to be that same payre

W h i c h through the Skie d r a w V e n u s silver T e e m e :

F o r sure they did not seeme

T o be begot of any earthly Seede,

B u t rather A n g e l s , or of A n g e l s breede;

Y e t were they bred of Somers-heat, they say,

In sweetest Season, w h e n each F l o w e r and w e e d e

T h e earth did fresh aray;

So fresh they seem'd as day ,

E v e n as their Brydale day, w h i c h w a s not long:

Sweete T h e m m e s ! runne softly, till I end m y S o n g .

T h e n forth they all out of their baskets d r e w

G r e a t store of F lowers , the honour of the field,

T h a t to the sense did fragrant odours yield,

A l l w h i c h upon those good ly Birds they threw

A n d all the W a v e s did strew,

T h a t l ike old Peneus Waters they did seeme,

W h e n downe along by pleasant T e m p e s shore,

Scattred w i t h Flowres , through Thessa ly they streeme,

T h a t they appeare, through Lil l ies plenteous store,

L i k e a Brydes C h a m b e r flore.

T w o of those N y m p h e s , meane whi le , t w o Gar lands b o u n d

O f freshest F lowres w h i c h in that M e a d they found,

T h e w h i c h presenting all in tr im A r r a y ,

T h e i r snowie Foreheads therewithall they c r o w n d ,

Whi l ' s t one did S i n g this L a y ,

Prepar'd against that D a y ,

A g a i n s t their Brydale day, w h i c h w a s not long:

Sweete T h e m m e s ! runne softly, till I end m y S o n g .

' Y e gentle Birdes! the worlds faire ornament ,

A n d heavens glorie, w h o m this happie hower

D o t h leade unto your lovers blisfull bower ,

Joy may you have, and gentle hearts content

O f your loves couplement;

A n d let faire V e n u s , that is Q u e e n e of love,

W i t h her heart-quell ing Sonne upon you smile,

E D M U N D SPENSER

W h o s e smile, they say, hath vertue to remove

A l l L o v e s dislike, and friendships faultie gui le

F o r ever to assoile.

L e t endlesse Peace your steadfast hearts accord,

A n d blessed Plentie wa i t upon your bord;

A n d let your bed w i t h pleasures chast abound,

T h a t fruitfull issue m a y to you afford,

W h i c h m a y your foes confound,

A n d m a k e your joyes redound

U p o n your Brydale day, w h i c h is not long:

Sweete T h e m m e s ! runne softlie, till I end m y Song. '

So ended she; and all the rest around

T o her redoubled that her undersong,

W h i c h said their brydale daye should not be long:

A n d gentle E c c h o from the neighbor ground

T h e i r accents d id resound.

So forth those joyous Birdes d id passe along,

A d o w n e the L e e , that to t h e m m u r m u r d e low,

A s he w o u l d speake, but that he lackt a tong ,

Y e t did by signes his g lad affection show,

M a k i n g his streame run slow.

A n d all the foule w h i c h in his flood did dwel l

G a n flock about these twaine , that did excell

T h e rest, so far as C y n t h i a doth shend

T h e lesser starres. So they, enranged wel l ,

D i d on those t w o attend,

A n d their best service lend

A g a i n s t their w e d d i n g day, w h i c h w a s not long:

Sweete T h e m m e s ! runne softly, till I end m y Song .

A t l ength they all to mery L o n d o n came,

T o mery L o n d o n , m y most k y n d l y Nurse ,

T h a t to m e g a v e this Lifes first native sourse,

T h o u g h from another place I take m y name,

A n house of auncient fame:

T h e r e w h e n they came, whereas those bricky towres

T h e w h i c h on T h e m m e s brode aged backe doe ryde,

W h e r e n o w the studious L a w y e r s have their bowers,

T h e r e w h y l o m e w o n t the T e m p l a r K n i g h t s to byde ,

E D M U N D SPENSER 233

T i l l they decayd through pride:

N e x t whereunto there standes a stately place,

W h e r e oft I gayned giftes and goodly grace

O f that great L o r d , w h i c h therein w o n t to dwel l ,

W h o s e w a n t too wel l n o w feeles m y freendles case;

B u t ah! here fits not wel l

O l d e woes, but joyes, to tell

A g a i n s t the Brydale daye , w h i c h is not l o n g :

Sweete T h e m m e s ! runne softly, till I end m y S o n g .

Y e t therein n o w doth lodge a noble Peer,

Great E n g l a n d s glory, and the W o r l d s w i d e wonder ,

W h o s e dreadfull n a m e late through all Spaine d id thunder ,

A n d Hercules t w o pillors s tanding neere

D i d m a k e to q u a k e and feare:

Faire branch of H o n o r , flower of C h e v a l r i e !

T h a t fillest E n g l a n d w i t h thy tr iumphes fame,

Joy have thou of thy noble victorie,

A n d endlesse happinesse of thine o w n e n a m e

T h a t promiseth the same;

T h a t through thy prowesse, and victorious armes,

T h y country may be freed from forraine harmes;

A n d great Elisaes glorious n a m e m a y r ing

T h r o u g h al the world , fil'd w i t h thy w i d e A l a r m e s ,

W h i c h some brave muse m a y s ing

T o ages fo l lowing,

U p o n the Brydale day, w h i c h is not l o n g :

Sweete T h e m m e s ! runne softly, till I end m y S o n g .

F r o m those h igh T o w e r s this noble L o r d issuing,

L i k e Radiant Hesper, w h e n his go lden hayre

In th' O c e a n bil lowes he hath bathed fayre,

Descended to the Rivers open v e w i n g ,

W i t h a great train ensuing.

A b o v e the rest were goodly to bee seene

T w o gentle K n i g h t s of lovely face and feature,

Beseeming wel l the bower of anie Q ueene ,

W i t h gifts of wi t , and ornaments of nature,

F i t for so goodly stature,

T h a t l ike the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight,

E D M U N D SPENSER

W h i c h decke the Bauldr icke of the H e a v e n s bright;

T h e y t w o , forth pac ing to the Rivers side,

Rece ived those t w o faire Brides, their L o v e s del ight;

W h i c h , at th' appointed tyde ,

E a c h one did m a k e his Bryde

A g a i n s t their Brydale day, w h i c h is not long:

Sweete T h e m m e s ! runne softly, till I end m y S o n g .

EPITHALAMION

YE learned sisters, w h i c h have oftentimes

Beene to m e a y d i n g , others to adorne,

W h o m ye t h o u g h t worthy of your gracefull rymes,

T h a t even the greatest d id not greatly scorne

T o heare theyr names sung in your simple layes,

B u t joyed in theyr praise;

A n d w h e n ye list your o w n e mishaps to mourne ,

W h i c h death, or love, or fortunes wreck did rayse,

Y o u r string could soone to sadder tenor turne,

A n d teach the woods and waters to lament

Y o u r doleful dreriment:

N o w lay those sorrowfull complaints aside;

A n d , h a v i n g all your heads w i t h girlands crownd,

H e l p e m e m i n e o w n e loves prayses to resound;

N e let the same of any be en v ide:

S o O r p h e u s did for his o w n e bride!

So I unto m y selfe alone wi l l s ing;

T h e w o o d s shall to m e answer, and m y E c c h o ring.

Ear ly , before the worlds l ight -g iv ing lampe

H i s go lden beame upon the hils doth spred,

H a v i n g disperst the nights unchearefull dampe ,

D o e ye a w a k e ; and, w i t h fresh lusty-hed,

G o to the bowre of m y beloved love,

M y truest turtle dove;

B id her a w a k e ; for H y m e n is a w a k e ,

A n d l o n g since ready forth his maske to move ,

W i t h his br ight T e a d that flames w i th m a n y a flake,

A n d m a n y a bachelor to wai te on h i m ,

In theyr fresh garments tr im.

B id her a w a k e therefore, and soone her d ight ,

E D M U N D SPENSER

F o r lo! the wished day is come at last,

T h a t shall, for all the paynes and sorrowes past,

Pay to her usury of l o n g de l ight:

A n d , whylest she do th her d i g h t ,

D o e ye to her of joy and solace s ing,

T h a t all the w o o d s m a y answer, and your eccho r ing.

B r i n g w i t h you all the N y m p h e s that you can heare

Both of the rivers and the forrests greene,

A n d of the sea that neighbours to her neare:

A l w i th gay girlands goodly we l beseene.

A n d let them also w i t h t h e m br ing in hand

A n o t h e r g a y g ir land

F o r m y fayre love, of lillyes and of roses,

B o u n d truelove w i z e , w i t h a b l ew silke r iband.

A n d let them m a k e great store of bridale poses,

A n d let them eeke br ing store of other flowers,

T o deck the bridale bowers .

A n d let the ground whereas her foot shall tread,

F o r feare the stones her tender foot should w r o n g ,

Be strewed w i t h fragrant flowers all a long ,

A n d diapred lyke the discolored m e a d .

W h i c h done, doe at her chamber dore a w a y t ,

For she wi l l w a k e n strayt;

T h e whiles doe ye this song unto her sing,

T h e woods shall to y o u answer, and your E c c h o r ing.

Y e N y m p h e s of M u l l a , w h i c h w i t h carefull heed

T h e silver scaly trouts doe tend full we l l ,

A n d greedy pikes w h i c h use therein to feed:

( T h o s e trouts and pikes all others doo excel l;)

A n d ye l ikewise, w h i c h keep the rushy lake ,

W h e r e none doo fishes take;

B y n d u p the locks the w h i c h h a n g scattered l ight ,

A n d in his waters, w h i c h your mirror m a k e ,

Behold your faces as the christall br ight ,

T h a t w h e n you come whereas m y love do th lie,

N o blemish she may spie.

A n d eke , ye l ightfoot m a y d s , w h i c h k e e p the deere,

T h a t on the hoary m o u n t a y n e used to towre;

E D M U N D SPENSER

A n d the w y l d e wolves , w h i c h seeke them to devoure,

W i t h your steel darts doo chace from c o m i n g neer,

B e also present heere,

T o helpe to decke her, and to help to sing,

T h a t all the woods m a y answer, and your eccho ring.

W a k e n o w , m y love, a w a k e ! for it is t ime;

T h e Rosy M o r n e long since left T i t h o n e s bed,

A l l ready to her silver coche to c lyme;

A n d Phoebus g ins to shew his glorious hed.

H a r k ! h o w the cheereful birds do chaunt theyr laies

A n d carrol of L o v e s praise.

T h e merry L a r k e hir mattins sings aloft;

T h e T h r u s h replyes; the M a v i s descant playes;

T h e O u z e l l shrills; the R u d d o c k warbles soft;

So good ly all agree, w i t h sweet consent,

T o this dayes merriment .

A h ! m y deere love, w h y doe ye sleepe thus l ong?

W h e n meeter were that ye should n o w a w a k e ,

T ' a w a y t the c o m m i n g of your joyous make ,

A n d hearken to the birds love-learned song,

T h e d e a w y leaves a m o n g !

F o r they of joy and pleasance to you sing,

T h a t all the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

M y love is n o w a w a k e out of her dreames,

A n d her fayre eyes, l ike stars that d i m m e d were

W i t h darksome cloud, n o w shew theyr goodly beams

M o r e br ight then Hesperus his head doth rere.

C o m e n o w , ye damzels , daughters of del ight,

H e l p e qu ick ly her to d ight :

B u t first come ye fayre houres, w h i c h were begot

In Joves sweet paradice of D a y and N i g h t ;

W h i c h doe the seasons of the yeare allot,

A n d al, that ever in this wor ld is fayre,

D o e m a k e and still repayre:

A n d ye three h a n d m a y d s of the C y p r i a n Queene ,

T h e w h i c h doe still adorne her beauties pride,

H e l p e to addorne m y beautifullest bride:

A n d , as ye her array, still throw betweene

EDMUND SPENSER 237

Some graces to be seene;

A n d , as ye use to V e n u s , to her sing,

T h e whiles the w o o d s shal answer, and your eccho ring.

N o w is m y love all ready forth to come:

L e t all the virgins therefore wel l a w a y t :

A n d ye fresh boyes, that tend upon her groome,

Prepare yourselves; for he is c o m m i n g strayt.

Set all your things in seemely good array,

F i t for so joy full day:

T h e joyfulst day that ever sunne did see.

Faire Sun! shew forth thy favourable ray,

A n d let thy lifull heat not fervent be,

For feare of burning her sunshyny face,

H e r beauty to disgrace.

O fay rest Phcebus! father of the M u s e !

If ever I did honour thee aright ,

O r sing the th ing that mote thy m i n d del ight ,

D o e not thy servants simple boone refuse;

B u t let this day, let this one day, be m y n e ;

L e t all the rest be thine.

T h e n I thy soverayne prayses loud w i l sing,

T h a t all the woods shal answer, and theyr eccho ring.

H a r k e ! h o w the Minstri ls g i n to shrill aloud

T h e i r merry M u s i c k that resounds from far,

T h e pipe, the tabor, and the trembl ing C r o u d ,

T h a t wel l agree wi thouten breach or jar.

But , most of all, the D a m z e l s doe delite

W h e n they their tymbrels smyte,

A n d thereunto doe daunce and carrol sweet,

T h a t all the sences they doe ravish quite;

T h e whyles the boyes run u p and d o w n e the street,

C r y i n g aloud wi th strong confused noyce,

A s if it were one voyce ,

H y m e n , io H y m e n , H y m e n , they do shout;

T h a t even to the heavens theyr shouting shrill

D o t h reach, and all the f irmament doth fill;

T o w h i c h the people s tanding all about,

A s in approvance, doe thereto applaud,

E D M U N D SPENSER

A n d loud advaunce her laud;

A n d evermore they H y m e n , H y m e n sing,

T h a t al the woods them answer, and theyr eccho ring.

L o e ! where she comes a long w i t h portly pace,

L y k e Phoebe , from her chamber of the East ,

A r y s i n g forth to run her m i g h t y race,

C l a d all in whi te , that seemes a v irg in best.

So wel l it her beseemes, that ye w o u l d weene

S o m e angel l she had beene.

H e r long loose ye l low locks lyke golden wyre ,

Sprinckled w i t h perle, and perling flowres atweene,

D o e l yke a go lden mant le her attyre;

A n d , be ing crowned w i t h a gir land greene,

Seeme lyke some m a y d e n Q u e e n e .

H e r modest eyes, abashed to behold

So m a n y gazers as on her do stare,

U p o n the lowly g r o u n d affixed are;

N e dare lift u p her countenance too bold,

B u t blush to heare her prayses sung so loud,

So farre from being proud.

Nathless doe ye still loud her prayses sing,

T h a t all the w o o d s m a y answer, and your eccho ring.

T e l l m e , ye merchants daughters , d id ye see

So fayre a creature in your towne before;

So sweet, so lovely, and so mi ld as she,

A d o r n e d w i t h beautyes grace and vertues store?

H e r goodly eyes lyke Saphyres shining bright,

H e r forehead yvory whi te ,

H e r cheeks l yke apples w h i c h the sun hath rudded,

H e r lips l ike cherryes c h a r m i n g men to byte,

H e r brest l ike to a bowle of creame uncrudded,

H e r paps l yke lyllies budded ,

H e r snowie neck lyke to a marble towre;

A n d all her body l ike a pallace fayre,

A s c e n d i n g u p , w i t h m a n y a stately stayre,

T o honours seat and chastities sweet bowre.

W h y stand ye still ye v irgins in amaze ,

U p o n her so to g a z e ,

E D M U N D SPENSER 239

W h i l e s ye forget your former lay to s ing,

To w h i c h the w o o d s d id answer, and your eccho r ing?

B u t if ye saw that w h i c h no eyes can see,

T h e inward beauty of her l ively spright,

Garnisht w i th heavenly guifts of h i g h degree,

M u c h more then w o u l d ye wonder at that sight,

A n d stand astonisht l yke to those w h i c h red

Medusaes mazeful hed .

T h e r e dwels sweet love, and constant chastity,

Unspotted fayth, and comely w o m a n h o o d ,

Regard of honour, and mi ld modesty;

T h e r e vertue raynes as Q u e e n e in royal throne,

A n d g iveth lawes alone,

T h e w h i c h the base affections doe obay,

A n d yeeld theyr services unto her wi l l ;

N e thought of th ing uncomely ever m a y

T h e r e t o approch to tempt her m i n d to ill.

H a d ye once seene these her celestial threasures,

A n d unrevealed pleasures,

T h e n w o u l d ye wonder , and her prayses sing,

T h a t al the woods should answer, and your eccho r ing.

O p e n the temple gates unto m y love,

O p e n t h e m w i d e that she m a y enter in,

A n d all the postes adorne as doth behove,

A n d all the pillours deck w i t h girlands tr im,

F o r to receyve this Saynt w i t h honour d e w ,

T h a t c o m m e t h in to y o u .

W i t h trembl ing steps, and h u m b l e reverence,

She commeth in, before th' A l m i g h t i e s v i ew;

O f her ye virgins learne obedience,

W h e n so ye come into those holy places,

T o humble your proud faces:

Br ing her u p to th' h igh altar, that she m a y

T h e sacred ceremonies there partake,

T h e which do endlesse matr imony m a k e ;

A n d let the roring O r g a n s loudly play

T h e praises of the L o r d in lively notes;

T h e whiles , w i t h ho l low throates,

240 E D M U N D SPENSER

T h e Choristers the joyous A n t h e m e sing,

T h a t al the woods m a y answere, and their eccho ring.

Behold , whi les she before the altar stands,

H e a r i n g the holy priest that to her speakes,

A n d blesseth her w i t h his t w o happy hands,

H o w the red roses flush u p in her cheekes,

A n d the pure snow, w i t h goodly vermill stayne

L i k e crimsin dyde in grayne:

T h a t even th' A n g e l s , w h i c h continually

A b o u t the sacred Al tare doe remaine,

F o r g e t their service and about her fly,

O f t e peeping in her face, that seems more fayre,

T h e more they on it stare.

B u t her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,

A r e governed w i t h goodly modesty ,

T h a t suffers not one looke to g launce awry ,

W h i c h m a y let in one little t h o u g h t unsownd.

W h y blush ye, love, to g ive to m e your hand,

T h e p ledge of all our band!

S ing , ye sweet A n g e l s , A l l e l u y a sing,

T h a t all the w o o d s m a y answere, and your eccho ring.

N o w al is done: br ing h o m e the bride againe;

Br ing h o m e the t r iumph of our victory:

Br ing h o m e w i t h you the glory of her gaine

W i t h joyance br ing her and w i t h jollity.

N e v e r had m a n more joy full day then this,

W h o m heaven w o u l d heape w i t h blis,

M a k e feast therefore n o w all this l ive-long day;

T h i s day for ever to m e holy is.

Poure out the w i n e wi thout restraint or stay,

Poure not by cups, but by the belly full,

Poure out to all that wul l ,

A n d sprinkle all the postes and wals w i t h wine ,

T h a t they m a y sweat, and drunken be withall .

C r o w n e ye G o d Bacchus w i t h a coronall,

A n d H y m e n also crowne w i t h wreathes of v ine;

A n d let the Graces daunce unto the rest,

E D M U N D SPENSER

F o r they can doo it best:

T h e whiles the m a y d e n s doe theyr carroll sing,

T o w h i c h the w o o d s shall answer, and theyr eccho r ing

R i n g ye the bels, ye y o n g m e n of the towne ,

A n d leave your wonted labors for this day:

T h i s day is holy; doe ye write it d o w n e ,

T h a t ye for ever it remember m a y .

T h i s day the sunne is in his chiefest h igh t ,

W i t h Barnaby the bright ,

F r o m whence decl ining daily by degrees,

H e somewhat loseth of his heat and l ight ,

W h e n once the C r a b behind his back he sees.

B u t for this t ime it ill ordained was ,

T o chose the longest day in all the yeare,

T h e shortest n ight , w h e n longest fitter weare:

Y e t never day so long , but late w o u l d passe.

R i n g ye the bels, to m a k e it weare a w a y ,

A n d bonefiers m a k e all day;

A n d daunce about them, and about t h e m sing,

T h a t all the woods m a y answer, and your eccho r ing .

A h ! w h e n wi l l this l ong weary day have end,

A n d lende me leave to come unto m y love?

H o w slowly do the houres theyr numbers spend?

H o w slowly does sad T i m e his feathers m o v e ?

H a s t thee, O fayrest Planet , to thy home,

W i t h i n the Westerne fome:

T h y tyred steedes long since have need of rest.

L o n g though it be, at last I see it g loome,

A n d the bright evening-star w i t h go lden creast

A p p e a r e out of the East .

F a y r e childe of beauty! glorious lampe of love!

T h a t all the host of heaven in rankes doost lead,

A n d guydest lovers through the nights sad dread,

H o w chearefully thou lookest from above,

A n d seemst to l augh atweene thy t w i n k l i n g l ight ,

A s joy ing in the sight

O f these glad many , w h i c h for joy doe sing,

T h a t all the woods them answer, and their eccho r ing.

E D M U N D SPENSER

N o w ceasse, ye damsels, your del ights fore-past;

E n o u g h it is that all the day was youres:

N o w day is doen, and n ight is n i g h i n g fast,

N o w br ing the Bryde into the brydall boures.

T h e n ight is come, n o w soon her disaray,

A n d in her bed her lay;

L a y her in lillies and in violets,

A n d silken courteins over her display,

A n d odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets,

Behold h o w goodly m y faire love does ly,

In proud humi l i ty !

L i k e unto M a i a , w h e n as Jove her took

I n T e m p e , l y i n g on the flowry gras,

T w i x t sleepe and w a k e , after she weary was ,

W i t h bath ing in the Ac ida l ian brooke.

N o w it is n ight , ye damsels m a y be g o n ,

A n d leave m y love alone,

A n d leave l ikewise your former lay to s ing:

T h e woods no more shall answere, nor your eccho ring

N o w we lcome , n ight ! thou n ight so long expected,

T h a t l ong daies labour doest at last defray,

A n d all m y cares, w h i c h cruell L o v e collected,

H a s t s u m d in one, and cancelled for aye:

Spread thy broad w i n g over m y love and me ,

T h a t no m a n m a y us see;

A n d in thy sable mant le us enwrap ,

F r o m feare of perrill and foule horror free.

L e t no false treason seeke us to entrap,

N o r any dread disquiet once annoy

T h e safety of our joy;

B u t let the n ight be calme, and quietsome,

W i t h o u t tempestuous storms or sad afray:

L y k e as w h e n Jove w i t h fayre A l c m e n a lay,

W h e n he begot the great T i r y n t h i a n groome:

O r l yke as w h e n he w i t h thy selfe did lie

A n d begot Majesty .

A n d let the m a y d s and y o n g m e n cease to sing;

N e let the woods t h e m answer nor theyr eccho r ing.

E D M U N D SPENSER 243 L e t no lament ing cryes, nor dolefull teares

Be heard all n ight w i th in , nor yet w i thout :

N e let false whispers, breeding h idden feares,

Breake gentle sleepe wi th misconceived dout .

L e t no de lud ing dreames, nor dreadfull sights,

M a k e sudden sad affrights;

N e let house-fyres, nor l ightn ings helpelesse harmes,

N e let the P o u k e , nor other evill sprights,

Ne let mischivous witches w i t h theyr charmes,

N e let hob Gobl ins , names whose sence we see not,

F r a y us w i th things that be not;

L e t not the shriech O u l e nor the Storke be heard,

N o r the n ight Raven , that still deadly yels:

N o r d a m m e d ghosts, cald u p w i t h m i g h t y spels,

N o r griesly vultures, m a k e us once affeard:

N e let th' unpleasant Q u y r e of F r o g s still croking

M a k e us to w i sh theyr c h o k i n g .

L e t none of these theyr drery accents sing;

N e let the woods them answer, nor theyr eccho r ing.

B u t still let Silence trew night-watches keepe,

T h a t sacred Peace may in assurance rayne,

A n d tymely Sleep, w h e n it is t y m e to sleepe,

M a y poure his l imbs forth on your pleasant playne;

T h e whi les an hundred little w i n g e d loves,

L i k e divers-fethered doves,

Shall fly and flutter round about your bed,

A n d in the secret darke , that none reproves,

T h e i r prety stealthes shal w o r k e , and snares shal spread

T o filch away sweet snatches of del ight ,

Concea ld through covert n ight .

Y e sonnes of V e n u s , play your sports at w i l l !

F o r greedy pleasure, carelesse of your toyes,

T h i n k s more upon her paradise of joyes,

T h e n w h a t ye do, albe it good or ill.

A l l n ight therefore attend your merry play,

For it wil l soone be day:

N o w none doth hinder you , that say or sing;

N e wil l the woods n o w answer, nor your E c c h o r ing.

E D M U N D SPENSER

W h o is the same, w h i c h at m y w i n d o w peepes?

O r whose is that faire face that shines so bright?

Is it not C in th ia , she that never sleepes,

B u t wa lkes about h igh heaven al the n ight?

O ! fayrest goddesse, do thou not envy

M y love w i t h me to spy:

F o r thou l ikewise didst love, t h o u g h n o w unthought

A n d for a fleece of wool l , w h i c h privily

T h e L a t m i a n shepherd once unto thee brought ,

H i s pleasures w i t h thee w r o u g h t .

Therefore to us be favourable now;

A n d sith of w e m e n s labours thou hast charge,

A n d generation goodly dost enlarge,

Enc l ine thy wi l l t'effect our wishful l v o w ,

A n d the chaste w o m b e informe wi th timely seed,

T h a t m a y our comfort breed:

T i l l w h i c h w e cease our hopefull hap to sing;

N e let the woods us answere, nor our Eccho ring.

A n d thou, great Juno! w h i c h w i t h awful m i g h t

T h e lawes of w e d l o c k still dost patronize;

A n d the religion of the faith first pl ight

W i t h sacred rites hast taught to solemnize;

A n d eeke for comfort often called art

O f w o m e n in their smart;

Eternal ly b ind thou this lovely band,

A n d all thy blessings unto us impart .

A n d thou, g lad G e n i u s ! in whose g e n d e hand

T h e bridale bowre and geniall bed remaine,

W i t h o u t blemish or staine;

A n d the sweet pleasures of theyr loves del ight

W i t h secret ayde doest succor and supply,

T i l l they br ing forth the fruitfull progeny;

Send us the t imely fruit of this same night .

A n d thou, fayre H e b e ! and thou, H y m e n free!

G r a n t that it m a y so be.

T i l l w h i c h w e cease your further prayse to sing;

N e any w o o d s shall answer, nor your E c c h o ring.

A n d ye h i g h heavens, the temple of the gods,

In w h i c h a thousand torches f laming bright

E D M U N D SPENSER

D o e burne, that to us wretched earthly clods

In dreadful darknesse lend desired l ight;

A n d all ye powers w h i c h in the same remayne,

More then w e m e n can fayne!

Poure out your blessing on us plentiously,

A n d happy influence u p o n us raine,

T h a t w e m a y raise a large posterity,

W h i c h from the earth, w h i c h they m a y long possesse

W i t h lasting happinesse,

U p to your haughty pallaces m a y mount ;

A n d for the guerdon of theyr glorious merit ,

M a y heavenly tabernacles there inherit,

O f blessed Saints for to increase the count .

So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this,

A n d cease till then our tymely joyes to sing:

T h e woods no more us answer, nor our eccho r ing!

Song! made in lieu of many ornaments, With which my love should duly have been dect, Which cutting off through hasty accidents, Ye would not stay your dew time to expect, But promist both to recompens; Be unto her a goodly ornament, And for short time an endlesse moniment.

A DITTY

In praise of Eliza, Queen of the Shepherds

SEE where she sits upon the grassie greene,

( O seemely s ight!)

Y c l a d in Scarlot, l ike a m a y d e n Queene ,

A n d ermines whi te :

U p o n her head a Cremos in coronet

W i t h D a m a s k e roses and Daffadil l ies set:

Bay leaves betweene,

A n d primroses greene,

Embel l i sh the sweete Vio le t .

T e l l m e , have ye seene her angel ick face

L i k e Phoebe fayre?

E D M U N D SPENSER

H e r heavenly haveour, her princely grace,

C a n you wel l compare?

T h e R e d d e rose medled w i t h the W h i t e yfere,

I n either cheeke depeincten lively chere:

H e r modest eye,

H e r Majest ie ,

W h e r e have y o u seene the l ike but there?

I see Cal l iope speede her to the place,

W h e r e m y Goddesse shines;

A n d after her the other Muses trace

W i t h their Viol ines .

Bene they not Bay braunches w h i c h they d o beare,

A l l for Elisa in her hand to weare?

So sweetely they play,

A n d s ing all the w a y ,

T h a t it a heaven is to heare.

L o , h o w finely the Graces can it foote

T o the Instrument:

T h e y dauncen defny, and singen soote,

In their meriment .

W a n t s not a fourth G r a c e to m a k e the daunce even

L e t that r o w m e to m y L a d y be yeven.

She shal be a Grace ,

T o fyll the fourth place,

A n d reigne w i t h the rest in heaven.

B r i n g hether the P i n c k e and purple Cu l lambine ,

W i t h Gell i f lowres;

B r i n g Coronat ions , and Sops-in-wine

W o r n e of Paramoures:

Strowe m e the ground w i t h Daffadowndi l l ies ,

A n d Cows l ips , and K i n g c u p s , and loved Lil l ies:

T h e pretie P a w n e e ,

A n d the Chev i saunce ,

Shall match w i t h the fayre flowre De l i ce .

N o w ryse u p , Elisa, decked as thou art

In royall aray;

E D M U N D SPENSER

A n d n o w ye daintie Damse l l s m a y depart

E c h e one her w a y .

I feare I have troubled your troupes to longe

L e t dame Elisa thanke y o u for her song:

A n d if you c o m e hether

W h e n D a m s i n e s I gether,

I wi l l part t h e m all y o u a m o n g .

PERIGOT AND WILLIE'S ROUNDELAY

IT fell u p o n a holly eve ,

H e y ho, hol l idaye!

W h e n holly fathers w o n t to shrieve,

N o w gynneth this roundelay.

Sit t ing upon a hill so hye,

H e y ho, the h i g h hyl l !

T h e whi le m y flocke did feede thereby,

T h e whi le the shepheard selfe d id spill:

I saw the bounc ing Bel l ibone,

H e y ho, Bonibel l !

T r i p p i n g over the dale alone:

She can trippe it very wel l ;

W e l l decked in a frocke of gray,

H e y ho, gray is greete!

A n d in a kirtle of greene saye,

T h e greene is for maydens meete .

A chapelet on her head she wore ,

H e y ho, chapelet!

O f sweete violets therein was store,

— S h e sweeter then the violet.

M y sheepe did leave theyr w o n t e d foode,

H e y ho, seely sheepe!

A n d g a z d on her, as they were w o o d ,

— W o o d e as he, that d id them keepe .

A s the bonnilasse passed bye ,

H e y ho, bonilasse!

She rovde at m e w i t h g l a u n c i n g eye,

A s cleare as the christall glasse:

E D M U N D SPENSER

A l l as the sunnye beame so bright,

H e y ho, the sunne beame!

G l a u n c e t h from Phcebus face forthright,

So love into m y hart d id streame:

O r as the thonder cleaves the cloudes,

H e y ho, the thonder!

W h e r e i n the l ightsome levin shroudes,

So cleaves thy soule asonder:

O r as D a m e C y n t h i a s silver raye

H e y ho, the moonel ight !

U p o n the g lyt ter ing w a v e doth playe:

Such play is a pitteous pl ight!

T h e g launce into m y heart d id gl ide,

H e y ho, the g lyder!

T h e r e w i t h m y soule w a s sharply gryde;

Such w o u n d e s soone w e x e n wider .

H a s t i n g to raunch the arrow out,

H e y ho, Perigot!

I left the head in m y hart roote:

It was a desperate shot.

T h e r e it ranckleth ay more and more,

H e y ho, the arrowe!

N e can I find salve for m y sore:

L o v e is a cureless sorrowe.

A n d t h o u g h m y bale w i t h death I brought ,

H e y ho, heavie cheere!

Y e t should thi lk lasse not from m y thought

So you m a y buye gold to deare.

B u t whether in payneful l love I pyne,

H e y ho, p inch ing payne!

O r thrive in wel th , she shalbe mine .

B u t if thou can her obteine.

A n d if for gracelesse griefe I dye ,

H e y ho, graceless griefe!

Witnesse , shee slewe me wi th her eye:

L e t thy follye be the priefe.

E D M U N D SPENSER

And you that sawe it, simple shepe, Hey ho, the fayre flocke!

For priefe thereof my death shall weepe, And mone with many a mocke.

So learnd I love on a hollye eve,— Hey ho, holidaye!

That ever since my hart did greve: Now endeth our roundelay.

EASTER

MOST glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day, Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin; And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away Captivity thence captive, us to win: This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin; And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dye, Being with Thy deare blood clene washt from sin, May live for ever in felicity! And that Thy love we weighing worthily, May likewise love Thee for the same againe; And for Thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy, With love may one another entertayne!

So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought, —Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

WHAT GUILE Is THIS ?

WHAT guile is this, that those her golden tresses She doth attire under a net of gold; And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses, That which is gold or hair may scarce be told? Is it that men's frail eyes, which gaze too bold, She may entangle in that golden snare; And, being caught, may craftily enfold Their weaker hearts, which are not well aware? Take heed, therefore, mine eyes, how ye do stare Henceforth too rashly on that guileful net, In which, if ever ye entrapped are, Out of her bands ye by no means shall get.

Fondness it were for any, being free, To cover fetters, though they golden be.

E D M U N D SPENSER

FAIR IS M Y LOVE

FAIR is my love, when her fair golden hairs With the loose wind ye waving chance to mark; Fair, when the rose in her red cheeks appears; Or in her eyes the fire of love does spark. Fair, when her breast, like a rich-laden bark, With precious merchandise she forth doth lay; Fair, when that cloud of pride, which oft doth dark Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away. But fairest she, when so she doth display The gate with pearls and rubies richly dight; Through which her words so wise do make their wa; To bear the message of her gende sprite.

The rest be works of nature's wonderment: But this the work of heart's astonishment.

So OFT AS I HER BEAUTY DO BEHOLD

So oft as I her beauty do behold, And therewith do her cruelty compare, I marvel of what substance was the mould, The which her made at once so cruel fair, Not earth, for her high thoughts more heavenly are Not water, for her love doth burn like fire; Not air, for she is not so light or rare; Not fire, for she doth freeze with faint desire. Then needs another element inquire Whereof she mote be made—that is, the sky; For to the heaven her haughty looks aspire, And eke her mind is pure immortal high.

Then, sith to heaven ye likened are the best, Be like in mercy as in all the rest.

RUDELY THOU WRONGEST M Y DEAR HEART'S DESIRE

RUDELY thou wrongest my dear heart's desire, In finding fault with her too portly pride: The thing which I do most in her admire, Is of the world unworthy most envied;

E D M U N D SPENSER

For in those lofty looks is close implied Scorn of base things, and 'sdain of foul dishonour, Threatening rash eyes which gaze on her so wide, That loosely they ne dare to look upon her. Such pride is praise, such portliness is honour, That boldened innocence bears in her eyes; And her fair countenance, like a goodly banner, Spreads in defiance of all enemies.

Was never in this world aught worthy tried, Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride.

ONE DAY I WROTE HER N A M E UPON

THE STRAND

ONE day I wrote her name upon the strand, But came the waves and washed it away: Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide and made my pains his prey. Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assay A mortal thing so to immortalise; For I myself shall like to this decay, And eke my name be wiped out likewise. Not so (quod I); let baser things devise To die in dust, but you shall live by fame; My verse your virtues rare shall eternise, And in the heavens write your glorious name:

Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue, Our love shall live, and later life renew.

LIKE AS THE CULVER, ON THE BARED BOUGH

LIKE as the culver, on the bared bough, Sits mourning for the absence of her mate; And, in her songs, sends many a wishful vow For his return that seems to linger late: So I alone, now left disconsolate, Mourn to myself the absence of my love; And, wandering here and there all desolate, Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove Ne joy of aught that under heaven doth hove, Can comfort me, but her own joyous sight

W I L L I A M HABINGTON

Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move, In her unspotted pleasance to delight. Dark is my day, whiles her fair light I miss, And dead my life that wants such lively bliss.

WILLIAM HABINGTON

[1605-1654]

To ROSES IN THE BOSOM OF CASTARA

YE blushing virgins happy are In the chaste nunnery of her breasts—

For he'd profane so chaste a fair, Whoe'er should call them Cupid's nests.

Transplanted thus how bright ye grow! How rich a perfume do ye yield!

In some close garden cowslips so Are sweeter than i' th' open field.

In those white cloisters live secure From the rude blasts of wanton breathl—

Each hour more innocent and pure, Till you shall wither into death.

Then that which living gave you room, Your glorious sepulchre shall be.

There wants no marble for a tomb Whose breast hath marble been to me.

Nox NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM

WHEN I survey the bright Celestial sphere;

So rich with jewels hung, that Night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear:

My soul her wings doth spread And heavenward flies,

Th' Almighty's mysteries to read In the large volume of the skies.

W I L L I A M HABINGTON

For the bright firmament Shoots forth no flame

So silent, but is eloquent In speaking the Creator's name.

No unregarded star Contracts its light

Into so small a character, Removed far from our human sight,

But if we steadfast look We shall discern

In it, as in some holy book, How man may heavenly knowledge learn.

It tells the conqueror That far-stretch'd power,

Which his proud dangers traffic for, Is but the triumph of an hour:

That from the farthest North, Some nation may,

Yet undiscover'd, issue forth, And o'er his new-got conquest sway:

Some nation yet shut in With hills of ice

May be let out to scourge his sin, Till they shall equal him in vice.

And then they likewise shall Their ruin have;

For as yourselves your empires fall, And every kingdom hath a grave.

Thus those celestial fires, Though seeming mute,

The fallacy of our desires And all the pride of life confute:—

CHRISTOPHER M A R L O W E

For they have watch'd since first The World had birth:

And found sin in itself accurst, And nothing permanent on Earth.

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE

[1564-1593]

T H E PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE

COME live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dales and field, Or woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals.

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

A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my Love.

Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me.

CHRISTOPHER M A R L O W E

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning: If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my Love.

HER REPLY

(Written by Sir Walter Raleigh)

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

But Time drives flocks from field to fold; When rivers rage and rocks grow cold; And Philomel becometh dumb; The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward Winter reckoning yields: A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirde, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither—soon fargotten, In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

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

But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need, Then these delights my mind might move To live with thee and be thy Love.

RICHARD ROWLANDS

RICHARD ROWLANDS

[ / 5 6 5 - / 6 2 0 ]

OUR BLESSED LADY'S LULLABY

UPON my lap, my Sovereign sits, And sucks upon my breast;

Meanwhile his love sustains my life, And gives my body rest.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

When thou hast taken thy repast, Repose, my babe, on me.

So may thy mother and thy nurse, Thy cradle also be.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

I grieve that duty doth not work All that my wishing would,

Because I would not be to thee But in the best I should.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

Yet as I am and as I may, I must and will be thine,

Though all too little for thyself Vouchsafing to be mine.

Sing, lullaby, my litde boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

My wits, my words, my deeds, my though) And else what is in me,

I rather will not wish to use, If not in serving thee.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

RICHARD ROWLANDS

My babe, my bliss, my child, my choice, My fruit, my flower, and bud,

My Jesus, and my only joy, The sum of all my good.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

My sweetness, and the sweetest most That heaven could earth deliver,

Soul of my love, spirit of my life, Abide with me for ever.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

Live still with me, and be my love, And death will me refrain,

Unless thou let me die with thee, To live with thee again.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

Leave now to wail, thou luckless wight That wrought'st thy race's woe,

Redress is found, and foiled is Thy fruit-alluring foe.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

The fruit of death from Paradise Made the exiled mourn;

My fruit of life to Paradise Makes joyful thy return.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

Grow up, good fruit be nourished by These fountains two of me,

That only flow with maiden's milk, The only meat for thee.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

RICHARD ROWLANDS

The earth has now a heaven become, And this base bower of mine,

A princely palace unto me, My son doth make to shine.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

His sight gives clearness to my sight, When waking I him see,

And sleeping, his mild countenance Gives favour unto me.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

When I him in mine arms embrace, I feel my heart embraced,

Even by the inward grace of his. Which he in me hath placed.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

And when I kiss his loving lips, Then his sweet-smelling breath

Doth yield a savour to my soul, That feeds love, hope, and faith.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

The shepherds left their keeping sheep, For joy to see my lamb;

How may I more rejoice to see Myself to be the dam.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

Three kings their treasures hither brought Of incense, myrrh, and gold;

The heaven's treasure, and the king That here they might behold.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

RICHARD ROWLANDS

One sort an angel did direct, A star did guide the other,

And all the fairest son to see That ever had a mother.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

This sight I see, this child I have, This infant I embrace,

O endless comfort of the earth, And heaven's eternal grace.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

Thee sanctity herself doth serve, Thee goodness doth attend,

Thee blessedness doth wait upon, And virtues all commend.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

Great kings and prophets wished have To see that I possess,

Yet wish I never thee to see, If not in thankfulness.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

Let heaven and earth, and saints and men, Assistance give to me,

That all their most concurring aid Augment my thanks to thee.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

And let the ensuing blessed race, Thou wilt succeeding raise,

Join all their praises unto mine, To multiply thy praise.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

T H O M A S NASHE

And take my service well in worth, And Joseph's here with me,

Who of my husband bears the name, Thy servant for to be.

Sing, lullaby, my little boy, Sing, lullaby, my lives joy.

T H O M A S N A S H E

[1567-1601]

IN T I M E OF PESTILENCE

ADIEU, farewell earth's bliss! This world uncertain is: Fond are life's lustful joys, Death proves them all but toys. None from his darts can fly; I am sick, I must die—

Lord, have mercy on usl

Rich men, trust not in wealth, Gold cannot buy you health; Physic himself must fade; All things to end are made; The plague full swift goes by; I am sick, I must die—

Lord, have mercy on usl

Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour; Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair; Dust hath closed Helen's eye; I am sick, I must die—

Lord, have mercy on usl

Strength stoops unto the grave, Worms feed on Hector brave; Swords may not fight with fate; Earth still holds ope her gate;

T H O M A S NASHE

Come, cornel the bells do cry; I am sick, I must die—

Lord, have mercy on usl

Wit with his wantonness Tasteth death's bitterness; Hell's executioner Hath no ears for to hear What vain art can reply: I am sick, I must die—

Lord, have mercy on usl

Haste therefore each degree To welcome destiny; Heaven is our heritage, Earth but a player's stage. Mount we unto the sky; I am sick, I must die—

Lord, have mercy on usl

SPRING

SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing,

Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay,

Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet,

Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring! the sweet Spring!

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

W I L L I A M S H A K E S P E A R E

[ 7 5 6 4 - / 6 / 6 ]

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 nighdy sings the staring owl

Tu-whoo! To-whit, Tu-whoo! 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-whoo! To-whit, Tu-whoo! A merry note! While greasy Joan doth keel the pot.

O MISTRESS MINE

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.

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

FANCY

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.

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 live i' the sun,

Seeking the food he eats And pleased with what he gets—

Come hither, come hither, come hither! Here shall he see No enemy

But winter and rough weather.

A LOVER AND HIS LASS

IT was a lover and his lass With a hey and a ho, and a hey-nonino!

That o'er the green corn-field did pass In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing hey ding a ding:

Sweet lovers love the Spring.

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

Between the acres of the rye These pretty country folks would lie: This carol they began that hour, How that life was but a flower:

And therefore take the present time With a hey and a ho, and a hey-nonino!

For love is crowned with the prime In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing hey ding a ding:

Sweet lovers love the Spring.

SILVIA

WHO is Silvia? 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 Silvia let us sing, That Silvia is excelling;

She excels each mortal thing Upon the dull earth dwelling:

To her let us garlands bring.

SPRING

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!

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

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 turdes tread, and rooks, and daws, And maidens bleach their summer smocks,

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!

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!

Beedes 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.

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

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.

WHERE THE BEE SUCKS

WHERE the bee sucks, there suck 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.

LOVE'S PERJURIES

ON a day, alack the day! Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air; Through the velvet leaves the wind, All unseen, 'gan passage find; That the lover, sick to death, Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so! But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn:

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me That I am forsworn for thee: Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were, And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love.

TAKE, O TAKE TAKE, O take those lips away That so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn: But my kisses bring again,

Bring again— Seals of love, but seal'd in vain,

Seal'd in vain!

A MADRIGAL

CRABBED Age and Youth Cannot live together: Youth is full of pleasance, Age is full of care; Youth like summer morn, Age like winter weather, Youth like summer brave, Age like winter bare: Youth is full of sport, Age's breath is short, Youth is nimble, Age is lame: Youth is hot and bold, Age is weak and cold, Youth is wild, and Age is tame:— Age, I do abhor thee, Youth, I do adore thee; O! my Love, my Love is young! Age, I do defy thee— O sweet shepherd, hie thee, For methinks thou stay'st too long.

268 W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

w; AMIENS' SONG

BLOW, 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, Thou 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.

104 D A W N SONG

HARK! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise,

His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes:

With everything that pretty bin, My lady sweet, arise!

Arise, arise!

/ 0 5 DIRGE OF LOVE

COME away, come away, Death, And in sad cypres let me be laid;

Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid.

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

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 never find my grave,

To weep there.

FIDELE'S DIRGE

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.

No exorciser harm thee! Nor no witchcraft charm thee!

Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Nothing ill come near thee!

Quiet consummation have; And renowned be thy grave!

270 W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

IOJ 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.

108 EIGHTEENTH SONNET

SHALL I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate; Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date: Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd: And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimm'd. But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade When in eternal lines to time thou growest.

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

109 TWENTY-NINTH SONNET

WHEN in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes I all alone beweep my outcast state, And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, And look upon myself, and curse my fate; Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, Featured like him, like him with friends possest, Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope, With what I most enjoy contented least; Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, Haply I think on thee—and then my state, Like to the lark at break of day arising

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE 1JI

From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate; For thy sweet love remember'd, such wealth brings That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

no THIRTIETH SONNET

WHEN to the sessions of sweet silent thought I summon up remembrance of things past, I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste; Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe, And moan the expense of many a vanish'd sight. Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before:

But if the while I think on thee, dear friend, All losses are restored, and sorrows end.

7 / / THIRTY-FIRST SONNET

THY bosom is endeared with all hearts Which I, by lacking, have supposed dead: And there reigns Love, and all Love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried. How many a holy and obsequious tear Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, As interest of the dead!—which now appear But things removed that hidden in thee lie. Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give; That due of many now is thine alone:

Their images I loved I view in thee, And thou, all they, hast all the all of me.

772 THIRTY-SECOND SONNET

IF thou survive my well-contented day When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey

272 W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover; Compare them with the bettering of the time, And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme Exceeded by the height of happier men. O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought— 'Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To march in ranks of better equipage:

But since he died, and poets better prove, Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'

1/3 THIRTY-THIRD SONNET

FULL many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy; Anon permit the basest clouds to ride With ugly rack on his celestial face, And from the forlorn world his visage hide, Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace: Even so my sun one early morn did shine With all-triumphant splendour on my brow; But out, alack! he was but one hour mine; The region-cloud hath mask'd him from me now.

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth; Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun

staineth.

114 FIFTY-FOURTH SONNET

O HOW much more doth beauty beauteous seem By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! The Rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem For that sweet odour which doth in it live. The Canker-blooms have full as deep a dye As the perfumed tincture of the Roses, Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly When summer's breath their masked buds discloses; But—for their virtue only is their show—

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE 273

They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade, Die to themselves. Sweet Roses do not so; Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made.

And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall fade, my verse distils your truth.

775 FIFTY-FIFTH SONNET

NOT marble, nor the gilded monuments Of princes, shall oudive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear'd with sluttish time. When wasteful war shall statues overturn, And broils root out the work of masonry, Nor Mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn The living record of your memory. 'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room Even in the eyes of all posterity That wear this world out to the ending doom.

So, till the judgment that yourself arise, You live in this, and dwell in lovers' eyes.

/ / 6 FIFTY-SEVENTH SONNET

BEING your slave, what should I do but tend Upon the hours and times of your desire? I have no precious time at all to spend Nor services to do, till you require: Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, Nor think the bitterness of absence sour When you have bid your servant once adieu: Nor dare I question with my jealous thought Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, But like a sad slave, stay and think of nought Save, where you are, how happy you make those.

So true a fool is love, that in your will, Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

SIXTIETH SONNET

LIKE as the waves make towards the pebbled shore So do our minutes hasten to their end; Each changing place with that which goes before, In sequent toil all forwards do contend. Nativity once in the main of light, Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd, Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight, And Time, that gave, doth now his gift confound. Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth, And delves the parallels in beauty's brow; Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth, And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow:

And yet, to times in hope, my verse shall stand Praising thy worth, despite his cruel hand.

SIXTY-FOURTH SONNET

WHEN I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich-proud cost of outworn buried age; When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed, And brass eternal, slave to mortal rage; When I have seen the hungry ocean gain Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, And the firm soil win of the watery main, Increasing store with loss, and loss with store; When I have seen such interchange of state, Or state itself confounded to decay, Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate— That Time will come and take my Love away:

This thought is as a death, which cannot choose But weep to have that which it fears to lose.

SIXTY-FIFTH SONNET

SINCE brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality o'ersways their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, Whose action is no stronger than a flower? O how shall summer's honey breath hold out Against the wreckful siege of battering days,

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE 275

When rocks impregnable are not so stout Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays? O fearful meditation! where, alack! Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid? Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back, Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?

O none, unless this miracle have might, That in black ink my love may still shine bright.

/20 SIXTY-SIXTH SONNET

TIRED with all these, for restful death I cry,— As, to behold desert a beggar born, And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity, And purest faith unhappily forsworn, And gilded honour shamefully misplaced, And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted, And right perfection wrongfully disgraced, And strength by limping sway disabled, And art made tongue-tied by authority, And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill, And simple truth miscall'd simplicity, And captive Good attending captain 111:

Tired with all these, from these would I be gone, Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone.

727 SEVENTY-FIRST SONNET

No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world, that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell; Nay, if you read this line, remember not The hand that writ it; for I love you so, That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot If thinking on me then should make you woe. O, if, I say, you look upon this verse When I perhaps compounded am with clay, Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, But let your love even with my life decay,

Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone.

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

SEVENTY-THIRD SONNET

THAT time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang: In me thou see'st the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest: In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie As the deathbed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by:

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

EIGHTY-SEVENTH SONNET

FAREWELL! thou art too dear for my possessing, And like enough thou know'st thy estimate: The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing; My bonds in thee are all determinate. For how do I hold thee but by thy granting? And for that riches where is my deserving? The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, And so my patent back again is swerving. Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking; So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, Comes home again, on better judgment making.

Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter; In sleep, a king; but waking, no such matter.

NINETIETH SONNET

THEN hate me when thou wilt; if ever, now; Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, And do not drop in for an after-loss:

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE 277

Ah! do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe; Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, To linger out a purposed overthrow. If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, When other petty griefs have done their spite, But in the onset come: so shall I taste At first the very worst of fortune's might;

And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, Compared with loss of thee will not seem so.

725 NINETY-FOURTH SONNET

THEY that have power to hurt, and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show, Who, moving others, are themselves as stone, Unmoved, cold, and to temptation slow,— They rightly do inherit Heaven's graces, And husband nature's riches from expense; They are the lords and owners of their faces, Others, but stewards of their excellence. The summer's flower is to the summer sweet, Though to itself it only live and die; But if that flower with base infection meet, The basest weed outbraves his dignity:

For sweetest things turn sourest by their deeds; Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.

726 NINETY-SEVENTH SONNET

How like a winter hath my absence been From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year! What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, What old December's bareness everywhere! And yet this time removed was summer's time; The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, Bearing the wanton burden of the prime Like widow'd wombs after their lords' decease: Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me But hope of orphans, and unfather'd fruit; For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, And, thou away, the very birds are mute;

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer, That leaves look pale, dreading the winter's near.

NINETY-EIGHTH SONNET

FROM you have I been absent in the spring, When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell Of different flowers in odour and in hue, Could make me any summer's story tell, Or from their proud lap pluck them where they grew; Nor did I wonder at the Lily's white, Nor praise the deep vermilion in the Rose; They were but sweet, but figures of delight, Drawn after you, you pattern of all those.

Yet seem'd it Winter still, and you, away, As with your shadow I with these did play.

ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTH SONNET

To me, fair friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd In process of the seasons have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived; So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived:

For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred,— Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead.

ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTH SONNET

WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time I see descriptions of the fairest wights, And beauty making beautiful old rhyme

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

In praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights; Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, I see their antique pen would have exprest Ev'n such a beauty as you master now. So all their praises are but prophecies Of this our time, all, you prefiguring; And for they look'd but with divining eyes, They had not skill enough your worth to sing:

For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

ONE HUNDRED AND SEVENTH SONNET

NOT mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world, dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Suppos'd as forfeit to a confin'd doom. The mortal moon hath her eclipse endur'd And the sad augurs mock their own presage; Incertainties now crown themselves assur'd And peace proclaims olives of endless age. Now with the drops of this most balmy time My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, Since, spite of him, I'll live in this poor rhyme, While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes:

And thou in this shalt find thy monument, When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent.

ONE HUNDRED AND NINTH SONNET

O, NEVER say that I was false of heart, Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify: As easy might I from myself depart As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie; That is my home of love; if I have ranged, Like him that travels, I return again, Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, So that myself bring water for my stain. Never believe, though in my nature reign'd All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,

280 W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE

That it could so preposterously be stain'd, To leave for nothing all thy sum of good:

For nothing this wide universe I call, Save thou, my rose; in it thou art my all.

132 ONE HUNDRED AND TENTH SONNET

ALAS, 'tis true I have gone here and there And made myself a motley to the view, Gor'd mine own thoughts, sold cheap what is most dear, Made old offences of affections new; Most true it is that I have look'd on truth Askance and strangely: but, by all above, These blenches gave my heart another youth, And worse essays prov'd thee my best of love. Now all is done, have what shall have no end: Mine appetite I never more will grind On newer proof, to try an older friend, A god in love, to whom I am confin'd.

Then give me welcome, next my heaven the best, Even to thy pure and most most loving breast.

ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVENTH SONNET

O, FOR my sake do you with Fortune chide, The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds, That did not better for my life provide Than public means, which public manners breeds. Thence comes it that my name receives a brand, And almost thence my nature is subdu'd To what it works in, like the dyer's hand. Pity me then and wish I were renew'd; Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink Potions of eisel 'gainst my strong infection; No bitterness that I will bitter think, Nor double penance, to correct correction.

Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye Even that your pity is enough to cure me.

W I L L I A M SHAKESPEARE 281

134 ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTEENTH SONNET

LET me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove: O no! it is an ever-fixed mark That looks on tempests, and is never shaken; It is the star to every wandering bark, Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out ev'n to the edge of doom:

If this be error, and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

/ J 5 ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY-NINTH SONNET

TH' expense of Spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action; and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; Enjoy'd no sooner but despised straight; Past reason hunted; and, no sooner had, Past reason hated, as a swallow'd bait On purpose laid to make the taker mad: Mad in pursuit, and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme; A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind, a dream.

All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.

136 ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-SIXTH SONNET

POOR Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, Fool'd by these rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease,

ROBERT GREENE

Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more:

So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men, And, death once dead, there's no more dying then.

ONE HUNDRED AND FORTY-EIGHTH SONNET

O ME! what eyes hath love put in my head, Which have no correspondence with true sight: Or if they have, where is my judgment fled That censures falsely what they see aright? If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote, What means the world to say it is not so? If it be not, then love doth well denote Love's eye is not so true as all men's: No, How can it? O how can love's eye be true, That is so vex'd with watching and with tears? No marvel then though I mistake my view: The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.

O cunning Love! with tears thou keep'st me blind, Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find!

R O B E R T G R E E N E

[I56O(?)-I592]

CONTENT

SWEET are the thoughts that savour of content, The quiet mind is richer than a crown,

Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent, The poor estate scorns Fortune's angry frown:

Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss, Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.

The homely house that harbours quiet rest, The cottage that affords no pride nor care,

The mean that 'grees with country music best,

RICHARD BARNFIELD

The sweet consort of mirth and modest fare, Obscured life sets down a type of bliss: A mind content both crown and kingdom is.

RICHARD BARNFIELD

[1574-1627]

T H E NIGHTINGALE

As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made, Beasts did leap and birds did sing, Trees did grow and plants did spring; Every thing did banish moan Save the Nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, And there sung the dolefull'st ditty That to hear it was great pity. Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry; Tereu, tereu, by and by: That to hear her so complain Scarce I could from tears refrain; For her griefs so lively shown Made me think upon mine own. —Ah, thought I, thou mourn'st in vain, None takes pity on thy pain: Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee; King Pandion, he is dead, All thy friends are lapp'd in lead: All thy fellow birds do sing Careless of thy sorrowing: Even so, poor bird, like thee None alive will pity me.

T H O M A S C A M P I O N

THOMAS CAMPION [I567(?)-I62O]

CHERRY-RIPE

THERE is a garden in her face Where roses and white lilies blow;

A heavenly paradise is that place, Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow:

There cherries grow which 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 rose-buds fill'd with snow;

Yet them nor peer nor prince can 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 attempt with eye or hand

Those sacred cherries to come nigh, Till 'Cherry-ripe' themselves do cry.

FOLLOW.YOUR SAINT

FOLLOW your saint, follow with accents sweet! Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet! There, wrapt in cloud of sorrow, pity move, And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love: But if she scorns my never-ceasing pain, Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er return againl

All that I sung still to her praise did tend; Still she was first, still she my songs did end; Yet she my love and music both doth fly, The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy: Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight! It shall suffice that they were breathed and died for her

delight.

T H O M A S C A M P I O N

WHEN TO HER LUTE CORINNA SINGS

WHEN to her lute Corinna sings, Her voice revives the leaden strings, And doth in highest notes appear, As any challenged echo clear; But when she doth of mourning speak, E'en with her sighs, the strings do break,

And as her lute doth live or die, Led by her passion, so must I: For when of pleasure she doth sing, My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring, But if she doth of sorrow speak, E'en from my heart the strings do break.

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 livest 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!

T H O M A S C A M P I O N

TURN ALL THY THOUGHTS TO EYES

TURN all thy thoughts to eyes, Turn all thy hairs to ears, Change all thy friends to spies And all thy joys to fears:

True love will yet be free In spite of jealousy.

Turn darkness into day, Conjectures into truth, Believe what th' envious say, Let age interpret youth:

True love will yet be free In spite of jealousy.

Wrest every word and look, Rack every hidden thought, Or fish with golden hook; True love cannot be caught:

For that will still be free In spite of jealousy.

INTEGER VITAE

THE man of life upright, Whose guiltless heart is free

From all dishonest deeds, Or thought of vanity;

The man whose silent days In harmless joys are spent,

Whom hopes cannot delude, Nor sorrow discontent;

That man needs neither towers Nor armour for defence,

Nor secret vaults to fly From thunder's violence:

He only can behold With unaffrighted eyes

EARL OF ESSEX

The horrors of the deep And terrors of the skies.

Thus, scorning all the cares That fate or fortune brings,

He makes the heaven his book, His wisdom heavenly things;

Good thoughts his only friends, His wealth a well-spent age,

The earth his sober inn And quiet pilgrimage.

ROBERT DEVEREUX, EARL OF ESSEX

[1566-1601]

A PASSION OF MY LORD OF ESSEX

HAPPY were he could finish forth his fate In some unhaunted desert, where, obscure

From all society, from love and hate Of worldly folk; then might he sleep secure;

Then wake again, and ever give God praise, Content with hip, with haws, and bramble-berry;

In contemplation passing all his days, And change of holy thoughts to make him merry;

Who, when he dies, his tomb might be a bush, Where harmless Robin dwells with gende thrush.

—Happy were he!

SIR HENRY WOTTON [1568-1639]

ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA

You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes

More by your number than your light, You common people of the skies,

What are you, when the Moon shall rise?

SIR HENRY W O T T O N

Ye violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known

Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own,—

What are you, when the Rose is blown?

Ye curious chanters of the wood That warble forth dame Nature's lays,

Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents; what's your praise

When Philomel her voice doth raise?

So when my Mistress shall be seen In sweetness of her looks and mind,

By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd

Th' eclipse and glory of her kind?

CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE

How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death, Not tied unto the world with care Of public fame, or private breath;

Who envies none that chance doth raise Or vice; Who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good:

Who hath his life from rumours freed, Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed Nor ruin make oppressors great;

EARL OF OXFORD

Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend:

—This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise, or fear to fall; Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all.

E D W A R D D E V E R E , E A R L O F O X F O R D

[1550-1604]

A RENUNCIATION

IF women could be fair, and yet not fond, Or that their love were firm, not fickle still, I would not marvel that they make men bond By service long to purchase their good will; But when I see how frail those creatures are, I muse that men forget themselves so far.

To mark the choice they make, and how they change, How oft from Phoebus they do flee to Pan; Unsettled still, like haggards wild they range, These gentle birds that fly from man to man; Who would not scorn and shake them from the fist, And let them fly, fair fools, which way they list?

Yet for disport we fawn and flatter both, To pass the time when nothing else can please, And train them to our lure with subtle oath, Till, weary of their wiles, ourselves we ease; And then we say when we their fancy try, To play with fools, O what a fool was I!

290 BEN JONSON

B E N J O N S O N

[i573-l637]

150 SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS

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

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

757 T H E TRIUMPH

SEE the Chariot at hand here of Love, Wherein my Lady rideth!

Each that draws is a swan or a dove, And well the car Love guideth.

As she goes, all hearts do duty Unto her beauty;

And enamour'd do wish, so they might But enjoy such a sight,

That they still were to run by her side, Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light All that Love's world compriseth!

Do but look on her hair, it is bright As Love's star when it riseth!

Do but mark, her forehead's smoother Than words that soothe her;

And from her arch'd brows such a grace Sheds itself through the face,

As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good, of the elements' strife.

B E N JONSON 29I

Have you seen but a bright lily grow Before rude hands have touch'd it?

Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow Before the soil hath smutch'd it?

Have you felt the wool of beaver, Or swan's down ever?

Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier, Or the nard in the fire?

Or have tasted the bag of the bee? O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she!

752 T H E NOBLE NATURE

IT is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make Man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:

A lily of a day Is fairer far in May,

Although it fall and die that night— It was the plant and flower of Light

In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be.

15$ 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;

BEN JONSON

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee!

A FAREWELL TO THE WORLD

FALSE world, good night! since thou hast brought That hour upon my morn of age;

Henceforth I quit thee from my thought, My part is ended on thy stage.

Yes, threaten, do. Alas! I fear As litde as I hope from thee:

I know thou canst not show nor bear More hatred than thou hast to me.

My tender, first, and simple years Thou didst abuse and then betray;

Since stir'd'st up jealousies and fears, When all the causes were away.

Then in a soil hast planted me Where breathe the basest of thy fools;

Where envious arts professed be, And pride and ignorance the schools;

Where nothing is examined, weigh'd, But as 'tis rumour'd, so believed;

Where every freedom is betray'd, And every goodness tax'd or grieved.

But what we're born for, we must bear: Our frail condition it is such

That what to all may happen here, If't chance to me, I must not grutch.

Else I my state should much mistake To harbour a divided thought

From all my kind—that, for my sake, There should a miracle be wrought.

BEN JONSON

No, I do know that I was born To age, misfortune, sickness, grief:

But I will bear these with that scorn As shall not need thy false relief.

Nor for my peace will I go far, As wanderers do, that still do roam;

But make my strengths, such as they are, Here in my bosom, and at home.

A NYMPH'S PASSION

I LOVE, and he loves me again, Yet dare I not tell who;

For if the nymphs should know my swain, I fear they'd love him too;

Yet if he be not known, The pleasure is as good as none,

For that's a narrow joy is but our own.

I'll tell, that if they be not glad, They may not envy me;

But then if I grow jealous mad And of them pitied be,

It were a plague 'bove scorn; And yet it cannot be forborne

Unless my heart would, as my thought, be torn.

He is, if they can find him, fair And fresh, and fragrant too,

As summer's sky or purged air, And looks as lilies do

That are this morning blown: Yet, yet I doubt he is not known,

And fear much more that more of him be shown.

But he hath eyes so round and bright, As make away my doubt,

Where Love may all his torches light, Though Hate had put them out;

But then t' increase my fears What nymph soe'er his voice but hears

Will be my rival, though she have but ears.

B E N JONSON

I'll tell no more, and yet I love, And he loves me; yet no

One unbecoming thought doth move From either heart I know:

But so exempt from blame As it would be to each a fame,

If love or fear would let me tell his name.

EPODE

NOT to know vice at all, and keep true state, Is virtue, and not fate:

Next to that virtue is to know vice well, And her black spite expel,

Which to effect (since no breast is so sure, Or safe, but she'll procure

Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard Of thoughts to watch and ward

At th' eye and ear, the ports unto the mind, That no strange or unkind

Object arrive there, but the heart, our spy, Give knowledge instantly

To wakeful reason, our affections' king: Who, in th' examining,

Will quickly taste the treason, and commit Close, the close cause of it.

'Tis the securest policy we have, To make our sense our slave.

But this true course is not embraced by many: By many? scarce by any.

For either our affections do rebel, Or else the sentinel,

That should ring larum to the heart, doth sleep: Or some great thought doth keep

Back the intelligence, and falsely swears They're base and idle fears

Whereof the loyal conscience so complains. Thus, by these subtle trains,

Do several passions invade the mind, And strike our reason blind:

B E N JONSON 295

Of which usurping rank, some have thought love. The first, as prone to move

Most frequent tumults, horrors, and unrests, In our inflamed breasts:

But this doth from the cloud of error grow, Which thus we over-blow.

The thing they here call Love is blind Desire, Armed with bow, shafts, and fire;

Inconstant, like the sea, of whence't is born, Rough, swelling, like a storm;

With whom who sails, rides on the surge of fear, And boils as if he were

In a continual tempest. Now, true Love No such effects doth prove;

That is an essence far more gende, fine, Pure, perfect, nay, divine;

It is a golden chain let down from heaven, Whose links are bright and even,

That falls like sleep on lovers, and combines The soft and sweetest minds

In equal knots: this bears no brands nor darts, To murther different hearts,

But in a calm and godlike unity Preserves community.

O, who is he that in this peace enjoys Th' elixir of all joys?

A form more fresh than are the Eden bowers, And lasting as her flowers:

Richer than Time, and as Time's virtue rare: Sober, as saddest care;

A fixed thought, an eye untaught to glance: Who, blest with such high chance,

Would, at suggestion of a steep desire, Cast himself from the spire

Of all his happiness? But, soft, I hear Some vicious fool draw near,

That cries we dream, and swears there's no such thing As this chaste love we sing.

Peace, Luxury, thou art like one of those Who, being at sea, suppose,

BEN JONSON

Because they move, the continent doth so. No, Vice, we let thee know,

Though thy wild thoughts with sparrows' wings do fly, Turtles can chastely die.

And yet (in this t' express ourselves more clear) We do not number here

Such spirits as are only continent Because lust's means are spent;

Or those who doubt the common mouth of fame, And for their place and name

Cannot so safely sin. Their chastity Is mere necessity.

Nor mean we those whom vows and conscience Have filled with abstinence:

Though we acknowledge, who can so abstain Makes a most blessed gain;

He that for love of goodness hateth ill Is more crown-worthy still

Than he, which for sin's penalty forbears: His heart sins, though he fears.

But we propose a person like our Dove, Grac'd with a Phcenix' love;

A beauty of that clear and sparkling light, Would make a day of night,

And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys: Whose od'rous breath destroys

All taste of bitterness, and makes the air As sweet as she is fair.

A body so harmoniously composed, As if nature disclosed

All her best symmetry in that one feature! O, so divine a creature,

Who could be false to? chiefly when he knows How only she bestows

The wealthy treasure of her love on him; Making his fortunes swim

In the full flood of her admired perfection? What savage, brute affection

Would not be fearful to offend a dame Of this excelling frame?

BEN JONSON

Much more a noble and right generous mind To virtuous moods inclined,

That knows the weight of guilt: he will refrain From thoughts of such a strain;

And to his sense object this sentence ever, 'Man may securely sin, but safely never.'

EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH L . H .

WOULDS'T thou hear what man can say In a little? Reader, stay. Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die; Which in life did harbour give To more virtue than doth live. If at all she had a fault Leave it buried in this vault. One name was Elizabeth, The other, let it sleep with death, Fitter, where it died, to tell, Than that it lived at all. Farewell.

O N LUCY, COUNTESS OF BEDFORD

THIS morning timely wrapt with holy fire, I thought to form unto my zealous Muse, What kind of creature I could most desire To know, serve, and love, as Poets use. I meant to make her fair, and free, and wise, Of greatest blood, and yet more good than great; I meant the day-star should not brighter rise, Nor lend like influence from his lucent seat; I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet, Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride; I meant each softest virtue there should meet, Fit in that softer bosom to reside. Only a learned, and a manly soul I purposed her: that should with even powers, The rock, the spindle, and the shears control Of Destiny, and spin her own free hours. Such when I meant to feign, and wished to see, My Muse bade BEDFORD write, and that was she!

B E N JONSON

A N ODE TO HIMSELF

WHERE dost thou careless lie Buried in ease and sloth?

Knowledge that sleeps, doth die And this security,

It is the common moth That eats on wits and arts, and that destroys them both.

Are all the Aonian springs Dried up? lies Thespia waste?

Doth Clarius' harp want strings, That not a nymph now sings;

Or droop they as disgraced, To see their seats and bowers by chattering pies defaced?

If hence thy silence be, As 'tis too just a cause,

Let this thought quicken thee: Minds that are great and free

Should not on fortune pause; 'Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.

What though the greedy fry Be taken with false baits

Of worded balladry, And think it poesy?

They die with their conceits, And only piteous scorn upon their folly waits.

Then take in hand thy lyre; Strike in thy proper strain;

With Japhet's line aspire Sol's chariot, for new fire

To give the world again: Who aided him, will thee, the issue of Jove's brain.

And, since our dainty age Cannot endure reproof,

Make not thyself a page

BEN JONSON 299 To that strumpet the stage;

But sing high and aloof, Safe from the wolf's black jaw, and the dull ass's hoof.

QUEEN and Huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep,

Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep;

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 excellendy bright!

A CHILD OF QUEEN ELIZABETH'S CHAPEL

WEEP with me, all you that read This little story;

And know, for whom a tear you shed Death's self is sorry.

'Twas a child that so did thrive In grace and feature,

As Heaven and Nature seem'd to strive Which own'd the creature.

Years he number'd scarce thirteen When Fates turn'd cruel,

Yet three fill'd zodiacs had he been The stage's jewel;

160 H Y M N TO DIANA

Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellendy bright.

161 O N SALATHIEL PAVY

B E N JONSON

And did act (what now we moan) Old men so duly,

As sooth the Parcae thought him one, He play'd so truly.

So, by error, to his fate They all consented;

But, viewing him since, alas, too late! They have repented;

And have sought, to give new birth, In baths to steep him;

But, being so much too good for earth, Heaven vows to keep him.

His SUPPOSED MISTRESS

IF I freely can discover What would please me in my lover,

I would have her fair and witty, Savouring more of court than city; A little proud, but full of pity; Light and humourous in her toying; Oft building hopes, and soon destroying; Long, but sweet in the enjoying,

Neither too easy, nor too hard: All extremes I would have barred.

She should be allowed her passions, So they were but used as fashions;

Sometimes froward, and then frowning, Sometimes sickish, and then swowning, Every fit with change still crowning. Purely jealous I would have her; Then only constant when I crave her, 'Tis a virtue should not save her.

Thus, nor her delicates would cloy me, Neither her peevishness annoy me.

B E N JONSON

To THE MEMORY OF M Y BELOVED

T H E AUTHOR

M R . WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US

[Prefixed to the First Folio Edition of Shakespeare's Plays.]

To draw no envy, Shakespeare, on thy name, Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; While I confess thy writings to be such As neither man nor Muse can praise too much. "Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; For seeliest Ignorance on these may light, Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; Or blind Affection, which doth ne'er advance The truth, but gropes and urgeth all by chance; Or crafty Malice might pretend this praise, And think to ruin where it seem'd to raise. These are as some infamous bawd or whore Should praise a matron. What could hurt her more? But thou art proof against them, and, indeed, Above the ill-fortune of them, or the need. I, therefore, will begin. Soul of the age! The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage, My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie A little further, to make thee a room: Thou art a monument without a tomb, And art alive still, while thy book doth live, And we have wits to read, and praise to give. That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses; I mean, with great but disproportion'd Muses. For, if I thought my judgment were of years, I should commit thee, surely, with thy peers. And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, Or sporting Kyd, or Marlowe's mighty line. And though thou hadst small Latin and less Greek, From thence, to honour thee, I would not seek For names; but call forth thund'ring Aeschylus,

B E N JONSON

Euripides, and Sophocles to us, Paccuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead To life again, to hear thy buskin tread And shake a stage; or when thy socks were on, Leave thee alone, for the comparison Of all that insolent Greece or haughty Rome Sent forth; or since did from their ashes come. Triumph, my Britain! Thou hast one to show To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. He was not of an age, but for all time! And all the Muses still were in their prime, When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm Our ears, or, like a Mercury, to charm. Nature herself was proud of his designs, And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines, Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; But antiquated and deserted lie, As they were not of Nature's family. Yet must I not give Nature all! Thy art, My gende Shakespeare, must enjoy a part. For though the Poet's matter Nature be His art doth give the fashion. And that he Who casts to write a living line, must sweat (Such as thine are), and strike the second heat Upon the Muses' anvil, turn the same (And himself with it), that he thinks to frame; Or for the laurel he may gain a scorn! For a good Poet's made as well as born; And such wert thou! Look how the father's face Lives in his issue; even so, the race Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines In his well-turned and true-filed lines; In each of which he seems to shake a lance As brandish'd at the eyes of Ignorance. Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were To see thee in our water yet appear, And make those flights upon the banks of Thames

J O H N DONNE 3O3

JOHN DONNE

[/57j-/6j/]

T H E FUNERAL

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

That subde wreath of hair about mine arm; The mystery, the sign you must not touch,

For 'tis my outward soul, Viceroy to that which, unto heav'n being gone,

Will leave this to control And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.

For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall Through every part

Can tie those parts, and make me one of all; Those hairs, which upward grew, and strength and art

Have from a better brain, Can better do't: except she meant that I

By this should know my pain, As prisoners then are manacled, when they're condemn'd to die.

Whate'er she meant by't, bury it with me, For since I am

Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry If into other hands these reliques came.

As 'twas humility T' afford to it all that a soul can do,

So 'tis some bravery That, since you would have none of me, I bury some of you.

That so did take Eliza, and our James! But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere Advanc'd, and made a constellation there! Shine forth, thou star of poets, and with rage Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage; Which since thy flight from hence hath mourn'd like night, And despairs day, but for thy volume's light.

J O H N DONNE

A H Y M N TO GOD THE FATHER

WILT Thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before?

Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run, And do run still, though still I do deplore?

When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done; For I have more.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won Others to sin, and made my sins their door?

Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun A year or two, but wallow'd in a score?

When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done; For I have more.

I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun My last thread, I shall perish on the shore;

But swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore:

And having done that, Thou hast done; I fear no more.

VALEDICTION, FORBIDDING MOURNING

As virtuous men pass mildly away, And whisper to their souls to go;

While some of their sad friends do say, Now his breath goes, and some say, No;

So let us melt, and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;

'Twere profanation of our joys To tell the laity our love.

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

But trepidations of the spheres, Though greater far, are innocent.

J O H N DONNE

Dull sublunary lovers' love, Whose soul is sense, cannot admit

Absence; for that it doth remove Those things which elemented it.

But we, by a love so far refined, That ourselves know not what it is,

Inter-assured of the mind, Careless, eyes, lips and hands to miss,

—Our two souls therefore, which are one, Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but an expansion, Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so As stiff twin compasses are two;

Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show To move, but doth if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit, Yet when the other far doth roam,

It leans and hearkens after it, And grows erect as that comes home.

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

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

DEATH

DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so: For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow; And soonest our best men with thee do g o -Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!

J O H N DONNE

Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!

T H E DREAM

DEAR love, for nothing less than thee Would I have broke this happy dream;

It was a theme For reason, much too strong for fantasy. Therefore thou waked'st me wisely; yet My dream thou brak'st not, but continued'st it: Thou art so true that thoughts of thee suffice To make dreams truths and fables histories. Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best Not to dream all my dream, let's act the rest.

As lightning, or a taper's light, Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me;

Yet I thought thee— For thou lov'st truth—an angel at first sight; But when I saw thou saw'st my heart, And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art, When thou knew'st what I dreamt, when thou knew'st when Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then, I must confess it could not choose but be Profane to think thee anything but thee.

Coming and staying show'd thee thee; But rising makes me doubt that now

Thou art not thou. That Love is weak where Fear's as strong as he; 'Tis not all spirit pure and brave, If mixture it of Fear, Shame, Honour have. Perchance, as torches, which must ready be, Men light and put out, so thou dealst with me. Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come: then I Will dream that hope again, but else would die.

J O H N DONNE

SONG

Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root,

Tell me where all past hours are, Or who cleft the Devil's foot;

Teach me to hear mermaids singing, Or to keep off envy's stinging,

Or find What wind

Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be'st born to strange sights, Things invisible go see,

Ride ten thousand days and nights, Till age snow white hairs on thee.

Thou at thy return wilt tell me All strange wonders that befell thee,

And swear, No where

Lives a woman true and fair.

