fascines down, and fell on: the Major-General and the two battalions
were close to them. When the soldiers began to lay their hands on the
stockadoes they tore them down, for the length of six score [yards];
and leaped pell mell into the Counterscarp amongst the enemy. Abundance
of the enemy were drowned in the moat; and many taken prisoners, with
two German Princes; and the Counterscarp cleared.
The French were in their approaches all this time. Then, the English
fell on upon the Half Moons; and immediately the Redcoats were on the
top of them; throwing the enemy into the moat, and turning the cannon
upon the town. Thus the two Half Moons were speedily taken.
After the manning of the Half Moons, he did rally all the English, with
intention to lodge them upon the Counterscarp, that he might be free of
the enemy's shot the next morning. And they left the other Half Moon
for Marshal TURENNE's party, which was even before their approaches.
Then the French fell on upon the other Half Moon; but were beaten off.
The Major-General considered that that Half Moon would gall him in the
day time, and, therefore, did speak to the Officers and soldiers, that
"it were best to give them a little help."
The Redcoats cried, "Shall we fall on in order, or happy-go-lucky."
The Major-General said, "In the name of GOD! at it, happy-go-lucky!"
And immediately the Redcoats fell on, and were on the top of it,
knocking the enemy down, and casting them into the moat.
When this work was done the Major-General lodged the English on the
Counterscarp.
* * * * *
They were no sooner lodged, but Marshal TURENNE scrambled over the
ditches to find out the Major-General; and when he met with him, he
was much troubled the French did no better; for, indeed, they did just
nothing!
Then his Excellency asked the Major-General to "go to his approaches to
refresh himself."
But the Major-General begged his pardon, and said, "He would not stir
from his post, till he heard a drum beat a parley, and saw a white flag
over the walls."
Upon that, Marshal TURENNE laughed and smiled, and said, "They would
not be at that pass, in six days! and then went to his approaches, and
sent the Major-General three or four dozen of rare wine, with several
dishes of cold meat and sweetmeats."
* * * * *
Within two hours after sunrising, a drum beat a parley, and a white
flag was seen over the walls.
The Major-General ordered a Lieutenant, with a file of musketeers, to
go and receive the drummer, and to blindfold him, and to carry him
straight to Marshal TURENNE in his approaches.
Marshal TURENNE came immediately, with the drummer's message, to the
Major-General; and was much troubled he would not receive the message,
before it came to him.
The Major-General replied that "that was very improper, his Excellency
being upon the place."
The message was to this effect, "That whereas his Excellency had
offered them honourable terms in his summons, they were now willing
to accept of them, provided they might have their Charter and the
privileges of the city preserved. That they had appointed four of
their Commissioners to treat further with four Commissioners from his
Excellency."
Marshal TURENNE was pleased to asked the Major-General "whether he
would be one of the Commissioners?" but the Major-General begged his
pardon, and desired that he might abide at his post till such time as
the city was surrendered up.
Immediately then, his Excellency sent for Count SCHOMBERG and three
other Commissioners, and gave them instructions how to treat with the
four Commissioners from the enemy. Just as Marshal TURENNE was giving
the Commissioners instructions, Major-General MORGAN said "that the
enemy were hungry! so that they would eat any meat they could have":
whereupon his Excellency smiled, and shortened their instructions, and
sent them away.
Within half an hour, the Commissioners had concluded.
That they should have their City Charter preserved. That they were
to receive a French garrison in. And that the Prince DE LIGNY was
to march out with all his forces, next morning, at nine o'clock,
with one piece of cannon, colours flying, bullet in mouth, and
match lighted at both ends; and to have a convoy to conduct him
into his own territories.
Marshal TURENNE was in the morning betimes, with several Noblemen and
Officers of the army, and Major-General MORGAN attending near the gate,
for the Prince DE LIGNY's coming out.
The Prince having noticed that Marshal TURENNE was there, came out
of his coach; Marshal TURENNE being alighted from his horse, and
Major-General MORGAN: at their meeting there was a great acclamation,
and embracing one another.
After a little time, Marshal TURENNE told the Prince "He very much
admired [_wondered_] that he should expose his person to a garrison
before a conquering army."
The Prince DE LIGNY replied that "If Marshal TURENNE had left his
English in England, he durst have exposed his person in the weakest
garrison the King of Spain had in Flanders."
So they parted, and his Excellency marched into the town with a French
garrison, and the Major-General with him.
