And viewed full many a summer's day,
Came gently walking by themselves
To see them keep their holiday:
The married men of middle age
Brought forth their wives to see that sport,
And they put on their best array,
Unto the green they did resort:
There music sweetly sounding,
The maidens' hearts with joys abounding,
They could not dance, but tumble, tumble, tumble
Up and down the green meadow.
When they with tumbling well had sweat,
And tumbling joys had tasted well,
And Phoebus almost lost his heat,
Each did return where they did dwell:
Their wives unto their husbands said
The pretty sports which they had seen,
Wish'd them to teach them in their bed[55]
As did the lovers on the green:
The young men joyful-hearted
Each took his lass and so departed,
When they no more could tumble, tumble, tumble, tumble, tumble
Up and down the green meadow.
[52] Immediately, without delay.
[53] MS. "ornaments."
[54] MS. "vppon downe."
[55] MS. "beds."
From _Harleian MS._ 791, fol. 55.
IN summer time when grass was mown
And country maids were treading of hay,
Then forth walked I in a fair morning
Thinking to pass the time away.
Fair lovely nymphs might there be seen
With fine lawn aperns[56] white as snow,
And crimson ribbons 'bout their arms,
Which made a pretty summer show.
There young lovers fell a-prating,
And called their lovers from hay-making
To go and tumble, tumble, tumble, tumble
Up and down the meadow.
Then the old wives fell a-laughing,
And held their sides with extreme coughing,
To see them tumble, tumble, tumble, tumble
Up and down the meadows.
[56] Old form of _aprons_.
From _Wit Restored_, 1658.
WOMEN.
ONCE I must confess I loved
And expected love again,
But, so often as I proved,
My expectance was in vain.
Women joy to be attempted,
And do glory when they see
Themselves from love's force exempted,
And that men captived be.
If they love they can conceal it,
And dissemble when they please,
Whenas men will straight reveal it
And make known their heart's disease.
Men must beg and crave their favour,
Making many an idle vow,
Whilst they, froward in behaviour,
Fain would yield but know not how.
Sweet stol'n-sport to them is grateful,
And in heart they wish to have it;
Yet they do account it hateful
Upon any terms to crave it.
But, would men not go about it,
But leave off at all to woo,
Ere they would be long without it,
They would beg and crave it too.
From _The New Academy of Compliments_, 1671.
GAZE[57] not on thy beauty's pride,
Tender maid, in the false tide
That from lovers' eyes do[th] slide.
Let thy faithful crystal show
How thy colours come and go;
Beauty takes a foil from woe.
Love, that in those smooth streams lies,
Under Pity's fair disguise,
Will thy melting heart surprise.
Nets of Passion's finest thread
(Snaring poems) will be spread
All to catch thy maidenhead.
Then beware: for those that cure
Love's disease, themselves endure
For a reward a calenture.
Rather let the lover pine
Than his pale cheek should assign
A perpetual blush to thine.
[57] Attributed to Thomas Carew.
From _Wit's Recreations_, 1640.
LOVE BEGOTTEN BY PITY.
'TIS true your beauty,[58] which before
Did dazzle each bold gazer's eye,
And forced e'en rebel hearts t' adore
Or from its conquering splendor fly,
Now shines with new increase of light,
Like Cynthia at her full most bright.
Yet, though you glory in th' increase
Of so much beauty, dearest fair,
They err who think this great access,
Of which all eyes th' admirers are,
Or art's or nature's gifts should be:
Learn then the hidden cause from me.
Pity in thee, in me desire
First bred: before I durst but aim
At fair respect: now that close fire
Thy love hath fann'd into a flame,
Which, mounting to its proper place,
Shines like a glory 'bout thy face.
[58] Old ed. "beauties."
From _The Windsor Drollery_, 1672.
BE[59] thou joyful, I am jolly;
In thy pleasure's my delight.
Art th' inclined to melancholy?
I am of that humour right;
For I can joy, or joys can slight.
Art thou liberal of embraces?
I can also lavish be.
Or dost thou scorn to yield such graces?
I can scorn as well as thee:
Of these I can be nice or free.
Dost thou joy I should attain thee?
Then I will thy servant be;
Or if my presence do disdain thee,
I will never wait on thee;
For I can love or let thee be.
