BEN JOHNSON.

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,

Thro' swords, thro' 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, 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.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,

Before rude hands have touch'd it?

Have mark'd but the fall of the snow,

you

Before the soil hath smutch'd it?

Have

you felt the wool of the beaver,

Or swan's down ever?

Or have smell'd of the bud o' the briar?

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!

F

49

THE SWEET NEGLECT.

STILL to be neat, still to be dress'd,
As you were going to a feast;

Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd;
Lady! it is to be presum'd,

Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all the adulteries of art;

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

The two foregoing Pieces are by BEN JOHNSON, the friend and contemporary of Shakespeare. The last is from his "Silent Woman," first acted in 1609. He was born 1574, died 1657.

WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY.

I lov'd thee once, I'll love no more,
Thine be the grief, as is the blame;
Thou art not what thou wast before,

What reason I should be the same?
He that can love, unlov'd again,
Hath better store of love than brain;
God send me love my debts to pay,
While unthrifts fool their love away.

SIR ROBERT AYTON.

Nothing could have my love o'erthrown,
If thou hadst still continued mine;
Yea, if thou hadst remain'd thy own,

I might perchance have yet been thine;
But thou thy freedom did recal,
That, if thou might, elsewhere enthral;
And then how could I but disdain
A captive's captive to remain!

When new desires had conquer'd thee,
And chang'd the object of thy will;

It had been lethargy in me,

Not constancy, to love thee still:
Yea, it had been a sin to go

And prostitute affection so;

Since we are taught no prayers to say,
To such as must to others pray.

Yet do thou glory in thy choice,-
Thy choice, of his good fortune boast;
I'll neither grieve nor yet rejoice
To see him gain what I have lost:
The height of my disdain shall be,
To laugh at him, to blush for thee,
To love thee still, but go no more
A-begging at a beggar's door.

51

The author of the above Sonnet, SIR ROBERT AYTON, in 1606, says Pinkerton, wrote some Latin poems in the Delicia Poetarum Scotarum, and some light genteel pieces in English, two of which are published in Select Scottish Ballads, vol. I. One or two more may be found in a collection of Scottish Poems by Watson the

printer, published, according to Alexander Campbell, editor of Albyn's Anthology, in 1706-9-11-12. Ayton was Private Secretary to Queen Anne of Denmark, wife of James the Sixth; he is little known as a poet, but the present specimen must induce a regret that he had not written more-it rivals even the Sonnets of Drummond in elegance of fancy and harmony of versification.

THE JOLLY ALE-DRINKER.

I cannot eat but little meat,
My stomach is not good;
But sure I think, that I can drink
With him that wears a hood:
Though I go bare, take ye no care,
I nothing am a cold.

I stuff my skin so full within,
With jolly good ale and old.
Back and sides go bare, go bare,
Both foot and hand go cold;

But belly, God send thee good ale enough,
Whether it be new or old.

I love no roast, but a nut brown toast,
And a crab laid on the fire;

A little bread shall serve my stead,

For much I not desire,

No frost or snow, no wind I know,

Can hurt me if I would:

I am so wrapp'd, and thoroughly lapp'd

With jolly good ale and old.

Back and sides go, &c.

THOMAS HEYWOOD.

And Tib my wife, that as her life,
Loveth good ale to seek;

Full oft drinks she, till you may see
The tears run down her cheek.
Then doth she trowl to me the bowl,

Even as a malt-woman should;
And faith, sweet-heart, I took my part

Of this jolly good ale and old.

Back and sides go, &c.

53

The above Bacchanalian Piece is by Dr. JOHN STILL, born at Grantham, in Lincolnshire, about 1542. After passing through several gradations in the church, and having been successively Master of St. John's and Trinity Colleges, and Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, he attained the mitre at Bath and Wells, after the demise of Bishop Godwin, and died in 1607.

Some curious notices regarding Dr. Still, will be found in the Nugæ Antiquæ, contained in a Letter from John Harrington to Prince Henry, wherein are several strong delineations of the simple humour and genius of these times.

Bishop Still was author of the earliest English drama, that exhibited any approaches to regular comedy, "Gamer Gurton's Needle," acted in 1566, though not printed until 1575, in which "the Jolly Ale-Drinkers" first appeared. Our copy of the Ballad is taken from "Poor Robin's Almanack," for 1708, on the left hand side of this eccentric compiler's column for April.

THE CHOICE.

SHE that denies me, I would have;

Who craves me, I despise;

Venus hath power to rule mine heart,

But not to please mine eyes: