Ernest Rhys.

The new golden treasury of songs and lyrics online

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The cowslips tall her pensioners be ;

In their gold coats spots you see,

Those be rubies, fairy favours,

In those freckles live their savours :
I must go seek some dewdrops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

SHAKESPEARE



CXIV YOU SPOTTED SNAKES

You spotted snakes with double tongue,

Thorny hedge-hogs, be not seen ;
Newts, and blind-worms, do no wrong ;
Come not near our fairy queen :
Philomel, with melody,
Sing in our sweet lullaby ;
Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby ;
Never harm,
Nor spell, nor charm,
Come our lovely lady nigh ;
So, good-night, with lullaby.
Weaving spiders, come not here :

Hence, you long-legged spinners, hence !
Beetles black, approach not near ;
Worm, nor snail, do no offence.

SHAKESPEARE



CXV THE OUSEL-COCK

The ousel-cock, so black of hue,

With orange-tawny bill,
The throstle with his note so true,

The wren with little quill ;
The finch, the sparrow, and the lark,

The plain-song cuckoo gray,
Whose note full many a man doth mark,

And dares not answer nay.

SHAKESPEARE



70 The New Golden Treasury of

CXVI HOW SHOULD I YOUR TRUE LOVE
KNOW ?

How should I your true love know

From another one ?
By his cockle hat and staff,

And his sandal shoon.

He is dead and gone, lady,

He is dead and gone ;
At his head a grass-green turf,

At his heels a stone.

White his shroud as the mountain snow,

Larded all with sweet flowers,
Which bewept to the grave did go

With true-love showers.

SHAKESPEARE

CXVII JOG ON ! JOG ON !

Jog on, jog on, the footpath way,

And merrily hent the stile-a :
A merry heart goes all the day,

Your sad tires in a mile-a.

SHAKESPEARE

CXVIII YE LITTLE BIRDS THAT SIT AND SING

Ye little birds that sit and sing

Amidst the shady valleys,
And see how Phillis sweetly walks

Within her garden-alleys ;
Go, pretty birds, about her bower ;
Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower ;
Ah, me, methinks I see her frown !

Ye pretty wantons, warble.

Go, tell her through your chirping bills,

As you by me are bidden,
To her is only known my love,

Which from the world is hidden.
Go, pretty birds, and tell her so ;
See that your notes strain not too low,
For still, methinks, I see her frown ;

Ye pretty wantons, warble.



Songs and Lyrics 71

Go, tune your voices' harmony,

And sing, I am her lover ;
Strain loud and sweet, that every note

With sweet content may move her :
And she that hath the sweetest voice,
Tell her I will not change my choice ;
Yet still, methinks, I see her frown !

Ye pretty wantons, warble.

Oh, fly ! make haste ! see, see, she falls

Into a pretty slumber.
Sing round about her rosy bed,

That waking, she may wonder.
Say to her, 'tis her lover true
That sendeth love to you, to you ;
And when you hear her kind reply,

Return with pleasant warblings.

THOMAS HEYWOOD



ENVOI TO BOOK SECOND

PSYCHE

But Psyche lives ', and on her breath attend
Delights that far surmount all earthly joy ;
Music, sweet voices, and ambrosian Jare ;
Winds ) and the light -winged creatures of the air ;
Clear channeled rivers, springs, ana flowery meads.
Are proud when Psyche wanton* on their streams.
When 1'syche on their rich embroidery treads,
When Psyche gilds their crystal with her beams.
We have but seen our sister, and, bthold!
She sends us with our laps full brimmed with gold.

HEYWOOD



72 The New Golden Treasury of



BOOK THIRD



CXIX SLOW, SLOW, FRESH FOUNT

Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears ;

Yet slower, yet ; O faintly, gentle springs ;
List to the heavy part the music bears,

Woe weeps out her division when she sings.
Droop herbs and flowers ;
Fall grief in showers,
Our beauties are not ours ;

O, I could still,
Like melting snow upon some craggy hill,

Drop, drop, drop, drop,
Since nature's pride is now a withered daffodil.

BEN JONSON

CXX STILL TO BE NEAT

Still to be neat, still to be drest,

As you were going to a feast ;

Still to be powdered, still perfumed :

Lady, it is to be presumed,

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.