If to singing thou'lt apply thee,
I can warble notes to thee:
Or if to[60] sighing, I'll sigh by thee;
To thy passions I'll agree,
For I'm to all thy humours free.
Dost thou joy I should come near thee
With a heart both firm and true?
Or dost thou fly my sight and jeer me?
Unto lovers that's not new;
For I can stay or bid adieu.
[59] There is a somewhat similar copy of verses in _Choice Drollery_,
1656:--
"If at this time I am derided,
And you please to laugh at me,
Know I am not unprovided
Every way to answer thee,
Love or hate, Whate'er it be," &c.
[60] Old ed. "by."
From WILLIAM CORKINE'S _Second Book of Airs_, 1612.
AWAY, away! call back what you have said
When you did vow to live and die a maid:
O if you knew what chance to them befell
That dance about with bobtail apes in hell,
Yourself your virgin girdle would divide
And put aside the maiden veil that hides
The chiefest gem of nature; and would lie
Prostrate to every peasant that goes by,
Rather than undergo such shame: no tongue can tell
What injury is done to maids in hell.
From _The Windsor Drollery_, 1672.
UNDER[61] the willow-shades they were
Free from the eye-sight of the sun,
For no intruding beam could there
Peep through to spy what things were done:
Thus sheltered they unseen did lie,
Surfeiting on each other's eye;
Defended by the willow shades alone,
The sun's heat they defied and cool'd their own.
Whilst they did embrace unspied,
The conscious willow seem'd to smile,
That them[62] with privacy supplied,
Holding the door, as 'twere, the while;
And when their dalliances were o'er,
The willows, to oblige them more,
Bowing, did seem to say, as they withdrew,
"We can supply you with a cradle too."
[61] Mr. Ebsworth reminds me that this is Theocles' song, by Sir
William Davenant, sung in Act iii. of "The Rivals," 1668.
[62] Old ed. "they."
From _The Treasury of Music_, 1669.
CÆLIA'S[63] COMPLAINT.
POOR Cælia once was very fair,
A quick bewitching eye she had;
Most neatly look'd her braided hair,
Her dainty cheek would make you mad:
Upon her lips did all the Graces play,
And on her breasts ten thousand Cupids lay.
Then many a doting lover came,
From seventeen till twenty-one;
Each told her of his mighty flame,
But she foresooth affected none:
One was not handsome, 'tother was not fine,
This of tobacco smelt and that of wine.
But 'tother day it was my fate
To walk along that way alone;
I saw no coach before her gate,
But at her door I heard her moan:
She dropt a tear, and sighing seem'd to say
"Young ladies, marry, marry while you may!"
[63] This poem is by Thomas Flatman, and is printed among his _Songs
and Poems_, 1669.
["Also in _Westminster Drollery_, _Windsor Drollery_, and _Pills to P.
Mel._, iii. 153. The music to it was composed by Roger Hill."--_J. W.
Ebsworth._]
From WILLIAM CORKINE'S _Second book of Airs_, 1612.
TWO lovers sat lamenting
Hard by a crystal brook,
Each other's heart tormenting,
Exchanging look for look,
With sighs and tears bewraying
Their silent thoughts delaying:
At last coth[64] one,
"Shall we alone
Sit here our thoughts bewraying?
Fie, fie, O fie,
O fie it may not be:
Set looking by,
Let speaking set us free."
Then thus their silence breaking,
Their thoughts too long estranged
They do bewray by speaking,
And words with words exchanged:
Then one of them replied,
"Great pity we had died
Thus all alone
In silent moan
And not our thoughts descried.
Fie, fie, O fie,
O fie that had been ill
That inwardly
Silence the heart should kill."
From looks and words to kisses
They made their next proceeding,
And as their only blisses
They therein were exceeding.
O what a joy is this
To look, to talk, to kiss!
But thus begun,
Is now all done?
Ah, all then nothing is!
Fie, fie, O fie,
O fie it is a hell
And better die
Than kiss and not end well.
[64] "Coth" = quoth.
From _Sportive Wit_, 1656.
CHLORIS,[65] forbear a while,
Do not o'erjoy me,
Urge not another smile
Lest it destroy me;
That beauty passeth most
And is best taking,
Which is soon won, soon lost,
Kind, yet forsaking:
I love a coming Lady, 'faith I do,
But now and then I'd have her scornful too.
