16.—THE LADY'S SONG IN COMUS.-Milton.

Sweet Echo! sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen within thy airy shell, by slow Meander's margent green, and in the violet-embroidered vale,where the love-lorn nightingale nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well;-canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair, that likest thy Narcissus are? O, if thou have hid them in some flowery cave, tell me but where, sweet Queen of parly, daughter of the sphere! So mayst thou be translated to the skies, and give resounding grace to all Heaven's harmonies!

16. THE SPIRIT'S SONG IN COMUS.-Milton.

Sabrina fair, listen where thou art sitting, under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, in twisted braids of lilies knitting the loose train of thy amber-dropping hair; listen, for dear honour's sake, goddess of the silver lake, listen and save! By all the nymphs that nightly dance upon thy streams with wily glance, rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head, from thy coral-paven bed; and bridle-in thy headlong wave, till thou our summons answer'd have. Listen and save!

17.-SABRINA'S SONG IN COMUS.-Milton.

By the rushy-fringèd bank, where grows the willow and the osier dank, my sliding chariot stays, thick set with agate, and the azure sheen of turquoise blue, and emerald green, that in the channel strays; whilst, from off the waters fleet, thus I set my printless feet o'er the cowslip's velvet head, that bends not as I tread; gentle swain, at thy request, I am here.

18.-MAY MORNING.-Milton.

Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger,
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her
The flowery May,—who from her green lap throws
The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose.
Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire
Mirth, and youth, and warm desire!
Woods and groves are of thy dressing,
Hill and dale do boast thy blessing;
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long!

19.-CHERRY-RIPE.-Anon.

There is a garden in her face where roses and white lilies blow ; a heavenly paradise is that place, wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; there cherries are that none may buy, till "Cherry-Ripe!" themselves do ary.

2 Those cherries fairly do enclose of orient pearl a double row, which, when her lovely laughter shows, look like to rose-buds fill'd with snow: yet them no peer nor prince may buy, till "Cherry-Ripe!" themselves do cry. 3 Her eyes, like angels, watch them still; her brows, like bended bows, do stand, threatening, with piercing frowns, to kill all that approach with eye or hand these sacred cherries to come nigh,-till "Cherry-Ripe !" themselves do cry!

20.-GOOD MORROW.--Heywood.

Pack clouds away, and welcome day! with night we banish sorrow;
Sweet air, blow soft; mount, larks, aloft, to give my love Good-morrow!
Wings from the wind to please her mind, notes from the lark, I'll borrow;
Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing, to give my love Good-morrow!
Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast; cing, birds, in every furrow;
And from each hill let music shrill give my fair love Good-morrow!
Blackbird and thrush in every bush, stare, linnet, and pert sparrow;
You pretty elves, among yourselves, sing my fair love Good-morrow!

21.-TELL ME NOT, SWEET.-Lovelace.

Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,-that, from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind, to war and arms I fly.
True, a new mistress now I chase-the first foe in the field;
And, with a stronger faith, embrace a sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such as you, too, shall adore ;—

I could not love thee, dear, so much, loved I not honour more!

22.-TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.--Lovelace.

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

When linnet-like confinèd, I with shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty, and glories of my king:
When I shall voice aloud how good he is,-how great should be,—
Enlarged winds that curl the flood know no such liberty.

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

23.-THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.-Christopher Marlowe.

3

'Come live with me and be my love, and we will all the pleasures prove, that valleys, groves, and hill and field, the woods or steepy mountains yield. 2 And we will sit upon the rocks, seeing 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 o'er with leaves of myrtle; 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. 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.

4

24. THE NYMPH'S REPLY.-Sir Walter Raleigh.

5

6 The

If all the world and love were young, and truth on every shepherd's tongue, these pleasures might my passion move to live with thee and be thy love. 2 But fading flowers in every field to winter floods their treasures yield a honey'd tongue, a heart of gall, is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, are all soon wither'd, broke, forgotten; in folly ripe, in reason rotten. 4 Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, thy coral clasps and amber studs, can me with no enticements move to live with thee and be thy love. 5 But could youth last, could love still breed, had joy no date, had age no need, then those delights my mind might move to live with thee and be thy love.