If thou find'st one, let me know, Such a pilgrimage were sweet;

Yet do not, I would not go, Though at next door we should meet.

Though she were true when you met her, And last till you write your letter,

Yet she Will be

False, ere I come, to two or three.

SWEETEST LOVE, I Do N O T Go

SWEETEST love, I do not go For weariness of thee,

Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me;

But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best Thus to use myself in jest,

By feigned death to die.

J O H N DONNE

Yesternight the sun went hence, And yet is here to-day;

He hath no desire nor sense, Nor half so short a way.

Then fear not me, But believe that I shall make Hastier journeys, since I take

More wings and spurs than he.

O how feeble is man's power, That, if good fortune fall,

Cannot add another hour, Nor a lost hour recall.

But come bad chance, And we join to it our strength, And we teach it art and length,

Itself o'er us t' advance.

When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st no wind, But sigh'st my soul away;

When thou weep'st, unkindly kind, My life's blood doth decay.

It cannot be That thou lov'st me as thou say'st, If in thine my life thou waste,

That art the best of me.

Let not thy divining heart Forethink me any ill.

Destiny may take thy part And may thy fears fulfil;

But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep: They who one another keep

Alive, ne'er parted be.

LOVER'S INFINITENESS

IF yet I have not all thy love, Dear, I shall never have it all;

I cannot breathe one other sigh to move,

J O H N DONNE

Nor can entreat one other tear to fall; And all my treasure, which should purchase thee, Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters, I have spent;

Yet no more can be due to me, Than at the bargain made was meant:

If, then, thy gift of love was partial, That some to me, some should to others fall,

Dear, I shall never have it all.

Or if then thou gavest me all, All was but all which thou hadst then;

But if in thy heart since there be, or shall New love created be by other men, Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears, In sighs, in oaths, in letters outbid me,

This new love may beget new fears; For this love was not vowed by thee,

And yet it was, thy gift being general: The ground, thy heart, is mine; whatever shall

Grow there, dear, I should have it all.

Yet I would not have all yet; He that hath all can have no more;

And since my love doth every day admit New growth, thou shouldst have new rewards in store. Thou canst not every day give me thy heart; If thou canst give it, then thou never gav'st it: Love's riddles are that, though thy heart depart, It stays at home, and thou with losing sav'st it, But we will love a way more liberal Than changing hearts,—to join them; so we shall

Be one, an one another's All.

LOVE'S DEITY

I LONG to talk with some old lover's ghost, Who died before the god of love was born:

I cannot think that he, that then loved most, Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.

But since this god produced a destiny,

J O H N DONNE

And that vice-nature, custom, lets it be, I must love her that loves not me.

Sure they which made him god meant not so much, Nor he in his young godhead practised it;

But when an even flame two hearts did touch, His office was indulgently to fit

Actives to passives; correspondency Only his subject was; it cannot be Love, if I love who loves not me.

But every modern god will now extend His vast prerogative as far as Jove;

To rage, to lust, to write too, to commend; All is the purlieu of the god of love.

0 were we wakened by his tyranny To ungod this child again, it could not be 1 should love her that loves not me.

Rebel and atheist, too, why murmur I, As though I felt the worst that love could do?

Love may make me leave loving, or might try A deeper plague, to make her love me too,

Which, since she loves before, I am loath to see, Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be, If she whom I love should love me.

STAY, O SWEET

STAY, O sweet, and do not rise! The light that shines comes from thine eyes;

The day breaks not: it is my heart, Because that you and I must part.

Stay! or else my joys will die, And perish in their infancy.

'Tis true, 'tis day: what though it be? O, wilt thou therefore rise from me?

Why should we rise because 'tis light? Did we lie down because 'twas night?

Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither, Should in despite of light keep us together.

J O H N D O N N E

L i g h t hath no tongue , but is all eye . If it could speak as wel l as spy,

T h i s were the worst that it could say:— T h a t , being wel l , I fain w o u l d stay,

A n d that I lov'd m y heart and honour so, T h a t I w o u l d not from h i m , that had them, g o .

M u s t business thee from hence remove? O h , that's the worse disease of love!

T h e poor, the fool, the false, love can A d m i t , but not the busied m a n .

H e , w h i c h hath business, and m a k e s love, doth d o

Such w r o n g , as w h e n a married m a n doth w o o .

T H E BLOSSOM

LITTLE think'st thou, poor flower, W h o m I have watched six or seven days ,

A n d seen thy birth, and seen w h a t every hour

G a v e to thy g r o w t h , thee to this he ight to raise,

A n d n o w dost l augh and t r i u m p h on this b o u g h ,

— L i t t l e think'st thou T h a t it wi l l freeze anon, and that I shall T o - m o r r o w find thee fall'n, or not at all .

Lit t le think'st thou, poor heart,

T h a t labourest yet to nestle thee, A n d think'st by hover ing here to ge t a part

In a forbidden or forbidding tree, A n d hop'st her stiffness by long siege to b o w ,

— L i t d e think'st thou

T h a t thou, to-morrow, ere the sun doth w a k e ,

M u s t w i t h the sun and me a journey take .

B u t thou, w h i c h lov'st to be

Subtle to p lague thyself, w i l t say—

"Alas ! if you must g o , what's that to m e ?

Here lies m y business, and here wi l l I stay:

Y o u g o to friends, whose love and means present

Var ious content

J O H N D O N N E

T o your eyes, ears, and taste, and every part:

If then your body g o , w h a t need your heart?"

W e l l , then, stay here: but k n o w W h e n thou hast said and done thy most,

A naked t h i n k i n g heart, that makes no show,

Is to a w o m a n but a k ind of ghost; H o w shall she k n o w m y heart? O r , h a v i n g none,

K n o w thee for one? Practice m a y m a k e her k n o w some other part, B u t take m y w o r d , she doth not k n o w a heart.

M e e t m e in L o n d o n , then,

T w e n t y days hence, and thou shalt see M e fresher and more fat, by be ing wi th men ,

T h a n if I had stay'd still w i th her and thee.

F o r G o d ' s sake, if you can, be you so too:

I wi l l g ive you T h e r e to another friend, w h o m you shall find A s g lad to have m y body as m y mind .

T H E GOOD MORROW

I WONDER, by m y troth, w h a t thou and I D i d , till w e loved? were w e not weaned till then?

B u t sucked on country pleasures, childishly?

O r snored w e in the Seven Sleepers' den? ' T w a s so; but this, all pleasures fancies be;

If ever any beauty I did see.

W h i c h I desired, and got , 'twas but a dream of thee.

A n d n o w good-morrow to our w a k i n g souls,

W h i c h watch not one another out of fear;

F o r love all love of other sights controls,

A n d makes one little room an everywhere .

L e t sea-discoverers to n e w worlds have gone;

L e t maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,

L e t us possess one wor ld; each hath one, and is one.

M y face in thine eye, thine in m i n e appears,

A n d true plain hearts do in the faces rest;

J O H N D O N N E

W h e r e can w e find t w o better hemispheres W i t h o u t sharp north, w i thout decl ining west?

W h a t e v e r dies, was not m i x e d equal ly;

If our t w o loves be one, or thou and I

L o v e so alike that none can slacken, none can die .

PRESENT IN ABSENCE

ABSENCE, hear thou m y protestation A g a i n s t thy strength, Distance , and length;

D o what thou canst for alteration: For hearts of truest mettle Absence doth join, and T i m e doth setde.

W h o loves a mistress of such qual i ty , H i s m i n d hath found Affection's g r o u n d

Beyond t ime, place, and all mortal i ty. T o hearts that cannot vary Absence is present, T i m e doth tarry.

M y senses w a n t their outward mot ion

W h i c h n o w wi th in

Reason doth w in ,

Redoubled by her secret notion:

L i k e rich m e n that take pleasure

In h id ing more than hand l ing treasure.

B y absence this g o o d means I g a i n , T h a t I can catch her, W h e r e none can w a t c h her,

In some close corner of m y brain: T h e r e I embrace and kiss her; A n d so enjoy her and none miss her.

J O S H U A S Y L V E S T E R

J O S H U A S Y L V E S T E R

[i563-1618]

LOVE'S OMNIPRESENCE

WERE I as base as is the lowly plain,

A n d you , m y L o v e , as h i g h as heaven above, Y e t should the thoughts of me your humble swain

A s c e n d to heaven, in honour of m y L o v e .

W e r e I as h i g h as heaven above the plain, A n d you , m y L o v e , as humble and as l o w A s are the deepest bottoms of the main , Whereso'er you were , w i t h you m y love should g o .

W e r e you the earth, dear L o v e , and I the skies,

M y love should shine on you l ike to the sun, A n d look u p o n you w i t h ten thousand eyes T i l l heaven w a x ' d bl ind, and till the world were done.

Whereso'er I a m , be low, or else above you , Whereso'er you are, m y heart shall truly love you.

W I L L I A M A L E X A N D E R , E A R L O F S T I R L I N G

[I567(?)-I64O]

T o AURORA

O IF thou knew's t h o w thou thyself dost harm, A n d dost prejudge thy bliss, and spoil m y rest; T h e n thou would'st mel t the ice out of thy breast A n d thy relenting heart w o u l d k ind ly w a r m .

O if thy pride d id not our joys controul, W h a t wor ld of l ov ing wonders should'st thou see! F o r if I saw thee once transform'd in me , T h e n in thy bosom I w o u l d pour m y soul;

T h e n all m y thoughts should in thy visage shine,

A n d if that a u g h t mischanced thou should'st not moan

R I C H A R D C O R B E T

N o r bear the burthen of thy griefs alone;

N o , I w o u l d have m y share in w h a t were thine:

A n d whilst w e thus should m a k e our sorrows one,

T h i s happy harmony w o u l d m a k e t h e m none.

R I C H A R D C O R B E T

[1582-1635]

FAREWELL, REWARDS AND FAIRIES

FAREWELL, rewards and fairies,

G o o d housewives n o w may say,

F o r n o w foul sluts in dairies

D o fare as wel l as they.

A n d though they sweep their hearths no less

T h a n maids were w o n t to do ,

Y e t w h o of late for cleanness

F i n d s sixpence in her shoe?

L a m e n t , lament , old A b b e y s ,

T h e Fairies' lost c o m m a n d ! T h e y did but change Priests' babies,

But some have changed your land. A n d all your children, sprung from thence,

A r e n o w g r o w n Puritans, W h o live as C h a n g e l i n g s ever since

F o r love of your demains .

A t m o r n i n g and at even ing both

Y o u merry were and g lad , So little care of sleep or sloth

T h e s e pretty ladies had; W h e n T o m came h o m e from labour,

O r C i s to m i l k i n g rose, T h e n merrily w e n t their tabor,

A n d nimbly w e n t their toes.

Witness those rings and roundelays O f theirs, w h i c h yet remain,

W e r e footed in Q u e e n Mary's days

O n m a n y a grassy pla in;

T H O M A S H E Y W O O D

B u t since of late, E l izabeth ,

A n d later, James came in,

T h e y never danced on any heath

A s w h e n the t ime hath been.

B y w h i c h w e note the Fairies W e r e of the old Profession.

T h e i r songs were ' A v e Mary's ' , T h e i r dances were Procession.

B u t now, alas, they all are dead; O r gone beyond the seas;

O r farther for Rel ig ion fled; O r else they take their ease.

A tell-tale in their company

T h e y never could endure! A n d whoso kept not secredy

T h e i r mirth, was punished, sure; It was a just and Christ ian deed

T o pinch such black and blue. O h h o w the c o m m o n w e a l t h doth w a n t

Such Justices as y o u !

T H O M A S H E Y W O O D

[D. i65o(?)]

PACK, CLOUDS, AWAY

PACK, clouds, a w a y , and we lcome day, W i t h n ight w e banish sorrow;

Sweet air, b low soft, mount , larks, aloft

T o g ive m y L o v e good-morrow!

W i n g s from the w i n d to please her m i n d ,

N o t e s from the lark I'll borrow;

Bird , prune thy w i n g , n ight ingale , sing, T o g ive m y L o v e good-morrow;

T o g ive m y L o v e good-morrow N o t e s from t h e m both I'll borrow.

W a k e from thy nest, Robin-red-breast, S i n g , birds, in every furrow;

T H O M A S D E K K E R

A n d from each hill, let music shrill

G i v e m y fair L o v e good-morrow!

Blackbird and thrush in every bush,

Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow!

Y o u pretty elves, amongs t yourselves

S ing m y fair L o v e good-morrow;

T o g ive m y L o v e g o o d - m o r r o w

S ing , birds, in every furrow!

T H O M A S D E K K E R

[ / 5 7 o(?)- /6 /4]

COUNTRY GLEE

HAYMAKERS, rakers, reapers, and mowers , W a i t on your S u m m e r - Q u e e n ;

Dress u p w i t h musk-rose her eglantine bowers, Daffodils strew the green;

Sing, dance, and play, 'Tis holiday;

T h e sun does bravely shine O n our ears of corn.

Rich as a pearl C o m e s every girl ,

T h i s is mine , this is mine , this is mine ; L e t us die, ere a w a y they be borne.

B o w to the Sun, to our Q u e e n , and that fair one C o m e to behold our sports;

E a c h bonny lass here is counted a rare one A s those in princes' courts.

T h e s e and w e W i t h country glee,

W i l l teach the woods to resound, A n d the hills w i t h echoes ho l low:

S k i p p i n g lambs T h e i r bleating dams,

'Mongs t kids shall trip it round; F o r joy thus our wenches w e fol low.

T H O M A S D E K K E R

W i n d , jolly huntsmen, your neat bugles shrilly,

H o u n d s m a k e a lusty cry;

Spr ing u p , you falconers, partridges freely,

T h e n let your brave h a w k s fly.

Horses amain ,

O v e r r idge , over plain,

T h e dogs have the stag in chase:

' T i s a sport to content a k i n g .

So ho , ho! through the skies

H o w the proud bird flies,

A n d sousing, kills w i t h a grace!

N o w the deer falls; hark! h o w they ring.

COLD'S THE WIND

COLD'S the w i n d , and wet's the rain, Saint H u g h be our good speed! Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain , N o r helps good hearts in need.

T r o l l the b o w l , the jolly nut-brown bowl , A n d here's, k i n d mate , to thee! Let 's s ing a dirge for Saint H u g h ' s soul, A n d d o w n it merrily.

O SWEET CONTENT

ART thou poor, yet hast thou go lden slumbers?

O sweet content! A r t thou rich, yet is thy m i n d perplex'd ?

O punishment! D o s t thou l a u g h to see h o w fools are vex'd T o add to go lden numbers , go lden numbers?

O sweet content! O sweet, O Sweet content! W o r k apace, apace, apace, apace; H o n e s t labour bears a lovely face; T h e n hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

C a n s t dr ink the waters of the crisped spring?

O sweet content!

S w i m m ' s t thou in wealth , yet sink'st in thine o w n tears?

O punishment !

F R A N C I S B E A U M O N T

T h e n he that patiently want's burden bears

N o burden bears, bu t in a k i n g , a k i n g !

O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!

W o r k apace, apace, apace, apace;

Hones t labour bears a lovely face;

T h e n hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

F R A N C I S B E A U M O N T

[1584-1616]

O N THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY

MORTALITY, behold and fear W h a t a change of flesh is here! T h i n k h o w m a n y royal bones Sleep wi th in these heaps of stones; H e r e they lie, had realms and lands, W h o n o w w a n t strength to stir their hands, W h e r e from their pulpits seal'd w i t h dust T h e y preach, 'In greatness is n o trust.' Here's an acre sown indeed W i t h the richest royallest seed T h a t the earth did e'er suck in Since the first m a n died for sin: H e r e the bones of birth have cried ' T h o u g h gods they were, as m e n they died!' Here are sands, ignoble things , D r o p t from the ruin'd sides of k i n g s : Here's a wor ld of p o m p and state Buried in dust, once dead by fate.

MASTER FRANCIS BEAUMONT'S LETTER TO

BEN JONSON

Written before he and Master Fletcher came to London

THE sun ( w h i c h doth the greatest comfort br ing

T o absent friends, because the self-same t h i n g

T h e y k n o w they see, however absent) is

Here our best haymaker ( forgive m e this;

It is our country's s ty le) : in this w a r m shine

I lie, and dream of your full Mermaid W i n e .

F R A N C I S B E A U M O N T

O , w e have W i n t e r m i x e d w i t h claret lees, D r i n k apt to bring in drier heresies T h a n beer, good only for the sonnet's strain, W i t h fustian metaphors to stuff the brain; So mixed , that, g i v e n to the thirstiest one, ' T w i l l not prove alms, unless he have the stone: I th ink w i t h one draught man's invention fades, T w o cups had quite spoiled Homer's Iliads! ' T i s l iquor that wi l l find out Sutcliff's wi t , L i e where he wi l l , and m a k e h i m write worse yet . Fi l led w i th such moisture, in most grievous qualms, D i d Robert W i s d o m write his s inging Psalms; A n d so must I do this: and yet I think It is our potion sent us d o w n to drink, B y special Providence , keeps us from fights, M a k e s us not laugh , w h e n w e m a k e legs to K n i g h t s : ' T i s this that keeps our minds fit for our states; A medic ine to obey our Magistrates; F o r w e do live more free than you; no hate, N o envy at one another's h a p p y state, M o v e s us; w e are equal every whi t ; O f land that G o d gives m e n , here is their wi t , If w e consider ful ly; for our best A n d gravest m a n wi l l w i t h his main-house-jest Scarce please y o u : w e w a n t subtlety to do T h e city-tricks; lie, H a t e , and flatter too: H e r e are none that can bear a painted show, Strike, w h e n y o u wince , and then lament the b low; W h o ( l ike mills set the r ight w a y for to g r i n d ) C a n m a k e their gains alike w i th every w i n d : O n l y some fel lows w i t h the subdest pate A m o n g s t us, m a y perchance equivocate A t selling of a horse; and that's the most M e t h i n k s the little w i t I had is lost Since I saw you; for w i t is l ike a rest H e l d u p at tennis, w h i c h m e n do the best W i t h the best gamesters. W h a t things have w e seen D o n e at the Mermaid! heard words that have been So n imble , and so full of subtle flame, A s if that every one ( from whence they c a m e ) H a d meant to put his whole w i t in a jest,

J O H N F L E T C H E R

A n d had resolved to l ive a fool the rest

O f his dull l i fe;—then w h e n there hath been thrown W i t able e n o u g h to justify the t o w n

F o r three days past; w i t that m i g h t warrant be

F o r the who le city to talk foolishly

T i l l that were cancelled; and, w h e n w e were gone ,

W e left an air behind us; w h i c h alone

W a s able to m a k e the t w o next companies

( R i g h t wit ty; t h o u g h but d o w n r i g h t fools) more wise! W h e n I remember this, and see that n o w

T h e country gent lemen beg in to a l low M y w i t for dry bobs, then I needs must cry, 'I see m y days of bal lat ing g r o w nigh! ' I can already riddle, and can sing Catches , sell bargains: and I fear shall br ing Myself to speak the hardest words I find O v e r as oft as any, w i t h one w i n d , T h a t takes no medicines . B u t one t h o u g h t of thee M a k e s me remember all these th ings to be T h e wi t of our y o u n g m e n , fel lows that show N o part of good, yet utter all they k n o w ; W h o , l ike trees of the guard , have g r o w i n g souls, O n l y strong Dest iny , w h i c h all controls, I hope hath left a better fate in store F o r me , thy friend, than to live ever poor, Banished unto this home. Fate once again , Brings me to thee, w h o canst m a k e smooth and plain T h e w a y of k n o w l e d g e for me , and then I ( W h o have no good , but in thy c o m p a n y , ) Protest it wi l l m y greatest comfort be, T o acknowledge all I have, to flow from thee! Ben , w h e n these Scenes are perfect, we'l l taste w i n e ! I'll dr ink thy Muse's health! thou shalt quaff mine !

J O H N F L E T C H E R

[ 7 5 7 9 - / 6 2 5 ]

ASPATIA'S SONG

LAY a garland on m y hearse O f the dismal y e w ;

J O H N W E B S T E R

M a i d e n s , w i l l o w branches bear;

Say, I died true.

M y love was false, but I was firm

F r o m m y hour of birth.

U p o n m y buried body lie

L i g h t l y , g e n d e earthl

MELANCHOLY

HENCE, all you vain del ights ,

A s short as are the nights , W h e r e i n you spend your folly:

There ' s n o u g h t in this life sweet

If m a n were wise to see't, B u t only melancholy , O sweetest melancholy!

W e l c o m e , folded arms, and fixed eyes,

A s igh that piercing mortifies,

A look that's fasten'd to the ground,

A tongue chain'd u p wi thout a sound!

F o u n t a i n heads and pathless groves, Places w h i c h pale passion loves!

M o o n l i g h t wa lks , w h e n all the fowls

A r e w a r m l y housed save bats and owls ! A m i d n i g h t bell, a part ing groan!

T h e s e are the sounds w e feed upon; T h e n stretch our bones in a still g loomy valley; N o t h i n g ' s so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

J O H N W E B S T E R

[i58o(?yi625(?)]

CALL FOR THE ROBIN-REDBREAST

CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren ,

Since o'er shady groves they hover

A n d w i t h leaves and flowers d o cover

T h e friendless bodies of unburied m e n .

C a l l unto his funeral dole

T h e ant, the field-mouse, and the mole

A N O N Y M O U S

T o rear h i m hil locks that shall keep h i m w a r m

A n d ( w h e n g a y tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm;

B u t keep the wol f far thence, that's foe to m e n ,

F o r w i th his nails he'll d ig t h e m up aga in .

A N O N Y M O U S

O WALY, WALY

0 WALY w a l y u p the bank ,

A n d w a l y w a l y d o w n the brae, A n d waly w a l y y o n burn-side

W h e r e I and m y L o v e w o n t to g a e !

1 leant m y back unto an aik, I thought it was a trusty tree;

B u t first it bow'd , and syne 1 it brak, Sae m y true L o v e did l i c h d y 2 m e .

O wa ly wa ly , but love be bonny

A litde t ime whi le it is n e w ; B u t w h e n 'tis auld, it w a x e t h cauld

A n d fades awa ' l ike m o r n i n g d e w . O wherefore should I b u s k 3 m y head?

O r wherefore should I k a m e 4 m y hair? F o r m y true L o v e has m e forsook,

A n d says he'll never loe me mair .

N o w Arthur-seat sail be m y bed;

T h e sheets shall ne'er be prest b y m e : Saint Anton's wel l sail be m y drink,

Since m y true L o v e has forsaken m e . Marti 'mas w i n d , w h e n wi l t thou b law

A n d shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle D e a t h , w h e n wi l t thou come?

F o r of m y life I a m wearie .

' T i s not the frost, that freezes fell,

N o w b l a w i n g snaw's inclemencie;

'T i s not sic cauld that makes m e cry,

B u t m y Love's heart g r o w n cauld to m e .

'Then. 2 Slight. 3 Adorn. 1Comb.

H E L E N O F K I R C O N N E L L

W h e n w e came in by G l a s g o w t o w n W e were a comely sight to see;

M y L o v e was clad in the black velvet , A n d I mysel l in cramasie. 5

B u t had I wist , before I kist ,

T h a t love had been sae ill to w i n ; I had lockt m y heart in a case of g o w d 6

A n d pinn'd it w i th a siller 7 p in. A n d , O ! if m y y o u n g babe were born,

A n d set u p o n the nurse's knee, A n d I mysell were dead and gane ,

A n d the green grass g r o w i n g over m e !

HELEN OF KIRCONNELL

I WISH I were where H e l e n lies; N i g h t and day on m e she cries; O that I were where H e l e n lies

O n fair Kirconnel l lea!

C u r s t be the heart that thought the thought ,

A n d curst the hand that fired the shot, W h e n in m y arms burd He len dropt,

A n d died to succour me!

0 th ink na but m y heart was sair

W h e n m y L o v e dropt d o w n and spak nae mair!

1 laid her d o w n w i ' meik le care

O n fair Kirconnel l lea.

A s I w e n t d o w n the water-side, N o n e but m y foe to be m y guide , N o n e but m y foe to be m y guide ,

O n fair Kirconnel l lea;

I l ighted d o w n m y sword to draw, I hacked h i m in pieces sma', I hacked h i m in pieces sma',

For her sake that died for me . 5 Crimson cloth. 6 Gold. 7 Silver.

A N O N Y M O U S

O H e l e n fair, beyond compare! I'll m a k e a gar land of thy hair Shall bind m y heart for evermair

U n t i l the day I die.

O that I were w h e r e H e l e n lies! N i g h t and day on m e she cries; O u t of m y bed she bids me rise,

Says, 'Haste and come to m e l '

0 H e l e n fair! O H e l e n chaste! If I were w i th thee, I were blest, W h e r e thou lies l o w and takes thy rest

O n fair Kirconnel l lea.

1 w i sh m y grave were g r o w i n g green, A winding-sheet d r a w n ower m y een, A n d I in Helen's arms ly ing ,

O n fair Kirconnel l lea.

I wish I were where H e l e n lies; N i g h t and day on m e she cries; A n d I a m weary of the skies,

Since m y L o v e died for m c .

M Y LOVE IN HER ATTIRE

MY L o v e in her attire doth shew her w i t , It doth so wel l become her:

F o r every season she hath dressings fit,

For Winter , Spr ing , and S u m m e r . N o beauty she doth miss W h e n all her robes are on : B u t Beauty's self she is W h e n all her robes are g o n e .

LOVE N O T M E

LOVE not m e for comely grace,

F o r m y pleasing eye or face,

N o r for any outward part,

W I L L I A M D R U M M O N D

N o , nor for m y constant heart ,—

F o r those m a y fail, or turn to ill,

So thou and I shall sever:

K e e p therefore a true woman's eye,

A n d love m e still, but k n o w not w h y —

So hast thou the same reason still

T o doat upon m e ever!

W I L L I A M D R U M M O N D

[1585-1649]

SAINT JOHN BAPTIST

THE last and greatest Hera ld of Heaven's K i n g G i r t w i t h r o u g h skins, hies to the deserts wi ld , A m o n g that savage brood the woods forth bring, W h i c h he more harmless found than m a n , and mi ld . H i s food was locusts, and w h a t there doth spring, W i t h honey that from virg in hives distill'd; Parch'd body , ho l low eyes, some uncouth th ing M a d e h i m appear, l ong since from earth exiled. T h e r e burst he forth: A l l ye whose hopes rely O n G o d , w i t h m e amidst these deserts mourn , Repent , repent, and from old errors turn! — W h o listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry?

O n l y the echoes, w h i c h he made relent, R u n g from their flinty caves, Repent ! Repent!

MADRIGAL

MY thoughts hold mortal strife; I do detest m y life, A n d w i t h l ament ing cries Peace to m y soul to br ing

O f t call that prince w h i c h here doth monarchize: — B u t he, g r i m g r i n n i n g K i n g , W h o caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprize, L a t e h a v i n g deck'd w i t h beauty's rose his tomb, Disda ins to crop a w e e d , and wi l l not come.

W I L L I A M D R U M M O N D 327

795 LIFE

THIS L i f e , w h i c h seems so fair, Is l ike a bubble b l o w n u p in the air

B y sporting children's breath,

W h o chase it everywhere

A n d strive w h o can most mot ion it bequeath. A n d t h o u g h it sometimes seem of its o w n m i g h t

L i k e to an eye of g o l d to be fix'd there,

A n d firm to hover in that empty height ,

T h a t only is because it is so l ight . — B u t in that p o m p it doth not long appear;

For w h e n 'tis most admired , in a thought ,

Because it erst was nought , it turns to nought .

796 HUMAN FOLLY

O F this fair vo lume w h i c h w e W o r l d do name If w e the sheets and leaves could turn w i t h care, O f h i m w h o it corrects, and did it frame, W e clear m i g h t read the art and w i s d o m rare: F i n d out his power w h i c h wildest powers doth tame, H i s providence ex tending everywhere , H i s justice w h i c h proud rebels doth not spare, In every page, no period of the same. B u t silly we , l ike foolish children, rest W e l l pleased wi th colour'd ve l lum, leaves of go ld . Fa ir d a n g l i n g ribbands, l eaving w h a t is best, O n the great writer's sense ne'er t a k i n g hold;

O r if by chance w e stay our minds on aught , It is some picture on the m a r g i n w r o u g h t .

797 T H E PROBLEM

DOTH then the world g o thus, doth all thus m o v e ? Is this the justice w h i c h on E a r t h w e find?

Is this that firm decree w h i c h all doth b ind?

A r e these your influences, Powers above? T h o s e souls w h i c h vice's m o o d y mists most bl ind,

Bl ind Fortune, bl indly, most their friend doth prove;

A n d they w h o thee, poor idol V i r t u e ! love,

W I L L I A M D R U M M O N D

Ply l ike a feather toss'd by storm and w i n d .

A h ! if a Providence doth sway this all

W h y should best minds groan under most distress?

O r w h y should pride humil i ty m a k e thrall,

A n d injuries the innocent oppress? H e a v e n s ! hinder, stop this fate; or grant a t ime W h e n g o o d m a y have , as wel l as bad, their prime!

T o H i s LUTE

MY lute, be as thou wert w h e n thou didst g r o w W i t h thy green mother in some shady grove, W h e n immelodious w i n d s but m a d e thee m o v e , A n d birds their ramage did on thee bestow. Since that dear V o i c e w h i c h did thy sounds approve, W h i c h w o n t in such harmonious strains to flow, Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above, W h a t art thou but a harbinger of woe ? T h y pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, B u t orphans' wai l ings to the fa int ing ear; E a c h stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear; F o r w h i c h be silent as in woods before:

O r if that any hand to touch thee de ign , L i k e w i d o w ' d turtle still her loss complain .

FOR THE MAGDALENE

'THESE eyes, dear L o r d , once brandons of desire, Frai l scouts betraying w h a t they had to keep, W h i c h their o w n heart, then others set on fire, T h e i r trait'rous black before thee here out-weep; T h e s e locks, of b lushing deeds the gilt attire, W a v e s curl ing, wrackfu l shelves to shadow deep, R i n g s w e d d i n g souls to sin's lethargic sleep, T o touch thy sacred feet do n o w aspire. In seas of care behold a s inking bark, B y w i n d s of sharp remorse unto thee driven, O let me not be Ruin's aim'd-at-mark! M y faults confessed, L o r d , say they are forgiven.'

T h u s s ighed to Jesus the Bethanian fair, H i s tear-wet feet still dry ing wi th her hair.

W I L L I A M D R U M M O N D 3 29

2 0 0 CONTENT AND RESOLUTE

A s w h e n it happeneth that some lovely t o w n U n t o a barbarous besieger falls, W h o there by sword and flame himself installs, A n d , cruel, it in tears and blood doth d r o w n ; H e r beauty spoiled, her citizens m a d e thralls, H i s spite yet so can not her all throw d o w n B u t that some statue, arch, fane of renown Y e t lurks u n m a i m e d wi th in her w e e p i n g wal ls: So, after all the spoil, disgrace, and wrack , T h a t t ime, the wor ld , and death, could bring combined , A m i d s t that mass of ruins they did make , Safe and all scarless yet remains m y m i n d .

F r o m this so h i g h transcending rapture springs, T h a t I, all else defaced, not envy k ings .

201 ALEXIS, HERE SHE STAYED; AMONG THESE PINES

ALEXIS, here she stayed; a m o n g these pines, Sweet hermitress, she d id alone repair; Here did she spread the treasure of her hair, More rich than that brought from the C o l c h i a n mines; She set her by these m u s k e d eglantines .— T h e happy place the print seems yet to bear;— H e r voice did sweeten here thy sugared lines, T o w h i c h winds , trees, beasts, birds, did lend their ear: M e here she first perceived, and here a morn O f bright carnations did o'erspread her face; Here did she sigh, here first m y hopes were born, A n d I first got a p ledge of promised grace;

But ah! w h a t served it to be happy so, Sith passed pleasures double but n e w w o e ?

202 SUMMONS TO LOVE

PHOEBUS, arise! A n d paint the sable skies W i t h azure, white , and red:

Rouse Memnon's mother from her T i thon ' s bed

T h a t she m a y thy career w i t h roses spread:

W I L L I A M D R U M M O N D

T h e nightingales thy c o m i n g eachwhere sing:

M a k e an eternal Spr ing! G i v e life to this dark world w h i c h lieth dead;

Spread forth thy golden hair

In larger locks than thou wast w o n t before,

A n d emperor-l ike decore W i t h d iadem of pearl thy temples fair:

C h a s e hence the ug ly n ight W h i c h serves but to m a k e dear thy glorious l ight

— T h i s is that happy morn,

T h a t day , long-wished day O f all m y life so dark,

(If cruel stars have not m y ruin sworn

A n d fates m y hopes betray) , W h i c h , purely whi te , deserves A n everlasting d iamond should it mark .

T h i s is the m o r n should br ing unto this grove

M y L o v e , to hear and recompense m y love.

Fa i r K i n g , w h o all preserves, B u t show thy b lushing beams,

A n d thou t w o sweeter eyes

Shalt see than those w h i c h by Peneus' streams

D i d once thy heart surprize.

N o w , Flora , deck thyself in fairest guise: If that ye w i n d s w o u l d hear A voice surpassing far A m p h i o n ' s lyre,

Y o u r furious c h i d i n g stay;

L e t Zephyr only breathe, A n d w i t h her tresses play.

— T h e w i n d s all silent are, A n d Phoebus in his chair

Ensaffroning sea and air M a k e s vanish every star:

N i g h t l ike a drunkard reels

B e y o n d the hills, to shun his f laming wheels:

T h e fields w i t h flowers are deck'd in every hue, T h e clouds w i t h orient go ld spangle their blue;

H e r e is the pleasant p lace— A n d noth ing w a n t i n g is, save She, alas!

G E O R G E W I T H E R

G E O R G E W I T H E R

[1588-1667]

I LOVED A LASS

I LOVED a lass, a fair one,

A s fair as e'er was seen; She w a s indeed a rare one,

A n o t h e r Sheba Q u e e n ; B u t , fool as then I was ,

I t h o u g h t she loved m e too: B u t n o w , alas! she's left m e ,

Falero, lero, loo!

H e r hair l ike go ld did glister, E a c h eye was l ike a star,

She did surpass her sister,

W h i c h pass'd all others far; She w o u l d m e honey call,

S h e ' d — O she'd kiss me too! B u t n o w , alas! she's left m e ,

Falero, lero, loo!

M a n y a merry mee t ing

M y love and I have had; She was m y only sweet ing,

She m a d e m y heart full g lad; T h e tears stood in her eyes

L i k e to the m o r n i n g d e w : B u t now, alas! she's left m e ,

Falero, lero, loo!

H e r cheeks were l ike the cherry,

H e r skin w a s whi te as snow; W h e n she was blithe and merry

She angel- l ike d id show; H e r wais t exceeding small ,

T h e fives d id fit her shoe: B u t now, alas! she's left m e ,

Falero, lero, loo!

GEORGE W I T H E R

In summer t ime or winter

She had her heart's desire; I still did scorn to stint her

F r o m sugar, sack, or fire; T h e wor ld went round about,

N o cares w e ever k n e w : B u t now, alas! she's left me ,

Valero, lero, loo!

T o maidens' vows and swearing

Henceforth no credit g ive; Y o u m a y g ive them the hearing,

B u t never them believe; T h e y are as false as fair,

Unconstant , frail, untrue: F o r mine , alas! hath left me ,

Valero, lero, loo!

T H E LOVER'S RESOLUTION

SHALL I, was t ing in despair, D i e because a woman's fair? O r m y cheeks m a k e pale w i th care 'Cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day O r the flowery meads in M a y —

If she be not so to me W h a t care I h o w fair she be?

Shal l m y foolish heart be pined 'Cause I see a w o m a n k i n d ; O r a wel l disposed nature Joined w i t h a lovely feature? B e she meeker , k inder , than T u r d e - d o v e or pelican,

If she be not so to me

W h a t care I h o w k ind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move M e to perish for her love? O r her merits' value k n o w n

W I L L I A M B R O W N E

M a k e m e quite forget mine o w n ? Be she w i t h that goodness blest W h i c h m a y ga in her n a m e of Best;

If she seem not such to me , W h a t care I h o w good she be?.

'Cause her fortune seems too h i g h , Shall I play the fool and die? T h o s e that bear a noble m i n d W h e r e they w a n t of riches find, T h i n k w h a t w i t h t h e m they w o u l d do W h o w i t h o u t t h e m dare to w o o ;

A n d unless that m i n d I see,

W h a t care I h o w great she b e ?

G r e a t or good , or k i n d or fair, I wi l l ne'er the more despair; If she love m e , this be l i eve , I wil l die ere she shall gr ieve; If she slight m e w h e n I w o o , I can scorn and let her g o ;

F o r if she be not for m e , W h a t care I for w h o m she be?

W I L L I A M B R O W N E ( ? )

[I59I-I64](?)]

THE COUNTESS DOWAGER OF PEMBROKE

UNDERNEATH this sable herse

L ie s the subject of all verse:

Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother:

D e a t h , ere thou hast slain another

Fair and learn'd and good as she,

T i m e shall throw a dart at thee.

334 ROBERT HERRICK

R O B E R T H E R R I C K

[1591-1674]

206 CHERRY-RIPE

CHERRY-RIPE, ripe, ripe, I cry, F u l l and fair ones; come and b u y . If so be you ask m e w h e r e T h e y do g r o w , I answer: T h e r e W h e r e m y Julia's lips do smile; There 's the land, or cherry-isle, W h o s e plantations fully show A l l the year where cherries g r o w .

HERE a little chi ld I stand H e a v i n g u p m y either hand; C o l d as paddocks t h o u g h they be . H e r e I lift t h e m u p to T h e e , F o r a benison to fall O n our meat and on us all. A m e n .

GOOD-MORROW to the day so fair, G o o d - m o r n i n g , sir, to you;

G o o d - m o r r o w to mine o w n torn hair

Bedabbled w i t h the d e w .

G o o d - m o r n i n g to this primrose too,

G o o d - m o r r o w to each maid

T h a t wi l l w i th flowers the tomb bestrew

W h e r e i n m y love is laid.

A h ! w o e is m e , woe , w o e is m e !

A l a c k and well-a-day! F o r pity, sir, find out that bee

W h i c h bore m y love a w a y .

207 A CHILD'S GRACE

208 T H E MAD MAID'S SONG

R O B E R T H E R R I C K

I'll seek h i m in your bonnet brave,

I'll seek h i m in your eyes; N a y , n o w I th ink they've m a d e his grave

I' th' bed of strawberries.

I'll seek h i m there; I k n o w ere this T h e cold, cold earth doth shake h i m ;

B u t I wi l l g o , or send a kiss

B y you , sir, to a w a k e h i m .

Pray hurt h i m not; t h o u g h he be dead, H e k n o w s wel l w h o do love h i m ,

A n d w h o w i t h green turfs rear his head,

A n d w h o do rudely m o v e h i m .