* * * * *
So soon as the garrison was settled, Marshal TURENNE wrote his letters
to the French King, and his Eminence the Cardinal, how that "the city
of Ypres was reduced to the obedience of His Majesty, and that he was
possessed of it; and that Major-General MORGAN was instrumental in that
service, and that the English did wonders!" and sent the Intendant of
the Army with his letters to the King and Cardinal.
Monsieur TALLON, the Intendant, returned back from the King and
Cardinal to the army within eight days, and brought a compliment to
Major-General MORGAN that "the King and his Eminence the Cardinal did
expect to see him at Paris, when he came to his winter quarters! where
there would be a Cupboard of Plate [_i.e., of gold and silver plate_]
to attend him."
* * * * *
Major-General MORGAN, instead of going for his Cupboard of Plate,
went for England; and His Majesty of France had never the kindness
to send him his Cupboard of Plate. So that this is the reward that
Major-General MORGAN had had from the French King, for all his service
in France and Flanders.
[Illustration]
_Killed at the Battle of Dunkirk._
Lieutenant-Colonel FENWICK, two Captains, one Lieutenant, two Ensigns,
two Sergeants, thirty-two soldiers.
And about twenty wounded.
_Killed at the Storming of Ypres._
One Captain, one Sergeant, eight private soldiers. [Wounded], about
twenty-five officers, out of thirty-five; and about six soldiers
slightly wounded after they were lodged upon the Counterscarp.
Sir THOMAS MORGAN himself slightly hurt by a shot in the calf of his
leg.
_THE END._
_Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from Madrigals,_
_Canzonets, &c._
JOHN DOWLAND, Bachelor of Music, &c.,
Lutenist to the Lord WALDEN.
A PILGRIM'S SOLACE
1612.
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THEOPHILUS, LORD WALDEN,
SON AND HEIR TO THE MOST NOBLE
THOMAS, BARON OF WALDEN, EARL OF
SUFFOLK, Lord Chamberlain of His Majesty's
Household, Knight of the most noble Order of
the Garter, and one of His Majesty's most
honourable Privy Council.
MOST HONOURED LORD,
_As to excel in any quality is very rare, so is it a hard thing
to find out those that favour Virtue and Learning: but such being
found, men of judgement are drawn (I know not by what sympathy)
to love and honour them, as the Saints and Sovereigns of their
affections and devices. Wherefore, most worthy Lord! your Honour,
being of all men noted (as natural born heir of your most renowned
father and mother) to be the only and alone Supporter of goodness and
excellency: [and] known to none better (unless I should be the most
ungrateful of all others!) than myself; who am held up only by your
gracious hand. For which, I can shew no other means of thankfulness
than these simple fruits of my poor endeavours, which I most humbly
present as a public pledge from a true and devoted heart; hoping
hereafter to perform something, wherein I shall shew myself more
worthy of your honourable service._
_In the meantime, you shall have a poor man's prayers for your
Lordship's continual health, and daily increase of honour._
_Your Honour's humble servant_,
_JOHN DOWLAND_.
To the Reader.
WORTHY GENTLEMEN, AND MY LOVING COUNTRYMEN,
Moved by your many and foretasted courtesies, I am constrained to
appear again unto you. True it is, I have lien long obscured from your
sight, because I received a Kingly entertainment in a foreign climate,
which could not attain to any (though never so mean [a]) place at home.
Yet have I held up my head within this horizon, and not altogether
been affected elsewhere; since some part of my poor labours have found
favour in the greatest part of Europe, and been printed in eight
most famous cities beyond the seas, viz.: Paris, Antwerp, Cologne,
Nuremburg, Frankfort, Leipsic, Amsterdam, and Hamburg; yea, and some of
them also authorised under the Emperor's royal privilege.
Yet I must tell you, as I have been a stranger, so have I again found
strange entertainment since my return: especially, by the opposition
of two sorts of people that shroud themselves under the titles of
Musicians.
The first are some simple Cantors or vocal singers; who, though they
seem excellent in their blind Division-making, are merely ignorant,
even in the first elements of Music; and also in the true order of the
mutation of the Hexachord in the System, which hath been approved by
all the learned and skilful men of Christendom, these 800 years. Yet do
these fellows give their verdict of me behind my back; and say, [that]
what I do "is after the old manner." But I will speak openly to them,
and would have them know, that the proudest Cantor of them dares not
oppose himself face to face against me.