O'ercloud those eyes of thine,
Bopeep thy features,
Warm with an April shine,
Scorch not thy creatures;
Still to display thy ware,
Still to be fooling,
Argues how rude you are
In Cupid's schooling:
Disdain begets a smile, scorn draws us nigh,
'Tis 'cause I would, and cannot, makes me try.
Chloris, I'd have thee wise:
When gallants view thee,
Courting do thou despise,
Fly those pursue thee:
Fast moves an appetite
Makes hunger greater;
Who's stinted of delight
Falls to't the better:
Be coy and kind betimes, be smooth and rough,
And buckle now and then, and that's enough.
[65] "This was written by Henry Bold; it is in his _Poems Lyrique_,
1664, p. 6."--_J. W. Ebsworth._ (I suspect Bold stole it: he was a
notorious pilferer.)
From _Songs and Poems of Love and Drollery_. By T. W., 1654.
FAIR Chloris in a gentle slumber lay,
Sleep taking rest
In her calm breast,
Whilst her veil'd eyes seem'd to eclipse the day
The wanton sun would court her fain,
Peep'd here and there, but all in vain.
The leafy boughs a guard had made,
Planting between their envious shade;
Whereat he chid his idle beams, that he
Should want an eye whereby himself might see.
From CAMPION and ROSSETER'S _Book of Airs_, 1601.
MY love hath vowed he will forsake me,
And I am already sped;
Far other promise he did make me
When he had my maidenhead.
If such danger be in playing
And sport must to earnest turn,
I will go no more a-maying.
Had I foreseen what is ensued,
And what now with pain I prove,
Unhappy then I had eschewed
This unkind event of love:
Maids foreknow their own undoing,
But fear naught till all is done,
When a man alone is wooing.
Dissembling wretch, to gain thy pleasure,
What didst thou not vow and swear?
So didst thou rob me of the treasure
Which so long I held so dear.
Now thou provest to me a stranger:
Such is the vile guise of men
When a woman is in danger.
That heart is nearest to misfortune
That will trust a feigned tongue;
When flatt'ring men our loves importune
They intend us deepest wrong.
If this shame of love's betraying
But this once I cleanly shun,
I will go no more a-maying.
From _Vinculum Societatis, or the Tie of Good Company_, 1687.
SILVIA, now your scorn give over
Lest you lose a faithful lover:
If this humour you pursue,
Farewell Love and Silvia too.
Long have I been unregarded,
Sighs and tears still unrewarded:
If this does with you agree,
Troth, good Madam, 'twon't with me.
From _The Marrow of Compliments_, 1655.
MAIDS[66] they are grown so coy of late
Forsooth they will not marry;
Though they be in their teens and past,
They say that they can tarry.
But if they knew how sweet a thing
It were in youth to marry,
They'd sell their petticoats, smocks, and all
Ere they so long would tarry.
The wench that is most coy of all,
If she had time and leisure,
Would lay by all her several thoughts
And turn to love and pleasure;
For even the wisest heads sometimes
Put on the face of folly,
And maids do nevermore repent
Than when they are too holy.
Winter nights are long, you know,
And bitter cold the weather;
Then who's so fond to lie alone
When two may lie together?
And is't not brave when summer's robes
Have all the fields encowled
To have a green gown on the grass
And wear it uncontroul'd?
[66] D'Urfey printed these verses in his _Pills to Purge Melancholy_,
1700, ii. 93, as "The Silly Maids."
From HENRY LAWES' _Airs and Dialogues_, 1653.
A[67] CAUTION TO FAIR LADIES.
LADIES, you that seem so nice,
And as cold in show as ice,
And perhaps have held out thrice;
Do not think but in a trice
One or other may entice,
And at last by some device
Set your honours at a price.
You whose smooth and dainty skin,
Rosy lips, or cheeks, or chin,
All that gaze upon you win,
Yet insult not: sparks within
Slowly burn ere flames begin,
And presumption still hath been
Held a most notorious sin.
[67] This poem is ascribed by Lawes to Henry Harrington, son to Sir
Henry Harrington. It is found among the _Fancies and Fantasticks_
appended to _Wit's Recreations_.
["It has also been accredited to Dr. Henry Hughes; the initials suggest
the ambiguity. It is also in Playford's _Select Ayres_, 1659, p.