H e ' s soft and tender (pray take h e e d ) ; W i t h bands of cowslips b ind h i m ,

A n d bring h i m h o m e — b u t 'tis decreed

T h a t I shall never find h i m !

T o THE VIRGINS

GATHER ye rose-buds whi le ye m a y ,

O l d T i m e is still a-flying: A n d this same flower that smiles to-day,

T o - m o r r o w wil l be d y i n g .

T h e glorious L a m p of H e a v e n , the S u n ,

T h e higher he's a-getting

T h e sooner wi l l his race be run,

A n d nearer he's to setting.

T h a t age is best w h i c h is the first,

W h e n youth and blood are warmer;

B u t being spent, the worse, and worst T i m e s , still succeed the former.

T h e n be not coy, but use your t ime;

A n d whi le ye m a y , g o marry: F o r h a v i n g lost but once your prime,

Y o u may for ever tarry.

R O B E R T H E R R I C K

T o DlANEME

SWEET, be not proud of those t w o eyes W h i c h starlike sparkle in their skies; N o r be you proud, that you can see A l l hearts your captives; yours yet free: Be you not proud of that rich hair W h i c h wantons w i t h the lovesick air; W h e n a s that ruby w h i c h you wear, S u n k from the t ip of your soft ear, W i l l last to be a precious stone W h e n all your wor ld of beauty's gone .

A SWEET DISORDER

A SWEET disorder in the dress Kind le s in clothes a wantonness :— A lawn about the shoulders t h r o w n Into a fine distraction,— A n erring lace, w h i c h here and there Enthrals the crimson stomacher,— A cuff neglectful , and thereby Ribbands to flow confusedly,— A w i n n i n g w a v e , deserving note, In the tempestuous petticoat,— A careless shoe-string, in whose tie I see a w i l d c iv i l i ty ,— D o more bewi tch me , than w h e n art Is too precise in every part.

WHENAS IN SILKS

WHENAS in silks m y Julia goes

T h e n , then ( m e t h i n k s ) h o w sweedy flows T h a t l iquefaction of her clothes.

N e x t , w h e n I cast m i n e eyes and see T h a t brave vibration each w a y free; O h o w that gl i t tering taketh m e !

ROBERT H E R R I C K 337

2 / j T o ANTHEA WHO MAY COMMAND H I M

A N Y THING

BID me to l ive, and I wi l l l ive

T h y Protestant to be:

O r bid me love, and I wi l l g i v e

A lov ing heart to thee.

A heart as soft, a heart as k i n d , A heart as sound and free

A s in the w h o l e wor ld thou canst find, T h a t heart I'll g i v e to thee.

B id that heart stay, and it wi l l stay, T o honour thy decree:

O r bid it languish quite a w a y ,

A n d ' t shall do so for thee.

B i d me to w e e p , and I wi l l w e e p

W h i l e I have eyes to see:

A n d hav ing none, yet I wi l l k e e p

A heart to w e e p for thee.

B i d m e despair, and I'll despair, U n d e r that cypress tree:

O r bid m e die, and I wi l l dare E'en D e a t h , to die for thee.

T h o u art m y life, m y love, m y heart, T h e very eyes of me ,

A n d hast c o m m a n d of every part,

T o live and die for thee.

214 T o DAFFODILS

FAIR Daffodils , w e w e e p to see

Y o u haste a w a y so soon:

A s yet the early-rising S u n

H a s not attain'd his noon.

Stay, stay,

ROBERT HERRICK

U n t i l the hast ing day

H a s run B u t to the even-song;

A n d , h a v i n g pray'd together, w e W i l l g o w i t h y o u a long .

W e have short t ime to stay, as you ,

W e have as short a Spring! A s qu ick a g r o w t h to meet decay

A s you , or any th ing .

W e die, A s your hours do , and dry

A w a y

L i k e to the Summer's rain; O r as the pearls of morning's d e w

Ne 'er to be found aga in .

T o BLOSSOMS

FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree,

W h y do ye fall so fast? Y o u r date is not so past,

B u t you m a y stay yet here awhi l e

T o blush and gent ly smile,

A n d g o at last.

W h a t , were ye born to be A n hour or half's del ight , A n d so to bid good-night?

' T w a s pity N a t u r e brought ye forth Mere ly to s h o w your worth ,

A n d lose you qui te .

B u t you are lovely leaves, where w e M a y read h o w soon things have T h e i r end, t h o u g h ne'er so brave:

A n d after they have shown their pride

L i k e you , awhi le , they gl ide

Into the grave .

ROBERT HERRICK

CORINNA'S MAYING

GET u p , get u p for shame! T h e b looming m o r n

U p o n her w i n g s presents the g o d unshorn.

See h o w A u r o r a throws her fair

Fresh-quilted colours through the air:

G e t up , sweet slug-a-bed, and see

T h e dew-bespangl ing herb and tree!

E a c h flower has w e p t and b o w ' d toward the east,

A b o v e an hour since, yet you not drest;

N a y ! not so m u c h as out of bed?

W h e n all the birds have matins said,

A n d sung their thankfu l h y m n s , 'tis sin,

N a y , profanation, to keep in,

W h e n a s a thousand virgins on this day

Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in M a y .

Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen T o come forth, l ike the spring-time, fresh and green,

A n d sweet as F lora . T a k e no care

F o r jewels for your g o w n or hair: Fear not; the leaves wi l l strew G e m s in abundance upon y o u :

Besides, the chi ldhood of the day has kept , A g a i n s t you come, some orient pearls u n w e p t .

C o m e , and receive them whi le the l i ght H a n g s on the dew-locks of the n ight ,

A n d T i t a n on the eastern hill

Retires himself, or else stands still T i l l you come forth! W a s h , dress, be brief in pray ing: F e w beads are best w h e n once w e g o a - M a y i n g .

C o m e , m y Cor inna , come; and coming , m a r k H o w each field turns a street, each street a park,

M a d e green and tr imm'd w i t h trees! see h o w

D e v o t i o n gives each house a b o u g h

O r branch! each porch, each door, ere this,

A n ark, a tabernacle is,

M a d e u p of white-thorn neatly interwove ,

A s if here were those cooler shades of love .

ROBERT HERRICK

C a n such del ights be in the street

A n d open fields, and w e not s e e ' t ?

C o m e , we'll abroad: and let's obey

T h e proclamation m a d e for M a y ,

A n d sin no more, as w e have done, by staying

B u t , m y C o r i n n a , come, let's g o a - M a y i n g .

There 's not a b u d d i n g boy or girl this day

B u t is go t u p and gone to br ing in M a y .

A deal of youth , ere this, is c o m e

B a c k , and w i t h white-thorn laden h o m e .

S o m e have dispatch'd their cakes and cream,

Before that w e have left to dream:

A n d some have w e p t and woo'd, and pl ighted troth,

A n d chose their priest, ere w e can cast off sloth:

M a n y a green-gown has been g iven ,

M a n y a kiss, both odd and even:

M a n y a glance, too, has been sent

F r o m out the eye, love's firmament:

M a n y a jest told of the keys betraying

T h i s n ight , and locks p ick'd: yet we're not a -May ing .

C o m e , let us g o , whi le w e are in our prime,

A n d take the harmless folly of the t ime!

W e shall g r o w old apace, and die

Before w e k n o w our liberty.

O u r life is short, and our days run

A s fast a w a y as does the sun.

A n d , as a vapour or a drop of rain,

O n c e lost, can ne'er be found again ,

So w h e n or you or I are m a de

A fable, song, or fleeting shade,

A l l love, all l ik ing , all del ight

L ie s d r o w n e d w i t h us in endless n ight .

T h e n , whi le t ime serves, and w e are but decaying,

C o m e , m y Cor inna , come, let's g o a -May ing .

FRANCIS QUARLES

F R A N C I S Q U A R L E S

[ 7 5 9 2 - / 6 4 4 ]

A N ECSTASY

E'EN l ike t w o little bank-d iv id ing brooks, T h a t wash the pebbles w i t h their w a n t o n streams,

A n d hav ing ranged and search'd a thousand nooks, M e e t both at l ength in silver-breasted T h a m e s ,

W h e r e in a greater current they conjoin:

So I m y Best-beloved's a m ; so H e is mine .

E'en so w e met; and after long pursuit,

E'en so w e joined; w e both became entire;

N o need for either to renew a suit,

F o r I was flax, and H e was flames of fire:

O u r firm-united souls d id more than tw ine ;

So I m y Best-beloved's a m ; so H e is mine .

If all those gl ittering Monarchs , that c o m m a n d

T h e servile quarters of this earthly ball,

Should tender in exchange their shares of land,

I w o u l d not change m y fortunes for t h e m all:

T h e i r weal th is but a counter to m y coin:

T h e world's but theirs; but m y Beloved's m i n e .

G E O R G E H E R B E R T

[1593-1633]

LOVE

LOVE bade me we lcome; yet m y soul d r e w back,

G u i l t y of dust and sin.

B u t quick-eyed L o v e , observing m e g r o w slack

F r o m m y first entrance in,

D r e w nearer to me, sweetly quest ioning

If I lacked anyth ing .

' A guest, ' I answered, 'worthy to be here:'

L o v e said, ' Y o u shall be he.'

342 GEORGE HERBERT

'I, the u n k i n d , ungrateful? A h , m y dear,

I cannot look on T h e e . '

L o v e took m y hand and smi l ing did reply,

' W h o m a d e the eyes but I ? '

' T r u t h , L o r d ; but I have marred t h e m : let m y shame

G o where it doth deserve.'

' A n d k n o w you not,' says L o v e , ' W h o bore the b lame?'

' M y dear, then I wi l l serve.'

' Y o u must sit d o w n , ' says L o v e , 'and taste m y meat.'

S o I d id sit and eat.

2/9 VIRTUE

SWEET day , so cool, so calm, so bright! T h e bridal of the earth and s k y — T h e d e w shall w e e p thy fall to-night;

F o r thou must die.

Swee t rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer w i p e his eye, T h y root is ever in its grave ,

A n d t h o u must die.

Swee t spring, full of sweet days and roses,

A box where sweets compacted lie,

M y music shows ye have your closes,

A n d all mus t die .

O n l y a sweet and virtuous soul, L i k e season'd t imber, never gives; B u t t h o u g h the who le wor ld turn to coal,

T h e n chiefly lives.

220 T H E ELIXIR

TEACH m e , m y G o d and K i n g ,

In all things T h e e to see, A n d w h a t I do in anyth ing

T o do it as for T h e e .

GEORGE HERBERT 343

N o t rudely, as a beast

T o run into an action; B u t still to m a k e T h e e prepossest

A n d g i v e it his perfection.

A m a n that looks on glass

O n it m a y stay his eye, O r if he pleaseth, through it pass,

A n d then the heaven espy.

A l l m a y of T h e e partake

N o t h i n g can be so m e a n W h i c h w i t h his tincture, 'for T h y sake,'

W i l l not g r o w bright and clean.

A servant w i t h this clause

M a k e s drudgery div ine;

W h o sweeps a room, as for T h y laws ,

M a k e s that and the action fine.

T h i s is the famous stone

T h a t turneth all to go ld , F o r that w h i c h G o d doth touch and o w n

C a n n o t for less be told.

221 T H E COLLAR

I STRUCK the board and cried, " N o more; I wi l l abroad.

W h a t , shall I ever sigh and pine? M y lines and life are free, free as the road, Loose as the w i n d , as large as store.

Shall I be still in suit? H a v e I no harvest but a thorn T o let m e blood, and not restore W h a t I have lost w i t h cordial fruit?

Sure there was w ine Before m y sighs d id dry it; there was corn Before m y tears d id d r o w n it. Is the year only lost to m e ? H a v e I no bays to crown it?

344 GEORGE HERBERT

N o flowers, no garlands g a y ? A l l blasted? A l l wasted?

N o t so, m y heart; but there is fruit,

A n d thou hast hands. Recover all thy s igh-blown age O n double pleasure: leave thy cold dispute O f w h a t is fit and not; forsake thy cage,

T h y rope of sands W h i c h petty thoughts have m a d e , and mad e to thee G o o d cable, to enforce and draw

A n d be thy law, W h i l e thou didst w i n k and wouldst not see.

A w a y : take heed,

I wi l l abroad. C a l l in thy death's head there: tie u p thy fears.

H e that forbears T o suit and serve his need

Deserves his load." B u t as I raved and g r e w more fierce and wi ld

A t every word , M e t h o u g h t I heard one cal l ing 'Childl' A n d I replied, 'My Lord!'

222 T H E FLOWER

H o w fresh, O L o r d , h o w sweet and clean

A r e thy returns! E v ' n as the flowers in Spring,

T o w h i c h , besides their o w n demean,

T h e late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring;

Gr ie f melts a w a y

L i k e snow in M a y ,

A s if there were no such cold th ing .

W h o w o u l d have t h o u g h t m y shrivell'd heart

C o u l d have recover'd greenness? It was gone

Q u i t e under ground; as flowers depart

T o see their mother-root, w h e n they have b lown,

W h e r e they together

A l l the hard weather,

D e a d to the wor ld , keep house u n k n o w n .

GEORGE HERBERT 345 T h e s e are T h y wonders , L o r d of power ,

K i l l i n g and qu ick 'n ing , br ing ing d o w n to H e l l

A n d u p to H e a v e n in an hour;

M a k i n g a c h i m i n g of a passing bell .

W e say amiss

T h i s or that is;

T h y w o r d is all, if w e could spell.

O that I once past c h a n g i n g were, Fast in thy Paradise w h e r e no flower can wi ther!

M a n y a Spr ing I shoot u p fair, Of f ' r ing at H e a v e n , g r o w i n g and groan ing thither;

N o r doth m y flower W a n t a Spr ing shower,

M y sins and I jo in ing together.

2 2 5 EASTER SONG

I GOT me flowers to strew T h y w a y ,

I got me boughs off m a n y a tree;

B u t T h o u wast u p by break of day,

A n d brought'st T h y sweets a long w i t h T h e e .

T h e sun arising in the East ,

T h o u g h he g ive l ight and th' East perfume, If they should offer to contest

W i t h T h y arising, they presume.

C a n there be any day but this, T h o u g h m a n y suns to shine endeavour?

W e count three hundred , but w e miss: T h e r e is but one, and that one ever.

224 T H E PULLEY

WHEN G o d at first m a d e M a n ,

H a v i n g a glass of blessings s tanding b y —

L e t us (said H e ) pour on h i m all w e can;

L e t the world's riches, w h i c h dispersed lie,

Contract into a span.

H E N R Y V A U G H A N

So strength first made a w a y , T h e n beauty flow'd, then w i s d o m , honour, pleasure; W h e n almost all was out, G o d made a stay, Perce iv ing that, alone of all H i s treasure,

Rest in the bottom lay.

F o r if I should (said H e )

Bes tow this jewel also on M y creature,

H e w o u l d adore M y gifts instead of M e ,

A n d rest in N a t u r e , not the G o d of N a t u r e :

So both should losers be.

Y e t let h i m k e e p the rest, B u t k e e p t h e m w i t h repin ing restlessness; L e t h i m be rich and weary, that at least, I f goodness lead h i m not, yet weariness

M a y toss h i m to M y breast.

H E N R Y V A U G H A N

[7622-/695]

BEYOND THE VEIL

THEY are all gone into the wor ld of l ight l A n d I alone sit l inger ing here;

T h e i r very m e m o r y is fair and bright ,

A n d m y sad thoughts doth clear.

It g l o w s and glitters in m y c loudy breast,

L i k e stars u p o n some g l o o m y grove ,

O r those faint beams in w h i c h this hill is drest,

A f t e r the sun's remove .

I see t h e m w a l k i n g in an air of glory,

W h o s e l ight doth trample on m y days;

M y days , w h i c h are at best but dull and hoary,

M e r e g l immer ings and decays.

O holy H o p e , and h i g h H u m i l i t y ,

H i g h as the heavens above! T h e s e are your w a l k s , and you have showed them me

T o k indle m y cold love.

H E N R Y V A U G H A N 347

D e a r , beauteous D e a t h ! the jewel of the just,

Sh in ing nowhere but in the dark,

W h a t mysteries d o lie beyond thy dust,

C o u l d M a n outlook that m a r k !

H e that hath found some fledged bird's nest, m a y k n o w

A t first sight, if the bird be flown;

B u t what fair wel l or grove he sings in n o w ,

T h a t is to h i m u n k n o w n .

A n d yet, as A n g e l s in some brighter dreams C a l l to the soul w h e n m a n doth sleep,

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, A n d into glory peep.

If a star were confined into a t o m b ,

H e r captive flames must needs burn there; But w h e n the hand that locked her u p , g ives room,

She'll shine through all the sphere.

O Father of eternal life, and all

Created glories under T h e e ! Resume T h y spirit from this wor ld of thrall

Into true liberty.

Either disperse these mists, w h i c h blot and fill

M y perspective still, as they pass; O r else remove m e hence unto that hill

W h e r e I shall need no glass.

T H E RETREAT

HAPPY those early days , w h e n I Shined in m y A n g e l - i n f a n c y ! Before I understood this place A p p o i n t e d for m y second race, O r taught m y soul to fancy a u g h t B u t a white , celestial thought ; W h e n yet I had not w a l k ' d above A mile or t w o from m y first L o v e , A n d look ing back, at that short space

FRANCIS BACON

C o u l d see a g l impse of his bright face; W h e n on some g i lded cloud or flower

M y g a z i n g soul w o u l d dwel l an hour,

A n d in those weaker glories spy Some shadows of eternity;

Before I taught m y tongue to w o u n d

M y conscience w i t h a sinful sound,

O r had the black art to dispense

A several sin to every sense, B u t felt through all this fleshly dress Br ight shoots of everlastingness.

O h o w I l o n g to travel back , A n d tread again that ancient track! T h a t I m i g h t once more reach that plain W h e r e first I left m y glorious train; F r o m whence th' enl ighten'd spirit sees T h a t shady C i t y of P a l m trees! B u t ah! m y soul w i t h too m u c h stay Is drunk, and staggers in the w a y : — Some m e n a forward motion love, B u t I by b a c k w a r d steps w o u l d move ; A n d w h e n this dust falls to the urn, In that state I came, return.

F R A N C I S B A C O N , V I S C O U N T S T . A L B A N

[7567-/626]

LIFE

THE world's a bubble and the life of M a n

Less than a span;

In his conception wretched, from the w o m b

So to the tomb;

C u r s t f rom his cradle, and brought u p to years

W i t h cares and fears.

W h o then to frail mortality shall trust,

B u t l imns on water , or but writes in dust.

Y e t whi l s t w i t h sorrow here w e live opprest,

W h a t life is best?

J A M E S SHIRLEY 349 Courts are but only superficial schools

T o dandle fools:

T h e rural parts are turn'd into a den

O f savage m e n :

A n d where's a city from foul vice so free,

B u t m a y be termed the worst of all the three ?

Domest ic cares afflict the husband's bed, O r pains his head:

T h o s e that live single, take it for a curse

O r do th ings worse: Some w o u l d have chi ldren: those that have t h e m m o a n

O r wi sh t h e m gone : W h a t is it, then, to have , or have no wi fe , But single thraldom or a double strife?

B u t our affections still at h o m e to please

Is a disease: T o cross the seas to any foreign soil,

Peril and toil: W a r s w i t h their noise affright us: w h e n they cease,

W e are worse in peace;— W h a t then remains, but that w e still should cry F o r be ing born, or be ing born, to die?

J A M E S S H I R L E Y

[1506-1666]

T H E GLORIES OF OUR BLOOD AND STATE

THE glories of our blood and state

A r e shadows, not substantial th ings;

T h e r e is no armour against fate;

D e a t h lays his icy hand on k i n g s :

Sceptre and C r o w n

M u s t tumble d o w n ,

A n d in the dust be equal made

W i t h the poor crooked scythe and spade.

J A M E S SHIRLEY

S o m e m e n w i t h swords may reap the field,

A n d plant fresh laurels where they kil l :

B u t their strong nerves at last mus t yield;

T h e y tame but one another still:

Early or late

T h e y stoop to fate,

A n d must g ive u p their m u r m u r i n g breath

W h e n they, pale captives, creep to death.

T h e garlands wither on your brow;

T h e n boast no more your m i g h t y deeds; U p o n Death's purple altar n o w

See where the victor-victim bleeds: Y o u r heads must come T o the cold tomb;

O n l y the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.

T H E LAST CONQUEROR

VICTORIOUS m e n of earth, no more Procla im h o w w i d e your empires are;

T h o u g h you bind-in every shore A n d your tr iumphs reach as far

A s n ight or day, Y e t you , proud monarchs, must obey

A n d ming le w i t h forgotten ashes, w h e n

D e a t h calls ye to the crowd of c o m m o n men.

D e v o u r i n g F a m i n e , P lague , and W a r ,

E a c h able to undo m a n k i n d , Death's servile emissaries are;

N o r to these alone confined. H e hath at wi l l

M o r e quaint and subtle ways to ki l l ; A smile or kiss, as he wi l l use the art, Shall have the cunn ing skill to break a heart.

T H O M A S CAREW

T H O M A S C A R E W

[i595(?)-i639(?)}

T H E TRUE BEAUTY

HE that loves a rosy cheek

O r a coral l ip admires ,

O r from star-like eyes doth seek

F u e l to mainta in his fires;

A s old T i m e m a k e s these decay,

So his flames must waste a w a y .

B u t a smooth and steadfast m i n d ,

Gent l e thoughts , and ca lm desires,

Hearts w i t h equal love combined ,

K i n d l e never-dying fires:—

W h e r e these are not, I despise

L o v e l y cheeks or lips or eyes.

ASK M E N O MORE

ASK me no more where Jove bestows, W h e n June is past, the fad ing rose; F o r in your beauty's orient deep T h e s e flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

A s k me no more whither do stray T h e golden atoms of the day; F o r in pure love d id heaven prepare T h o s e powders to enrich your hair.

A s k me no more whi ther doth haste

T h e night ingale w h e n M a y is past;

For in your sweet d i v i d i n g throat

She winters and keeps w a r m her note.

A s k m e no more where those stars ' l ight T h a t d o w n w a r d s fall in dead of n ight; F o r in your eyes they sit, and there F i x e d become as in their sphere.

T H O M A S CAREW

A s k m e no more if east or west T h e Phcenix bui lds her spicy nest; F o r unto you at last she flies, A n d in your fragrant bosom dies.

KNOW, CELIA

KNOW, Ce l ia , since thou art so proud, ' T w a s I that gave thee thy renown;

T h o u hadst in the forgotten crowd O f c o m m o n beauties l ived u n k n o w n ,

H a d not m y verse extoll'd thy name,

A n d w i t h it imp'd the w i n g s of F a m e .

T h a t k i l l ing power is none of thine: I g a v e it to thy voice and eyes;

T h y sweets, thy graces, all are mine; T h o u art m y star, shin'st in m y skies;

T h e n dart not f rom thy borrowed sphere

L i g h t n i n g on h i m that fixed thee there.

T e m p t m e w i t h such affrights no more,

Lest w h a t I m a d e I uncreate; L e t fools thy mystic forms adore,

I k n o w thee in thy mortal state: W i s e poets, that w r a p t T r u t h in tales, K n e w her themselves through all her veils.

GIVE M E MORE LOVE

GIVE m e more love, or more disdain;

T h e torrid or the frozen zone B r i n g equal ease unto m y pain;

T h e temperate affords m e none:

Ei ther extreme, of love or hate,

Is sweeter than a ca lm estate.

G i v e m e a storm; if it be l ove—

L i k e D a n a e in that golden shower,

I'll s w i m in pleasure; if it prove

Di sda in , that torrent wi l l devour

SIR J O H N SUCKLING

M y vulture hopes; and he's possessed

O f heaven, that's from hell released.

T h e n crown m y joys, or cure m y pain;

G i v e me more love, or more disdain.

S I R J O H N S U C K L I N G

[1609-1642]

T H E CONSTANT LOVER

OUT upon it, I have loved T h r e e who le days together!

A n d a m like to love three more, If it prove fair weather .

T i m e shall m o u l t a w a y his w i n g s Ere he shall discover

In the whole w i d e wor ld again Such a constant lover.

B u t the spite o n ' t is, no praise Is due at all to m e :

L o v e w i th me had m a d e no stays,

H a d it any been but she.

H a d it any been but she,

A n d that very face, T h e r e had been at least ere this

A dozen dozen in her place.

W H Y so PALE AND W A N

WHY SO pale and w a n , fond lover? Prythee, w h y so pale?

W i l l , if l ook ing wel l can't m o v e her,

L o o k i n g ill prevail?

Prythee, w h y so pale?

W h y so dull and mute , y o u n g sinner? Prythee, w h y so m u t e ?

SIR W I L L I A M D'AVENANT

W i l l , w h e n speaking wel l can't w i n her,

Say ing noth ing do't?

Prythee, w h y so m u t e ?

Q u i t , quit , for shame! this wi l l not m o v e ,

T h i s cannot take her; If of hetself she wi l l not love,

N o t h i n g can m a k e her:

T h e devi l take her!

S I R W I L L I A M D ' A V E N A N T

[1606-1668]

DAWN SONG

THE lark n o w leaves his wat'ry nest, A n d c l imbing shakes his d e w y w i n g s .

H e takes this w i n d o w for the East , A n d to implore your l ight he s ings—

A w a k e , a w a k e ! the morn wi l l never rise

T i l l she can dress her beauty at your eyes.

T h e merchant bows unto the seaman's star, T h e p l o u g h m a n from the sun his season takes;

B u t still the lover wonders w h a t they are W h o look for day before his mistress wakes .

A w a k e , a w a k e ! break thro' your veils of lawn! T h e n d r a w your curtains, and begin the d a w n !

R I C H A R D L O V E L A C E

[1618-1658]

T o LUCASTA, ON GOING TO THE WARS

TELL m e not, Sweet , I a m unkind

T h a t from the nunnery

O f thy chaste breast and quiet mind ,

T o w a r and arms I fly.

RICHARD LOVELACE

T r u e , a n e w mistress n o w I chase,

T h e first foe in the field;

A n d wi th a stronger faith embrace

A sword, a horse, a shield.

Y e t this inconstancy is such A s you too shall adore;

I could not love thee, Dear , so m u c h ,

L o v e d I not H o n o u r more.

T o ALTHEA FROM PRISON

WHEN L o v e w i t h unconfined w i n g s

Hovers wi th in m y gates, A n d m y divine A l t h e a brings

T o whisper at the grates; W h e n I lie tangled in her hair

A n d fetter'd to her eye, T h e birds that w a n t o n in the air

K n o w no such liberty.

W h e n f lowing cups run swiftly round W i t h no a l lay ing T h a m e s ,

O u r careless heads w i t h roses crown'd,

O u r hearts w i t h loyal flames; W h e n thirsty grief in w ine w e steep,

W h e n healths and draughts g o free— Fishes that tipple in the deep

K n o w no such liberty.

W h e n , linnet-like confined I

W i t h shriller throat shall s ing T h e sweetness, mercy, majesty

A n d glories of m y K i n g ; W h e n I shall voice aloud h o w good

H e is, h o w great should be, En larged winds , that curl the flood,

K n o w no such liberty.

Stone walls do not a prison m a k e ,

N o r iron bars a cage;

RICHARD LOVELACE

M i n d s innocent and quiet take T h a t for an hermitage;

If I have freedom in m y love

A n d in m y soul a m free, A n g e l s alone, that soar above ,

E n j o y such liberty.

T o LUCASTA, GOING BEYOND THE SEAS

IF to be absent were to be A w a y from thee;

O r that w h e n I a m gone Y o u or I were alone;

T h e n , m y Lucasta , m i g h t I crave Pi ty from blustering w i n d , or swa l lowing w a v e .

B u t I'll not s igh one blast or gale T o swell m y sail,

O r pay a tear to 'suage T h e foaming blue god's rage;

F o r whether he wi l l let me pass O r no, I 'm still as happy as I was .

T h o u g h seas and land betwixt us both, O u r faith and troth,

L i k e separated souls, A l l t ime and space controls:

A b o v e the highest sphere w e meet Unseen , u n k n o w n , and greet as A n g e l s greet.

So then w e do anticipate O u r after-fate,

A n d are alive i' the skies, If thus our lips and eyes

C a n speak l ike spirits unconfined In H e a v e n , their earthly bodies left behind.

E D M U N D W A L L E R

E D M U N D W A L L E R

[1606-1687]

O N A GIRDLE

THAT w h i c h her slender waist confined

Shall n o w m y joyful temples b ind;

N o monarch but w o u l d g ive his c r o w n

H i s arms m i g h t do w h a t this has done.

It was m y Heaven's extremest sphere, T h e pale w h i c h held that lovely deer: M y joy, m y grief, m y hope, m y love, D i d all w i th in this circle m o v e .

A narrow compass! and yet there D w e l t all that's good , and all that's fair: G i v e me but w h a t this ribband bound, T a k e all the rest the Sun goes round.

G o , LOVELY ROSE!

G o , lovely Rose!

T e l l her, that wastes her t ime and m e ,

T h a t n o w she k n o w s ,

W h e n I resemble her to thee,

H o w sweet and fair she seems to be.

T e l l her that's y o u n g

A n d shuns to have her graces spied,

T h a t hadst thou sprung In deserts, where no m e n abide, T h o u must have u n c o m m e n d e d died.

Small is the wor th

O f beauty from the l ight retired:

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

A n d not blush so to be admired.

W I L L I A M CARTWRIGHT

T h e n die! that she T h e c o m m o n fate of all things rare

M a y read in thee: H o w small a part of t ime they share T h e y are so wondrous sweet and fair!

W I L L I A M C A R T W R I G H T

[1611-1643]

O N THE QUEEN'S RETURN FROM THE LOW COUNTRIES

HALLOW the threshold, crown the posts anew!

T h e day shall have its due. T w i s t all our victories into one bright wreath,

O n w h i c h let honour breathe: T h e n throw it round the temples of our Q u e e n ! ' T i s she that mus t preserve those glories green.

W h e n greater tempests than on sea before

Received her on the shore; W h e n she was shot at 'for the K i n g ' s o w n good'

B y legions hired to blood; H o w bravely d id she do , h o w bravely bear! A n d show'd, t h o u g h they durst rage, she durst not fear.

C o u r a g e w a s cast about her l ike a dress O f solemn comeliness:

A gather'd m i n d and an untroubled face

D i d g ive her dangers grace: T h u s , arm'd w i t h innocence, secure they move W h o s e highest 'treason' is but highest love.

J A M E S G R A H A M , M A R Q U I S O F M O N T R O S E

[1612-1650]

M Y DEAR AND ONLY LOVE

MY dear and only L o v e , I pray

T h a t little wor ld of thee

B e govern'd by no other sway

T h a n purest monarchy;

RICHARD CRASHAW

F o r if confusion have a part ( W h i c h virtuous souls abhor ) ,

A n d hold a synod in thine heart, I'll never love thee more .

L i k e A l e x a n d e r I wi l l re ign, A n d I wi l l re ign alone;

M y thoughts did evermore disdain

A rival on m y throne. H e either fears his fate too m u c h ,

O r his deserts are small , T h a t dares not put it to the touch,

T o ga in or lose it all .

A n d in the empire of thine heart,

W h e r e I should solely be, If others do pretend a part

O r dare to vie w i th m e , O r if Committees thou erect,

A n d g o on such a score, I'll l augh and sing at thy neglect ,

A n d never love thee more.

B u t if thou wi l t prove faithful then,

A n d constant of thy word , I'll m a k e thee glorious by m y pen

A n d famous by m y sword; I'll serve thee in such noble w a y s

W a s never heard before; I'll crown and deck thee all w i t h bays,

A n d love thee more and more.

R I C H A R D C R A S H A W

[I6I3(?)-I649]

WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS

WHOE'ER she be, T h a t not impossible She

T h a t shall c o m m a n d m y heart and m e ;

R I C H A R D C R A S H A W

Where 'er she lie,

L o c k ' d u p from mortal eye

In shady leaves of destiny:

T i l l that ripe birth

O f studied Fate stand forth, A n d teach her fair steps tread our earth;

T i l l that d iv ine Idea take a shrine O f crystal flesh, through w h i c h to shine:

— M e e t you her, m y Wishes ,

Bespeak her to m y blisses,

A n d be ye call'd, m y absent kisses.

I w i sh her Beauty

T h a t owes not all its duty T o g a u d y tire, or glist 'ring shoe-tie:

S o m e t h i n g more than

Taf fa ta or tissue can,

O r rampant feather, or rich fan.

A Face that's best B y its o w n beauty drest,

A n d can alone c o m m e n d the rest:

A Face m a d e u p

O u t of no other shop

T h a n w h a t Nature's whi te hand sets ope.

A C h e e k , where youth

A n d blood, w i t h pen of truth,

W r i t e w h a t the reader sweedy ru'th.

A C h e e k , where grows

More than a m o r n i n g rose,

W h i c h to no box his be ing owes.

RICHARD CRASHAW

L i p s , where all day

A lover's kiss m a y play,

Y e t carry n o t h i n g thence a w a y .

Looks , that oppress

T h e i r richest tires, but dress

A n d clothe their simplest nakedness .

Eyes , that displace

T h e neighbor d iamond , and outface

T h a t sunshine by their o w n sweet grace.

Tresses, that wear

Jewels but to declare

H o w m u c h themselves more precious are:

W h o s e native ray

C a n tame the w a n t o n day

O f gems that in their br ight shades play.

E a c h ruby there,

O r pearl that dare appear,

Be its o w n blush, be its o w n tear.

A wel l - tamed Heart ,

F o r whose more noble smart

L o v e m a y be long choosing a dart.

Eyes , that bestow

Fu l l quivers on love's b o w ,

Y e t pay less arrows than they owe .

Smiles, that can w a r m

T h e blood, yet teach a charm,

T h a t chastity shall take no h a r m .

Blushes, that b in

T h e burnish of no sin,

N o r flames of aught too hot w i th in .

RICHARD CRASHAW

Joys, that confess

V i r t u e their mistress,

A n d have n o other head to dress.

Fears , fond and slight

A s the coy bride's, w h e n n ight

First does the l ong ing lover right .

D a y s , that need borrow

N o part of their good m o r r o w

F r o m a fore-spent n ight of sorrow:

D a y s , that in spite

O f darkness, b y the l ight

O f a clear m i n d are day all n ight .

N i g h t s , sweet as they

M a d e short b y lovers' play,

Y e t l o n g b y th ' absence of day .

L i f e , that dares send

A chal lenge to his end,

A n d w h e n it comes, say, 'Welcome , friend.'

Sydneian Showers

O f sweet discourse, whose powers

C a n c r o w n old Winter 's head w i t h flowers.

Soft si lken hours,

O p e n suns, shady bowers;

'Bove all, no th ing w i t h i n that lowers.

Whate 'er de l ight

C a n m a k e D a y ' s forehead bright

O r g ive d o w n to the w i n g s of n ight .

I w i sh her store

O f wor th m a y leave her poor

O f wishes; and I w i s h — n o more.

RICHARD CRASHAW

— N o w , if T i m e k n o w s

T h a t H e r , whose radiant brows

W e a v e t h e m a gar land of m y v o w s ;

Her , whose just bays M y future hopes can raise,

A trophy to her present praise;

H e r that dares be

W h a t these lines w i s h to see: I seek no further, it is She .

' T i s She, and here L o ! I unclothe and clear

M y Wishes c loudy character.

M a y she enjoy it

W h o s e merit dare apply it. B u t modesty dares still deny it!

Such worth as this is

Shall fix m y flying Wishes ,

A n d determine t h e m to kisses.

L e t her full g lory, M y fancies, fly before ye; Be ye m y fictions:—but her story.

UPON THE BOOK AND PICTURE OF THE

SERAPHICAL SAINT TERESA

LIVE in these conquer ing leaves: l ive all the same;

A n d w a l k through all tongues one t r iumphant flame;

L i v e here, great heart; and love, and die, and ki l l :

A n d bleed, and w o u n d , and yield, and conquer still.

L e t this immortal life where'er it comes

W a l k in a crowd of loves and martyrdoms .

L e t mystic deaths w a i t on't; and wise souls be

T h e love-slain witnesses of this life of thee.

O sweet incendiary! show here thy art

U p o n this carcase of a hard cold heart;

L e t all thy scatter'd shafts of l ight , that play

T H O M A S JORDAN

A m o n g the leaves of thy large books of day, C o m b i n ' d against this breast at once break in,

A n d take a w a y from m e myself and sin;

T h i s gracious robbery shall thy bounty be

A n d m y best fortunes such fair spoils of me . O thou undaunted daughter of desires!

B y all thy dower of l ights and fires;

B y all the eagle in thee, all the dove; B y all thy l ives and deaths of love;

B y thy large draughts of intellectual day, A n d by thy thirsts of love more large than they;

B y all thy brim-filled bowls of fierce desire,

B y thy last morning's draught of l iquid fire;

B y the full k i n g d o m of that final kiss T h a t seized thy part ing soul, and sealed thee H i s ;

B y all the H e a v ' n thou hast in H i m ( F a i r sister of the seraphim!) ;

B y all of H i m w e have in thee;

L e a v e no th ing of myself in m e . L e t m e so read thy life, that I

U n t o all life of m i n e m a y die!

T H O M A S J O R D A N

[i6i2(?)-i68s]

LET US DRINK AND BE MERRY

LET US dr ink and be merry, dance, joke, and rejoice,

W i t h claret and sherry, theorbo and voice!

T h e changeable wor ld to our joy is unjust ,

A l l treasure's uncertain,

T h e n d o w n w i t h your dust! In frolics dispose your pounds , shill ings, and pence, F o r w e shall be noth ing a hundred years hence.

W e ' l l sport and be free w i t h M o l l , Betty, and Dol ly ,

H a v e oysters and lobsters to cure melancholy:

Fish-dinners wi l l m a k e a m a n spring l ike a flea,

D a m e V e n u s , love's lady,

W a s born of the sea:

W i t h her and w i t h Bacchus we'll t ickle the sense,

F o r w e shall be past it a hundred years hence.

A B R A H A M C O W L E Y 365

Y o u r most beautiful bride w h o w i t h garlands is crown'd A n d kills w i t h each g lance as she treads on the g r o u n d . W h o s e lightness and brightness doth shine in such splendour

T h a t one but the stars A r e t h o u g h t fit to attend her,

T h o u g h n o w she be pleasant and sweet to the sense, W i l l be damnable m o u l d y a hundred years hence.

T h e n w h y should w e turmoi l in cares and in fears, T u r n all our t r a n q u i l i t y to sighs and to tears?

Let 's eat, dr ink, and play till the w o r m s do corrupt us,

' T i s certain, Post mortem Nulla voluptas.

F o r health, weal th and beauty, wi t , learning and sense, M u s t all come to noth ing a hundred years hence.