JONSON

CXXI WITCH'S CHARM

The owl is abroad, the bat and the toad,

And so is the cat-a-mountain ;
The ant and the mole sit both in a hole,

And the frog peeps out o' the fountain.
The dogs they do bay, and the timbrels play,



Songs and Lyrics



73



The spindle is now a-turning ;
The moon it is red, and the stars are fled,

But all the sky is a-burning :
The ditch is made, and our nails the spade,
With pictures full, of wax and of wool :
Their livers I stick with needles quick ;
There lacks but the blood to make up the flood.
Quickly, dame, then bring your part in !
Spur, spur upon little Martin !
Merrily, merrily, make him sail,
A worm in his mouth and a thorn in his tail,
Fire above, and fire below,
With a whip in your hand to make him go !

JON SON

BUZZ AND HUM

Buzz ! quoth the Blue-Fly,

Hum ! quoth the Bee ;

Buzz and hum ! they cry,
And so do we.

In his ear ! in his nose !

Thus, do you see ?
He eat the Dormouse



Else it was he.



JONSON



II LOVE'S CHARIOT

See the chariot at hand here of Love,

Wherein my Lady rideth !
Each that draws is a swan or a dove,

And well the car Love guideth.
As she goes, all hearts do duty

Unto her beauty ;

And enamoured do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,
That they still were to run by her side,
Through swords, through seas, whither she would glide.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light

All that Love's world compriseth !
Do but look on her hair, it is bright

As Love's star when it riseth !



74 The New Golden Treasury of

Do but mark, her forehead's smoother

Than words that soothe her ;

And from her arched 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 touched it ?
Have you marked but the fall of the snow

Before the soil hath smutched it ?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver,

Or swan's down ever ?
Or have smelt o' the bud of the brier,

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 !

JONSON

CXXIV THOUGH I AM YOUNG AND CANNOT

TELL

Though I am young and cannot tell
Either what Death or Love is well,
Yet 1 have heard they both bear darts,
And both do aim at human hearts ;
And then again, I have been told,
Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold ;
So that I fear they do but bring
Extremes to touch, and mean one thing.
As in a ruin we it call
One thing to be blown up, or fall ;
Or to our end like way may have
By a flash of lightning, or a wave :
So Love's inflamed shaft or brand,
May kill as soon as Death's cold hand ;
Except Love's fires the virtue have
To fright the frost out of the grave.

JONSON
CXXV SONG OF NIGHT

Break, Phant'sie, from thy cave of cloud,

And spread thy purple wings,
Now all thy figures are allowed
And various shapes of things ;



Songs and Lyrics 75

Create of airy forms a stream,

It must have blood and nought of phlegm.

And though it be a waking dream,

Yet let it like an odour rise
To all the senses here,

And fall like sleep upon their eyes,
Or music on their ear.

JONSON



;XXVI ON MAY MORNING

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 ;md 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 doth boast thy blessing.
Thus we salute thee with our early song,
And welcome thee, and wish thee long.

MILTON



:XXVII SONG: "SWEET ECHO"

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-lurn 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.

MILTON



76 The New Golden Treasury of

CXXVIII SONNETS

i

TO THE NIGHTINGALE

O Nightingale that on yon bloomy spray

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still,
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill,
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May.

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill,
Portend success in love. O, if Jove's will
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay,

Now timely sing, ere the rude bird of hate

Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh ;
As thou from year to year hast sung too late

For my relief, yet hadst no reason why.

Whether the Muse or Love call thee his mate,
Both them I serve, and of their train am I.



HOW SOON HATH TIME

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,

Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year !

My hasting days fly on with full career,

But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth
That I to manhood am arrived so near ;
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.

Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow,

It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven,
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Task-Master's eye.

MILTON

CXXIX COME, SLEEP

Come, Sleep, and with thy sweet deceiving,
Lock me in delight awhile ;
Let some pleasing dreams beguile



Songs and Lyrics 77

All my fancies ; that from thence
I may feel an influence,
All my powers of care bereaving !

Though but a shadow, but a sliding,

Let me know some little joy !