26."--_J. W. Ebsworth._]
From THOMAS CAMPION'S _Fourth Book of Airs_ (circ. 1617).
IF any hath the heart to kill,
Come rid me of this woeful pain,
For while I live I suffer still
This cruel torment all in vain;
Yet none alive but one can guess
What is the cause of my distress.
Thanks be to heaven, no grievous smart,
No maladies my limbs annoy:
I bear a sound and sprightful heart
Yet live I quite deprived of joy;
Since what I had in vain I crave,
And what I had not now I have.
A love I had so fair, so sweet,
As ever wanton eye did see;
Once by appointment we did meet:
She would, but ah! it would not be.
She gave her heart, her hand she gave:
All did I give, she naught could have.
What hag did then my powers forespeak,
That never yet such taint did feel?
Now she rejects me as one weak,
Yet am I all composed of steel.
Ah! this is it my heart doth grieve:
Now, though she sees, she'll not believe.
From _The Academy of Compliments_, 1650.
WHEN doth Love set forth desire?
In prime of youth, men say.
And when again will it retire?
When beauty falls away.
Then you in youth that think on this,
Taste what the sweetness of love is.
The night comes not at lovers' call;
Being come, stays not their leisure;
Hours that are sweet are swift withall,
And attend not on our pleasure:[68]
Then you in youth, that think on this,
Taste what the sweet of beauty is.
[68] Old ed. "leasure."
From JOHN COTGRAVE'S _Wit's Interpreter_, 1655.
I[69] WALK'D abroad not long ago,
But will not tell you whither;
It is where flowers of beauty grow
And fair ones flock together.
And Cupid will great wonders show
If ever you come thither.
For like two suns, two beauties bright
Did shining sit together,
As tempted by their double light
Mine eyes were fix'd on either;
And both at once so show'd their might,
I loved, but knew not whether.
Such equal sweetness Venus gave
That she preferr'd not either;
That when for love I sought to crave,
I knew not well of whether:
For one while this I liked to have,
And then I that had rather.
A lover of the choicest eye
Might have been pleased with either,
And so I must confess should I,
Had they not been together:
Now both must love or both deny,
In one enjoy I neither.
But, happy chance, I feel no smart
To curse my coming thither;
For, since that my divided heart
I[n] choosing knew not whether,
Love angry grew and did depart:
And now I care for neither.
[69] I ought perhaps to omit this poem, for it is fairly well known.
The writer was George Wither, in whose _Fair Virtue_, 1622, it first
appeared. There are other versions in the _Marrow of Compliments_,
1655, and similar collections.
From _Melpomene; or the Muses' Delight_, 1678.
FADING BEAUTY.
TAKE Time, my dear, ere Time takes wing:
Beauty knows no second spring.
Marble pillars, tombs of brass,
Time breaks down, much more this glass.
Then ere that tyrant Time bespeak it,
Let's drink healths in't first, then break it.
At twenty-five in women's eyes
Beauty does fade, at thirty dies.
From _Comes Amoris_, 1687.
WHEN[70] first Amyntas sued for a kiss
My innocent heart was tender,
That though I pushed him away from the bliss,
My eyes declared my heart was won.
I fain an artful coyness would use
Before the fort I did surrender;
But Love would suffer no more such abuse,
And soon alas! my cheat was known.
He'd sit all day, and laugh and play;
A thousand pretty things would say;
My hand he'd squeeze, and press my knees,
Till further on he got by degrees.
My heart, just like a vessel at sea,
Would toss when Amyntas was near me.
But ah, so cunning a pilot was he,
Through doubts and fears he'd still sail on;
I thought in him no danger could be,
So wisely he knew how to steer me;
And soon, alas! was brought t'agree
To taste of joys before unknown.
Well might he boast his pain not lost,
For soon he found the golden coast,
Enjoyed the ore, and touched the shore
Where never merchant went before.
[70] This song is by Tom D'Urfey, and is printed in the first volume
of his _Pills to Purge Melancholy_. In _Comes Amoris_ the reading is
"Aminta."
From THOMAS WEELKES' _Airs or Fantastic Spirits_, 1608.
SOME men desire spouses
That come of noble houses,
And some would have in marriage
Ladies of courtly carriage:
Fa la la!