A B R A H A M C O W L E Y

[1618-1667}

A SUPPLICATION

AWAKE, a w a k e , m y L y r e ! A n d tell thy silent master's h u m b l e tale

In sounds that m a y prevail; Sounds that g e n d e thoughts inspire:

T h o u g h so exalted she

A n d I so lowly be

T e l l her, such different notes m a k e all thy harmony .

H a r k , h o w the strings a w a k e : A n d , though the m o v i n g hand approach not near,

Themse lves w i th awful fear

A k ind of numerous trembl ing m a k e .

N o w all thy forces try;

N o w all thy charms apply;

R e v e n g e upon her ear the conquests of her eye.

W e a k L y r e ! thy virtue sure

Is useless here, since thou art only found

T o cure, but not to w o u n d ,

A n d she to w o u n d , but not to cure.

366 A B R A H A M C O W L E Y

T o o w e a k too wi l t thou prove

M y passion to remove;

Phys ic to other ills, thou rt nourishment to love.

Sleep, sleep again , m y L y r e !

F o r thou canst never tell m y h u m b l e tale

In sounds that wi l l prevail , N o r gentle thoughts in her inspire;

A l l thy vain mirth lay by ,

B i d thy strings silent lie, Sleep, sleep aga in , m y L y r e , and let thy master die.

(Sitting and drinking in the chair made out of the relics of Sir

Francis Drake's ship.)

CHEER up, m y mates, the w i n d does fairly b low;

C l a p on more sail, and never spare;

Farewel l , all lands, for n o w w e are In the w i d e sea of drink, and merrily w e g o .

Bless me , 'tis hot! another b o w l of w ine ,

A n d w e shall cut the burn ing L i n e : H e y , boys! she scuds a w a y , and by m y head I k n o w

W e round the wor ld are sailing n o w . W h a t dull m e n are those w h o tarry at home, W h e n abroad they m i g h t wanton ly roam,

A n d ga in such experience, and spy, too,

Such countries and wonders , as I do ! B u t pr'ythee, good pilot, take heed w h a t you do ,

A n d fail not to touch at Peru! W i t h gold there the vessel we'l l store,

A n d never, and never be poor, N o , never be poor any more.

THE thirsty earth soaks u p the rain, A n d drinks and gapes for drink again; T h e plants suck in the earth, and are W i t h constant dr ink ing fresh and fair; T h e sea itself ( w h i c h one w o u l d think

248 CHEER UP, MY MATES

249 DRINKING

A B R A H A M C O W L E Y

Should have but little need of d r i n k ) D r i n k s twice ten thousand rivers up , So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup . T h e busy Sun (and one w o u l d guess B y ' s drunken fiery face no less) D r i n k s up the sea, and w h e n h e ' s done, T h e M o o n and Stars drink u p the Sun: T h e y drink and dance by their o w n l ight , T h e y drink and revel all the n ight : N o t h i n g in Nature 's sober found, But an eternal health goes round. Fi l l u p tfie b o w l , then, fill it h i g h , F i l l all the glasses there—for w h y Should every creature drink but I ? W h y , m a n of morals, tell m e w h y ?

O N THE DEATH OF MR. WILLIAM HERVEY

IT was a dismal and a fearful n ight :

Scarce could the M o r n drive on th' u n w i l l i n g L i g h t ,

W h e n Sleep, Death's image , left m y troubled breast

B y something liker D e a t h possest. M y eyes w i t h tears did u n c o m m a n d e d flow,

A n d on m y soul h u n g the dull w e i g h t

O f some intolerable fate. W h a t bell was that? A h m e ! too m u c h I k n o w !

M y sweet companion and m y gentle peer,

W h y hast thou left m e thus unk ind ly here,

T h y end for ever and m y life to m o a n ? O , thou hast left m e all alone!

T h y soul and body, w h e n death's a g o n y Besieged around thy noble heart, D i d not w i t h more reluctance part

T h a n I, m y dearest Fr iend , do part from thee.

M y dearest Fr iend , w o u l d I had died for thee!

L i f e and this wor ld henceforth wi l l tedious be:

N o r shall I k n o w hereafter w h a t to do

If once m y griefs prove tedious too.

Silent and sad I w a l k about all day,

A B R A H A M C O W L E Y

A s sullen ghosts stalk speechless b y

W h e r e their hid treasures lie;

A l a s ! m y treasure's gone; w h y do I stay?

Say, for you saw us, ye immortal l ights,

H o w oft unwear ied have w e spent the nights ,

T i l l the Ledaean stars, so famed for love,

W o n d e r ' d at us from above!

W e spent t h e m not in toys, in lusts, or wine ;

B u t search of deep Phi losophy,

W i t , E loquence , and Poetry—

A r t s w h i c h I loved, for they, m y Fr iend, were thine

Y e fields of C a m b r i d g e , our dear C a m b r i d g e , say

H a v e ye not seen us w a l k i n g every d a y ?

W a s there a tree about w h i c h did not k n o w

T h e love betwixt us t w o ?

Henceforth , ye gentle trees, for ever fade;

O r your sad branches thicker join

A n d into darksome shades combine,

D a r k as the grave where in m y Friend is laid!

L a r g e w a s his soul: as large a soul as e'er

Submit ted to inform a body here;

H i g h as the place 'twas shordy in H e a v e n to have.

B u t l o w and humble as his grave .

So h i g h that all the virtues there did come,

A s to their chiefest seat

Conspicuous and great;

So low, that for me too it made a room.

K n o w l e d g e he only sought , and so soon caught

A s if for h i m K n o w l e d g e had rather sought;

N o r d id more learning ever crowded lie

In such a short mortality.

Whene 'er the skilful youth discoursed or wri t ,

Still did the notions throng

A b o u t his e loquent tongue;

N o r could his ink flow faster than his w i t .

ALEXANDER BROME

H i s mirth was the pure spirits of various w i t , Y e t never did his G o d or friends forget;

A n d w h e n deep talk and w i s d o m came in v i e w , Retired, and g a v e to t h e m their due .

F o r the rich help of books he a lways took, T h o u g h his o w n searching m i n d before W a s so w i th notions written o'er,

A s if wise N a t u r e had made that her book.

W i t h as m u c h zeal, devotion, piety,

H e a lways l ived, as other saints do die . Still w i th his soul severe account he kept ,

W e e p i n g all debts out ere he slept.

T h e n d o w n in peace and innocence he lay, L i k e the Sun's laborious l ight , W h i c h still in water sets at n ight ,

Unsul l ied w i t h his journey of the day .

B u t happy T h o u , ta'en from this frantic age ,

W h e r e ignorance and hypocrisy does rage!

A fitter t ime for H e a v e n no soul e'er chose— T h e place n o w only free from those.

T h e r e ' m o n g the blest thou dost for ever shine; A n d whereso'er thou casts thy v i e w U p o n that whi te and radiant crew,

See'st not a soul clothed w i t h more l ight than thine.

A L E X A N D E R B R O M E

[1620-1666]

2 5 / T H E RESOLVE

TELL me not of a face that's fair, N o r l ip and cheek that's red,

N o r of the tresses of her hair,

N o r curls in order laid, N o r of a rare seraphic voice

T h a t l ike an angel sings; T h o u g h if I were to take m y choice

I w o u l d have all these things: B u t if that thou wi l t have m e love,

3 6 9

A N D R E W M A R V E L L

A n d it mus t be a she,

T h e only argument can m o v e

Is that she wi l l love m e .

T h e glories of your ladies be B u t metaphors of things ,

A n d but resemble w h a t w e see

E a c h c o m m o n object brings. Roses out-red their lips and cheeks,

Li l ies their whiteness stain; W h a t fool is he that shadows seeks

A n d m a y the substance ga in? T h e n if thou'lt have me love a lass,

L e t it be one that's k i n d : Else I 'm a servant to the glass

T h a t ' s w i t h C a n a r y l ined.

A N D R E W M A R V E L L

[1621-1678]

A GARDEN

Written after the Civil Wars

SEE h o w the flowers, as at parade, U n d e r their colours stand display'd: E a c h reg iment in order grows , T h a t of the tul ip, p ink, and rose. B u t w h e n the vigi lant patrol O f stars w a l k s round about the pole, T h e i r leaves, that to the stalks are curl'd, Seem to their staves the ensigns furl'd. T h e n in some flower's beloved hut E a c h bee, as sentinel, is shut, A n d sleeps so too; but if once stirr'd, She runs you through, nor asks the word . O thou, that dear and happy Isle, T h e garden of the wor ld erewhile, T h o u Paradise of the four seas W h i c h H e a v e n planted us to please,

ANDREW M A R V E L L

But , to exclude the wor ld , did guard W i t h wat'ry if not f laming sword; W h a t luckless apple did w e taste T o m a k e us mortal and thee waste! U n h a p p y ! shall w e never more T h a t sweet milit ia restore, W h e n gardens only had their towers, A n d all the garrisons were flowers; W h e n roses only arms m i g h t bear, A n d m e n did rosy garlands w e a r ?

T H E PICTURE OF LITTLE T . C . IN A PROSPECT

OF FLOWERS

SEE w i t h w h a t simplicity T h i s n y m p h begins her go lden days!

In the green grass she loves to lie, A n d there w i t h her fair aspect tames T h e wi lder flowers, and gives t h e m names;

B u t only w i t h the roses plays,

A n d them does tell W h a t colour best becomes them, and w h a t smell .

W h o can foretell for w h a t h i g h cause

T h i s darl ing of the gods was born?

Y e t this is she whose chaster laws

T h e w a n t o n L o v e shall one day fear,

A n d , under her c o m m a n d severe,

See his b o w broke and ensigns torn.

H a p p y w h o can

A p p e a s e this virtuous enemy of m a n !

O then let m e in t ime c o m p o u n d

A n d parley w i t h those conquer ing eyes,

Ere they have tried their force to w o u n d ;

Ere w i th their g lanc ing wheels they drive

In tr iumph over hearts that strive,

A n d t h e m that yield but more despise:

L e t m e be laid,

W h e r e I m a y see the glories from some shade.

ANDREW M A R V E L L

M e a n t i m e , whi lst every verdant t h i n g Itself does at thy beauty charm,

R e f o r m the errors of the Spring; M a k e that the tulips may have share O f sweetness, seeing they are fair,

A n d roses of their thorns disarm;

B u t most procure T h a t violets m a y a longer age endure.

B u t O , y o u n g beauty of the woods , W h o m N a t u r e courts w i t h fruits and flowers,

Gather the flowers, but spare the buds; L e s t F lora , angry at thy crime T o kill her infants in their pr ime,

D o qu ick ly m a k e th' example yours;

A n d ere w e see,

N i p in the blossom all our hopes and thee.

HORATIAN ODE UPON CROMWELL'S RETURN

FROM IRELAND

THE forward youth that w o u l d appear,

M u s t n o w forsake his Muses dear,

N o r in the shadows sing

H i s numbers languishing .

' T i s t ime to leave the books in dust, A n d oil the unused armour's rust,

R e m o v i n g from the wa l l

T h e corslet of the hall .

So restless C r o m w e l l could not cease

I n the inglorious arts of peace,

B u t through adventurous w a r

U r g e d his active star:

A n d l ike the three-fork'd l ightning , first B r e a k i n g the clouds where it was nurst,

D i d thorough his o w n side H i s fiery w a y d iv ide:

A N D R E W M A R V E L L

F o r 'tis all one to courage h i g h .

T h e emulous , or enemy;

A n d w i t h such, to enclose

Is more than to oppose;

T h e n burn ing t h r o u g h the air he w e n t A n d palaces and temples rent;

A n d Caesar's head at last D i d through his laurels blast.

'T i s madness to resist or b lame

T h e face of angry heaven's flame:

A n d if w e w o u l d speak true, M u c h to the M a n is due

W h o , from his private gardens, where H e l ived reserved and austere,

( A s if his highest plot T o plant the b e r g a m o t ) ,

C o u l d by industrious valour c l imb T o ruin the great w o r k of t ime,

A n d cast the K i n g d o m s old

Into another m o u l d .

T h o u g h Justice against F a t e complain ,

A n d plead the ancient R ight s in v a i n —

B u t those do hold or break

A s m e n are strong or w e a k ,

N a t u r e , that hateth emptiness ,

A l l o w s of penetration less,

A n d therefore must m a k e room W h e r e greater spirits come.

W h a t field of all the civil w a r

W h e r e his were not the deepest scar?

A n d H a m p t o n shows w h a t part

H e had of wiser art,

A N D R E W M A R V E L L

W h e r e , t w i n i n g subtle fears w i t h hope,

H e w o v e a net of such a scope

T h a t Charles himself m i g h t chase T o Carisbrook's narrow case,

T h a t thence the Royal actor borne T h e tragic scaffold m i g h t adorn:

W h i l e round the armed bands D i d c lap their bloody hands.

H e noth ing c o m m o n did or m e a n U p o n that memorable scene,

B u t w i t h his keener eye

T h e axe's edge did try;

N o r call'd the G o d s , w i t h vu lgar spite, T o vindicate his helpless r ight

B u t bow'd his comely head

D o w n , as u p o n a bed.

— T h i s was that memorable hour W h i c h first assured the forced power:

So w h e n they did design T h e Capitol 's first line,

A Bleed ing H e a d , where they begun, D i d fr ight the architects to run;

A n d yet in that the State

Foresaw its happy fate!

A n d n o w the Irish are ashamed T o see themselves in one year tamed:

So m u c h one m a n can do T h a t does both act and k n o w .

T h e y can affirm his praises best,

A n d have, t h o u g h overcome, confest H o w g o o d he is, h o w just

A n d fit for highest trust;

A N D R E W M A R V E L L

N o r yet g r o w n stiffer w i t h c o m m a n d ,

B u t still in the Republic's h a n d —

H o w fit he is to sway

T h a t can so we l l obey!

H e to the C o m m o n s ' feet presents A K i n g d o m for his first year's rents,

A n d ( w h a t he m a y ) forbears H i s fame, to m a k e it theirs:

A n d has his sword and spoils ungirt

T o lay t h e m at the Public's skirt. So w h e n the falcon h i g h

Fal l s heavy from the sky,

She, h a v i n g kil l 'd, no more does search

B u t on the next green b o u g h to perch,

W h e r e , w h e n he first does lure,

T h e falconer has her sure.

— W h a t m a y not then our Isle presume W h i l e victory his crest does p l u m e ?

W h a t m a y not others fear If thus he crowns each year?

A s Caesar he, ere long , to G a u l ,

T o Italy an H a n n i b a l ,

A n d to all States not free

Shall climacteric be.

T h e Pict no shelter n o w shall find W i t h i n his parti-colour'd m i n d ,

B u t from this valour sad, Shrink underneath the p l a i d —

H a p p y , if in the tufted brake T h e Eng l i sh hunter h i m mistake,

N o r lay his hounds in near

T h e Ca ledon ian deer.

A N D R E W M A R V E L L

B u t T h o u , the W a r ' s and Fortune's son, M a r c h indefat igably on;

A n d for the last effect

Still keep the sword erect:

Besides the force it has to fr ight T h e spirits of the shady night ,

T h e same arts that did ga in A power , must it maintain.

SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA

WHERE the remote Bermudas ride

In the ocean's bosom unespied,

F r o m a small boat that row'd a long

T h e listening w i n d s received this song:

' W h a t should w e d o but sing H i s praise T h a t led us through the watery m a z e W h e r e H e the h u g e sea-monsters wracks , T h a t lift the deep upon their backs, U n t o an isle so long u n k n o w n , A n d yet far kinder than our o w n ? H e lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage: H e gave us this eternal spring W h i c h here enamels everything, A n d sends the fowls to us in care O n daily visits through the air. H e hangs in shades the orange br ight L i k e go lden lamps in a green night , A n d does in the pomegranates close Jewels more rich than O r m u s shows: H e makes the figs our mouths to meet A n d throws the melons at our feet; B u t apples plants of such a price, N o tree could ever bear them twice . W i t h cedars chosen by his hand F r o m L e b a n o n he stores the land; A n d makes the hol low seas that roar Proc la im the ambergris on shore.

A N D R E W M A R V E L L

H e cast (of w h i c h w e rather boast) T h e Gospel 's pearl u p o n our coast; A n d in these rocks for us d id frame A temple where to sound H i s n a m e . O h ! let our voice H i s praise exalt T i l l it arrive at Heaven ' s vault , W h i c h then perhaps rebounding m a y E c h o beyond the M e x i q u e bay!' — T h u s sung they in the E n g l i s h boat A holy and a cheerful note: A n d all the w a y , to g u i d e their ch ime, W i t h fal l ing oars they kept the t ime.

THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN

H o w vainly m e n themselves a m a z e T o w i n the pa lm, the oak, or bays, A n d their incessant labours see C r o w n ' d from some single herb or tree, W h o s e short and narrow-verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid; W h i l e all the flowers and trees do close T o w e a v e the garlands of Repose.

Fair Quie t , have I found thee here, A n d Innocence thy sister dear? Mis taken long, I sought you then In busy companies of m e n : Y o u r sacred plants, if here be low, O n l y a m o n g the plants wi l l g r o w : Society is all but rude T o this delicious solitude.

N o whi te nor red was ever seen So amorous as this lovely green. F o n d lovers, cruel as their flame, C u t in these trees their mistress' n a m e : Litt le , alas, they k n o w or heed H o w far these beauties her exceed! Fair trees! where'er your barks I w o u n d , N o name shall but your o w n be found.

A N D R E W M A R V E L L

W h e n w e have run our passions' heat L o v e hither makes his best retreat: T h e gods , w h o mortal beauty chase, Still in a tree d id end their race; A p o l l o hunted D a p h n e so O n l y that she m i g h t laurel g r o w ; A n d P a n did after Syrinx speed N o t as a n y m p h , but for a reed.

W h a t wondrous life is this I lead! R i p e apples drop about m y head; T h e luscious clusters of the vine U p o n m y m o u t h do crush their w i n e ; T h e nectarine and curious peach Into m y hands themselves do reach; S t u m b l i n g on melons, as I pass, Ensnared w i t h flowers, I fall on grass.

M e a n w h i l e the m i n d from pleasure less W i t h d r a w s into its happiness; T h e m i n d , that ocean where each k i n d

D o e s straight its o w n resemblance find;

Y e t it creates, transcending these, F a r other worlds , and other seas;

A n n i h i l a t i n g all that's m a d e

T o a green t h o u g h t in a green shade.

H e r e at the fountain's s l iding foot O r at some fruit-tree's mossy root, C a s t i n g the body's vest aside M y soul into the boughs does gl ide; T h e r e , l ike a bird, it sits and sings, T h e n whets and claps its silver w ings , A n d , till prepared for longer flight, W a v e s in its p lumes the various l ight .

Such was that h a p p y Garden-state

W h i l e m a n there w a l k ' d wi thout a mate:

A f t e r a place so pure and sweet,

W h a t other he lp could yet be meet!

L O V E W I L L F I N D O U T T H E W A Y

But 'twas beyond a mortal's share T o wander solitary there: T w o paradises 'twere in one, T o live in Paradise alone.

H o w wel l the skilful gardener d r e w O f flowers and herbs this dial n e w ! W h e r e , from above, the milder sun D o e s through a fragrant zodiac run: A n d , as it works , th' industrious bee C o m p u t e s its t ime as wel l as w e . H o w could such sweet and wholesome hours Be reckon'd, but w i t h herbs and flowers!

A N O N Y M O U S

LOVE W I L L FIND O U T THE W A Y

OVER the mountains

A n d over the waves ,

U n d e r the fountains

A n d under the graves;

U n d e r floods that are deepest,

W h i c h N e p t u n e obey;

O v e r rocks that are steepest

L o v e wi l l find out the w a y .

W h e r e there is no place F o r the g l o w - w o r m to lie;

W h e r e there is no space F o r receipt of a fly; W h e r e the m i d g e dares not venture

Lest herself fast she lay;

If love come, he wil l enter A n d soon find out his w a y .

Y o u m a y esteem h i m

A child for his m i g h t ; O r you m a y deem h i m

A coward from his flight;

B u t if she w h o m love doth honour

A N O N Y M O U S

B e conceal'd from the day,

Set a thousand guards upon her,

L o v e wi l l find out the w a y .

S o m e th ink to lose h im B y h a v i n g h i m confined; A n d some do suppose h im, Poor th ing , to be blind; B u t if ne'er so close ye wal l h i m , D o the best that you m a y , B l ind love, if so ye call h i m , W i l l find out his w a y .

Y o u may train the eagle T o stoop to your fist; O r you may inveigle T h e phoenix of the east; T h e lioness, ye may m o v e her T o g ive o'er her prey; B u t you'll ne'er stop a lover: H e wi l l find out his w a y .

PHILLADA FLOUTS M E

O WHAT a p lague is love!

H o w shall I bear it?

She wi l l inconstant prove,

I great ly fear it.

She so torments m y m i n d

T h a t m y strength faileth,

A n d wavers w i th the w i n d

A s a ship saileth.

Please her the best I may ,

She loves still to gainsay;

A l a c k and well-a-day!

Phi l lada flouts me .

A t the fair yesterday She did pass by m e ;

She look'd another w a y

A n d w o u l d not spy m e :

P H I L L A D A F L O U T S M E

I woo'd her for to dine,

B u t could not ge t her; W i l l had her to the w i n e —

H e m i g h t entreat her.

W i t h Danie l she did dance,

O n me she look'd askance:

0 thrice u n h a p p y chance! Phil lada flouts m e .

Fa ir maid , be not so coy, D o not disdain m e !

1 a m m y mother's joy: Sweet , entertain me!

She'll g ive me, w h e n she dies, A l l that is fitting:

H e r poultry and her bees,

A n d her goose sitting, A pair of mattrass beds, A n d a bag full of shreds; A n d yet, for all this guedes ,

Phi l lada flouts m e .

She hath a clout of mine W r o u g h t w i t h blue Coventry,

W h i c h she keeps for a s ign

O f m y fidelity: B u t i' faith, if she flinch

She shall not wear it; T o T i b , m y t'other w e n c h ,

I mean to bear it. A n d yet it grieves m y heart So soon from her to part: D e a t h strike me w i t h his dart!

Phil lada flouts m e .

T h o u shalt eat crudded cream

A l l the year lasting,

A n d drink the crystal stream

Pleasant in tasting;

W h i g and w h e y whi lst thou lust,

A N O N Y M O U S

A n d bramble-berries, Pie-lid and pastry-crust,

Pears, p lums , and cherries. T h y raiment shall be thin, M a d e of a weevil's s k i n — Y e t all's not worth a p in!

Phi l lada flouts m e .

I n the last month of M a y I m a d e her posies;

I heard her often say

T h a t she loved roses. C o w s l i p s and gillyflowers

A n d the white lily I brought to deck the bowers

F o r m y sweet Phil ly . B u t she did all disdain, A n d threw them back again; Therefore 'tis flat and plain

Phi l lada flouts m e .

Fa i r maiden , have a care, A n d in t ime take me;

I can have those as fair

If you forsake m e : F o r D o l l the dairy-maid

L a u g h ' d at me lately, A n d wanton Win i f red

F a v o u r s me greatly. O n e throws mi lk on m y clothes, T 'other plays w i th m y nose; W h a t w a n t i n g signs are those?

Phi l lada flouts me .

I cannot w o r k nor sleep

A t all in season: L o v e w o u n d s m y heart so deep

W i t h o u t all reason. I 'gin to pine a w a y

In m y love's shadow,

SIR C H A R L E S S E D L E Y 383

L i k e as a fat beast may , Penn'd in a m e a d o w .

I shall be dead, I fear, W i t h i n this thousand year: A n d all for that m y dear

Phi l lada flouts m e .

E A R L O F R O C H E S T E R

[1647-1680]

2 5 9 EPITAPH ON CHARLES II

HERE lies our Sovere ign L o r d the K i n g , W h o s e w o r d no m a n relies on,

W h o never said a foolish th ing , N o r ever d id a wise one.

S I R C H A R L E S S E D L E Y

[I639(?)-I7O,]

260 CHLORIS

A H , Chlor i s ! could I n o w but sit A s unconcern'd as w h e n

Y o u r infant beauty could beget

N o happiness or pain! W h e n I the d a w n used to admire ,

A n d praised the c o m i n g day , I l itde thought the rising fire

W o u l d take m y rest a w a y .

Y o u r charms in harmless chi ldhood lay

L i k e metals in a mine; A g e from no face takes more a w a y

T h a n youth conceal'd in thine. B u t as your charms insensibly

T o their perfection prest, So love as unperceived did fly,

A n d center'd in m y breast.

384 J O H N D R Y D E N

261 CELIA

NOT, Ce l ia , that I juster a m O r better than the rest;

F o r I w o u l d change each hour, l ike them,

W e r e not m y heart at rest.

B u t I a m tied to very thee

B y every thought I have;

T h y face I only care to see,

T h y heart I only crave.

A l l that in w o m a n is adored I n thy dear self I find—

F o r the who le sex can but afford

T h e handsome and the k ind .

W h y then should I seek further store,

A n d still m a k e love a n e w ? W h e n change itself can g ive no more,

' T i s easy to be true.

J O H N D R Y D E N

[1631-1700]

262 ODE

T o the Pious M e m o r y of the accomplished y o u n g lady, M r s . A n n e K i l l i g r e w , excellent in the t w o sister arts of Poesy and Paint ing

THOU youngest v irg in-daughter of the skies,

M a d e in the last promotion of the blest;

W h o s e pa lms , n e w p luck'd from Paradise,

M y passion w i t h your beauty g r e w ,

W h i l e C u p i d at m y heart Still as his mother favour'd you

T h r e w a n e w flaming dart: E a c h gloried in their w a n t o n part;

T o m a k e a lover, he E m p l o y ' d the utmost of his a r t —

T o m a k e a beauty, she.

J O H N D R Y D E N

In spreading branches more sublimely rise, R ich w i th immorta l green above the rest:

W h e t h e r , adopted to some ne ighbour ing star,

T h o u roll'st above us, in thy w a n d e r i n g race, O r , in procession fix'd and regular, M o v e d w i t h the heaven's majestic pace; O r , call'd to more superior bliss,

T h o u tread'st w i t h seraphims the vast abyss: W h a t e v e r happy region be thy place,

Cease thy celestial song a little space;

T h o u wi l t have t ime e n o u g h for h y m n s d iv ine , Since Heaven's eternal year is thine.

H e a r , then, a mortal M u s e thy praise rehearse, In no ignoble verse;

B u t such as thy o w n voice did practise here, W h e n thy first-fruits of Poesy were g i v e n ,

T o m a k e thyself a we lcome inmate there; W h i l e yet a y o u n g probationer,

A n d candidate of heaven.

If by traduction came thy m i n d , O u r wonder is the less, to find

A soul so charming from a stock so g o o d ; T h y father was transfused into thy blood: So wert thou born into a tuneful strain, A n early, rich, and inexhausted vein.

B u t if thy pre-existing soul

W a s form'd at first w i t h myriads more , It did through all the m i g h t y poets roll

W h o G r e e k or L a t i n laurels wore , A n d was that Sappho last, w h i c h once it was before.

If so, then cease thy flight, O heaven-born m i n d ! T h o u hast no dross to purge from thy rich ore:

N o r can thy soul a fairer mansion find,

T h a n was the beauteous frame she left beh ind:

Return, to fill or m e n d the quire of thy celestial k i n d .

M a y w e presume to say, that, at thy birth,

N e w joy was sprung in heaven as wel l as here on

earth?

J O H N D R Y D E N

F o r sure the milder planets d id combine

O n thy auspicious horoscope to shine,

A n d even the most malicious were in trine.

T h y brother-angels at thy birth

Strung each his lyre, and tuned it h igh ,

T h a t all the people of the sky M i g h t k n o w a poetess was born on earth;

A n d then, if ever, mortal ears

H a d heard the music of the spheres. A n d if no clustering swarm of bees

O n thy sweet m o u t h distill'd their go lden d e w ,

' T w a s that such vulgar miracles

H e a v e n had not leisure to renew:

F o r all the blest fraternity of love

So lemnized there thy birth, and kept thy holiday above.

O gracious G o d ! h o w far have w e Profaned thy heavenly gift of Poesy! M a d e prostitute and profligate the Muse , Debased to each obscene and impious use, W h o s e harmony w a s first ordain'd above, F o r tongues of angels and for h y m n s of love! O wretched w e ! w h y were w e hurried d o w n

T h i s lubrique and adulterate age

( N a y , added fat pollutions of our o w n ) ,

T o increase the s treaming ordures of the stage?

W h a t can w e say to excuse our second fall?

L e t this thy Vesta l , H e a v e n , atone for all!

H e r Arethus ian stream remains unsoil'd,

U n m i x ' d w i t h foreign filth, and undefiled;

H e r w i t was more than m a n , her innocence a chi ld.

A r t she had none, yet wanted none, F o r N a t u r e did that w a n t supply:

So rich in treasures of her o w n , She m i g h t our boasted stores defy:

Such noble v igour did her verse adorn, T h a t it seem'd borrow'd, where 'twas only born. H e r morals , too, were in her bosom bred,

B y great examples daily fed,

J O H N D R Y D E N 387

W h a t in the best of books, her father's life, she read.

A n d to be read herself she need not fear;

E a c h test, and every l ight , her M u s e wi l l bear,

T h o u g h Epictetus w i t h his l a m p were there.

E v e n love (for love sometimes her M u s e exprest)

W a s but a lambent flame w h i c h play'd about her breast,

L i g h t as the vapours of a m o r n i n g dream;

S o cold herself, whi l s t she such w a r m t h exprest,

' T w a s C u p i d b a t h i n g in Diana's stream. . . .

N o w all those charms, that b l o o m i n g grace,

T h e well-proportion'd shape, and beauteous face,

Shall never more be seen by mortal eyes;

In earth the much- lamented v irg in lies.

N o t wi t , nor piety could fate prevent;

N o r was the cruel destiny content

T o finish all the murder at a b l o w ,

T o sweep at once her life and beauty too;

B u t , l ike a harden'd felon, took a pride

T o w o r k more mischievously slow, A n d plunder'd first, and then destroy'd.

O double sacrilege on th ings div ine ,

T o rob the relic, and deface the shrine! B u t thus O r i n d a d ied:

H e a v e n , by the same disease d id both translate; A s equal were their souls, so equal w a s their fate.

Meant ime , her war l ike brother o n the seas

H i s w a v i n g streamers to the w i n d s displays, A n d vows for his return, w i t h va in devot ion, pays .

A h , generous youth! that w i s h forbear, T h e winds too soon wi l l w a f t thee here! Slack all thy sails, and fear to come,

A l a s ! thou know's t not, thou art wreck 'd at h o m e !

N o more shalt thou behold thy sister's face,

T h o u hast already had her last embrace.

B u t look aloft, and if thou kenn'st f rom far, A m o n g the Pleiads a n e w k indled star,

If any sparkles than the rest more bright ,

' T i s she that shines in that propitious l ight .

J O H N D R Y D E N

W h e n in mid-air the go lden t r u m p shall sound, T o raise the nations under ground;

W h e n , in the V a l l e y of Jehoshaphat, T h e j u d g i n g G o d shall close the book of Fate ,

A n d there the last assizes keep

F o r those w h o w a k e and those w h o sleep;

W h e n rattl ing bones together fly

F r o m the four corners of the sky; W h e n sinews o'er the skeletons are spread, T h o s e clothed w i t h flesh, and life inspires the dead; T h e sacred poets first shall hear the sound,

A n d foremost f rom the tomb shall bound, F o r they are cover'd w i t h the lightest ground; A n d straight, w i t h inborn v igour , on the w i n g , L i k e m o u n t i n g larks, to the n e w m o r n i n g sing. T h e r e thou, sweet Saint, before the quire shall g o , A s harbinger of H e a v e n , the w a y to show, T h e w a y w h i c h thou so wel l hast learn'd below.

SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY, GOING OUT OF THE

T O W N IN THE SPRING

ASK not the cause w h y sullen Spr ing So long delays her flowers to bear;

W h y w a r b l i n g birds forget to sing, A n d winter storms invert the year:

Chloris is gone; and fate provides

T o m a k e it Spr ing where she resides.

Chlor is is gone , the cruel fair;

She cast not back a p i ty ing eye:

B u t left her lover in despair

T o sigh, to languish, and to die:

A h ! h o w can those fair eyes endure

T o g ive the w o u n d s they wi l l not cure?

G r e a t G o d of L o v e , w h y hast thou made

A face that can all hearts c o m m a n d ,

T h a t all religions can invade,

A n d change the laws of every land?

W h e r e thou hadst placed such power before,

T h o u shouldst have m a d e her mercy more.

J O H N D R Y D E N

W h e n Chlor i s to the temple comes, A d o r i n g crowds before her fall;

She can restore the dead from tombs A n d every life but m i n e recall.

I only a m by L o v e design'd

T o be the v ic t im for m a n k i n d .

SONG FOR S T . CECILIA'S D A Y

[1687]

FROM H a r m o n y , f rom heavenly H a r m o n y

T h i s universal frame began: W h e n N a t u r e underneath a heap

O f jarring atoms lay A n d could not heave her head,

T h e tuneful voice was heard from h i g h ,

'Arise, ye more than dead!' T h e n cold, and hot, and moist, and dry In order to their stations leap,

A n d Music's power obey.

F r o m harmony, from heavenly harmony T h i s universal frame began:

F r o m harmony to harmony

T h r o u g h all the compass of the notes it ran,

T h e diapason closing full in M a n .

W h a t passion cannot Mus ic raise and que l l?

W h e n Jubal struck the chorded shell

H i s l istening brethren stood around,

A n d , wonder ing , on their faces fell

T o worship that celestial sound.

Less than a g o d they thought there could not

W i t h i n the ho l low of that shell

T h a t spoke so sweetly and so wel l .

W h a t passion cannot Mus ic raise and que l l?

T h e trumpet's loud clangor

Excites us to arms,

W i t h shrill notes of anger

A n d mortal alarms.

J O H N D R Y D E N

T h e double double double beat

O f the thunder ing d r u m

Cries ' H a r k ! the foes come;

C h a r g e , charge , 'tis too late to retreat!'

T h e soft compla in ing flute

In d y i n g notes discovers

T h e woes of hopeless lovers,

W h o s e dirge is whisper'd by the warb l ing lute.

Sharp violins procla im T h e i r jealous pangs and desperation, F u r y , frantic indignat ion, D e p t h of pains, and height of passion

F o r the fair disdainful dame.

B u t oh! w h a t art can teach, W h a t h u m a n voice can reach

T h e sacred organ's praise? N o t e s inspiring holy love, N o t e s that w i n g their heavenly w a y s

T o m e n d the choirs above.

O r p h e u s could lead the savage race, A n d trees unrooted left their place

Sequacious of the lyre: B u t bright Ceci l ia raised the wonder higher; W h e n to her O r g a n vocal breath was g iven A n A n g e l heard, and straight appear'd—

M i s t a k i n g E a r t h for H e a v e n .

Grand Chorus

A s from the power of sacred lays

T h e spheres began to move ,

A n d sung the great Creator's praise

T o all the blest above;

So w h e n the last and dreadful hour

T h i s crumbl ing pageant shall devour,

T h e trumpet shall be heard on h igh ,

T h e dead shall l ive, the l iv ing die,

A n d M u s i c shall untune the sky.

J O H N D R Y D E N

ALEXANDER'S FEAST

OR THE POWER OF MUSIC; AN ODE IN HONOR

OF ST. CECILIA'S DAY

I

T WAS at the royal feast, for Persia w o n

B y Philip's war l ike son:

A l o f t in awfu l state

T h e godl ike hero sate

O n his imperial throne:

H i s valiant peers were plac'd around;

T h e i r brows w i t h roses and w i t h myrtles b o u n d :

(So should desert in arms be crown'd . )

T h e lovely T h a i s , by his side,

Sate l ike a b l o o m i n g Eastern bride

In flow'r of youth and beauty's pride.

H a p p y , happy , happy pair!

N o n e but the brave,

N o n e but the brave,

N o n e but the brave deserves the fair!

CHORUS Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave, None but the brave, None but the brave deserves the fair!

ir

T i m o t h e u s , plac'd on h i g h A m i d the tuneful choir, W i t h flying fingers touch'd the lyre: T h e trembl ing notes ascend the sky, A n d heav'nly joys inspire. T h e song began from Jove, W h o left his blissful seats above, Such is the pow'r of m i g h t y love . A dragon's fiery form belied the g o d : Subl ime on radiant spires he rode, W h e n he to fair O l y m p i a press'd;

J O H N D R Y D E N

A n d whi le he sought her snowy breast:

T h e n , round her slender waist he curl'd,

A n d stamp'd an i m a g e of himself, a sov'reign of the

wor ld .

T h e l ist'ning crowd admire the lofty sound;

" A present deity," they shout around;

" A present deity," the vaulted roofs rebound:

W i t h ravish'd ears

T h e monarch hears,

A s s u m e s the g o d ,

Affects to nod,

A n d seems to shake the spheres.

CHORUS

With ravish'd ears The monarch hears. Assumes the god, Affects to nod,

And seems to shake the spheres.

in T h e praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician

sung,

O f Bacchus ever fair and ever y o u n g :

T h e jolly g o d in t r iumph comes;

Sound the trumpets; beat the drums;

Flush'd w i t h a purple grace

H e shews his honest face:

N o w g ive the hautboys breath; he comes, he comes.

Bacchus, ever fair and y o u n g ,

D r i n k i n g joys d id first ordain;

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure,

D r i n k i n g is the soldier's pleasure:

R i c h the treasure,

Sweet the pleasure,

Sweet is pleasure after pain.

CHORUS

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure:

J O H N D R Y D E N

Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain.

IV

Sooth'd w i th the sound, the k i n g g r e w vain; F o u g h t all his battles o'er again; A n d thrice he routed all his foes; and thrice he

slew the slain. T h e master saw the madness rise; H i s g l o w i n g cheeks, his ardent eyes; A n d , whi le he heav'n and earth defied, C h a n g ' d his hand, and check'd his pride . H e chose a mournfu l M u s e , Soft pity to infuse. H e sung D a r i u s great and g o o d , B y too severe a fate, Fal len, fallen, fallen, fallen, Fal len from his h i g h estate, A n d welt 'r ing in his blood; Deserted, at his utmost need, B y those his former bounty fed; O n the bare earth expos'd he lies, W i t h not a friend to close his eyes.

— W i t h downcast looks the joyless victor sate,

R e v o l v i n g in his alter'd soul

T h e various turns of chance be low;

A n d , n o w and then, a s igh he stole;

A n d tears began to flow.

CHORUS

Revolving in his alter'd soul The various turns of chance below; And, now and then, a sigh he stole; And tears began to flow.

v

T h e m i g h t y master smil'd, to see

T h a t love was in the next degree:

J O H N D R Y D E N

' T w a s but a kindred-sound to m o v e ,

F o r pity melts the mind to love.