We that suffer long annoy

Are contented with a thought,

Through an idle fancy wrought :
Oh, let my joys have some abiding !

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER



ASPATIA'S SONG

Lay a garland on my hearse

Of the dismal yew ;
Maidens, willow branches bear ;

Say, I died true.

My love was false, but I was firm

From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie

Lightly, gentle earth !

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER



MIRTH

'Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood,

More than wine, or sleep, or food ;

Let each man keep his heart at ease ;

No man dies of that disease.

He that would his body keep

From diseases, must not weep ;

But whoever laughs and sings,

Never he his body brings

Into fevers, gouts, or rheums,

Or lingeringly his lungs consumes ;

Or meets with aches in his bone,

Or catarrhs, or griping stone :

But contented lives for aye ;

The more he laughs, the more he may.

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER



78 The New Golden Treasury of

CXXXII A DIRGE

Come, you whose loves are dead,

And, whiles I sing,

Weep, and wring
Evefy hand, and every head
Bind with cypress and sad yew ;
Ribbons black and candles blue
From him that was of men most true !

Come with heavy moaning,

And on his grave

Let him have

Sacrifice of sighs and groaning ;
Let him have lair flowers enow,
White and purple, green and yellow,
For him that was of men most true !

BEAUMONT and FLETCHER



CXXXIII TELL ME, DEAREST, WHAT IS LOVE?

Tell me, dearest, what is love ?
'Tis a lightning from above ;
'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,
'Tis a boy they call Desire.
'Tis a grave,
Gapes to have
Those poor fools that long to prove.

Tell me more are women true?
Yes, some are, and some as you.
Some are willing, some are strange,
Since you men fir>t taught to change.
And till troth
He in both,
All shall love, to love anew.

Tell me more yet, can they grieve ?
Yes, and sicken sore, but live,
And be wise, and delay,
When you men arc as wise as they.
Then I see,
Faith will be,
Never till they both believe.

FLETCHER



Songs and Lyrics 79

CXXXIV CARE-CHARMING SLEEP

Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose
On this afflicted prince ; fall like a cloud,
In gentle showers ; give nothing that is loud,
Or painful to his slumbers ; easy, light,
And as a i-urling stream, thou son of Night
Pass by his troubled senses ; sing his pain,
Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain ;
Into this prince gently, oh, gently slide,
And kiss him into slumbers like a bride.

FLETCHER



CXXXV SATYR'S SONG

From " The Faithful Shepherdess."

Here be berries for a queen,

Some be red, some be green ;

These are of that luscious meat

The great god Pan himself doth eat :

All these, and what the woods can yield,

The hanging mountain or the field,

I freely offer, and ere long

Will bring you more, more sweet and strong ;

Till when, humbly leave I take,

Lest the great Pan do awake,

That sleeping lies in a deep glade,

Under a broad beech's shade.

I must go, I must run,

Swifter than the fiery sun.

FLETCHER



CXXXVI A DIALOGUE BETWEEN THE

RESOLVED SOUL AND CREATED PLEASURE

Courage, my soul ! now learn to wield
The weight of thine immortal shield ;
Close on thy head thy helmet bright ;
Balance thy sword against the fight !



8o The New Golden Treasury of

See where an army, strong as fair,
With silken banners spread the air !
Now, if thou be'st that thing divine,
In this day's combat let it shine,
And show that nature wants an art
To conquer one resolved heart.

Pleasure.

Welcome, the creation's guest,
Lord of earth, and heaven's heir !
Lay aside that warlike crest,
And of nature's banquet share,
Where the souls of fruits and flowers
Stand prepared to heighten yours.

Soul.

I sup above, and cannot stay
To bait so long upon the way.

Pleasure.

On these downy pillows lie,
Whose soft plumes will thither fly ;
On these roses, strewed so plain
Lest one leaf thy side should strain.

Soul.

My gentle rest is on a thought,
Conscious of doing what 1 ought.

Pleasure.

If thou be'st with perfumes pleased
Such as oft the gods appeased,
Thou in fragrant clouds shalt show
Like another god below.

Soul.

A soul that knows not to presume
Is Heaven's and its own perfume.

Pleasure.