But few desire, as I do,
The maidenhead of a widow.
Fa la la!
Some think fair youth will cherish
Strength that begins to perish;
I'll have no colts to taming,
Let me be young'st at gaming.
Fa la la!
I'll get o'er, I'll go nigh to,
The maidenhead of a widow.
Fa la la!
From _The Westminster Drollery_, 1671.
THE ADVICE.[71]
PHILLIS, for shame! let us improve
A thousand several ways
These few short minutes stol'n by love
From many tedious days.
Whilst you want courage to despise
The censure of the grave,
For all the tyrants in your eyes,
Your heart is but a slave.
My love is full of noble pride,
And never will submit
To let that fop Discretion ride
In triumph o'er our wit.
False friends I have, as well as you,
That daily counsel me
Vain friv'lous trifles to pursue
And leave off loving thee.
When I the least belief bestow
On what such fools advise,
May I be dull enough to grow
Most miserably wise.
[71] "With music by Pelham Humphrey, in Playford's _Choice Ayres_, i.
34. Twice given in _Windsor Drollery_. Believed to be by Charles, Earl
of Dorset."--_J. W. Ebsworth._
From _Songs and Poems of Love and Drollery_. By T. W., 1654.
TO SYLVIA,
_On a Bracelet of her Hair._
KNOW, Sylvia, that your curious twist,
Which charms my heart and decks my wrist,
On which I gaze so oft and pay
Thousands of kisses every day,
Is not so much my love and care
'Cause tis composed of your hair;
And yet it truly may be said
Sun-beams are woven of coarser thread;
Nor do I therefore like 't so much
Because I find the art is such
That if Arachne, when she strove
With Pallas, the like web had wove,
She had her skill and wrath o'ercome
And gain'd a triumph, not a doom:
No, Sylvia, I the truth will tell;
I do not therefore like 't so well
Because it is thy hair and art,
But that it is thy gift, dear heart.
From _The New Academy of Compliments_, 1671.
I HAVE followed thee a year at least,
And never stopped myself to rest,
But yet can thee o'ertake no more
Than this day can the day that went before.
In this our fortunes equal prove
To stars which govern them above;
Our stars they move for ever round
With the same distance still betwixt them found.
In vain, alas! in vain I strive
The wheel of fate faster to drive,
Since if around it swifter fly,
She in it mends her pace as much as I.
Hearts by Love strangely shuffled are,
That there can never meet a pair;
Tamelier than worms are lovers slain;
The wounded heart ne'er turns to wound again.
From _Tixall Poetry_,[72] 1813.
TO FLORA.
WHAT though Flora frowns on me?
'Tis but a chance of destiny.
The wisest I have heard to say,
'Tis dusk before the break of day.
Why should I curse that hour of night
That brings the day to light?
Each angry look appears to me
As witness of her modesty;
And blustering storms do but forerun
The lustre of a brighter sun;
Which when appeased, I'm full possess'd
Her frowns are but in jest.
I know, fair Flora, in thy breast
A killing anger cannot rest:
Yet for my humour I will love
Though thou to me a fury prove:
I know thy soul is so refined
Thou wilt at last prove kind.
[72] From the section containing _Poems Collected by the Right
Honourable Lady Aston_ (p. 136).
From _The New Academy of Compliments_, 1671.
FAIREST thing that shines below,
Why in this robe dost thou appear?
Wouldst thou a white most perfect show,
Thou must at all no garments wear:
For thou wilt seem much whiter so
Than winter when 'tis clad in snow.
'Tis not the linen shows so fair,
Her skin shines through and makes it bright;
So clouds themselves like suns appear
When the sun pierces them with light;
So, lilies in a glass enclose,
The glass will seem as white as those.
Thou now one heap of beauty art,
Nought outwards or within is foul;
Condensed beams make every part,
The body's clothed like the soul,
Thy soul which does itself display
Like a star placed i' th' milky way.
Such robes the saints departed wear,
Woven all with light divine;
Such their exalted bodies are,
And with such full glory shine:
But they regard no mortal's pain,
Men pray (I fear) to both in vain.
Yet, seeing thee so gently pure,
My hopes will needs continue still;
Thou wouldst not take this garment, sure,
When thou hadst an intent to kill:
Of peace and yielding who would doubt
When the white flag he sees hung out?