Softly sweet, in L y d i a n measures,

Soon he sooth'd his soul to pleasures.

" W a r , " he sung, "is toil and trouble;

H o n o r , but an empty bubble;

N e v e r end ing , still beg inning ,

F i g h t i n g still, and still destroying:

If the wor ld be worth thy w i n n i n g ,

T h i n k , O th ink it wor th enjoying;

L o v e l y T h a i s sits beside thee,

T a k e the good the gods provide thee."

— T h e m a n y rend the skies w i t h loud applause;

So love was crown'd, but Mus ic w o n the cause.

T h e prince, unable to conceal his pain,

G a z ' d on the fair

W h o caus'd his care, A n d sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd,

S igh'd and look'd, and sigh'd aga in: A t l ength , w i t h love and wine at once oppress'd,

T h e vanquish'd victor sunk upon her breast.

CHORUS

The prince, unable to conceal his pain, Gaz'd on the fair Who caus'd his care, And sigh'd and loo\'d, sigh'd and look'd, Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again: At length, with love and wine at once oppress'd, The vanquish'd victor sunk^ upon her breast.

VI

N o w strike the go lden lyre aga in: A louder yet, and yet a louder strain. Break his bands of sleep asunder, A n d rouse h i m , l ike a rattling peal of thunder. H a r k , hark, the horrid sound H a s rais'd u p his head:

J O H N D R Y D E N 395

A s a w a k ' d from the dead,

A n d amaz 'd , he stares around.

"Revenge , revenge!" T i m o t h e u s cries,

"See the Furies arise!

See the snakes that they rear,

H o w they hiss in their hair,

A n d the sparkles that flash from their eyes!

Behold a ghastly band,

E a c h a torch in his hand!

T h o s e are Grec ian ghosts, that in batde were slain,

A n d unburied remain

Inglorious on the plain:

G i v e the vengeance due

T o the valiant crew.

Behold h o w they toss their torches on h i g h ,

H o w they point to the Persian abodes,

A n d glitt 'ring temples of their hostile gods!"

— T h e princes applaud, w i t h a furious joy;

A n d the k i n g seiz'd a flambeau wi th zeal to destroy;

T h a i s led the w a y ,

T o l ight h i m to his prey,

A n d , l ike another H e l e n , fir'd another T r o y .

CHORUS

And the king seiz'd a flambeau with zeal to destroy; Thais led the way, To light him to his prey, And, like another Helen, fir'd another Troy.

vn

— T h u s , l o n g a g o ,

Ere heav ing bel lows learn'd to b l o w ,

W h i l e organs yet were mute ;

T i m o t h e u s , to his breathing flute,

A n d sounding lyre,

C o u l d swell the soul to rage, or k indle soft desire.

A t last, d iv ine Ceci l ia came,

Inventress of the vocal frame;

T h e sweet enthusiast, f rom her sacred store,

M A T T H E W P R I O R

Enlarg 'd the former narrow bounds, A n d added length to solemn sounds,

W i t h nature's mother wit , and arts u n k n o w n before. L e t old T i m o t h e u s yield the prize,

O r both div ide the crown; H e rais'd a mortal to the skies;

She drew an angel d o w n .

GRAND CHORUS

At last, divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize. Or both divide the crown; He rais'd a mortal to the s\ies; She drew an angel down.

O N MILTON

THREE poets, in three distant ages born, Greece , Italy and E n g l a n d did adorn. T h e first in loftiness of thought surpassed; T h e next in majesty; in both the last. T h e force of nature could no further go ; T o m a k e a third, she joined the former t w o .

M A T T H E W P R I O R

[1664-1721]

T o A CHILD OF QUALITY

Five Years Old, 1704. The Author then Forty

LORDS, kn ights , and squires, the numerous band

T h a t wear the fair Miss Mary's fetters,

W e r e s u m m o n e d by her h i g h c o m m a n d

T o show their passions by their letters.

M A T T H E W P R I O R

M y pen amongst the rest I took,

Lest those bright eyes, that cannot read, Should dart their k i n d l i n g fires, and look

T h e power they have to be obey'd.

N o r quality, nor reputation,

Forbid me yet m y flame to tell;

D e a r Five-years-old befriends m y passion,

A n d I m a y wri te till she can spell.

For , whi le she m a k e s her s i lkworm beds W i t h all the tender th ings I swear;

W h i l s t all the house m y passion reads, In papers round her baby's hair;

She may receive and o w n m y flame;

For , t h o u g h the strictest prudes should k n o w

She'll pass for a most virtuous dame ,

A n d I for an u n h a p p y poet.

T h e n , too, alas! w h e n she shall tear T h e rhymes some younger rival sends,

She'll g ive m e leave to write , I fear, A n d w e shall still continue friends.

For , as our different ages m o v e , 'T i s so ordain'd ( w o u l d Fate but m e n d i t ! ) ,

T h a t I shall be past m a k i n g love

W h e n she begins to comprehend it.

CLOE

THE merchant , to secure his treasure, C o n v e y s it in a borrow'd name:

Euphe l ia serves to grace m y measure, B u t C l o e is m y real flame.

M y softest verse, m y darl ing lyre

U p o n Euphel ia's toilet l a y —

W h e n C l o e noted her desire

T h a t I should sing, that I should play .

L A D Y G R I S E L B A I L L I E

M y lyre I tune, m y voice I raise,

B u t w i t h m y numbers m i x m y sighs;

A n d whi lst I sing Euphel ia's praise,

I fix m y soul on Cloe's eyes.

Fa ir C l o e blush'd: Euphe l ia frown'd:

I sung, and g a z e d ; I play'd, and trembled:

A n d V e n u s to the L o v e s around

R e m a r k ' d h o w ill w e all dissembled.

T H E DYING ADRIAN TO H I S SOUL

POOR, little, pretty, fluttering th ing ,

M u s t w e no longer l ive together? A n d dost thou prune thy trembl ing w i n g ,

T o take thy flight thou knowst not whi ther? T h y humorous vein, thy pleasing folly,

L ies all neglected, all forgot: A n d pensive, w a v e r i n g , melancholy ,

T h o u dread'st and hop'st thou know'st not what .

EPIGRAM

T o JOHN I o w e d great obligation;

B u t John unhappi ly thought fit T o publish it to all the nation,

Sure John and I are more than quit .

I S A A C W A T T S

[1674-1748] TRUE GREATNESS

WERE I so tall to reach the pole

O r grasp the ocean w i t h m y span,

I must be measured by m y soul:

T h e mind's the standard of the m a n .

L A D Y G R I S E L B A I L L I E

[1665-1746]

WERENA M Y HEART LICHT I W A D D E E

THERE ance was a m a y , 1 and she lo'ed na men;

She b i g g i t 2 her bonnie bow'r doun in yon glen; 1 Maid. 2 Built.

L A D Y G R I S E L B A I L L I E 399

B u t n o w she cries, D o o l and well-a-day!

C o m e doun the green g a i t 3 and come here a w a y !

W h e n bonnie y o u n g Johnnie c a m o w r e 4 the sea,

H e said he saw naeth ing sae lovely as me;

H e hecht 5 me baith rings and m o n y braw t h i n g s —

A n d werena m y heart l icht, I w a d dee.

H e had a wee t i t ty 6 that lo'ed na me ,

Because I was twice as bonnie as she; She raised sic a pother ' twixt h i m and his mother

T h a t werena m y heart's l icht, I w a d dee.

T h e day it was set, and the bridal to be : T h e wi fe took a d w a m 7 and lay doun to dee;

She m a n e d 8 and she g r a n e d 9 out o' dolour and pain,

T i l l he v o w ' d he never w a d see m e aga in .

H i s k in was for ane of a higher degree, S a i d — W h a t had he do w i ' the l ikes of m e ? A p p o s e 1 0 I was bonnie, I wasna for Johnnie— A n d werena m y heart l icht, I w a d dee.

T h e y said I had neither c o w nor calf, N o r dribbles o' drink rins thro' the draff, 1 1

N o r p ick les 1 2 o' meal rins thro' the mil l-e'e— A n d werena m y heart l icht, I w a d dee.

H i s titty she was baith wyl i e and slee: 1 3

She spied m e as I c a m owre the lea;

A n d then she ran in and m a d e a loud d i n —

Believe your ain e'en, an ye trow not me .

H i s bonnet stood ay fu' round on his brow,

H i s auld ane look'd ay as wel l as some's n e w :

But n o w he le t s ' t wear ony gait it wi l l h ing ,

A n d casts himsel d o w i e 1 4 upon the corn b i n g . 1 5

A n d n o w he gaes daund'r ing about the d y k e s , 1 6

A n d a' he d o w do is to h u n d the t y k e s : 1 7

T h e live-lang nicht he ne'er s teeks 1 8 his e'e—

A n d werena m y heart licht, I w a d dee. 3 Path. 4 Over. 5 Promised. 6 Sister. 'Sudden illness. 8 Moaned. 9 Groaned.

1 0 Suppose. 1 1 Malt. 1 2 Small quantities. 1 3 Sly. 1 4 Dejected. 1 5 Bin. 1 6 Stone walls. 1 7 Hunt the dogs. 1 8 Closes.

J O S E P H A D D I S O N

Going arm-in-arm.

W e r e I but y o u n g for thee, as I hae been,

W e should hae been gal lopin' doun in yon green,

A n d l i n k i n ' 1 9 it owre the l i ly-white lea—

A n d w o w , g i n I were but y o u n g for thee!

J O S E P H A D D I S O N

[ 7 6 7 2 - / 7 / 9 ]

H Y M N

T H E spacious f irmament on h igh , W i t h all the blue ethereal sky, A n d spangled heavens, a shining frame,

T h e i r great Or ig ina l proclaim.

T h ' unwearied Sun from day to day

D o e s his Creator's power display;

A n d publishes to every land

T h e w o r k of an A l m i g h t y hand .

Soon as the even ing shades prevail, T h e M o o n takes up the wondrous tale; A n d night ly to the l istening Earth Repeats the story of her birth: W h i l s t all the stars that round her burn, A n d all the planets in their turn, C o n f i r m the t idings as they roll, A n d spread the truth from pole to pole.

W h a t t h o u g h in solemn silence all M o v e round the dark terrestrial ball; W h a t t h o u g h nor real voice nor sound A m i d s t their radiant orbs be found? In Reason's ear they all rejoice, A n d utter forth a glorious voice; F o r ever s inging as they shine, ' T h e H a n d that m a d e us is divine. '

A L L A N R A M S A Y 401

A L L A N R A M S A Y

[1686-1758]

2J4 PEGGY

M Y P e g g y is a y o u n g thing , Just enter'd in her teens,

Fa ir as the day, and sweet as M a y , Fair as the day, and a lways gay ;

M y P e g g y is a y o u n g thing ,

A n d I 'm not very auld, Y e t wel l I l ike to meet her at

T h e w a w k i n g 1 of the fau ld . 2

M y P e g g y speaks sae sweedy Whene 'er w e meet alane,

I wish nae mair to lay m y care, I, wish nae mair of a' that's rare;

M y P e g g y speaks sae sweetly,

T o a' the l a v e 3 I 'm cauld, B u t she gars 4 a' m y spirits g l o w

A t w a w k i n g of the fauld.

M y P e g g y smiles sae k ind ly Whene 'er I whisper love,

T h a t I look d o w n on a' the t o w n , T h a t I look d o w n upon a crown;

M y P e g g y smiles sae k indly ,

It makes m e blyth and bauld, A n d naething g ives me sic de l ight

A s w a w k i n g of the fauld.

M y P e g g y sings sae safdy

W h e n on m y pipe I play,

B y a' the rest it is confest,

B y a' the rest, that she sings best;

M y P e g g y sings sae saftly,

A n d in her sangs are tauld

W i t h innocence the w a l e 5 of sense,

A t w a w k i n g of the fauld.

'Watching. 2 Sheep-fold. 3 Rest. 4 Makes. 5 Choice.

J O H N G A Y

J O H N G A Y

[1685-1732]

LOVE IN H E R EYES SITS PLAYING

LOVE in her eyes sits p lay ing , A n d sheds delicious death;

L o v e in her lips is straying,

A n d w a r b l i n g in her breath; L o v e on her breast sits pant ing ,

A n d swells w i t h soft desire: N o r grace, nor charm, is w a n t i n g

T o set the heart on fire.

BLACK-EYED SUSAN

ALL in the D o w n s the fleet w a s moor'd, T h e streamers w a v i n g in the w i n d ,

W h e n black-eyed Susan c a m e aboard;

' O ! w h e r e shall I m y true-love find? T e l l m e , ye jovial sailors, tell m e true If m y sweet W i l l i a m sails a m o n g the crew.'

W i l l i a m , w h o h i g h u p o n the yard

R o c k ' d w i t h the bi l low to and fro, Soon as her w e l l - k n o w n voice he heard

H e sigh'd, and cast his eyes be low: T h e cord slides s w i f d y t h r o u g h his g l o w i n g hands, A n d q u i c k as l i g h t n i n g on the deck he stands.

S o the sweet lark, h i g h poised in air, Shuts close his pinions to his breast

If chance his mate's shrill call he hear,

A n d drops at once into her nest:— T h e noblest captain in the British fleet M i g h t e n v y W i l l i a m ' s l ip those kisses sweet.

' O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, M y v o w s shall ever true remain;

L e t m e kiss off that fa l l ing tear;

W e only part to mee t aga in .

H E N R Y C A R E Y 403

C h a n g e as ye list, ye w inds ; m y heart shall be

T h e faithful compass that still points to thee.

'Believe not w h a t the landmen say

W h o tempt w i t h doubts thy constant m i n d :

T h e y ' l l tell thee, sailors, w h e n a w a y ,

In every port a mistress find:

Y e s , yes, believe t h e m w h e n they tell thee so,

F o r T h o u art present wheresoe'er I g o .

'If to fair India's coast w e sail,

T h y eyes are seen in d iamonds bright , T h y breath is Afr ic ' s spicy gale,

T h y skin is ivory so whi te .

T h u s every beauteous object that I v i e w W a k e s in m y soul some c h a r m of lovely Sue.

' T h o u g h batde call m e from thy arms

L e t not m y pretty Susan mourn; T h o u g h cannons roar, yet safe from harms

W i l l i a m shall to his D e a r return. L o v e turns aside the balls that round m e fly, Les t precious tears should drop from Susan's eye:

T h e boatswain g a v e the dreadful w o r d , T h e sails their swel l ing bosom spread,

N o longer must she stay aboard; T h e y kiss'd, she sigh'd, he h u n g his head.

H e r lessening boat u n w i l l i n g rows to land; 'Adieu! ' she cries; and w a v e d her lily hand .

H E N R Y C A R E Y

[d. 1743]

277 SALLY IN O U R ALLEY

O F all the girls that are so smart

There's none l ike pretty Sally;

She is the dar l ing of m y heart,

A n d she l ives in our alley.

H E N R Y C A R E Y

T h e r e is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally;

She is the darl ing of m y heart,

A n d she lives in our alley.

H e r father he m a k e s cabbage-nets

A n d through the streets does cry 'em;

H e r mother she sells laces long

T o such as please to buy 'em:

B u t sure such folks could ne'er beget

So sweet a girl as Sally!

She is the darl ing of m y heart,

A n d she lives in our alley.

W h e n she is by , I leave m y work ,

I love her so sincerely; M y master comes l ike any T u r k ,

A n d bangs m e most severely— B u t let h i m b a n g his bellyfull ,

I'll bear it all for Sally; She is the dar l ing of m y heart,

A n d she lives in our alley.

O f all the days that's in the w e e k I dearly love but one d a y —

A n d that's the day that comes betwixt

A Saturday and M o n d a y ; F o r then I 'm drest all in m y best

T o w a l k abroad w i t h Sally; She is the darl ing of m y heart,

A n d she lives in our alley.

M y master carries m e to church,

A n d often a m I blamed Because I leave h i m in the lurch

A s soon as text is named; I leave the church in sermon-time

A n d slink a w a y to Sally; She is the dar l ing of m y heart,

A n d she lives in our alley.

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

W h e n Chr i s tmas comes about again

O then I shall have money; I'll hoard it u p , and box it all,

I'll g i v e it to m y honey; I w o u l d it were ten thousand pound ,

I'd g ive it all to Sally; She is the dar l ing of m y heart,

A n d she l ives in our alley.

M y master and the neighbours all M a k e g a m e of m e and Sally,

A n d , but for her, I'd better be

A slave and r o w a gal ley; B u t w h e n m y seven long years are out

O then I'll marry Sal ly ,— O then we'l l w e d , and then we'l l bed,

But not in our alley!

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

[1688-1744]

SOLITUDE

HAPPY the m a n , whose wi sh and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air

In his o w n ground .

W h o s e herds w i t h m i l k , whose fields w i t h bread, W h o s e flocks supply h i m wi th attire; W h o s e trees in summer yield h i m shade,

In winter fire.

Blest, w h o can unconcern'dly find

Hours , days, and years, slide soft a w a y

In health of body, peace of m i n d ,

Q u i e t by day.

Sound sleep by night; study and ease

T o g e t h e r mix'd , sweet recreation,

A n d innocence, w h i c h most does please

W i t h meditat ion.

406 A L E X A N D E R P O P E

2 7 9 O N A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT

[Henrietta Howard, Countess of Suffolk]

I KNOW a th ing that's most u n c o m m o n

( E n v y , be silent, and a t t e n d ) ;

I k n o w a reasonable w o m a n ,

H a n d s o m e and wi t ty , yet a friend.

N o t warped by passion, a w e d by rumour,

N o t grave through pride, or g a y through folly;

A n equal mixture of good humour ,

A n d sensible soft melancholy .

'Has she no faults then,' E n v y says, 'S ir? '

Yes , she has one, I must aver: W h e n all the wor ld conspires to praise her

T h e woman's deaf, and does not hear!

A N E S S A Y O N M A N

T o H . S T . JOHN, L . BOLINGBROKE

T H E D E S I G N

HAVING proposed to write some pieces on h u m a n life and manners,

such as ( to use m y lord Bacon's expression) came home to men's business

and bosoms, I thought it more satisfactory to begin w i th considering M a n

in the abstract, his nature and his state; since, to prove any moral duty,

to enforce any moral precept, or to examine the perfection or imperfection

of any creature whatsoever, it is necessary first to k n o w what condition

and relation it is placed in, and w h a t is the proper end and purpose of

its be ing .

T h e science of h u m a n nature is, l ike all other sciences, reduced to a

f e w clear points: there are not m a n y certain truths in this wor ld . It is

therefore in the anatomy of the m i n d as in that of the body; more good

wi l l accrue to m a n k i n d by attending to the large, open, and perceptible

parts, than by s tudying too m u c h such finer nerves and vessels, the con-

T h u s let m e live, unseen, u n k n o w n ;

T h u s unlamented let m e die;

Steal f rom the wor ld , and not a stone

T e l l where I lie.

A L E X A N D E R P O P E 407

formations and uses of w h i c h wi l l for ever escape our observation. T h e disputes are all upon these last, and I wi l l venture to say, they have less sharpened the wits than the hearts of m e n against each other, and have diminished the practice, more than advanced the theory of moral i ty . If I could flatter myself that this Essay has any merit , it is in steering betwixt the extremes of doctrines seemingly opposite, in passing over terms utterly unintell igible, and in f o r m i n g a temperate yet not incon­sistent, and a short yet not imperfect, system of ethics.

T h i s I m i g h t have done in prose; but I chose verse, and even r h y m e , for t w o reasons. T h e one wi l l appear obvious; that principles, m a x i m s , or precepts so written, both strike the reader more strongly at first, and are more easily retained by h i m afterwards: the other m a y seem o d d , but it is true; I found I could express t h e m more shortly this w a y t h a n in prose itself; and noth ing is more certain, than that m u c h of the force as well as grace of arguments or instructions depends on their con­ciseness. I was unable to treat this part of m y subject more in detai l , w i thout becoming dry and tedious; or more poetically, w i t h o u t sacrificing perspicuity to ornament, w i t h o u t w a n d e r i n g from the precision, or breaking the chain of reasoning. If any m a n can unite all these w i t h o u t any d iminut ion of any of them, I freely confess he wi l l compass a t h i n g above m y capacity.

W h a t is n o w published, is only to be considered as a general m a p of M a n , m a r k i n g out no more than the greater parts, their extent, their limits, and their connection, but l eav ing the particular to be more ful ly delineated in the charts w h i c h are to fol low. Consequent ly , these Epist les in their progress ( if I have health and leisure to m a k e any progress) w i l l be less dry, and more susceptible of poetical ornament . I a m here only opening the fountains, and clearing the passage. T o deduce the rivers, to follow them in their course, and to observe their effects, m a y be a task more agreeable.

EPISTLE I — O p THE NATURE AND STATE OF MAN, WITH RESPECT TO THE

UNIVERSE

AWAKE, m y St. John! leave all meaner th ings

T o l o w ambit ion, and the pride of k i n g s .

L e t us (since life can little more supply

T h a n just to look about us, and to d ie )

Expat iate free o'er all this scene of m a n ;

A m i g h t y m a z e ! but not w i t h o u t a plan;

A wi ld , where weeds and flow'rs promiscuous shoot;

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

O r garden , t empt ing w i t h forbidden fruit. T o g e t h e r let us beat this ample field, T r y w h a t the open, w h a t the covert yield! T h e latent tracts, the g i d d y heights, explore O f all w h o bl indly creep, or sightless soar; E y e nature's w a l k s , shoot folly as it flies, A n d catch the manners l iv ing as they rise: L a u g h where w e must , be candid where w e can; B u t vindicate the w a y s of G o d to m a n .

I . Say first, of G o d above, or m a n below, W h a t can w e reason, but from w h a t w e k n o w ? O f m a n , w h a t see w e but his station here, F r o m w h i c h to reason, or to w h i c h refer?

T h r o ' wor lds unnumber 'd tho' the G o d be k n o w n ,

'T i s ours to trace h i m only in our o w n .

H e , w h o thro' vast immensity can pierce, See worlds on worlds compose one universe,

Observe h o w system into system runs,

W h a t other planets circle other suns.

W h a t vary'd be ing peoples every star, M a y tell w h y heav'n has made us as w e are.

B u t of this frame the bearings and the ties,

T h e strong connections, nice dependencies,

Gradat ions just, has thy pervading soul

L o o k ' d thro' or can a part contain the who le?

Is the great chain, that draws all to agree, A n d d r a w n support, upheld by G o d , or thee?

I I . Presumptuous m a n ! the reason wouldst thou find, W h y form'd so w e a k , so little, and so bl ind?

First , if thou canst, the harder reason guess, W h y form'd no weaker , blinder, and no less? A s k of thy mother earth, w h y oaks are m a d e Ta l l er or stronger than the weeds they shade? O r ask of yonder argent fields above, W h y Jove's Satellites are less than Jove?

O f systems possible, if 'tis confest T h a t w i s d o m infinite must form the best, W h e r e all must full or not coherent be, A n d all that rises, rise in due degree; T h e n , in the scale of reas'ning life, 'tis plain,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E 409

T h e r e must be, somewhere, such a rank as m a n : A n d all the question (wrang le e'er so l o n g ) Is only this, if G o d has plac'd h i m w r o n g ?

Respect ing m a n whatever w r o n g w e call, M a y , must be r ight , as relative to all . In human works , tho' labour'd on w i t h pain, A thousand m o v e m e n t s scarce one purpose ga in ; In God's , one single can its end produce; Y e t serves to second too some other use. So man, w h o here seems principal alone, Perhaps acts second to some sphere u n k n o w n , T o u c h e s some whee l , or verges to some goal ; 'T i s but a part w e see, and not a w h o l e .

W h e n the proud steed shall k n o w w h y m a n restrains H i s fiery course, or drives h i m o'er the plains; W h e n the dull ox, w h y n o w he breaks the clod, Is n o w a v ict im, and n o w ^Egypt's g o d : T h e n shall man's pride and dullness comprehend H i s actions', passions', being's, use and end; W h y doing , suff'ring, check'd, impel l 'd; and w h y T h i s hour a slave, the next a deity.

T h e n say not man's imperfect, heav'n in fault; Say rather, man's as perfect as he ought : H i s k n o w l e d g e measur'd to his state and place; H i s t ime a m o m e n t , and a point his space. If to be perfect in a certain sphere, W h a t matter, soon or late, or here or there? T h e blest to-day is as completely so, A s w h o began a thousand years ago .

III . H e a v ' n from all creatures hides the book of fate, A l l but the page prescrib'd, their present state: F r o m brutes w h a t men , from m e n w h a t spirits k n o w : O r w h o could suffer be ing here be low? T h e lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to-day, H a d he thy reason, w o u l d he skip and p lay? Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food, A n d licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood. O h blindness to the future! k ind ly g iv 'n , T h a t each m a y fill the circle mark'd by heav'n: W h o sees w i t h equal eye, as G o d of all,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,

A t o m s or systems into ruin hurl'd,

A n d n o w a bubble burst, and n o w a wor ld .

H o p e h u m b l y then; w i t h trembl ing pinions soar; W a i t the great teacher death, and G o d adore. W h a t future bliss, he gives not thee to k n o w , B u t g ives that hope to be thy blessing n o w . H o p e springs eternal in the h u m a n breast: M a n never is, but a lways to be blest: T h e soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.

L o , the poor Indian! whose untutor'd mind Sees G o d in clouds, or hears h i m in the w i n d ; H i s soul, proud science never taught to stray F a r as the solar w a l k , or m i l k y w a y ; Y e t simple nature to his hope has g iv 'n , Beh ind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heav'n; S o m e safer wor ld in depth of woods embrac'd, S o m e happier island in the wat'ry waste, W h e r e slaves once more their native land behold, N o fiends torment , no Christ ians thirst for go ld . T o Be , contents his natural desire, H e asks no angel's w i n g , no seraph's fire; B u t th inks admitted to that equal sky, H i s faithful d o g shall bear h i m company.

I V . G o , wiser thou! and in thy scale of sense, W e i g h thy opinion against providence; C a l l imperfection w h a t thou fancy'st such, Say, here he g ives too little, there too m u c h : Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, Y e t cry, If man's unhappy , G o d ' s unjust; If m a n alone ingross not Heav'n's h igh care, A l o n e m a d e perfect here, immortal there: Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod, Re- judge his justice, be the G o d of G o d . In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies; A l l qu i t their sphere, and rush into the skies. Pride still is a i m i n g at the blest abodes, M e n w o u l d be angels , angels w o u l d be gods . A s p i r i n g to be gods , if angels fell,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

A s p i r i n g to be angels, m e n rebel:

A n d w h o but wishes to invert the laws O f order, sins against th' eternal cause.

V . A s k for w h a t end the heav'nly bodies shine, Earth for whose use? pride answers, ' ' T i s for m i n e : F o r m e k ind nature w a k e s her genial pow'r, Suckles each herb, and spreads out ev'ry flow'r; A n n u a l for me , the grape , the rose renew T h e juice nectareous, and the b a l m y d e w ; F o r me, the mine a thousand treasures brings; F o r me, health gushes from a thousand springs; Seas roll to waf t m e , suns to l ight m e rise; M y foot-stool earth, m y canopy the skies.'

But errs not nature from this gracious end, F r o m burning suns w h e n l ivid deaths descend, W h e n earthquakes swal low, or w h e n tempests sweep T o w n s to one grave , w h o l e nations to the deep? ' N o ('tis reply'd) the first a l m i g h t y cause A c t s not by partial, but by gen'ral laws; T h ' exceptions few; some change since all began: A n d w h a t created p e r f e c t ? ' — W h y then m a n ? If the great end be h u m a n happiness, T h e n nature deviates; and can m a n do less? A s m u c h that end a constant course requires O f show'rs and sunshine, as of man's desires; A s m u c h eternal springs and cloudless skies, A s m e n for ever temp'rate, ca lm, and wise. If plagues or earthquakes break not Heav'n 's design, W h y then a Borgia , or a Cat i l ine? W h o k n o w s but he, whose hand the l i gh tn ing forms, W h o heaves old ocean, and w h o w i n g s the storms; Pours fierce ambit ion in a Caesar's m i n d , O r turns y o u n g A m m o n loose to scourge m a n k i n d ? F r o m pride, from pride, our very reas'ning springs; A c c o u n t for moral as for nat'ral th ings: W h y charge w e heav'n in those, in these acquit? In both, to reason right is to submit .

Better for us, perhaps, it m i g h t appear, W e r e there all harmony, all virtue here; T h a t never air or ocean felt the w i n d ,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

T h a t never passion discompos'd the m i n d . B u t all subsists by elemental strife; A n d passions are the elements of life. T h e gen'ral order, since the who le began, Is kept in nature, and is kept in m a n .

V I . W h a t w o u l d this m a n ? N o w upward wil l he A n d little less than angel , w o u l d be more;

N o w look ing d o w n w a r d s , just as griev'd appears T o w a n t the strength of bulls, the fur of bears. M a d e for his use all creatures if he call, Say w h a t their use, had he the pow'rs of all; N a t u r e to these, w i thout profusion, k ind , T h e proper organs, proper pow'rs assign'd; E a c h seeming w a n t compensated of course, H e r e w i t h degrees of swiftness, there of force; A l l in exact proportion to the state; N o t h i n g to add, and noth ing to abate. E a c h beast, each insect, happy in its o w n : Is H e a v ' n u n k i n d to m a n , and m a n alone? Shall he alone, w h o m rational w e call, Be pleas'd w i t h nothing , if not blest w i th all?

T h e bliss of m a n (could pride that blessing find) Is not to act or th ink beyond m a n k i n d ; N o pow'rs of body, or of soul to share, B u t w h a t his nature and his state can bear. W h y has not m a n a microscopic eye? F o r this plain reason, m a n is not a fly. Say w h a t the use, were finer optics g iv 'n , T inspect a mite , not comprehend the heav'n? O r touch, if trembl ingly alive all o'er, T o smart and agonize at ev'ry pore? O r , qu ick effluvia dart ing thro' the brain, D i e of a rose in aromatic pain? If nature thunder'd in his op'n ing ears, A n d stunn'd h i m w i t h the music of the spheres, H o w w o u l d he wish that H e a v ' n had left h im still T h e whisp 'r ing zephyr , and the purl ing rill! W h o finds not Providence all good and wise, A l i k e in w h a t it g ives , and w h a t denies?

V I I . F a r as creation's ample range extends,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

T h e scale of sensual, mental pow'rs ascends: M a r k h o w it mounts to man's imperial race, F r o m the green myriads in the peopled grass: W h a t modes of s ight be twixt each w i d e extreme, T h e mole's d i m curtain, and the lynx's beam: O f smell, the headlong lioness between, A n d hound sagacious on the tainted green: O f hearing, from the life that fills the flood, T o that w h i c h warbles through the vernal w o o d ? T h e spider's touch, h o w exquisitely fine! Feels at each thread, and lives a long the line: In the nice bee, w h a t sense so subtly true F r o m pois'nous herbs extracts the heal ing d e w : H o w instinct varies in the grov ' l ing swine, C o m p a r ' d , half reas'ning elephant, w i t h thine! ' T w i x t that, and reason, w h a t a nice barrier? For ever sep'rate, yet for ever near! Remembrance and reflection h o w ally'd; W h a t thin partitions sense from t h o u g h t d iv ide? A n d middle natures, h o w they long to join, Y e t never pass th' insuperable l ine! W i t h o u t this just gradation, could they be Subjected, these to those, or all to thee? T h e pow'rs of all subdu'd by thee alone, Is not thy reason all these pow'rs in one?

V I I I . See, thro' this air, this ocean, and this earth, A l l matter quick , and burst ing into birth. A b o v e , h o w h i g h progressive life m a y g o ! A r o u n d , h o w w i d e ! h o w deep extend be low! Vas t chain of be ing! w h i c h from G o d began , Natures aethereal, h u m a n , angel , m a n , Beast, bird, fish, insect, w h a t no eye can see, N o glass can reach; from infinite to thee, F r o m thee to noth ing . O n superior pow'rs W e r e we to press, inferior m i g h t on ours; O r in the full creation leave a void, W h e r e , one step broken, the great scale's destroy'd: F r o m Nature's chain whatever l ink you strike, T e n t h , or ten thousandth, breaks the chain al ike.

A n d , if each system in gradation roll

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

A l i k e essential to th' a m a z i n g whole , T h e least confusion but in one, not all T h a t system only, but the whole must fall. L e t earth unbalanc'd from her orbit fly, Planets and suns run lawless thro' the sky; L e t ru l ing angels from their spheres be hurl'd, B e i n g on be ing wreck 'd , and world on world; Heav 'n ' s who le foundations to their centre nod, A n d nature tremble to the throne of G o d . A l l this dread order break—for w h o m ? for thee? V i l e w o r m ! — o h madness! pride! impiety!

I X . W h a t if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread, O r hand , to toil, aspir'd to be the head? W h a t if the head, the eye, or ear repin'd T o serve mere engines to the rul ing m i n d ? Just as absurd for any part to c la im T o be another, in this gen'ral frame; Just as absurd, to m o u r n the tasks or pains T h e great directing m i n d of all ordains.

A l l are but parts of one stupendous whole , W h o s e body nature is, and G o d the soul; T h a t , chang'd thro' all, and yet in all the same, Grea t in the earth, as in th' aethereal frame, W a r m s in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, G l o w s in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, L i v e s thro' all life, extends thro' all extent, Spreads undiv ided , operates unspent; Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, A s full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; A s full, as perfect, in vile m a n that mourns , A s the rapt seraph that adores and burns: T o h i m no h igh , no low, no great, no small; H e fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all.

Cease then, nor order imperfection name: O u r proper bliss depends on w h a t w e blame. K n o w thy o w n point: this k ind , this due degree O f blindness, weakness , H e a v ' n bestows on thee. Submit . In this, or any other sphere, Secure to be as blest as thou canst bear: Safe in the h a n d of one disposing pow'r,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E 415

O r in the natal, or the mortal hour.

A l l nature is but art, u n k n o w n to thee; A l l chance, direction, w h i c h thou canst not see;

A l l discord, harmony not understood;

A l l partial evil , universal good .

A n d , spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, O n e truth is clear, W h a t e v e r is, is r ight .

EPISTLE I I — O F THE NATURE AND STATE OF MAN WITH RESPECT TO HIMSELF, AS AN INDIVIDUAL

I. K n o w then thyself, presume not G o d to scan, T h e proper study of m a n k i n d is m a n . Plac'd on this i s thmus of a middle state, A being darkly wise , and rudely great: W i t h too m u c h k n o w l e d g e for the sceptic side, W i t h too m u c h weakness for the Stoic's pride, H e hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest; In doubt to deem himself a G o d , or beast; In doubt his m i n d or body to prefer; Born but to die, and reas'ning but to err; A l i k e in ignorance, his reason such, W h e t h e r he thinks too little or too m u c h : C h a o s of thought and passion, all confus'd; Still by himself abus'd or disabus'd; Created half to rise, and half to fall; Great lord of all things , yet a prey to all; Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl 'd: T h e glory, jest, and riddle of the wor ld!

G o , wondrous creature! m o u n t where science guides , G o , measure earth, w e i g h air, and state the tides; Instruct the planets in w h a t orbs to run, Correct old t ime, and regulate the sun: G o , soar w i t h Plato to th' empyreal sphere, T o the first good , first perfect, and first fair; O r tread the m a z y round his follow'rs trod A n d qui t t ing sense call imitat ing G o d ; A s eastern priests in g i d d y circles run, A n d turn their heads to imitate the sun. G o , teach eternal w i s d o m h o w to rule— T h e n drop into thyself, and be a fool!

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

Superior beings, w h e n of late they saw A mortal m a n unfold all nature's law, A d m i r ' d such w i s d o m in an earthly shape, A n d shew'd a N e w t o n as w e shew an ape.

C o u l d he, whose rules the rapid comet bind, Describe or fix one m o v e m e n t of his mind? W h o saw its fires here rise, and there descend, E x p l a i n his o w n beg inning , or his end? A l a s w h a t w o n d e r ! man's superior part U n c h e c k ' d m a y rise, and c l imb from art to art; B u t w h e n his o w n great w o r k is but begun, W h a t reason weaves , by passion is undone.

T r a c e science then, w i t h modesty thy guide; First strip off all her equ ipage of pride; D e d u c t w h a t is but vanity, or dress, O r learning's luxury, or idleness; O r tricks to shew the stretch of h u m a n brain, M e r e curious pleasure, or ingenious pain; E x p u n g e the whole , or lop th' excrescent parts O f all our vices have created arts; T h e n see h o w little the remain ing sum, W h i c h serv'd the past, and must the times to come!

II . T w o principles in h u m a n nature reign; Self-love, to urge , and reason, to restrain; N o r this a good , nor that a bad w e call, E a c h w o r k s its end, to m o v e or govern all: A n d to their proper operation still Ascr ibe all good , to their improper, ill.

Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul; Reason's compar ing balance rules the whole . M a n , but for that, no action could attend, A n d , but for this, were active to no end: F i x ' d l ike a plant on his peculiar spot, T o draw nutrition, propagate, and rot: O r , meteor-like, flame lawless thro' the void, Des troy ing others, by himself destroy'd.

M o s t strength the m o v i n g principle requires; A c t i v e its task, it prompts , impels, inspires. Sedate and quiet the compar ing lies, F o r m ' d but to check, delib'rate, and advise.

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

Self-love, still stronger, as its object's n igh; Reason's at distance, and in prospect lie: T h a t sees immediate good by present sense; Reason, the future and the consequence. T h i c k e r than arguments , temptations throng, A t best more watchfu l this, but that more strong. T h e action of the stronger to suspend Reason still use, to reason still attend. At tent ion habit and experience gains; E a c h strengthens reason, and self-love restrains.

L e t subtle schoolmen teach these friends to f ight, More studious to d iv ide than to unite; A n d grace and virtue, sense and reason split, W i t h all the rash dexterity of w i t . W i t s , just l ike fools, at war about a name, H a v e full as oft no m e a n i n g , or the same. Self-love and reason to one end aspire, Pa in their aversion, pleasure their desire; B u t greedy that, its object w o u l d devour, T h i s taste the honey, and not w o u n d the flow'r: Pleasure, or w r o n g or rightly understood, O u r greatest evil , or our greatest good .

III . Modes of self-love the passions w e m a y call: 'T i s real good , or seeming, moves them all: But since not ev'ry good w e can divide , A n d reason bids us for our o w n provide: Passions, tho' selfish, if their means be fair, List under Reason, and deserve her care; T h o s e , that imparted, court a nobler a im, Exa l t their k ind , and take some virtue's n a m e .

In lazy apathy let stoics boast T h e i r virtue fix'd; 'tis fix'd as in a frost; Contracted all, retiring to the breast; B u t strength of m i n d is exercise, not rest: T h e rising tempest puts in act the soul, Parts it may ravage, but preserves the who le . O n life's vast ocean diversely w e sail, Reason the card, but passion is the gale; N o r G o d alone in the still ca lm w e find, H e mounts the storm, and w a l k s upon the w i n d .