Every thing does seem to vie
Which should first attract thine eye;
But since none deserves that grace,
In this crystal view thy face.

Soul.

When the Creator's skill is p ized,
The rest is all but earth disguised.



Songs and Lyrics 81

Pleasure.

Hark how music then prepares
For thy stay these charming airs,
Which the posting winds recall,
And suspend the river's fall.

Soul.

Had I but any time to lose,

On this I would it all dispose.

Cease tempter ! None can chain a mind

Whom this sweet cordage cannot bind.

Chorus.

Earth cannot show so brave a sight,

As when a single soul does fence

The battery of alluring Sense,

And Heaven views it with delight.

Then persevere ! for still new charges round :
And if thou overcom'st thou shalt be crowned !

Pleasure.
All that's costly fair and sweet

Which scatteringly doth shine,
Shall within one Beauty meet,
And she be only thine.

Soul.

If things of sight such heavens be,
What heavens are those we cannot see !

Pleasure.

Wheresoe'er thy foot shall go
The minted Gold shall lie,
Till thou purchase all below,
And want new worlds to buy.

Soul.

Wer't not for price who'd value gold ?
And that's worth naught that can be sold.

Pleasure.
Wilt thou all the Glory have

That war or peace commend ?
Half the world shall be thy slave,
The other half thy friend.

Soul.

What friends, if to myself untrue ?
What slaves, unless I captive you ?



82 The New Golden Treasury of

Pleasure.
Thou shalt Know each hidden cause

And see the future time ;
Try what depth the centre draws,

And then to heaven climb.

Soul.

None thither mounts by the degree
Of knowledge, but humility.

Chorus.
Triumph, triumph, victorious soul !

The world has not one pleasure more :
The rest does lie beyond the pole,
And is thine everlasting store.

MARVELL

CXXXVJI A DROP OF DEW

See how the orient dew,

Shed from the bosom of the morn
Into the blowing roses,
Yet careless of its mansion new,
For the clear region where 'twas born,

Round in itself incloses
And in its little globe's extent
Frames, as it can, its native element.
How it the purple flower does slight,

Scarce touching where it lies ;
But gazing back upon the skies
Shines with a mournful light :

Likes its own tear,

Because so long divided from the sphere.
Restless it rolls and unsecure,

Trembling lest it grow impure ;
Till the warm sun pities its pain,
And to the skies exhales it back again.

So the soul, that drop, that ray,
Of the clear fountain of eternal day,
Could it within the human flower be seen,
Remembering still its former height,
Shuns the sweet leaves and blossoms green ;
And, recollecting its own light,
Does, in its pure and circling thoughts, express
The greater heaven in a heaven less.



Songs and Lyrics 83

In how coy a figure wound,
Every way it turns away,
So the world excluding round,
Yet receiving in the day ;
Dark beneath, but bright above,
Here disdaining, there in love.
How loose and easy hence to go,
How girt and ready to ascend :
Moving but on a point below,
It all about does upward bend.
Such did the manna's sacred dew distil,
White and entire, although congealed and chill ;
Congealed on earth ; but does, dissolving, run
Into the glories of the almighty sun.

MARVELL



CXXXVIII THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER

An old song made by an aged old pate,
Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a great estate,
That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,
And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate ;

Like an old courtier of the queen's,

And the queen's old courtier.

With an old lady, whose anger one word assuages ;

They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,

And never knew what belonged to coachmen, footmen, nor

pages,

But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges ;
Like an old courtier . . .

With an old study filled full of learned old books ;

With an old reverend chaplain you might know him by his

looks ;

With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks ;
And an old kitchen, that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks ;
Like an old courtier . . .

With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, and bows,
With old swords and bucklers, that had borne many shrewd

blows ;

And an old frieze coat, to cover his worship's trunk hose \
A cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose ;

Like an old courtier . . .



84 The New Golden Treasury of

With a good old fashion, when Christmas was come,
To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum,
With good cheer enough to furnish every old room,
And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb ;
Like an old courtier . . .

With an old falconer, huntsmen, and a kennel of hounds,
That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds ;
Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds,
And when he died, gave every child a thousand good pounds ;

Like an old courtier of the queen's,

And the queen's old courtier.