From _Wit's Cabinet_, n. d.
VIRGINS ADMONISHED.
PRETTY nymph, why always blushing?
If thou love'st why art thou so coy?
In thy cheeks these roses flushing
Shew thee fearful of thy joy.
What is man that thou shouldst dread
To change with him a maidenhead?
At first all virgins fear to do it
And but trifle away their time,
And still unwilling to come to it
In foolish whining spend their time;
But when they once have found the way,
Then they are for it night and day.
From _Harl. MS._ 7332. fol. 242.
O HOW oftentimes have I
Joyfully
Under green trees in the shade
My seat made,
Dainty birds for to hear sing
And the woods with music ring.
But the case is altered quite:
My delight
Is to hear my mistress dear
Singing clear;
That music's sweet harmony
Makes with joy my heart to die.
O how oftentimes have I
Joyfully
Seen so many pleasant flowers
After showers
Blushingly to show their pride,
As if still they should abide.
But the case is altered quite:
My delight
Is to see how prettily,
When that I
Have stol'n a kiss, she will blush
And in jest me from her push.
Adieu, then, without delay,
I do say,
Old delights, unpleasant toys;
For no joys
Ye now have which me do please
Or can comfort or can ease.
But pray come without delay,
I do say,
My new delight, most pleasant joy,
And no toy;
It is you which me do please,
And can comfort and can ease.
From _Wit Restored_, 1658.
TO B. R. FOR HER BRACELETS.
'TIS not, dear Love, that amber twist,
Which circles round thy captive wrist,
Can have the power to make me more
Your prisoner than I was before;
Though I that bracelet dearer hold
Than misers would a chain of gold.
Yet this but ties my outward part:
Heart-strings alone can tie my heart.
'Tis not that soft and silken wreath,
Your hands did unto mine bequeath,
Can bind with half so powerful charms
As the embraces of your arms;
Although not iron bands, my fair,
Can bind more fiercely than your hair.
Yet that will chain me most will be
Your heart in True Love's-knot to me.
'Tis not those beams, your hairs, nor all
Your glorious outside doth me thrall;
Although your looks have force enow[73]
To make the stateliest tyrants bow,
Nor any angel could deny
Your person his idolatry.
Yet I do not so much adore
The temple, but the goddess more.
If then my soul you would confine
To prison, tie your heart to mine;
Your noble virtues, constant love,
The only pow'rful chains will prove
To bind me ever; such as those
The bands of death shall ne'er unloose,
Until I such a prisoner be
No liberty can make me free.
[73] Old ed. "enough."
By SIR EDWARD SHERBURNE.
ICE AND FIRE.
NAKED love did to thine eye,
Fairest, once to warm him fly;
But its purer flame and light
Scorch'd his wings and spoil'd his sight.
Forced from thence, he went to rest
In the soft couch of thy breast;
But there met a frost so great
As his torch extinguish'd straight!
When poor Cupid, being constrain'd
His cold bed to leave, complain'd,
"What a lodging's here for me,
If all ice and fire she be!"
From _Wit's Recreations_, 1663.
ON THE EYES AND BREASTS OF THE LADY ON WHOM HE WAS ENAMOURED.
LADY, on your eyes I gazed;
When amazed
At their brightness,
On your breasts I cast a look,
No less took
With their whiteness:
Both I justly did admire,
These all snow and those all fire.
Whilst these wonders I survey'd,
Thus I said
In suspense:
Nature could have done no less,
To express
Her providence,
Than that two such fair worlds might
Have two suns to give them light.
From _Tixall Poetry_,[74] 1813.
A SONG[75] FOR DRINKING.
WOULD you be a man of fashion?
Would you lead a life divine?
Take a little dram of passion
In a lusty dose of wine.
If the nymph have no compassion,
Vain it is to sigh and groan:
Love was but put in for fashion,
Wine will do the work alone.
A SONG FOR LOVE.
WOULD you know earth's highest pleasure?
Would you rival gods above?
Drink rich wines, but drink with measure,
But fear no excess in love.
Or if wine you quite give over,
You will nothing lose thereby;
All is rapture to a lover,
So in love he live or die.
[74] From the section containing _Poems Collected by the Honourable
Herbert Aston_ (pp. 307, 308).