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

Passions, l ike elements, tho' born to fight, Y e t , mix 'd and soften'd, in his w o r k unite: T h e s e 'tis e n o u g h to temper and employ; B u t w h a t composes m a n , can m a n destroy? Suffice that reason keep to nature's road, Subject , c o m p o u n d them, fol low her and G o d . L o v e , hope , .and joy, fair pleasure's smil ing train, H a t e , fear, and grief, the family of pain, T h e s e m i x t w i t h art, and to due bounds confin'd, M a k e and mainta in the balance of the m i n d : T h e l ights and shades, whose well-accorded strife G i v e s all the strength and colour of our life.

Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes; A n d , w h e n in act they cease, in prospect rise: Present to grasp, and future still to find, T h e whole employ of body and of m i n d . A l l spread their charms, but charm not all al ike; O n diff'rent senses diff'rent objects strike; H e n c e diff'rent passions more or less inflame, A s strong or w e a k , the organs of the frame; A n d hence one master passion in the breast, L i k e Aaron's serpent, swal lows u p the rest.

A s m a n , perhaps, the m o m e n t of his breath, Receives the l u r k i n g principle of death; T h e y o u n g disease, that must subdue at length, G r o w s w i t h his g r o w t h , and strengthens w i th

strength:

So, cast and m i n g l e d w i t h his very frame, T h e mind's disease, its rul ing passion came; E a c h vital h u m o u r w h i c h should feed the whole , Soon flows to this, in body and in soul: W h a t e v e r w a r m s the heart, or fills the head, A s the m i n d opens, and its functions spread, Imag inat ion plies her dang'rous art, A n d pours it all upon the peccant part.

N a t u r e its mother , habit is its nurse; W i t , spirit, faculties, but m a k e it worse; Reason itself but g ives it edge and pow'r, A s heav'n's blest beam turns vinegar more sour.

W e , wretched subjects tho' to lawful sway,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

In this w e a k queen some fav'rite still obey: A h ! if she lend not arms, as wel l as rules, W h a t can she more than tell us w e are fools? T e a c h us to mourn our nature, not to m e n d , A sharp accuser, but a helpless friend! O r from a judge turn pleader, to persuade T h e choice w e m a k e , or justify it made; Proud of an easy conquest all a long , She but removes w e a k passions for the strong: So, w h e n small humours gather to a gout , T h e doctor fancies he has driv'n t h e m out.

Y e s , nature's road must ever be preferr'd; Reason is here no g u i d e , but still a guard; 'T i s hers to rectify, not overthrow, A n d treat this passion more as friend than foe; A might ier pow'r the strong direction sends, A n d sev'ral m e n impels to sev'ral ends: L i k e vary ing w i n d s by other passions tost, T h i s drives them constant to a certain coast. L e t pow'r or k n o w l e d g e , go ld or glory, please, O r (oft more strong than al l) the love of ease; T h r o ' life 'tis fol lowed, ev'n at life's expense; T h e merchant's toil, the sage's indolence, T h e monk's humil i ty , the hero's pride, A l l , all alike, find reason on their side.

T h ' eternal art educ ing good from ill, Grafts on this passion our best principle: ' T i s thus the mercury of m a n is fix'd, Strong grows the virtue w i t h his nature mix 'd ; T h e dross cements w h a t else were too refin'd, A n d in one int'rest body acts w i t h m i n d .

A s fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care, O n savage stocks inserted, learn to bear; T h e surest virtues thus from passions shoot, W i l d nature's v igor w o r k i n g at the root. W h a t crops of wi t and honesty appear F r o m spleen, from obstinacy, hate or fear! See anger , zeal and fortitude supply; E v ' n av'rice, prudence; sloth, philosophy; Lus t , thro' some certain strainers we l l refin'd,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

Is gentle love, and charms all w o m a n k i n d ;

E n v y , to w h i c h th' ignoble mind's a slave,

Is emulat ion in the learn'd or brave;

N o r virtue, male or female, can w e name,

B u t w h a t wi l l g r o w on pride, or g r o w on shame.

T h u s nature g ives us (let it check our pride) T h e virtue nearest to our vice al ly'd: Reason the byas turns to good from ill, A n d N e r o reigns a T i t u s , if he wi l l , T h e fiery soul abhorr'd in Cat i l ine , In D e c i u s charms, in Curt ius is d iv ine: T h e same ambit ion can destroy or save, A n d m a k e s a patriot as it makes a k n a v e .

T h i s l ight and darkness in our chaos join'd, W h a t shall d iv ide? T h e G o d wi th in the m i n d .

Extremes in nature equal ends produce, In m a n they join to some mysterious use; T h o ' each by turns the other's bound invade, A s , in some we l l -wrought picture, l ight and shade, A n d oft so m i x , the diff'rence is too nice W h e r e ends the virtue or begins the vice.

Fools ! w h o from hence into the notion fall, T h a t vice or virtue there is none at all. If whi te and black blend, soften, and unite A thousand ways , is there no black or whi te? A s k your o w n heart, and noth ing is so plain; ' T i s to mistake them, costs the t ime and pain.

V i c e is a monster of so frightful mien , A s , to be hated, needs but to be seen; Y e t seen too oft, familiar w i t h her face, W e first endure, then pity, then embrace. B u t where th' extreme of vice, was ne'er agreed: A s k where's the north ? at Y o r k , 'tis on the T w e e d ; In Scodand , at the Orcades ; and there, A t Green land , Zembla , or the L o r d k n o w s where . N o creature o w n s it in the first degree, B u t th inks his ne ighbour farther gone than he: E v ' n those w h o dwel l beneath its very zone, O r never feel the rage, or never o w n ; W h a t happier natures shrink at w i t h affright,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

T h e hard inhabitant contends is r ight .

Virtuous and vicious ev'ry m a n must be, F e w in th' extreme, but all in the degree; T h e rogue and fool by fits is fair and wise; A n d ev'n the best, by fits, w h a t they despise. 'T i s but by parts w e fol low good or ill; For , vice or virtue, self directs it still; E a c h individual seeks a sev'ral goal ; But heav'n's great v i e w is one, and that the whole , T h a t counter-works each folly and caprice; T h a t disappoints th' effect of ev'ry vice; T h a t , happy frailties to all ranks apply'd , Shame to the v irg in , to the matron pride, Fear to the statesman, rashness to the chief, T o k ings presumption, and to crowds belief: T h a t , virtue's ends from vanity can raise, W h i c h seeks no int'rest, no reward but praise; A n d byi ld on wants , and on defects of m i n d , T h e joy, the peace, the glory of m a n k i n d .

H e a v ' n forming each on other to depend, A master, or a servant, or a friend, Bids each on other for assistance call, 'T i l l one man's weakness g r o w s the strength of all. W a n t s , frailties, passions, closer still ally T h e c o m m o n int'rest, or endear the tie. T o these w e o w e true friendship, love sincere, E a c h home-felt joy that life inherits here; Y e t from the same w e learn, in its decline, T h o s e joys, those loves, those int'rests to resign; T a u g h t half by reason, half by mere decay, T o welcome death, and calmly pass a w a y .

Whate 'er the pass ion—knowledge , fame, or pelf, N o t one wi l l change his ne ighbour w i t h himself. T h e learn'd is happy nature to explore, T h e fool is happy that he k n o w s no more; T h e rich is happy in the plenty g iv 'n , T h e poor contents h i m w i t h the care of heav'n. See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing, T h e sot a hero, lunatic a k i n g ; T h e starving chemist in his go lden v i ews

422 A L E X A N D E R P O P E

Supremely blest, the poet in his muse . See some strange comfort ev'ry state attend,

A n d pride bestow'd on all, a c o m m o n friend; See some fit passion ev'ry age supply, H o p e travels thro', nor quits us w h e n w e die .

Behold the child, by nature's k indly law, Pleas'd w i t h a rattle, t ickled w i t h a straw: Some livelier p layth ing gives his youth del ight, A l itde louder, but as empty quite: Scarfs, garters, go ld , amuse his riper stage, A n d beads and pray'r-books are the toys of age: Pleas'd w i t h this bauble still, as that before; 'T i l l tir'd he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er.

M e a n w h i l e opinion gi lds w i t h vary ing rays T h o s e painted clouds that beautify our days; E a c h w a n t of happiness by hope supply'd, A n d each vacuity of sense by pride: T h e s e bui ld as fast as k n o w l e d g e can destroy; In folly's cup still l aughs the bubble , joy; O n e prospect lost, another still w e ga in; A n d not a vanity is g iv 'n in vain; E v ' n m e a n self-love becomes, by force divine, T h e scale to measure others' wants by thine. See! and confess one comfort still must rise; ' T i s this, T h o ' man's a fool, yet G o d is wise.

EPISTLE I I I — O F THE NATURE AND STATE OF MAN WITH RESPECT TO SOCIETY

HERE then w e rest; ' T h e universal cause A c t s to one end, but acts by various laws.' In all the madness of superfluous health, T h e tr im of pride, the impudence of wealth , L e t this great truth be present n ight and day; B u t most be present, if w e preach or pray.

L o o k round our wor ld ; behold the chain of love C o m b i n i n g all be low and all above. See plasdc nature w o r k i n g to this end, T h e single atoms each to other tend, Attract , attracted to, the next in place F o r m ' d and impell 'd its neighbour to embrace. See matter next, w i t h various life endu'd,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

Press to one centre still, the gen'ral g o o d . See d y i n g vegetables life sustain,

See life dissolving vegetate aga in : A l l forms that perish other forms supply,

( B y turns w e catch the vital breath, and d i e ) ,

L i k e bubbles on the sea of matter born, T h e y rise, they break, and to that sea return.

N o t h i n g is foreign; parts relate to who le ;

O n e all-extending, all-preserving soul Connects each be ing , greatest w i t h the least; M a d e beast in aid of m a n , and m a n of beast;

A l l serv'd, all serving: no th ing stands alone;

T h e chain holds on, and w h e r e it ends, u n k n o w n . H a s G o d , thou fool! w o r k ' d solely for thy good ,

T h y joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food? W h o for thy table feeds the w a n t o n f a w n , F o r h i m as k indly spread the flow'ry l a w n : Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings? Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his w i n g s . Is it for thee the l innet pours his throat? Loves of his o w n and raptures swell the note. T h e b o u n d i n g steed you pompously bestride, Shares w i th his lord the pleasure and the pride. Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain? T h e birds of heav'n shall vindicate their grain . T h i n e the full harvest of the go lden year? Part pays, and jusdy , the deserving steer: T h e hog , that p lows not, nor obeys thy call, L ives on the labours of this lord of all .

K n o w , nature's chi ldren all d iv ide her care; T h e fur that w a r m s a monarch , w a r m ' d a bear. W h i l e m a n exclaims, 'See all things for m y use!' 'See m a n for mine! ' replies a pamper'd goose: A n d just as short of reason he must fall , W h o thinks all m a d e for one, not one for all .

G r a n t that the pow'rful still the w e a k control; Be m a n the w i t and tyrant of the w h o l e : N a t u r e that tyrant checks; he only k n o w s , A n d helps, another creature's wants and woes . Say, wi l l the falcon, s tooping from above ,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

Smi t w i t h her vary ing p lumage , spare the dove? A d m i r e s the jay the insect's g i lded w i n g s ? O r hears the h a w k w h e n Phi lomela sings? M a n cares for all: to birds he gives his woods , T o beasts his pastures, and to fish his floods; F o r some his int'rest prompts h i m to provide, F o r more his pleasure, yet for more his pride: A l l feed on one va in patron, and enjoy T h ' extensive blessing of his luxury, T h a t very life his learned hunger craves, H e saves from famine , from the savage saves; N a y , feasts the animal he dooms his feast, A n d , till he ends the being, makes it blest: W h i c h sees no more the stroke, or feels the pain, T h a n favour'd m a n by touch ether'al slain. T h e creature had his feast of life before; T h o u too must perish, w h e n thy feast is o'er!

T o each u n t h i n k i n g be ing , heav'n, a friend, G i v e s not the useless k n o w l e d g e of its end: T o m a n imparts it; bu t w i t h such a v i ew A s , whi le he dreads it, m a k e s h i m hope it too: T h e hour conceal'd, and so remote the fear, D e a t h still draws nearer, never seeming near. Grea t s tanding miracle! that heav'n assign'd Its only t h i n k i n g t h i n g this turn of mind .

I I . W h e t h e r w i t h reason, or wi th instinct blest, K n o w , all enjoy that pow'r w h i c h suits them best; T o bliss alike by that direction tend, A n d find the means proportion'd to their end. Say, where full instinct is th' unerring gu ide , W h a t Pope or council can they need beside? Reason, however able, cool at best, Cares not for service, or but serves w h e n prest, Stays 'till w e call, and then not often near; B u t honest instinct comes a volunteer, Sure never to o'er-shoot, but just to hit; W h i l e sdll too w i d e or short is h u m a n wi t ; Sure by q u i c k nature happiness to gain , W h i c h heavier reason labours at in vain . T h i s too serves a lways , reason never long;

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

O n e must g o r ight , the other m a y g o w r o n g . See then the act ing and compar ing pow'rs O n e in their nature, w h i c h are t w o in ours; A n d reason raise o'er instinct as you can, In this 'tis G o d directs, in that 'tis m a n .

W h o taught the nations of the field and flood T o shun their poison, and to chuse their food? Prescient, the tides or tempests to wi thstand, Bui ld on the w a v e , or arch beneath the sand? W h o made the spider parallels des ign, Sure as D e Moivre , wi thout rule or l ine? W h o bid the stork, Co lumbus- l ike , explore Heav 'ns not his o w n , and worlds u n k n o w n before? W h o calls the council , states the certain day, W h o forms the phalanx, and w h o points the w a y ?

III . G o d , in the nature of each being, founds Its proper bliss, and sets its proper bounds: B u t as he fram'd a whole , the who le to bless, O n mutual wants built m u t u a l happiness: So from the first, eternal order ran, A n d creature l ink'd to creature, m a n to m a n . Whate 'er of life a l l -quick'ning ether keeps, O r breathes thro' air, or shoots beneath the deeps, O r pours profuse on earth, one nature feeds T h e vital flame, and swells the genial seeds. N o t m a n alone, but all that roam the w o o d , O r w i n g the sky, or roll a long the flood, E a c h loves itself, but not itself alone, E a c h sex desires al ike, 'till t w o are one. N o r ends the pleasure w i t h the fierce embrace; T h e y love themselves, a third t ime, in their race. T h u s beast and bird their c o m m o n charge attend T h e mothers nurse it, and the sires defend; T h e y o u n g dismiss'd to wander earth or air, T h e r e stops the instinct, and there ends the care; T h e l ink dissolves, each seeks a fresh embrace, A n o t h e r love succeeds, another race. A longer care man's helpless k i n d demands; T h a t longer care contracts more lasting bands: Reflection, reason, still the ties improve ,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

A t once extend the int'rest, and the love: W i t h choice w e fix, w i t h sympathy w e burn; E a c h virtue in each passion takes its turn; A n d sdll n e w needs, n e w helps, n e w habits rise, T h a t graft benevolence on charities. Still as one brood, and as another rose, T h e s e nat'ral love maintain'd, habitual those: T h e last, scarce ripen'd into perfect m a n , S a w helpless h i m from w h o m their life began: M e m ' r y and fore-cast just returns engage , T h a t pointed back to youth , this on to age; W h i l e pleasure, grat i tude, and hope, combin'd, Still spread the int'rest and preserv'd the k ind .

I V . N o r th ink , in nature's state they bl indly trod; T h e state of nature w a s the reign of G o d : Self-love and social at her birth began , U n i o n the bond of all things , and of m a n . Pride then was not; nor arts, that pride to aid; M a n wa lk 'd w i t h beast, jo int tenant of the shade, T h e same his table, and the same his bed; N o m u r d e r cloth'd h i m , and no murder fed. In the same temple , the resounding w o o d , A l l vocal beings h y m n ' d their equal G o d : T h e shrine w i t h gore unstain'd, w i th gold undrest, Unbr ib 'd , unbloody, stood the blameless priest: Heav 'n ' s attribute w a s universal care, A n d man's prerogative, to rule, but spare. A h ! h o w unl ike the m a n of t imes to come! O f half that l ive the butcher and the tomb; W h o , foe to nature, hears the gen'ral groan, Murders their species, and betrays his o w n . B u t just disease to luxury succeeds, A n d ev'ry death its o w n avenger breeds; T h e fury-passions from that blood began, A n d turn'd on m a n , a fiercer savage, m a n .

See h i m from nature rising slow to art! T o copy instinct then was reason's part; T h u s then to m a n the voice of nature spake, ' G o , f rom the creatures thy instructions take: L e a r n from the birds w h a t food the thickets yield;

A L E X A N D E R P O P E 427

L e a r n from the beasts the physic of the field; T h y arts of bu i ld ing from the bee receive; Learn of the mole to p low, the w o r m to w e a v e ; Learn of the l itde nauti lus to sail, Spread the thin oar, and catch the dr iv ing gale . Here too all forms of social union find, A n d hence let reason, late, instruct m a n k i n d : Here subterranean w o r k s and cities see; T h e r e towns aerial on the w a v i n g tree. Learn each small people's genius , policies, T h e ant's republic, and the realm of bees; H o w those in c o m m o n all their wea l th bestow, A n d anarchy wi thout confusion k n o w ; A n d these forever, tho' a monarch reign, T h e i r separate cells and properties maintain . M a r k w h a t unvary'd laws preserve each state, L a w s wise as nature, and as fix'd as fate. In vain thy reason finer webs shall d r a w , Entang le justice in her net of l a w , A n d right, too rigid, harden into w r o n g ; Still for the strong too w e a k , the w e a k too strong. Y e t g o ! and thus o'er all the creatures sway , T h u s let the wiser m a k e the rest obey; A n d for those arts mere instinct could afford, Be crown'd as monarchs, or as gods ador'd.'

V . Grea t nature spoke; observant m a n obey'd; Cities were built, societies were m a d e : Here rose one l i tde state; another near G r e w by like means, and join'd, thro' love or fear. D i d here the trees w i t h ruddier burdens bend, A n d there the streams in purer rills descend? W h a t war could ravish, commerce could bestow, A n d he return'd a friend, w h o came a foe. Converse and love m a n k i n d m i g h t strongly d r a w , W h e n love was liberty, and nature l a w . T h u s states were form'd; the n a m e of k i n g u n k n o w n , 'Ti l l c o m m o n int'rest plac'd the sway in one. ' T w a s virtue only (or in arts or arms, Di f fus ing blessings, or avert ing harms) T h e same w h i c h in a sire the sons obey'd,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

A prince the father of a people m a d e .

V I . ' then, b y nature crown'd, each patriarch sate, K i n g , priest and parent of his g r o w i n g state; O n h i m , their second providence, they hung , T h e i r law his eye, their oracle his tongue. H e from the w a n d ' r i n g furrow call'd the food, T a u g h t to c o m m a n d the fire, control the flood, D r a w forth the monsters of th' abyss profound, O r fetch th' aerial eagle to the ground, 'T i l l drooping , s ick'ning, d y i n g , they began W h o m they rever'd as G o d to mourn as m a n : T h e n , l o o k i n g u p from sire to sire, explor'd O n e great first father, and that first ador'd. O r plain tradition that this A l l b e g u n , C o n v e y ' d unbroken faith from sire to son; T h e worker from the w o r k distinct was k n o w n , A n d simple reason never sought but one: E r e w i t obl ique had broke that steady l ight , M a n , l ike his maker , saw that all was right; T o virtue, in the paths of pleasure trod, A n d o w n ' d a father w h e n he own'd a G o d . L o v e all the faith, and all th' allegiance then; F o r nature k n e w no r ight divine in m e n , N o ill could fear in G o d ; and understood A sov'reign being, but a sov'reign good . T r u e faith, true policy, united ran, T h a t was but love of G o d , and this of m a n .

W h o first taught souls enslav'd, and realms undone, T h ' enormous faith of m a n y made for one; T h a t proud exception to all nature's laws, T ' invert the wor ld , and counter-work its cause? Force first made conquest , and that conquest, law; 'T i l l superstition taught the tyrant awe , T h e n shar'd the tyranny, then lent it aid, A n d gods of conqu'rors, slaves of subjects made: She, 'midst the l ightning's blaze, and thunder's sound, W h e n rock'd the mountains , and w h e n groan'd the

g r o u n d ,

She taught the w e a k to bend, the proud to pray, T o pow'r unseen, and might ier far than they:

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

She, from the rending earth, and burst ing skies, S a w gods descend, and fiends i ' i a l rise: H e r e fix'd the dreadful , there t lu ,iest abodes; Fear made her devils , and w e a k hope her gods ; G o d s partial, changeful , passionate, unjust, W h o s e attributes were rage, revenge, or lust; Such as the souls of cowards m i g h t conceive, A n d , form'd l ike tyrants, tyrants w o u l d believe. Zeal then, not charity, became the gu ide ; A n d hell was built on spite, and heav'n on pride. T h e n sacred seem'd th' ether'al vault no more; Al tars g r e w marble then, and reek'd w i t h gore: T h e n first the flamen tasted l iv ing food; N e x t his g r i m idol smear'd w i t h h u m a n blood; W i t h heav'n's o w n thunders shook the wor ld be low, A n d play'd the g o d an engine on his foe.

So drives self-love, thro' just, and thro' unjust , T o one man's pow'r , ambit ion, lucre, lust. T h e same self-lqve, in all, becomes the cause O f what restrains h i m , g o v e r n m e n t and laws . For , what one likes, if others l ike as wel l , W h a t serves one wi l l , w h e n m a n y wil ls rebel? H o w shall he keep, w h a t , sleeping or a w a k e , A weaker may surprise, a stronger take? H i s safety must his liberty restrain: A l l join to guard w h a t each desires to g a i n . Forc'd into virtue thus, by self-defence, E v ' n k ings learn'd justice and benevolence: Self-love forsook the path it first pursu'd, A n d found the private in the public good .

' T w a s then the studious head or gen'rous m i n d , Fol low'r of G o d , or friend of human-k ind , Poet or patriot, rose but to restore T h e faith and moral nature g a v e before; Re lum'd her ancient l ight , not k indled n e w , If not God' s image , yet his shadow drew: T a u g h t pow'r's due use to people and to k ings , T a u g h t nor to slack, nor strain its tender strings, T h e less, or greater, set so justly true, T h a t touching one must strike the other too;

430 A L E X A N D E R P O P E

' T i l l jarr ing int'rests, of themselves create T h ' according music of a wel l -mix'd state.

Such is the world's great harmony, that springs

F r o m order, union, full consent of things:

W h e r e small and great, where w e a k and mighty , made

T o serve, not suffer, strengthen, not invade;

M o r e pow'rful each as needful to the rest,

A n d in proportion as it blesses, blest; D r a w to one point, and to one centre bring

Beast, m a n , or angel , servant, lord, or k i n g .

F o r forms of government let fools contest; Whate 'er is best administer'd is best: F o r modes of faith, let graceless zealots fight; H i s can't be w r o n g whose life is in the r ight: In faith and hope the wor ld wi l l disagree, B u t all mankind's concern is Char i ty : A l l must be false that thwart this one great end; A n d all of G o d , that bless m a n k i n d , or mend.

M a n , l ike the gen'rous vine, supported lives; T h e strength he gains is from th' embrace he gives. O n their o w n axis as the planets run, Y e t m a k e at once their circle round the sun; So t w o consistent motions act the soul; A n d one regards itself, and one the whole . T h u s G o d and nature l ink'd the gen'ral frame, A n d bade self-love and social be the same.

EPISTLE I V — O F THE NATURE AND STATE OF MAN WITH RESPECT TO HAPPINESS

OH Happiness ! our being's end and a i m !

G o o d , pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name:

T h a t something still w h i c h prompts th' eternal sigh, F o r w h i c h w e bear to l ive, or dare to die,

W h i c h sdll so near us, yet beyond us lies,

O'er-look'd, seen double , by the fool, and wise.

P lant of celestial seed! if dropt below,

Say, in w h a t mortal soil thou deign'st to g r o w ?

Fair op'n ing to some court's propitious shine,

O r deep w i t h di 'monds in the flaming mine?

T w i n ' d w i t h the wreaths Parnassian laurels yield,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

O r reap'd in iron harvests of the field? W h e r e g r o w s ? — w h e r e grows it not? If va in our

toil,

W e ought to b lame the culture, not the soil:

F ix 'd to no spot is happiness sincere,

' T i s nowhere to be found, or ev 'rywhere: ' T i s never to be bought , but a lways free,

A n d fled from monarchs , St. John! dwel ls w i t h thee.

A s k of the learn'd the w a y ? T h e learn'd are bl ind; T h i s bids to serve, and that to shun m a n k i n d ; Some place the bliss in action, some in ease, T h o s e call it pleasure, and contentment these; Some sunk to beasts, find pleasure end in pain; Some swell'd to gods , confess e'en virtue vain; O r indolent, to each extreme they fall, T o trust in ev'ry th ing , or doubt of all.

W h o thus define it, say they more or less T h a n this, that happiness is happiness?

T a k e nature's path, and m a d opinion's leave; A l l states can reach it, and all heads conceive; O b v i o u s her goods, in no extreme they dwel l ; T h e r e needs but t h i n k i n g r ight , and m e a n i n g wel l ; A n d mourn our various portions as w e please, E q u a l is c o m m o n sense, and c o m m o n ease.

Remember , m a n , ' T h e universal cause A c t s not by partial, but by gen'ral laws'; A n d makes w h a t happiness w e justly call Subsist not in the good of one, but all . There's not a blessing individuals find, But some w a y leans and hearkens to the k i n d : N o bandit fierce, no tyrant m a d wi th pride, N o cavern'd hermit, rests self-satisfy'd: W h o most to shun or hate m a n k i n d pretend, Seek an admirer, or w h o w o u l d fix a friend: Abstract w h a t others feel, w h a t others th ink, A l l pleasures sicken, and all glories sink: E a c h has his share; and w h o w o u l d more obtain, Shall find the pleasure pays not half the pain.

Order is heav'n's first l aw; and this confest, Some are, and must be, greater than the rest,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

M o r e rich, more wise; but w h o infers from hence T h a t such are happier, shocks all c o m m o n sense.

H e a v ' n to m a n k i n d impartial w e confess,

If all are equal in their happiness:

B u t m u t u a l wants this happiness increase; A l l nature's diff'rence keeps all nature's peace.

C o n d i t i o n , circumstance is not the thing;

Bliss is the same in subject or in k ing , In w h o obtain defence, or w h o defend,

In h i m w h o is, or h i m w h o finds a friend:

H e a v ' n breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole

O n e c o m m o n blessing, as one c o m m o n soul. B u t fortune's gifts if each alike possest,

A n d each were equal , must not all contest? If then to all m e n happiness was meant ,

G o d in externals could not place content. Fortune her gifts m a y variously dispose,

A n d these be happy call'd, u n h a p p y those; B u t heav'n's just balance equal wil l appear, W h i l e those are plac'd in hope, and these in fear: N o t present good or ill, the joy or curse, B u t future v iews of better, or of worse. O h sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise, B y mountains pil'd on mountains , to the skies? H e a v ' n still w i th laughter the vain toil surveys, A n d buries m a d m e n in the heaps they raise.

K n o w , all the good that individuals find, O r G o d and nature meant to mere m a n k i n d , Reason's who le pleasure, all the joys of sense, L i e in three words , health, peace, and competence B u t health consists w i t h temperance alone; A n d peace, oh virtue! peace is all thy o w n . T h e good or bad the gifts of fortune gain; B u t these less taste them, as they worse obtain. Say, in pursuit of profit or del ight , W h o risk the most, that take w r o n g means, or right? O f vice or virtue, whether blest or curst, W h i c h meets contempt, or w h i c h compassion first? C o u n t all th' advantage prosp'rous vice attains, 'T i s but w h a t virtue flies from and disdains:

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

A n d grant the bad w h a t happiness they w o u l d , O n e they must w a n t , w h i c h is, to pass for good .

O h blind to truth, and G o d ' s who le scheme below, W h o fancy bliss to vice, to virtue w o e ! W h o sees and fol lows that great scheme the best, Best k n o w s the blessing, and wi l l most be blest. B u t fools the good alone u n h a p p y call, F o r ills or accidents that chance to all . See Fa lk land dies, the virtuous and the just! See god-l ike T u r e n n e prostrate on the dust! See Sidney bleeds a m i d the martial strife! W a s this their virtue, or contempt of life? Say, was it virtue, more tho' heav'n ne'er g a v e , L a m e n t e d D i g b y ! sunk thee to the grave? T e l l me, if virtue m a d e the son expire, W h y , full of days and honour, lives the sire ? W h y drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath, W h e n nature sicken'd and each gale was death! O r w h y so long ( in life if l o n g can be) L e n t heav'n a parent to the poor and m e ?

W h a t makes all physical or moral ill ? T h e r e deviates nature, and here wanders wi l l . G o d sends not ill; if r ightly understood, O r partial ill is universal good , O r change admits , or nature lets it fall, Short, and but rare, 'till m a n improv 'd it all. W e just as wisely m i g h t of heav'n compla in T h a t righteous A b e l was destroy'd by C a i n , A s that the virtuous son is ill at ease, W h e n his l ewd father gave the dire disease. T h i n k w e , l ike some w e a k prince, th' eternal cause Prone for his fav'rites to reverse his laws?

Shall burning /Etna , if a sage requires, Forge t to thunder, and recall her fires ? O n air or sea n e w motions be imprest, O h blameless Bethel! to relieve thy breast? W h e n the loose mounta in trembles from on h i g h Shall gravitation cease, if you g o by? O r some old temple, nodd ing to its fall, F o r Chartres' head reserve the h a n g i n g wall ?

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

B u t still this wor ld (so fitted for the k n a v e ) Contents us not. A better shall w e have? A k i n g d o m of the just then let it be: B u t first consider h o w those just agree. T h e good must merit G o d ' s peculiar care; B u t w h o , but G o d , can tell us w h o they are ? O n e thinks on C a l v i n heav'n's o w n spirit fell; A n o t h e r deems h i m instrument of hell; If C a l v i n feel heav'n's blessing, or its rod, T h i s cries there is, and that, there is no G o d . W h a t shocks one part wi l l edify the rest, N o r w i t h one system can they all be blest. T h e very best wi l l variously incline, A n d w h a t rewards your virtue, punish mine. W h a t e v e r is, is r i g h t . — T h i s wor ld , 'tis true, W a s m a d e for Caesar—but for T i t u s too; A n d w h i c h more blest, w h o chain'd his country, say, O r he whose virtue sigh'd to lose a day ?

'But sometimes virtue starves, whi le vice is fed.' W h a t then? is the reward of virtue bread? That vice m a y merit , 'tis the price of toil; T h e k n a v e deserves it, w h e n he tills the soil, T h e k n a v e deserves it, w h e n he tempts the main , W h e r e folly fights for k ings , or dives for ga in . T h e g o o d m a n m a y be w e a k , be indolent; N o r is his c la im to plenty, but content. B u t grant h i m riches, your d e m a n d is o'er? ' N o , shall the good w a n t health, the good w a n t pow'r A d d health and pow'r , and ev'ry earthly th ing , ' W h y bounded pow'r? w h y private? w h y no k i n g ? N a y , w h y external for internal g iv 'n? W h y is not m a n a G o d , and earth a heav 'n? ' W h o ask and reason thus, wi l l scarce conceive G o d gives enough , whi le he has more to g ive : Immense the pow'r , immense were the demand; Say, at w h a t part of nature wi l l they stand?

W h a t noth ing earthly g ives , or can destroy, T h e soul's ca lm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy , Is virtue's prize: a better w o u l d you fix? T h e n g ive humi l i ty a coach and six,

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

Justice a conq'ror's sword, or truth a g o w n ,

O r public spirit its great cure, a crown.

W e a k , foolish m a n ! wi l l heav'n reward us there

W i t h the same trash m a d mortals w i sh for here?

T h e boy and m a n an individual makes ,

Y e t sigh'st thou n o w for apples and for cakes?

G o , l ike the Indian, in another life

E x p e c t thy dog , thy bottle, and thy wi fe ,

A s well as dream such trifles are assign'd, A s toys and empires, for a god- l ike m i n d .

Rewards , that either w o u l d to virtue br ing N o joy, or be destructive of the th ing:

H o w oft by these at sixty are undone T h e virtues of a saint at twenty-one!

T o w h o m can riches g i v e repute, or trust, Content , or pleasure, but the good and just? Judges and senates have been b o u g h t for go ld , Esteem and love were never to be sold. O h fool! to th ink G o d hates the worthy m i n d , T h e lover and the love of h u m a n - k i n d , W h o s e life is healthful, and whose conscience clear, Because he wants a thousand pounds a year.

H o n o u r and shame from no condit ion rise; A c t wel l your part, there all the honour lies. Fortune in m e n has some small diff'rence m a d ' O n e flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade; T h e cobler apron'd, and the parson g o w n ' d , T h e frier hooded, and the monarch crown'd . ' W h a t differ more ( y o u cry) than c r o w n and c o w l ? ' I'll tell you, friend! a wise m a n and a fool. You' l l find, if once the monarch acts the m o n k , O r , cobler-like, the parson wi l l be drunk , W o r t h makes the m a n , and w a n t of it, the fe l low; T h e rest is all but leather or prunella.

Stuck o'er w i t h titles and h u n g round w i t h strings, T h a t thou may'st be by k ings , or whores of k ings . Boast the pure blood of an illustrious race, In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece : B u t by your fathers' wor th if your's you rate, C o u n t m e those only w h o were good and great.

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

G o ! if your ancient, but ignoble blood

H a s crept thro' scoundrels ever since the flood,

G o ! and pretend your family is y o u n g ;

N o r o w n your fathers have been fools so long.

W h a t can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards? A l a s ! not all the blood of all the H o w a r d s ,

L o o k next on greatness; say where greatness lies. ' W h e r e , but a m o n g the heroes and the wi se? ' Heroes are m u c h the same, the point's agreed, F r o m Macedonia's m a d m a n to the Swede; T h e w h o l e strange purpose of their lives, to find O r m a k e , an enemy of all m a n k i n d ! N o t one looks b a c k w a r d , o n w a r d still he goes, Y e t ne'er looks forward farther than his nose. N o less a l ike the politic and wise; A l l sly s low things , w i t h circumspective eyes: M e n in their loose unguarded hours they take, N o t that themselves are wise , but others w e a k . B u t grant that those can conquer, these can cheat; ' T i s phrase absurd to call a vil lain great: W h o w i c k e d l y is wise , or m a d l y brave, Is but the more a fool, the more a knave . W h o noble ends by noble means obtains, O r fai l ing, smiles in exile or in chains, L i k e good A u r e l i u s let h i m reign, or bleed L i k e Socrates, that m a n is great indeed.

W h a t ' s fame ? a fancy'd life in others' breath, A t h i n g beyond us, ev'n before our death. Just w h a t you hear, you have , and what's u n k n o w n T h e same ( m y lord) if T u l l y ' s , or your o w n . A l l that w e feel of it begins and ends In the small circle of our foes or friends; T o all beside as m u c h an empty shade A n E u g e n e l iv ing , as a Caesar dead; A l i k e or w h e n , or w h e r e they shone, or shine, O r on the Rubicon , or on the R h i n e . A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod; A n honest man's the noblest w o r k of G o d . F a m e but from death a villain's name can save, A s justice tears his body from the grave;

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

W h e n w h a t t' obl ivion better were resign'd, Is h u n g on h i g h , to poison half m a n k i n d . A l l fame is foreign, but of true desert; Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart: O n e self approv ing hour w h o l e years out -weighs O f stupid starers, and of loud h u z z a s ; A n d more true joy Marcel lus exil'd feels, T h a n Caesar w i t h a senate at his heels.

In parts superior w h a t advantage lies? T e l l (for you c a n ) w h a t is it to be wise? ' T i s but to k n o w h o w little can be k n o w n ; T o see all others' faults, and feel your o w n : C o n d e m n ' d in bus'ness or in arts to d r u d g e , W i t h o u t a second, or w i t h o u t a j u d g e : T r u t h s w o u l d y o u teach, or save a s inking land? A l l fear, none aid you , and f e w understand. Painful preeminence! yourself to v i e w A b o v e life's weakness , and its comforts too.

Br ing then these blessings to a strict account; M a k e fair deductions; see to w h a t they 'mount: H o w m u c h of other each is sure to cost; H o w each for other oft is who l ly lost; H o w inconsistent greater goods w i t h these; H o w sometimes life is risqu'd, and a lways ease: T h i n k , and if still the th ings thy envy call, Say, would'st thou be the m a n to w h o m they fall ? T o s igh for ribbands if thou art so silly, M a r k h o w they grace L o r d U m b r a , or Sir Bi l ly . Is ye l low dirt the passion of thy life; L o o k but on G r i p u s , or on G r i p u s ' w i f e . If parts allure thee, th ink h o w Bacon shin'd, T h e wisest, brightest, meanest of m a n k i n d : O r ravish'd w i t h the w h i s d i n g of a name , See C r o m w e l l , d a m n ' d to everlasting fame! If all, united, thy ambit ion call, F r o m ancient story learn to scorn t h e m all . T h e r e , in the rich, the honour'd, fam'd and great, See the false scale of happiness complete! In hearts of k ings , or arms of queens w h o lay, H o w happy those to ruin, these betray.

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

M a r k by w h a t wretched steps their glory grows , F r o m dirt and sea-weed as proud Venice rose; In each h o w gui l t and greatness equal ran, A n d all that rais'd the hero, sunk the m a n : N o w Europe's laurels on their brows behold, But stain'd w i th blood, or i l l-exchang'd for go ld : T h e n see them broke w i t h toils, or sunk in ease, O r infamous for plunder'd provinces. O h , weal th ill-fated! w h i c h no act of fame E'er taught to shine, or sanctify'd from shame! W h a t greater bliss attends their close of life? S o m e greedy minion , or imperious wife , T h e trophy'd arches, story'd halls invade, A n d haunt their slumbers in the pompous shade. A l a s ! not dazz l ed w i t h their noon-tide ray, C o m p u t e the morn and ev 'n ing to the day; T h e whole amount of that enormous fame, A tale, that blends their glory w i t h their shame!

K n o w then this truth, e n o u g h for m a n to k n o w . 'Virtue alone is happiness below.' T h e only point where h u m a n bliss stands still, A n d tastes the good wi thout the fall to ill; W h e r e only merit constant pay receives, Is blest in w h a t it takes, and w h a t it g ives; T h e joy unequal 'd , if its end it ga in , A n d if it lose, attended w i t h no pain: W i t h o u t satiety, tho' e'er so bless'd, A n d but more relish'd as the more distress'd: T h e broadest mirth unfee l ing folly wears, Less pleasing far than virtue's very tears; G o o d , from each object, from each place acquir'd, F o r ever exercis'd, yet never tir'd; N e v e r elated, whi le one man's oppress'd; N e v e r dejected, whi le another's bless'd; A n d where no wants , no wishes can remain, Since but to wish more virtue, is to ga in .