The second are young men, professors of the Lute, who vaunt themselves
to the disparagement of such as have been before their time (wherein
I myself am a party), that there never was the like of them. To these
men I say little, because of my love and hope to see some deeds ensue
[from] their brave words. And also [it] being that, here, under their
own noses, hath been published a book in defence of the Viol de Gamba;
wherein not only all other the best and principal instruments have been
abased, but especially the Lute by name. The words, to satisfy thee,
Reader! I have here thought good to insert; and are as followeth: "From
henceforth, the stately instrument Gambo Viol shall with ease yield
full, various, and deviceful music as the Lute: for here I protest the
trinity of music--Parts, Passion, and Division--to be as gracefully
united in the Gambo Viol, as in the most received instrument that is,"
&c. Which imputation, methinks, the learneder sort of musicians ought
not to let pass unanswered.
Moreover there are here, and daily doth come into our most famous
kingdom, divers strangers from beyond the seas, which aver before our
own faces, that we have no true method of application or fingering of
the Lute.
Now if these gallant young Lutenists be such as they would have the
world believe (and of which I make no doubt) let them remember that
their skill lieth not in their fingers' ends. _Cucullus non facit
monachum_ [_A hood does not make a monk_]. I wish for the honour,
therefore, and general benefit of our country, that they would
undertake the defence of their Lute profession; seeing that some of
them, above other, have most large means, convenient time, and such
encouragement as I never knew any have.
Believe me, if any of these objections had been made when those famous
men lived, which are now thought worthy of no fame; not derogating from
these skilful men present, I dare affirm that these objections had been
answered to the full: and I make no doubt but that those few of the
former time which live yet (being some of them Bachelors of Music; and
others, which assume unto themselves to be no less worthy) will be as
forward to preserve their reputation.
Perhaps you will ask me, why I, that have travelled many countries and
ought to have some experience, do not undergo this business myself? I
answer, that I want ability, being now entered into the fiftieth year
of mine age; secondly, I want both means, leisure, and encouragement.
But, gentle Reader! to conclude, though abruptly. This work of mine,
which I have here published, containeth such things as I myself have
thought well of, as being, in mine opinion, furnished with variety of
matter, both of judgement and delight: which willingly I refer to the
friendly censure and approbation of the skilful; hoping it will be no
less delightful to all in general, than it was pleasing to me in the
composition. Farewell.
Your friend,
JOHN DOWLAND.
[Illustration]
_Lyrics, Elegies, &c. from Madrigals,_
_Canzonets, &c._
A PILGRIM'S SOLACE.
Disdain me still, that I may ever love!
For who his Love enjoys, can love no more.
The war once past, with ease men cowards prove.
And ships returned, do rot upon the shore.
And though thou frown, I'll say "Thou art most fair!
And still I'll love! though still I must despair."
As Heat to Life, so is Desire to Love:
And these once quenched, both life and love are gone;
Let not my sighs nor tears thy virtue move!
Like baser metals, do not melt too soon!
Laugh at my woes, although I ever mourn!
Love surfeits with Reward! his nurse is Scorn!
_To my worthy friend Master WILLIAM JEWEL,_
_of Exeter College in Oxford._
Sweet! stay awhile! why will you rise?
The light you see, comes from your eyes!
The day breaks not, it is my heart,
To think that you and I must part!
O stay! or else my joys must die,
And perish in their infancy!
Dear! let me die in this fair breast!
Far sweeter than the Phoenix nest.
Love! raise Desire by his sweet charms,
Within this circle of thine arms!
And let thy blissful kisses cherish
Mine infant joys! that else must perish!
* * * * *
To ask for all thy love, and thy whole heart,
'twere madness!
I do not sue
Nor can admit,
Fairest! from you
To have all!
Yet who giveth all, hath nothing to impart
but sadness!
He that receiveth all, can have no more
than seeing.
My love, by length
Of every hour,
Gathers new strength!
New growth! new flower!
You must have daily new rewards in store,
still being.
You cannot, every day, give me your heart
for merit!
Yet, if you will,
When yours doth go,
You shall have still
One to bestow!
For you shall mine, when yours doth part,
inherit!
Yet, if you please, I'll find a better way,
than change them.
For so, alone,
Dearest! we shall
Be one! and one
Another's all!
Let us so join our hearts, that nothing may
estrange them!
* * * * *
LOVE! those beams that breed, all day long breed and feed this burning,
LOVE! I quench with floods, floods of tears, nightly tears and morning.
