Answer. "Tis not to be chaste, nor fair,
(Such gifts malice may impair,)
Richly trimmed, to walk or ride,
Or to wanton unespied;

To preserve an honest name,
And so to give it up to fame;
These are toys. In good or ill
They desire to have their will:
Yet, when they have it, they abuse it,
For they know not how to use it.*

CUPID'S REVENGE.

SACRIFICE TO CUPID.

COME, my children, let your feet

In an even measure meet,

And your cheerful voices rise,
To present this sacrifice

To great Cupid, in whose name,
I his priest begin the same.

Young men, take your loves and kiss;

Thus our Cupid honored is;

Kiss again, and in your kissing

Let no promises be missing;

Nor let any maiden here

Dare to turn away her ear
Unto the whisper of her love,

But give bracelet, ring, or glove,
As a token to her sweeting,

Of an after secret meeting.

Now, boy, sing, to stick our hearts
Fuller of great Cupid's darts.

* This solution of the question is to be found in the Wife of Bath's Tale, and, doubtless, was a common saw from time immemorial. But Chaucer spares the ladies the ungallant commentary with which the song closes.

THE DRAMATISTS.

11

LOVERS REJOICE!

LOVERS, rejoice! your pains shall be rewarded, The god of love himself grieves at your crying;

No more shall frozen honor be regarded,

Nor the coy faces of a maid denying.

No more shall virgins sigh, and say 'We dare not,
'For men are false, and what they do they care not.'
All shall be well again; then do not grieve;
Men shall be true, and women shall believe.

Lovers, rejoice! what you shall say henceforth,
When you have caught your sweethearts in your arms,
It shall be accounted oracle and worth;

No more faint-hearted girls shall dream of harms,
And cry 'They are too young'; the god hath said,
Fifteen shall make a mother of a maid:

Then, wise men, pull your roses yet unblown;
Love hates the too-ripe fruit that falls alone.

CU

PRAYER TO CUPID.

UPID, pardon what is past,
And forgive our sins at last!
Then we will be coy no more,
But thy deity adore;

Troths at fifteen we will plight,
And will tread a dance each night,
In the fields, or by the fire,

With the youths that have desire.
Given ear-rings we will wear,

Bracelets of our lovers' hair,

Which they on our arms shall twist,

With their names carved, on our wrist;
All the money that we owe

We in tokens will bestow;

* Own-possess.

*

And learn to write that, when 'tis sent,
Only our loves know what is meant.
Oh, then pardon what is past,
And forgive our sins at last!

THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.*

ROSES,

A BRIDAL SONG.

OSES, their sharp spines being gone,
Not royal in their smells alone,
But in their hue;

Maiden-pinks, of odour faint,
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true;

Primrose, first-born child of Ver,
Merry spring-time's harbinger,
With her bells dim;

Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
Lark-heels trim.

All, dear Nature's children sweet,
Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet,
Blessing their sense!

Not an angel of the air,

Bird melodious, or bird fair,

Be absent hence!

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough hoar,†

*Stated in the first 4to edition, 1634, to be the joint production of Fletcher and Shakespeare.

+ In the old editions, this line runs―

sense.

'The boding raven, nor clough he;'

Mr. Seward altered it as above, to respond to the rhyme and the There is some difficulty in accepting the original reading. Clough means a break or valley in the side of a hill, and the poet is

Nor chattering pie,

May on our bride-house perch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,
But from it fly!

THE DIRGE OF THE THREE KINGS.

TRNS and odours bring away!

URN

Vapours, sighs, darken the day!
Our dole more deadly looks than dying;
Balms, and gums, and heavy cheers,
Sacred vials filled with tears,

And clamours through the wild air flying!

Come, all sad and solemn shows,
That are quick-eyed Pleasure's foes!
We convent nought else but woes.

THE JAILOR'S DAUGHTER.

FOR I'll cut my green coat, a foot above my knee;

And I'll clip my yellow locks, an inch below mine
Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny.

He's buy me a white cut, forth for to ride,

[eye.

And I'll go seek him through the world that is so wide: Hey, nonny, nonny, nonny.

THE WOMAN-HATER.

INVOCATION TO SLEEP.

COME, Sleep, and, with thy sweet deceiving,

Lock me in delight awhile;

Let some pleasing dreams beguile
All my fancies; that from thence
I may feel an influence,

All my powers of care bereaving!

here enumerating the birds that are not to be permitted to perch or sing on the bride-house.

Though but a shadow, but a sliding,
Let me know some little joy!
We that suffer long annoy

Are contented with a thought,
Through an idle fancy wrought:
Oh, let my joys have some abiding!

THE NICE VALOUR; OR, THE PASSIONATE MADMAN.*

LOVE, SHOOT MORE!

THOU deity, swift-wingèd Love,
Sometimes below, sometimes above,
Little in shape, but great in power;
Thou that makest a heart thy tower,
And thy loop-holes ladies' eyes,

From whence thou strikest the fond and wise;

Did all the shafts in thy fair quiver

Stick fast in my ambitious liver,

Yet thy power would I adore,

And call upon thee to shoot more,
Shoot more, shoot more!

LOVE, SHOOT NO MAID AGAIN!

OH, turn thy bow!

Thy power we feel and know;
Fair Cupid, turn away thy bow!
They be those golden arrows,

Bring ladies all their sorrows;

And 'till there be more truth in men,

Never shoot at maid again!

*Ascribed to Fletcher.