See the sole bliss heav'n could on all bestow! W h i c h w h o but feels can taste, but thinks can k n o w : Y e t poor w i t h fortune, and w i t h learning blind, T h e bad must miss, the good , untaught , wil l find;

A L E X A N D E R P O P E

Slave to no sect, w h o takes no private road, B u t looks through nature u p to nature's G o d : Pursues that chain w h i c h l inks th' immense design, Joins heav'n and earth, and mortal and divine; Sees, that no being any bliss can k n o w , B u t touches some above, and some below; Learns , from this union of the rising who le , T h e first, last purpose of the h u m a n soul; A n d k n o w s where faith, law, morals, all began , A l l end, in love of G o d , and love of m a n .

For h im alone, hope leads from goal to goal , A n d opens still, and opens on his soul; 'Ti l l lengthen'd on to faith, and unconfin'd, It pours the bliss that fills up all the m i n d . H e sees, w h y nature plants in m a n alone H o p e of k n o w n bliss, and faith in bliss u n k n o w n : ( N a t u r e , whose dictates to no other k i n d A r e g iv 'n in vain, but w h a t they seek they find) W i s e is her present; she connects in this H i s greatest virtue w i t h his greatest bliss; A t once his o w n bright prospect to be blest, A n d strongest motive to assist the rest.

Self-love thus push'd to social, to divine, G i v e s thee to m a k e thy neighbour's blessing thine. Is this too little for the boundless heart? Extend it, let thy enemies have part: G r a s p the whole worlds of reason, life, and sense, In one close system of benevolence: Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree, A n d height of bliss but height of charity.

G o d loves from who le to parts: but h u m a n soul M u s t rise from individual to the who le . Self-love but serves the virtuous m i n d to w a k e A s the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake; T h e centre mov'd , a circle strait succeeds, Another still, and still another spreads; Fr iend, parent, neighbour, first it wi l l embrace; H i s country next; and next all h u m a n race; W i d e and more wide , th' o'erflowings of the m i n d T a k e ev'ry creature in, of ev'ry k i n d ;

A M B R O S E P H I L I P S

E a r t h smiles around, w i t h boundless bounty blest,

A n d heav'n beholds its image in his breast.

C o m e then, m y friend, m y genius, come along;

O h master of the poet, and the song!

A n d wh i l e the muse n o w stoops, or n o w ascends,

T o man's low passions, or their glorious ends,

T e a c h me , l ike thee, in various nature wise,

T o fall w i t h d igni ty , w i t h temper rise;

F o r m ' d by thy converse, happi ly to steer

F r o m grave to gay , from lively to severe;

Correct w i t h spirit, e loquent w i t h ease,

Intent to reason, or polite to please.

O h ! whi le a long the stream of t ime thy name

E x p a n d e d flies, and gathers all its fame;

Say, shall m y little bark attendant sail,

Pursue the t r iumph, and partake the ga le?

W h e n statesmen, heroes, k ings , in dust repose,

W h o s e sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes,

Shall then this verse to future age pretend

T h o u wert m y guide , philosopher, and friend?

T h a t , urg'd by thee, I turn'd the tuneful art

F r o m sounds to things , from fancy to the heart;

F o r wit's false mirror held u p nature's l ight;

Shew'd erring pride, whatever is, is right;

T h a t reason, passion, answer one great a im;

T h a t true self-love and social are the same;

T h a t virtue only makes our bliss below;

A n d all our k n o w l e d g e is, ourselves to k n o w .

A M B R O S E P H I L I P S

[ I 6 7 5 ( ? ) - I 7 4 9 ]

T o CHARLOTTE PULTENEY

TIMELY blossom, Infant fair,

F o n d l i n g of a happy pair,

E v e r y morn and every night

T h e i r solicitous del ight ,

S leeping, w a k i n g , still at ease,

Pleasing, w i thout skill to please;

C O L L E Y C I B B E R

Litt le gossip, blithe and hale, T a t d i n g m a n y a broken tale, S i n g i n g m a n y a tuneless song, L a v i s h of a heedless tongue; Simple maiden , vo id of art, Babbl ing out the very heart, Y e t abandon'd to thy wi l l , Y e t i m a g i n i n g no ill, Y e t too innocent to blush; L i k e the l innet in the bush T o the mother-linnet's note M o d u l i n g her slender throat; C h i r p i n g forth thy pretty joys, W a n t o n in the change of toys, L i k e the l innet green, in M a y Fl i t t ing to each b loomy spray; Wear ied then and g lad of rest, L i k e the l innet in the nest:— T h i s thy present happy lot T h i s , in t ime wi l l be forgot: Other pleasures, other cares, Ever-busy T i m e prepares;

A n d thou shalt in thy daughter see, T h i s picture, once, resembled thee.

C O L L E Y C I B B E R

[7677-/757]

T H E BLIND B O Y

0 SAY w h a t is that t h i n g call'd L i g h t , W h i c h I must ne'er enjoy;

W h a t are the blessings of the sight,

O tell your poor blind boy!

Y o u talk of wondrous th ings you see,

Y o u say the sun shines bright;

1 feel h im w a r m , but h o w can he

O r m a k e it day or n ight?

J A M E S T H O M S O N

M y day or n ight myself I m a k e

Whene 'er I sleep or play;

A n d could I ever keep a w a k e

W i t h m e 'twere a lways d a y .

W i t h heavy sighs I often hear Y o u m o u r n m y hapless woe;

B u t sure w i t h patience I can bear A loss I ne'er can k n o w .

T h e n let not w h a t I cannot have M y cheer of m i n d destroy:

W h i l s t thus I sing, I a m a k i n g ,

A l t h o u g h a poor blind boy.

J A M E S T H O M S O N

[1700-1748]

R U L E , BRITANNIA

WHEN Britain first at Heaven's c o m m a n d

Arose from out the azure main , T h i s was the charter of her land,

A n d guard ian angels sung the strain: R u l e , Britannia! Britannia rules the waves l

Britons never shall be slaves.

T h e nations not so blest as thee M u s t in their turn to tyrants fall,

W h i l s t thou shalt flourish great and free

T h e dread and envy of t h e m all.

Still more majesdc shalt thou rise, M o r e dreadful f rom each foreign stroke:

A s the loud blast that tears the skies

Serves but to root thy native oak.

T h e e h a u g h t y tyrants ne'er shall tame; A l l their attempts to bend thee d o w n

W i l l but arouse thy generous flame,

A n d w o r k their w o e and thy renown.

T H O M A S G R A Y

T o thee belongs the rural re ign;

T h y cities shall w i t h commerce shine; A l l thine shall be the subject main ,

A n d every shore it circles thine!

T h e Muses , still w i t h F r e e d o m found,

Shall to thy h a p p y coast repair; Blest Isle, w i t h matchless beauty crown'd

A n d m a n l y hearts to guard the fa i r :— Rule , Britannia! Britannia rules the waves !

Britons never shall be slaves!

T o FORTUNE

FOR ever, For tune , w i l t t h o u prove A n unrelent ing foe to L o v e , A n d w h e n w e meet a mutua l heart C o m e in between, and bid us part?

B i d us s igh on from day to day,

A n d wi sh and wi sh the soul a w a y ;

T i l l youth and genial years are flown,

A n d all the life of life is g o n e ?

B u t busy, busy, still art thou, T o bind the loveless, joyless v o w , T h e heart from pleasure to delude, T o join the gentle to the rude.

F o r once, O Fortune , hear m y prayer, A n d I absolve thy future care; A l l other blessings I resign, M a k e but the dear A m a n d a m i n e .

T H O M A S G R A Y

[77/6-/77/]

ELEGY

(Written in a Country Churchyard)

T H E curfew tolls the knell of part ing day,

T h e l o w i n g herd winds slowly o'er the lea,

T H O M A S G R A Y

T h e p l o u g h m a n h o m e w a r d plods his weary w a y ,

A n d leaves the wor ld to darkness and to me.

N o w fades the g l i m m e r i n g landscape on the sight, A n d all the air a solemn stillness holds,

Save where the beede wheels his droning flight,

A n d drowsy t inkl ings lull the distant folds:

Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower T h e m o p i n g o w l does to the moon complain

O f such as, w a n d e r i n g near her secret bower,

Molest her ancient solitary reign.

Beneath those r u g g e d elms, that yew-tree's shade W h e r e heaves the turf in m a n y a moulder ing heap,

E a c h in his narrow cell for ever laid,

T h e rude Forefathers of the hamlet sleep.

T h e breezy call of incense-breathing morn, T h e swal low twit ter ing from the straw-built shed,

T h e cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn,

N o more shall rouse t h e m from their lowly bed.

F o r t h e m no more the b laz ing hearth shall burn

O r busy housewife ply her evening care:

N o children run to lisp their sire's return,

O r c l imb his knees the envied kiss to share.

O f t did the harvest to their sickle yield,

T h e i r furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; H o w jocund did they drive their team afield!

H o w bow'd the w o o d s beneath their sturdy stroke!

L e t not A m b i t i o n m o c k their useful toil,

T h e i r homely joys, and destiny obscure;

N o r G r a n d e u r hear w i t h a disdainful smile

T h e short and simple annals of the Poor.

T h e boast of heraldry, the p o m p of power,

A n d all that beauty, all that weal th e'er gave

A w a i t s al ike th' inevitable hour :— T h e paths of g lory lead but to the grave.

T H O M A S G R A Y

N o r you, ye Proud, impute to these the fault

If M e m o r y o'er their t o m b no trophies raise,

W h e r e through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vaul t

T h e peal ing anthem swells the note of praise.

C a n storied urn or animated bust

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath,

C a n Honour's voice provoke the silent dust,

O r Flattery soothe the dull cold ear of D e a t h ?

Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant w i t h celestial fire;

H a n d s , that the rod of empire m i g h t have sway'd ,

O r w a k e d to ecstasy the l i v ing lyre:

B u t K n o w l e d g e to their eyes her ample page ,

R ich wi th the spoils of t ime, did ne'er unroll;

Chi l l Penury repress'd their noble rage,

A n d froze the genial current of the soul.

Ful l many a g e m of purest ray serene T h e dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear:

Fu l l many a flower is born to blush unseen,

A n d waste its sweetness on the desert air.

Some v i l l age -Hampden , that w i t h dauntless breast

T h e little tyrant of his fields withstood,

Some mute inglorious Mi l ton here may rest,

Some C r o m w e l l , guiltless of his country's blood.

T h ' applause of l istening senates to c o m m a n d ,

T h e threats of pain and ruin to despise,

T o scatter plenty o'er a smi l ing land,

A n d read their history in a nation's eyes

T h e i r lot forbad: nor circumscribed alone T h e i r g r o w i n g virtues, but their crimes confined;

Forbad to w a d e through slaughter to a throne,

A n d shut the gates of mercy on m a n k i n d ;

T H O M A S G R A Y

T h e s truggl ing pangs of conscious truth to hide, T o quench the blushes of ingenuous shame,

O r heap the shrine of L u x u r y and Pride

W i t h incense k indled at the Muse's flame.

F a r from the m a d d i n g crowd's ignoble strife

T h e i r sober wishes never learn'd to stray;

A l o n g the cool sequester'd vale of life

T h e y kept the noiseless tenour of their w a y .

Y e t e'en these bones from insult to protect S o m e frail memorial still erected n igh ,

W i t h uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture deck'd, Implores the passing tribute of a s igh.

T h e i r name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd Muse , T h e place of fame and elegy supply:

A n d m a n y a holy text around she strews,

T h a t teach the rustic moralist to die.

F o r w h o , to d u m b forgetfulness a prey,

T h i s pleasing anxious be ing e'er resign'd,

L e f t the w a r m precincts of the cheerful day,

N o r cast one l o n g i n g l inger ing look behind?

O n some fond breast the part ing soul relies,

Some pious drops the closing eye requires;

E'en from the t o m b the voice of N a t u r e cries, E 'en in our ashes live their wonted fires.

F o r thee, w h o , mindfu l of th' unhonour'd dead, D o s t in these lines their ardess tale relate;

If chance, by lonely Contempla t ion led,

Some k indred spirit shall enquire thy fate,—

H a p l y some hoary-headed swain may say,

'Of t have w e seen h i m at the peep of d a w n

Brush ing w i t h hasty steps the dews a w a y ,

T o meet the sun upon the upland lawn;

T H O M A S G R A Y 447 'There at the foot of yonder n o d d i n g beech

T h a t wreathes its old fantastic roots so h igh ,

H i s listless length at noon-tide w o u l d he stretch,

A n d pore upon the brook that babbles by .

'Hard by yon wood , n o w smi l ing as in scorn,

Mutter ing his w a y w a r d fancies he w o u l d rove;

N o w drooping, woefu l -wan, l ike one forlorn,

O r crazed wi th care, or cross'd in hopeless love .

' O n e morn I miss'd h i m on the custom'd hill,

A l o n g the heath, and near his favourite tree;

Another came; nor yet beside the rill, N o r up the l a w n , nor at the w o o d was he;

' T h e next w i th dirges due in sad array [borne ,—

Slow through the church-way path w e saw h i m

Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay

G r a v e d on the stone beneath yon aged thorn:'

The Epitaph

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth A youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown;

Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth And Melancholy marled him for her own.

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere; Heaven did a recompense as largely send:

He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear, He gain'd from Heaven, 'twas all he wish'd, a friend.

No farther see\ his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,

{There they alike in trembling hope repose,) The bosom of his Father and his God.

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE

YE distant spires, ye ant ique towers,

T h a t crown the watery g lade,

W h e r e grateful Science still adores

T H O M A S G R A Y

H e r Henry ' s holy shade; A n d ye, that from the stately brow O f Windsor 's heights th' expanse below O f grove , of l a w n , of mead survey, W h o s e turf, whose shade, whose flowers a m o n g W a n d e r s the hoary T h a m e s along

H i s s i lver-winding w a y :

A h h a p p y hills! ah pleasing shade!

A h fields beloved in vain! W h e n once m y careless chi ldhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales that from ye b low A momentary bliss bestow, A s w a v i n g fresh their g ladsome w i n g M y weary soul they seem to soothe A n d , redolent of joy and youth ,

T o breathe a second spring.

Say, Father T h a m e s , for thou hast seen

F u l l m a n y a sprightly race Di spor t ing on thy margent green

T h e paths of pleasure trace; W h o foremost n o w del ight to cleave W i t h pliant arm, thy glassy w a v e ? T h e captive l innet w h i c h enthral? W h a t idle progeny succeed T o chase the rol l ing circle's speed

O r urge the flying ball ?

W h i l e some on earnest business bent

T h e i r m u r m u r i n g labours ply

'Gainst graver hours, that br ing constraint

T o sweeten liberty:

Some bold adventurers disdain

T h e l imits of their little reign

A n d u n k n o w n regions dare descry:

Still as they run they look behind,

T h e y hear a voice in every w i n d ,

A n d snatch a fearful joy.

T H O M A S G R A Y

G a y H o p e is theirs by fancy fed,

Less pleasing w h e n possest; T h e tear forgot as soon as shed,

T h e sunshine of the breast: T h e i r s b u x o m H e a l t h , of rosy hue , W i l d W i t , Invent ion ever new, A n d lively C h e e r , of V i g o u r born; T h e thoughdess day, the easy n ight , T h e spirits pure, the slumbers l ight

T h a t fly th' approach of morn .

A l a s ! regardless of their d o o m

T h e little vict ims play! N o sense have they of ills to come

N o r care beyond to-day: Y e t see h o w all around 'em wa i t T h e ministers of h u m a n fate A n d black Misfortune's baleful train! A h shew them w h e r e in ambush stand T o seize their prey, the murderous band!

A h , tell them they are m e n !

T h e s e shall the fury Passions tear,

T h e vultures of the m i n d , Disdainful A n g e r , pallid Fear ,

A n d shame that sculks behind; O r p in ing L o v e shall waste their youth , O r Jealousy w i th rankl ing tooth T h a t inly g n a w s the secret heart, A n d E n v y w a n , and faded C a r e , Grim-visaged comfortless Despair ,

A n d Sorrow's piercing dart.

A m b i t i o n this shall tempt to rise,

T h e n whir l the wretch from h i g h

T o bitter Scorn a sacrifice

A n d gr inn ing Infamy.

T h e stings of Falsehood those shall try

A n d hard Unkindness ' alter'd eye,

T h a t mocks the tear it forced to flow;

T H O M A S G R A Y

A n d keen Remorse w i t h blood defiled,

A n d m o o d y Madness l a u g h i n g wi ld

A m i d severest woe .

L o , in the V a l e of Years beneath

A griesly troop are seen, T h e painful family of D e a t h ,

M o r e hideous than their Q u e e n : T h i s racks the joints, this fires the veins, T h a t every labouring sinew strains, T h o s e in the deeper vitals rage: L o ! Poverty , to fill the band, T h a t n u m b s the soul w i th icy hand,

A n d s low-consuming A g e .

T o each his sufferings: all are men ,

C o n d e m n ' d al ike to groan; T h e tender for another's pain,

T h ' unfee l ing for his o w n . Y e t , ah! w h y should they k n o w their fate, Since sorrow never comes too late, A n d happiness too swiftly flies? T h o u g h t w o u l d destroy their paradise! N o more ;—where ignorance is bliss,

' T i s folly to be wise .

H Y M N TO ADVERSITY

DAUGHTER of Jove, relendess power,

T h o u tamer of the h u m a n breast,

W h o s e iron scourge and torturing hour T h e bad affright, afflict the best!

B o u n d in thy adamant ine chain T h e proud are taught to taste of pain, A n d purple tyrants vainly groan

W i t h pangs unfelt before, unpit ied and alone.

W h e n first thy Sire to send on earth

V i r t u e , his dar l ing chi ld, design'd,

T o thee he gave the heavenly birth A n d bade to form her infant m i n d .

T H O M A S G R A Y

Stern, rugged N u r s e ! thy rigid lore

W i t h patience m a n y a year she bore;

W h a t sorrow was , thou bad'st her k n o w ,

A n d from her o w n she learn'd to melt at others' w o e .

Scared at thy f rown terrific, fly Self-pleasing Fol ly's idle brood,

W i l d L a u g h t e r , No i se , and thoughtless Joy,

A n d leave us leisure to be good . L i g h t they disperse, and w i t h them g o T h e summer Fr iend , the flattering Foe ; B y vain Prosperity received,

T o her they v o w their truth, and are again believed.

W i s d o m in sable g a r b array'd Immersed in rapturous thought profound,

A n d Melancholy , silent maid ,

W i t h leaden eye, that loves the ground , Still on thy solemn steps attend: W a r m Char i ty , the general friend, W i t h Justice, to herself severe,

A n d Pity dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear.

O ! gent ly on thy suppliant's head

D r e a d Goddess , lay thy chastening hand! N o t in thy G o r g o n terrors clad,

N o r circled w i t h the vengeful band

( A s by the impious thou art seen)

W i t h thunder ing voice, and threatening mien ,

W i t h screaming Horror's funeral cry, Despair , and fell Disease, and ghastly P o v e r t y ; —

T h y form benign , O Goddess , wear ,

T h y milder influence impart , T h y philosophic train be there.

T o soften, not to w o u n d m y heart. T h e generous spark extinct revive, T e a c h me to love and to forgive E x a c t m y o w n defects to scan,

W h a t others are to feel, and k n o w myself a M a n .

T H O M A S G R A Y

ODE ON THE SPRING

L o ! where the rosy-bosom'd H o u r s ,

Fa i r V e n u s ' train, appear,

Disclose the long-expect ing flowers

A n d w a k e the purple year!

T h e A t t i c warbler pours her throat

Responsive to the cuckoo's note,

T h e untaught harmony of Spr ing:

W h i l e , whisper ing pleasure as they fly,

C o o l Zephyrs thro' the clear blue sky

T h e i r gather'd fragrance fling.

Where 'er the oak's thick branches stretch

A broader, browner shade,

Where 'er the rude and moss-grown beech

O'er-canopies the g lade ,

Beside some water's rushy brink

W i t h m e the M u s e shall sit, and think

( A t ease reclined in rustic state)

H o w vain the ardour of the C r o w d ,

H o w low, h o w little are the Proud,

H o w indigent the Great !

Still is the toi l ing hand of Care ;

T h e pant ing herds repose:

Y e t hark, h o w thro' the peopled air

T h e busy m u r m u r g l o w s !

T h e insect youth are on the w i n g ,

E a g e r to taste the honied spring

A n d float a m i d the l iquid noon:

S o m e l ight ly o'er the current sk im,

S o m e show their gai ly-gi lded trim

Q u i c k - g l a n c i n g to the sun.

T o Contemplat ion's sober eye

Such is the race of M a n :

A n d they that creep, and they that fly

Shall end where they began.

A l i k e the busy and the g a y

T H O M A S G R A Y

B u t flutter thro' life's little day ,

In Fortune's v a r y i n g colours drest:

Brush'd by the hand of r o u g h Mischance ,

O r chill'd by A g e , their airy dance

T h e y leave, in dust to rest.

M e t h i n k s I hear in accents l o w

T h e sportive k i n d reply: Poor moralist! and w h a t art thou?

A solitary fly! T h y joys no gl i t tering female meets, N o hive hast thou of hoarded sweets, N o painted p l u m a g e to display: O n hasty w i n g s thy youth is flown; T h y sun is set, thy spring is g o n e —

W e frolic whi le 'tis M a y .

T H E PROGRESS OF POESY

A Pindaric Ode

AWAKE, Aeo l ian lyre, a w a k e , A n d g ive to rapture all thy trembl ing strings. F r o m Helicon's harmonious springs

A thousand rills their m a z y progress take: T h e laugh ing flowers that round them b l o w D r i n k life and fragrance as they flow. N o w the rich stream of Mus ic w i n d s a long D e e p , majestic, smooth, and strong, T h r o u g h verdant vales, and Ceres' go lden reign; N o w rolling d o w n the steep amain H e a d l o n g , impetuous, see it pour: T h e rocks and n o d d i n g groves re-bellow to the roar

O Sovereign of the wi l l ing soul,

Parent of sweet and solemn-breathing airs,

Enchant ing shell! the sullen Cares

A n d frantic Passions hear thy soft control.

O n Thracia 's hills the L o r d of W a r

H a s curb'd the fury of his car

A n d dropt his thirsty lance at thy c o m m a n d .

T H O M A S G R A Y

Perch ing on the sceptred hand

O f Jove, thy m a g i c lulls the feather'd k i n g

W i t h ruffled plumes , and f lagging w i n g :

Q u e n c h ' d in dark clouds of slumber lie

T h e terror of his beak, and l ightnings of his eye.

T h e e the voice, the dance, obey T e m p e r ' d to thy warbled lay. O'er Idalia's velvet-green T h e rosy-crowned L o v e s are seen O n Cytherea's day,

W i t h antic Sport, and blue-eyed Pleasures, F r i s k i n g l ight in frolic measures; N o w pursuing, n o w retreating,

N o w in circling troops they meet : T o brisk notes in cadence beating

G l a n c e their m a n y - t w i n k l i n g feet. S l o w mel t ing strains their Queen's approach declare:

Where 'er she turns, the Graces homage pay: W i t h arms sublime that float upon the air

In g l i d i n g state she w ins her easy w a y : O'er her w a r m cheek and rising bosom move T h e b loom of y o u n g Desire and purple l ight of L o v e .

Man' s feeble race w h a t ills await ! L a b o u r , and Penury, the racks of Pain, Disease, and Sorrow's weep ing train,

A n d D e a t h , sad refuge from the storms of Fate ! T h e fond complaint , m y song, disprove, A n d justify the laws of Jove. Say, has he g iven in vain the heavenly M u s e N i g h t , and all her sickly dews , H e r spectres w a n , and birds of b o d i n g cry H e gives to range the dreary sky: T i l l d o w n the eastern cliffs afar

Hyperion's march they spy, and gl ittering shafts of war .

In climes beyond the solar road W h e r e shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, T h e M u s e has broke the twi l ight g loom

T H O M A S G R A Y

T o cheer the shivering native's dull abode. A n d oft, beneath the odorous shade O f Chi l i ' s boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat In loose numbers wi ld ly sweet T h e i r feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. H e r track, where'er the Goddess roves, G l o r y pursue, and generous Shame , T h ' unconquerable M i n d , and Freedom's holy flame.

W o o d s , that w a v e o'er Delphi 's steep, Isles, that crown th' A e g e a n deep, Fields that cool Ilissus laves, O r where Maeander's amber waves In l ingering lab'rinths creep, H o w do your tuneful echoes languish , M u t e , but to the voice of anguish! W h e r e each old poetic mounta in

Inspiration breathed around; Every shade and hal low'd fountain

M u r m u r ' d deep a solemn sound: T i l l the sad N i n e , in Greece's evil hour

Le f t their Parnassus for the Lat ian plains. A l i k e they scorn the p o m p of tyrant Power ,

A n d coward V i c e , that revels in her chains. W h e n L a t i u m had her lofty spirit lost, T h e y sought, O A l b i o n ! next , thy sea-encircled coast.

Far from the sun and summer-gale In thy green lap was Nature's D a r l i n g laid, W h a t t ime, where lucid A v o n stray'd,

T o h i m the m i g h t y M o t h e r did unvei l H e r awful face: the dauntless C h i l d Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled. T h i s pencil take (she sa id) , whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year: T h i n e , too, these go lden keys , immortal B o y ! T h i s can unlock the gates of Joy; O f Horror that, and thri l l ing Fears, O r ope the sacred source of sympathetic T e a r s .

T H O M A S G R A Y

N o r second H e , that rode sublime U p o n the seraph-wings of Ecstasy T h e secrets of the A b y s s to spy:

H e pass'd the flaming bounds of Place and T i m e : T h e l i v ing T h r o n e , the sapphire-blaze W h e r e A n g e l s tremble whi le they gaze , H e saw; but blasted w i t h excess of l ight , Closed his eyes in endless n ight . Behold where D r y d e n ' s less presumptuous car W i d e o'er the fields of G l o r y bear T w o coursers of ethereal race,

W i t h necks in thunder clothed, and long-resounding pace.

H a r k , his hands the lyre explore!

Bright-eyed F a n c y , hover ing o'er, Scatters from her pictured urn

T h o u g h t s that breathe, and words that burn.

B u t ah! 'tis heard no m o r e —

O h ! L y r e divine, w h a t dar ing Spirit

W a k e s thee n o w ! T h o ' h e inherit N o r the pride, nor ample pinion,

T h a t the T h e b a n E a g l e bear, Sai l ing w i t h supreme dominion

T h r o ' the azure deep of air: Y e t oft before his infant eyes w o u l d run

Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray W i t h orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun:

Y e t shall he m o u n t , and keep his distant w a y B e y o n d the l imits of a vulgar fate: Beneath the G o o d h o w far—but far above the Great .

T H E BARD

Pindaric Ode

'RUIN seize thee, ruthless K i n g !

Confus ion on thy banners wai t !

T h o ' fann'd by Conquest ' s crimson w i n g

T h e y m o c k the air w i t h idle state.

H e l m , nor hauberk's twisted mail

N o r e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail

T H O M A S G R A Y

T o save thy secret soul from night ly fears,

F r o m Cambria 's curse, from Cambria ' s tears!' — S u c h were the sounds that o'er the crested pride

O f the first E d w a r d scatter'd w i l d dismay,

A s d o w n the steep of Snowdon' s shaggy side

H e w o u n d w i t h toilsome march his l o n g array:—

Stout Glo'ster stood aghast in speechless trance;

' T o arms!' cried Mort imer , and couch'd his q u i v e r i n g

lance.

O n a rock, w h o s e h a u g h t y b r o w

F r o w n s o'er old C o n w a y ' s f o a m i n g flood,

Robed in the sable garb of w o e W i t h haggard eyes the Poet stood; (Loose his beard and hoary hair Stream'd l ike a meteor to the troubled air) A n d wi th a master's h a n d and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre:

'Hark , h o w each giant-oak and desert-cave Sighs to the torrent's a w f u l voice beneath! O'er thee, O K i n g ! their hundred arms they w a v e

R e v e n g e on thee in hoarser m u r m u r s breathe; V o c a l no more, since Cambria ' s fatal day, T o high-born Hoel 's harp, or soft L lewe l lyn ' s lay.

'Co ld is Cadwal lo ' s tongue ,

T h a t hush'd the stormy m a i n : Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed:

Mounta ins , ye m o u r n in va in Modred , whose m a g i c song

M a d e huge P l i n l i m m o n b o w his cloud-topt head.

O n dreary A r v o n ' s shore they lie Smear'd w i t h gore and ghast ly pale: Far , far aloof the affrighted ravens sail;

T h e famish'd eagle screams, and passes by . D e a r lost companions of m y tuneful art,

D e a r as the l ight that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that w a r m m y heart,

Y e died amidst your d y i n g country's cries— N o more I w e e p ; T h e y d o not sleep;

T H O M A S G R A Y

O n yonder cliffs, a griesly band ,

I see t h e m sit; T h e y l inger yet,

A v e n g e r s of their native land:

W i t h m e in dreadful harmony they join,

A n d w e a v e w i t h bloody hands the tissue of thy line.'

W e a v e the w a r p and w e a v e the woof T h e w i n d i n g sheet of E d w a r d ' s race:

G i v e ample room and verge e n o u g h

T h e characters of hell to trace. M a r k the year, and m a r k the n ight , W h e n Severn shall re-echo wi th affright T h e shrieks of death thro' Berkley's roof that ring, Shrieks of an a g o n i z i n g k i n g !

She-wolf of France , w i t h unrelent ing fangs T h a t tear'st the bowels of thy m a n g l e d mate,

F r o m thee be born, w h o o'er thy country hangs T h e scourge of H e a v e n ! W h a t terrors round h im wait A m a z e m e n t in his v a n , w i t h F l i g h t combined, A n d Sorrow's faded form, and Solitude behind.

' M i g h t y victor, m i g h t y lord, L o w on his funeral couch he lies!

N o p i ty ing heart, no eye, afford A tear to grace his obsequies.

Is the sable warrior fled? T h y son is g o n e . H e rests a m o n g the dead. T h e s w a r m that in thy noon-tide beam were born? — G o n e to salute the rising morn . Fa i r laughs the M o r n , and soft the zephyr blows,

W h i l e proudly r id ing o'er the azure realm I n gal lant tr im the g i lded Vessel goes:

Y o u t h on the prow, and Pleasure at the he lm: Regardless of the sweep ing W h i r l w i n d ' s sway, T h a t hush'd in g r i m repose expects his evening prey.

'Fi l l h i g h the sparkl ing b o w l ,

T h e rich repast prepare;

Ref t of a c r o w n , he ye t m a y share the feast:

C lose b y the regal chair

T H O M A S G R A Y

Fel l T h i r s t and F a m i n e scowl A baleful smile upon their baffled guest .

H e a r d ye the d in of battle bray,

L a n c e to lance, and horse to horse?

L o n g years of havock urge their destined course, A n d thro' the k indred squadrons m o w their w a y .

Y e towers of Julius, London' s l a sdng shame, W i t h many a foul and m i d n i g h t murder fed,

Revere his„Consort's faith, his Father's fame, A n d spare the m e e k usurper's holy head! A b o v e , below, the rose of snow,

T w i n e d w i t h her b lushing foe, w e spread: T h e bristled boar in infant-gore

W a l l o w s beneath the thorny shade. N o w , brothers, bend ing o'er the accursed loom, S t a m p w e our vengeance deep, and ratify his d o o m .

' E d w a r d , lo! t o sudden fate

( W e a v e w e the woof; T h e thread is spun;) H a l f of thy heart w e consecrate.

( T h e w e b is w o v e ; T h e w o r k is done. ) — S t a y , oh stay! nor thus forlorn L e a v e m e unbless'd, unpit ied, here to m o u r n : In yon bright track that fires the western skies T h e y melt , they vanish from m y eyes. B u t O ! w h a t so lemn scenes on Snowdon's height

Descend ing s low their gl i t tering skirts unroll? Vis ions of g lory, spare m y a c h i n g sight, Y e unborn ages, c rowd not on m y soul! N o more our long-lost A r t h u r w e b e w a i l : — A l l hail, ye genu ine k i n g s ! Britannia's issue, hail!

'Gir t w i t h m a n y a baron bold Subl ime their starry fronts they rear; A n d gorgeous dames , and statesmen old

In bearded majesty, appear.

In the midst a form div ine! H e r eye proclaims her of the Bri ton-Line:

H e r lion-port, her a w e - c o m m a n d i n g face

At temper 'd sweet to virgin-grace.

T H O M A S G R A Y

W h a t strings symphonious tremble in the air, W h a t strains of vocal transport round her p lay?

H e a r from the grave , great Tal iess in, hear; T h e y breathe a soul to animate thy clay.

Br ight Rapture calls, and soaring as she sings,

W a v e s in the eye of H e a v e n her many-coloured w i n g s .

T h e verse adorn aga in

Fierce W a r , a n d faithful L o v e , A n d T r u t h severe, b y fairy Fict ion drest.

I n buskin'd measures m o v e Pale Grief , and pleas ing Pa in , W i t h Horror , tyrant of the throbbing breast. A voice as of the cherub-choir

G a l e s f rom b l o o m i n g E d e n bear,

A n d distant warbl ings lessen on m y ear T h a t lost in l o n g futurity expire. F o n d impious m a n , think'st thou yon sanguine cloud

Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day ? T o - m o r r o w he repairs the go lden flood

A n d w a r m s the nations w i t h redoubled ray. E n o u g h for m e : w i t h joy I see

T h e different doom-our fates assign: B e thine Despair and sceptred C a r e ,

T o t r i u m p h and to die are mine. ' — H e spoke, and head long from the mountain's height D e e p in the roaring t ide he p lunged to endless night .

ODE ON THE PLEASURE ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE

N o w the go lden M o r n aloft W a v e s her dew-bespangled w i n g ,

W i t h vermeil cheek and whisper soft

She woos the tardy Spr ing:

T i l l A p r i l starts, and calls around

T h e sleeping fragrance from the ground,

A n d l ight ly o'er the l i v ing scene

Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.

N e w - b o r n flocks, in rustic dance,

F r i s k i n g ply their feeble feet;

T H O M A S G R A Y

Forgetful of their wintry trance T h e birds his presence greet:

B u t chief, the sky-lark warbles h i g h H i s trembl ing thri l l ing ecstasy; A n d lessening from the d a z z l e d sight, Melts into air and l iquid l ight .

Yesterday the sullen year S a w the snowy w h i r l w i n d fly;

M u t e was the music of the air, T h e herd stood drooping by;

T h e i r raptures n o w that wi ld ly flow N o yesterday nor m o r r o w k n o w ; 'T i s M a n alone that joy descries W i t h forward and reverted eyes.

Smiles on past Misfortune's b r o w Soft Reflection's h a n d can trace,

A n d o'er the cheek of Sorrow throw

A melancholy grace; W h i l e H o p e prolongs our happier hour, O r deepest shades, that d imly lour A n d blacken round our weary w a y , G i l d s w i t h a g l e a m of distant day .

Still, where rosy Pleasure leads,

See a k indred Gr ie f pursue;

Behind the steps that Misery treads

A p p r o a c h i n g C o m f o r t v i e w : T h e hues of bliss more br ighdy g l o w Chastised by sabler tints of woe , A n d blended form, w i t h artful strife, T h e strength and harmony of life.

See the wretch that l o n g has tost

O n the thorny bed of pain,

A t length repair his v igour lost

A n d breathe and w a l k aga in :

T h e meanest floweret of the vale,

T h e simplest note that swells the gale,

462 T H O M A S G R A Y

T h e c o m m o n sun, the air, the skies, T o h i m are opening Paradise.

292 O N A FAVOURITE C A T , DROWNED IN A T U B OF

GOLD FISHES

'TWAS on a lofty vase's side, W h e r e China's gayest art had dyed T h e azure flowers that b low, Demures t of the tabby k ind T h e pensive Selima, reclined, G a z e d on the lake below.

H e r conscious tail her joy declared: T h e fair round face, the snowy beard, T h e velvet of her paws , H e r coat that w i t h the tortoise vies, H e r ears of jet, and emerald eyes— She saw, and purr'd applause.

Still had she g a z e d , but 'midst the tide T w o angel forms were seen to gl ide, T h e G e n i i of the stream: T h e i r scaly armour's T y r i a n hue T h r o u g h richest purple, to the v iew Betray'd a go lden g l eam.

T h e hapless N y m p h wi th wonder saw:

A whisker first, and then a c law W i t h m a n y an ardent wish

She stretch'd, in vain, to reach the pr ize—

W h a t female heart can gold despise ? W h a t Cat ' s averse to fish?

Presumptuous ma id ! w i th looks intent

A g a i n she stretch'd, again she bent,

N o r k n e w the gulf be tween—

M a l i g n a n t Fate sat by and smiled—•

T h e slippery verge her feet beguiled;

She tumbled headlong in!

G E O R G E B U B B D O D I N G T O N 463 E i g h t t imes e m e r g i n g from the flood

She m e w ' d to every watery G o d

Some speedy aid to send:—

N o D o l p h i n came, no N e r e i d stirr'd.

N o r cruel T o m nor Susan heard—

A favourite has no friend!

F r o m hence, ye Beauties! undeceived K n o w one false step is ne'er retrieved, A n d be w i t h caution bold: N o t all that tempts your w a n d e r i n g eyes A n d heedless hearts, is lawful prize , N o r all that glisters, go ld!

G E O R G E B U B B D O D I N G T O N , L O R D M E L C O M B E

[I69I(?)-I762]

293 SHORTEN SAIL

LOVE thy country, w i s h it we l l ,

N o t w i t h too intense a care;

'T i s e n o u g h that, w h e n it fell,

T h o u its ruin didst not share.

E n v y ' s censure, Flattery's praise,

W i t h u n m o v e d indifference v i e w :

L e a r n to tread Life 's dangerous m a z e

W i t h unerring Virtue's clue.

V o i d of strong desire and fear,

Life's w i d e ocean trust no more;

Strive thy l i tde bark to steer

W i t h the tide, but near the shore.

T h u s prepared, thy shorten'd sail

Shall , when'er the w i n d s increase,

Se i z ing each propitious gale,

W a f t thee to the port of Peace.

GEORGE BUBB DODINGTON

K e e p thy conscience from offence

A n d tempestuous passions free,

So, w h e n thou art call'd from hence,

Easy shall thy passage be.

— E a s y shall thy passage be,

Cheerful thy allotted stay,

Short the account ' twixt G o d and thee.

H o p e shall meet thee on thy w a y .