CXXXIX THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY

O, the month of May, the merry month of May,
So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green !
O, and then did I unto my true love say,
Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen.

Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale,

The sweetest singer in all the forest quire,

Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love's tale :

Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier.

But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo ;
See where she sitteth ; come away, my joy :
Come away, I prithee, I do not like the cuckoo
Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy.

O, the month of May, the merry month of May,
So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green ;
And then did I unto my true love say,
Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen.

DEKKER

CXL COLD'S THE WIND

Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,

Saint Hugh be our good speed !
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,

Nor helps good hearts in need.

Troll the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl,

And here, kind mate, to thee !
Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul,

And down it merrily.



Songs and Lyrics 85

Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down !

Hey derry deny down-a-down !
Ho ! well done, to me let come j

Ring compass, gentle joy !

DEKKER



CXLI FORTUNE SMILES

Fortune smiles, cry holyday !
Dimples on her cheeks do dwell.
Fortune frowns, cry well-a-day !
Her love is heaven, her hate is hell.
Since heaven and hell obey her power,
Tremble when her eyes do lower :
Since heaven and hell her power obey,
When she smiles cry holyday !

Holyday with joy we cry,

And bend, and bend, and merrily

Sing hymns to Fortune's deity,

Sing hymns to Fortune's deity.

Let us sing merrily, merrily, merrily !
With our song let heaven resound, '*'?'
Fortune's hands our heads have crowned :
Let us sing merrily, merrily, merrily !

DEKKER



CXLII SIC VITA

Like to the falling of a star,
Or as the flights of eagles are ;
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue,
Or silver drops of morning dew ;
Or like a wind that chafes the flood,
Or* bubbles which on water stood :
Ev'n such is man, whose borrowed light
Is straight called in, and paid to-night.
The wind blows out, the bubble dies ;
The spring entombed in autumn lies ;
The dew dries up, the star is shot ;
The flight is past and man forgot.

KING



86 The New Golden Treasury of

CXLIII THE DOLE

Call for the robin red-breast and the wren,

Since o'er shady groves they hover,

And with leaves and flowers do cover

The friendless bodies of unburied men.

Call unto his funeral dole

The ant, the field-mouse and the mole,

To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm.

And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm ;

But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men,

For with his nails he'll dig them up again.

WEBSTER

CXLIV THE SHORTNESS OF LIFE

And what's a life ? a weary pilgrimage, I/

Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage
With childhood, manhood, and decrepit age.

And what's a life ? the flourishing array
Of the proud summer meadow, which to-day
Wears her green plush, and is to-morrow hay.

Read on this dial, how the shades devour

My short-lived winter's day ! hour eats up hour ;

Alas ! the total's but from eight to four.

Behold these lilies, which thy hands have made,

Fair copies of my life, and open laid

To view, how soon they droop, how soon they fade !

Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon ;
My non-aged day already points to noon ;
How simple is my suit ! how small my boon !

Nor do I beg this slender inch to wile

The time away, or falsely to beguile

My thoughts with joy ; here's nothing wortji a smile.

QUARLES

CXLV ASK ME NO MORE

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose ;
For in your beauty's orient deep
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.



Songs and Lyrics 87

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day,
For in pure love did Heaven prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.
Ask me no more whither dost haste
The nightingale when May is past,
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters and keeps warm her note.
Ask me no more where those stars light
That downwards fall in dead of night,
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become as in their sphere.
Ask me no more if east or west,
The phoenix builds her spicy nest,
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

CAREW



THE PRIMROSE

Ask me why I send you here

This firstling of the infant year ;

Ask me why I send to you

This primrose all bepearled with dew :

I straight will whisper in your ears,

The sweets of love are washed with tears.

Ask me why this flower doth show

So yellow, green, and sickly too ;

Ask me why the stalk is weak

And bending, yet it doth not break ;

I must tell you, these discover

What doubts and fears are in a lover.

CAREW



LVII THE GOOD MORROW

I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I

Did till we loved ! Were we not weaned till then,

But sucked on country pleasures childishly ?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den ?

'Twas so ; but thus all pleasures fancies be.

If ever any beauty I did see,

Which I desired and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.


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