25.-TRUE BEAUTY.-Carew.

'He that loves a rosy cheek, or a coral lip admires; or, from star-like eyes, doth seek fuel to maintain its fires; as old Time makes these decay, so his flames must waste away. 2 But a smooth and steadfast mind, gentle thoughts and calm desires, hearts with equal love combined, kindle neverdying fires where these are not, I despise lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes.

26.-THE WISE CHOICE.-William Brown.

1 Shall I tell you whom I love ?...Hearken then awhile to me, and if such a woman move as I now shall versify, be assur'd 'tis she, or none, that I love, and love alone. 2 Nature did her so much right, that she scorns the help of art; in as many virtues dight, as e'er yet embrac'd a heart. So much good, so truly tried ;-some for less were deified. 3 Wit she

hath, without desire to make known how much she hath; and her anger flames no higher than may fitly sweeten wrath. Full of pity as may be; though, perhaps, not so to me. 4 Reason masters every sense, and her virtues grace her birth; lovely in all excellence, modest in her most of mirth ;-likelihood enough, to prove only Worth could kindle love. 5 Such she is; and if you know such a one as I have sung, be she brown, or fair, or so that she be but somewhile young,-be assur'd 'tis she, or none, that I love, and love alone.

Through groves sequester'd, dark, and still, low vales and mossy cells among,
In silent paths the careless rill, with languid murmurs, steals along.
Awhile it plays with circling sweep, and lingering leaves its native plain;
Then pours impetuous down the steep, and mingles with the boundless main.
O, let my years thus devious glide, through silent scenes obscurely calm;
Nor wealth nor strife pollute the tide, nor honour's sanguinary palm.
When labour tires, and pleasure palls, still let the stream untroubled be,
As down the steep of age it falls, and mingles with eternity.

29.-SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR. - Wither.

2

Shall I, wasting in despair, die because a woman's fair? Or make pale my cheeks with care, 'cause another's rosy are? Be she fairer than the day, or the flow'ry meads in May, if she be not so to me, what care I how fair she be? Should my heart be grieved or pined 'cause I see a woman kind? Or a well-disposèd nature joinèd with a lovely feature? Be she meeker, kinder than turtle-dove or pelican, if she be not so to me, what care I how kind she be? Shall a woman's virtues move me to perish for her love? Or, her well-deservings known, make me quite forget my own? Be she with that goodness blest which may gain her name of best, if she be not such to me, what care I how good she be?

3

Great, or

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

30.-LOVE'S FOLLIES.-Moncrieff.

When, lull'd in passion's dream, my senses slept,
How did I act?-e'en as a wayward child;
I smiled with pleasure when I should have wept,
And wept with sorrow when I should have smiled!
When Gracia,-beautiful but faithless fair,

Who long in passion's bonds my heart had kept,—
First with false blushes pitied my despair,

I smiled with pleasure!—should I not have wept?
And when, to gratify some wealthier wight,

She left to grief the heart she had beguiled,
My heart grew sick, and, saddening at the sight,
I wept with sorrow!—should I not have smiled?

31.-O NANNY, WILT THOU GO WITH ME.-Percy.

O Nanny, wilt thou go with me, nor sigh to leave the flaunting town?
Can silent glens have charms for thee, the lowly cot and russet gown?
No longer drest in silken sheen, no longer deck'd with jewels rare,
Say, canst thou quit each courtly scene, where thou wert fairest of the fair?
O Nanny, when thou'rt far away, wilt thou not cast a wish behind?
Say, canst thou face the parching ray, nor shrink before the wintry wind?
Oh, can that soft and gentle mien extremes of hardship learn to bear,
Nor, sad, regret each courtly scene, where thou wert fairest of the fair?
O Nanny, canst thou love so true, through perils keen with me to go;
Or, when thy swain mishap shall rue, to share with him the pang of woe?
Say, should disease or pain befall, wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
Nor, wistful, those gay scenes recall, where thou wert fairest of the fair?
And when at last thy love shall die, wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh, and cheer with smiles the bed of
death?

And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay strew flowers, and drop the tender tear?...

Nor then regret those scenes so gay, where thou wert fairest of the fair!