But, alas, tears cool this fire in vain!
The more I quench, the more there doth remain!
I'll go to the woods, and alone make my moan, O cruel!
For I am deceived and bereaved of my life! my jewel!
O but in the woods, though LOVE be blind,
He hath his spies, my secret haunts to find.
LOVE, then I must yield to thy might! might and spite oppressed,
Since I see my wrongs (woe is me!) cannot be redressed.
Come at last! Be friendly, LOVE, to me!
And let me not endure this misery!
* * * * *
Shall I strive with words to move! when deeds receive not due regard?
Shall I speak! and neither please, nor be freely heard?
All woes have end; though awhile delayed, our patience proving.
O that Time's strange effects could make her loving!
I wooed her, I loved her, and none but her admire.
O come, dear Joy! and answer my Desire!
Grief, alas, though all in vain, her restless anguish must reveal!
She alone my wound shall know, though she will not heal!
Storms calm at last! and why may not she leave off frowning?
O sweet LOVE! help her hands, my affection crowning!
I wooed her, I loved her, and none but her admire.
O come, dear Joy! and answer my Desire!
* * * * *
Were every thought an eye, and all those eyes could see;
Her subtle wiles, their sights would beguile and mock their jealousy!
Desire lives in her heart, DIANA in her eyes!
'Twere vain, to wish women true! 'tis well, if they prove wise!
Such a love deserves more grace,
Than a truer heart that hath no conceit
To make use both of time and place,
When a wit had need of all his slight.
Her fires do inward burn, but make no outward show!
And her delights, amid the dark shades, which none discover, grow!
The flower's growth is unseen, yet every day it grows!
So where her Fancy is set, it grows! but how, none knows.
Such a love deserves more grace,
Than a truer heart, that hath not conceit
To make use both of time and place,
When a wit had need of all his slight.
* * * * *
Stay Time, awhile, thy flying!
Stay, and pity me dying!
For Fates and friends have left me,
And of comfort bereft me.
Come! come, close mine eyes! Better to die blessed,
Than to live thus distressed!
To whom shall I complain me,
When thus friends do disdain me?
'Tis Time that must befriend me!
Drowned in sorrow to end me.
Come! come, close mine eyes! Better to die blessed,
Than to live thus distressed!
Tears but augment this fuel.
I feed by night (O cruel!).
Light griefs can speak their pleasure.
Mine are dumb, passing measure!
Quick! quick, close mine eyes! Better to die blessed,
Than here to live distressed!
* * * * *
Tell me, TRUE LOVE! where shall I seek thy being?
In thoughts or words, in vows or promise making?
In reasons, looks, or Passions never seeing?
In men on earth, or women's minds partaking?
Thou canst not die! and therefore, living, tell me,
Where is thy seat? Why doth this Age expel thee?
When thoughts are still unseen, and words disguised;
Vows are not sacred held, nor promise debt;
By Passion, Reason's glory is surprised;
In neither sex is true love firmly set.
Thoughts feigned, words false, vows and promise broken,
Made TRUE LOVE fly from earth! This is the token.
Mount, then, my thoughts! Here is for thee no dwelling,
Since Truth and Falsehood live, like twins, together.
Believe not Sense! eyes! ears! touch! taste! or smelling!
Both Art and Nature's forced! put trust in neither!
One only She, doth TRUE LOVE, captive bind,
In fairest breast, but in a fairer mind.
O fairest mind, enriched with LOVE's residing,
Retain the best! In hearts, let some seed fall!
Instead of weeds, LOVE's fruits may have abiding,
At harvest, you shall reap increase of all!
O happy LOVE! More happy man, that finds thee,
Most happy Saint! that keeps, restores, unbinds thee!
* * * * *
Go, nightly cares! the enemy to rest!
Forbear, awhile, to vex my wearied sprite!
So long your weight hath lain upon my breast;
That lo! I live, of life bereavèd quite.
O give me time to draw my wearied breath!
Or let me die, as I desire the death!
Welcome, sweet Death! O life! no life, a hell!
Then thus, and thus, I bid the world, farewell.
False World! farewell! the enemy to rest!
Now do thy worst! I do not weigh thy spite.
Free from thy cares I live for ever blest,
Enjoying peace and heavenly true delight.
Delight, whom woes nor sorrows shall amate,
Nor fears or tears disturb her happy state,
And thus I leave thy hopes, thy joys untrue,
And thus, and thus, vain World! again, adieu!
