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So him he foil'd; and put to sudden flight,
By aim of wit, the foul Stimphalides

And while we say, he master'd men by might,
Behold in person of this Hercules,

It liketh me to figure Chastity;
His labour like that foul unclean desire,
That under guide of tickling fantasy
Would mar the mind through pleasure's scorching
fire.

And who hath seen a fair alluring face,
A lusty girl, yelad in quaint array,

Whose dainty hand makes music with her lace,
And tempts thy thoughts, and steals thy sense away:

Whose ticing hair, like nets of golden wire,
Enchain thy heart; whose gait and voice divine

Enflame thy blood, and kindle thy desire;
Whose features wrap and dazzle human eyne:

Who hath beheld fair Venus in her pride
Of nakedness, all alabaster white,

In ivory bed, strait laid by Mars his side,
And hath not been enchanted with the sight;

To wish to dally, and to offer game,
To coy, to court, et caetera to do;

(Forgive me, Chastness, if in terms of shame,
To thy renown, I paint what longs thereto.)

Who hath not liv'd, and yet hath seen, I say,
That might offend chaste hearers to endure?

Who hath been haled on to touch and play,
And yet not stoopt to pleasure's wanton lure;

Crown him with laurel for his victory,
Clad him in purple, and in scarlet dye,

Enroll his name in books of memory,
Ne let the honour of his conquest die

More royal in his triumph, than the man
Whom tigers drew in coach of burnish'd gold;

In whom the Roman monarchy began,
Whose works of worth no wit hath erst controll'd :

Elysium be his walk, high heaven his shrine,
His drink sweet nectar, and ambrosia

The food that makes immortal and divine,
Be his to taste, to make him live for aye!

And that I may, in brief, describe his due,
What lasting honour Virtue's guerdon is,

So much and more his just desert pursue,
Sith his desert awards it to be his.

L'EN voy.

To thee, in honour of whose government
Entitled is—this praise of Chastity,

My gentle friend, these hasty lines are meant;
So flowereth Virtue like the laurel-tree,
Immortal green that every eye may see:

And well was Daphne turn'd into the bay,

Whose Chasteness triumphs, grows, and lives for aye! CORIDON AND MELAMPUS’ SONG,”

From England's Helicon, 1600.

CoR. Melampus, when will Love be void of fears?
MEL. When Jealousy hath neither eyes nor ears.
CoR. Melampus, when will Lovebethroughly shriev'd?
MEL. When it is hard to speak, and not believ'd.
CoR. Melampus, when is Love most mal-content?
MEL. When lovers range, and bear their bows unbent.
CoR. Melampus, tell me when Love takes least harm?
MEL. When swains' sweet pipes are puft, and trulls
are Warm.
Con. Melampus, tell me when is Love best fed ?
MEL. When it has suckt the sweet that ease hath
bred.
CoR. Melampus, when is time in Love ill spent?t
MEL. When it earns meed and yet receives no rent.
CoR. Melampus, when is time well spent in Love?
MEL. When deeds win meed, and words love works
do prove.

* This song formed part of the Hunting of Cupid, see p. 261. t So stands the line in England's Helicon, 1600, Malone's copy of which is now before me: in the reprint of that very rare work (in the British Bibliographer,) it is incorrectly given thus: “Melampus, when is Love in time ill-spent.”

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CUPID'S ARROWS,

From England's Parnassus, 1600."

At Venus' entreaty for Cupid her son
These arrows by Vulcan were cunningly done.
The first is Love, as here you may behold,
His feathers, head, and body, are of gold:
The second shaft is Hate, a foe to love,
And bitter are his torments for to prove:
The third is Hope, from whence our comfort springs,
His feathers [they] are pull'd from Fortune's wings:
Fourth Jealousy in basest minds doth dwell,
This metal Vulcan's Cyclops sent from hell.

* E. P. p. 177, under the head Love. These verses are (as I suspected before I had seen the Drummond MSS.) a portion of the Hunting of Cupid : see p. 261.

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