_To my loving countryman, Master JOHN FORSTER,_
_the younger, Merchant of Dublin in Ireland._
From silent night, true register of moans;
From saddest soul, consumed with deepest sins;
From heart, quite rent with sighs and heavy groans;
My wailing Muse her woful work begins,
And to the world, brings tunes of sad Despair,
Sounding nought else but Sorrow, Grief, and Care.
Sorrow, to see my sorrow's cause augmented,
And yet less sorrowful were my sorrows more;
Grief, that my grief with grief is not prevented,
For grief it must ease my grieved sore.
Thus Grief and Sorrow care but how to grieve,
For Grief and Sorrow must my Care relieve.
If any eye therefore can spare a tear,
To fill the well-spring that must wet my cheeks,
O let that eye, to this sad feast draw near!
Refuse me not, my humble soul beseeks!
For all the tears mine eyes have ever wept,
Were now too little, had they all been kept.
* * * * *
My Heart and Tongue were Twins, at once conceived.
Th' eldest was my Heart, born dumb by destiny,
The last, my Tongue, of all sweet thoughts bereaved:
Yet strung and tuned to play Heart's harmony.
Both knit in one, and yet asunder placed:
What Heart would speak, the Tongue doth still discover;
What Tongue doth speak, is of the Heart embraced,
And both are one to make a new found lover.
New found, and only found in gods and kings,
Whose words are deeds, but words nor deeds regarded.
Chaste thoughts do mount and fly with swiftest wings!
My love with pain, my pain with loss rewarded.
Then this be sure! since it is true perfection,
That neither men nor gods can force Affection!
_A Dialogue._
My merry mates! to NEPTUNE's praise,
Your voices high advance!
The wat'ry nymphs shall dance,
And ÆOLUS shall whistle to your lays.
[MASTER.] Steersman, how stands the wind?
STEERSMAN. Full north-north-east.
MASTER. What course?
STEERSMAN. Full south-south-west.
MASTER. No worse, and blow so fair,
Then sink despair,
Come solace to the mind!
Ere night, we shall the haven find.
O happy days, who may contain
But swell with proud disdain
When seas are smooth,
Sails full, and all things please?
The Golden Mean that constant spirit bears!
In such extremes, that nor presumes nor fears.
Stay, merry mates, proud NEPTUNE lowers!
Your voices all deplore you,
The nymphs standing weeping o'er you.
And ÆOLUS and IRIS bandy showers.
MASTER. Boatsman, haul in the boat!
STEERSMAN. Hark! hark the ratlings!
MASTER. 'Tis hail!
STEERSMAN. Make fast the tacklings!
MASTER. Strike sail!
Make quick despatches!
Shut close the hatches!
Hold stern! cast anchor out!
This night we shall at random float.
O dismal hours!
Who can forbear,
But sink with sad despair;
When seas are rough, sails rent, and each thing
lowers.
* * * * *
Welcome, black Night, HYMEN's fair day!
Help, HYMEN! Love's due debt to pay!
Love's due debt is chaste Delight;
Which if the Turtles want to night,
HYMEN forfeits his deity, and night in love her dignity.
HYMEN! O HYMEN! mine of treasures more divine,
What deity is like to thee! that freest from mortality?
Stay, happy pair! stay but awhile!
HYMEN comes not, Love to beguile.
These sports are alluring baits
And sauce are, to Love's sweetest cates:
Longing hope doth no hurt but this,
It heighten's Love's attainèd bliss!
Then stay, most happy! stay awhile!
HYMEN comes not, Love to beguile.
* * * * *
Cease, cease, cease these false sports!
Haste, haste away! LOVE'S made truant, by your stay!
Good night! good night, yet virgin Bride!
But look (ere day be spied)
You change that fruitless name!
Lest you your sex defame.
Fear not HYMEN'S peaceful war,
You'll conquer, though you subdued are!
Good night! and, ere the day be old,
Rise to the sun, a marigold!
HYMEN! O HYMEN! bless this night!
That Love's dark works may come to light!
[Illustration]
THE END OF THE
Fourth Volume
_OF AN ENGLISH GARNER_.
* * * * *
UNWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, CHILWORTH AND LONDON.
Transcriber's Notes:
Simple spelling, grammar, and typographical errors were corrected.
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Anachronistic and non-standard spellings retained as printed.
Retained the original order of the Table of Contents, i.e. not
in page number order.
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