a repose about them that reminds me of Oliver Goldsmith's exquisite description of him, who

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passing rich with forty pounds a year,

"Remote from cities ran his godly race,

"Nor e'er had chang'd, nor wish'd to change, his place;"

who by his example

"Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way;"

and although he disdained not to share the joys or mitigate the griefs of those around him,

"Yet all his serious thoughts had rest in Heaven."

There is a very quaint comparison between human life and a play in No. CCCI.

CCV.

Sweet honey-sucking bees, why do ye still
Surfeit on roses, pinks, and violets ;
As if the choicest nectar lay in them,
Wherewith ye store your curious cabinets?
Ah! make your flight to Melisuavia's lips;
There may ye revel in Ambrosian cheer,
Where smiling roses and sweet lilies sit*,

Keeping their spring-tide graces all the year.
Yet sweet, take heed-all sweets are hard to get;
Sting not her soft lips; oh! beware of that;
For if one flaming dart come from her eye,
Was never dart so sharp-Ah! then you die.

Wilbye's Music to this Madrigal belongs, as an Under

JOHN WILBYE.

writer would say, to Class A 1. The words are imitated from one of the Basia of Joannes Secundus, written in Latin about the year 1533. I subjoin the original : "Mellilegæ volucres, quid adhuc thyma cana, rosasque, "Et rorem vernæ nectarium violæ "Lingitis, aut florem latè spirantis anethi? "Omnes, ad dominæ labra, venite, meæ. "Illa rosas spirant omnes, thymaque omnia sola, "Et succum vernæ nectareum violæ. "Heu! non et stimulis compungite molle labellum, "Ex oculis stimulos vibrat et illa pares. "Credite, non ullum patietur vulnus inultum, "Leniter innocuæ mella legatis, apes."

The term mellilega volucres which Stanley, in his translation, A.D. 1651, renders Ye wing'd confectioners, is neat; but upon the whole I prefer the present English version to the original Latin.

CCVI.

Oft have I vow'd, how dearly I did love thee,
Oft have observ'd thee with all willing duty;
Sighs I have sent, still hoping to remove thee,
Millions of tears I've tender'd to thy beauty:
Yet thou, of sighs and silly tears regardless,
Suff'rest my feeble heart to pine with anguish ;
Whilst all my barren hopes return rewardless,

My bitter days do waste, and I do languish.

In the music of this Madrigal, which is very beautiful, occurs a chromatic passage of three or four semi-tones in succession—a rare circumstance in ancient harmony.

* Waited upon.

CCVII.

Down in a valley as Alexis trips,
Daphne sat sweetly sleeping.

Soon as the wanton touch'd her ruddy lips,

*

She nicely fell a weeping.

The youth then gently greets her,

And sighing oft intreats her.

But when nor sighs nor kisses moved her pity,

With plaints he warbles forth this mournful ditty.

Hard Destinies! are love and beauty parted?
Fair Daphne so disdainful!

Cupid, thy shafts are too unjustly darted;
Fond Love, thy wounds be painful.

But sith my lovely jewel

Is proved so coy and cruel,

I'll live and frolic in her beauty's treasure,

But languish, faint, and die in her displeasure.

If not the most beautiful, Down in a valley is certainly one of the most elaborate of all Wilbye's compositions. I need but call the attention of those who have the music, to the close working of the parts and exquisite suspensions at the words with plaints he warbles forth this mournfu, ditty. Until lately, only one portion of it was reprinted, (and that in a very incorrect manner by Warren and Bland in their respective collections ;) and it is not by any means a solitary instance of the carelessness (to use no harsher term) displayed by the first-named person in his republication of old music.

It is provoking to witness the mistakes arising from un

*Delicately, bashfully.

K

skilfulness on the part of the first arranger, and afterwards perpetuated by the carelessness of others, who with the most singular perversity will take for authority a modern printed or even manuscript copy rather than the author's own original works.

CCVIII.

Weep, weep, mine eyes, my heart can take no rest;
Weep, weep, my heart, mine eyes shall ne'er be blest;
Weep eyes, weep heart, and both this accent cry,
A thousand deaths, Flamminia, I die.

Ah, cruel fate! Death, do thy worst, I care not:
Ah me! Leander, now to die I fear not.

I hope when I am dead,

In the Elysian plain

To meet my love, and there

With joy to love again.

I have been obliged to patch up the last six lines, in order to give them something like rhythm.

CCIX.

Ye that do live in pleasures plenty,

And dwell in music's sweetest airs;

Whose eyes are quick, whose ears are dainty,
Not clogg'd with earth, or worldly cares;
Come sing this song made in Amphion's praise,
Who now is dead; yet you his fame can raise.

Call him again, let him not die,

But live in music's sweetest breath;

Place him in fairest

memory,

And let him triumph over death.

O sweetly sung! his living wish attend ye:

These were his words, The mirth of Heaven God send ye.

This is evidently a funeral song upon some celebrated musician, likely enough Thomas Morley, who died about the year 1608; and for whom Thomas Weelkes makes lamentation in a doleful dump. Vide No. CLIV.

CCX.

Where most my thoughts, there least mine eye is striking; Where least I come, there most my heart abideth :

Where most I love, I never show my liking;

From what my mind doth hold, my body slideth. I show least care, where most my care dependeth; A coy regard, where most my soul attendeth.

Poets are fond of representing true love as bashful, and shunning public observation

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Among the rest young Edwin bow'd,

"But never talk'd of love."— Goldsmith.

Loin le fatras de la triste eloquence, as a French epigrammatist writes;—make me no fine speeches before company, but merely

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give me a blink o' your bonny black ee, "And look as you were na looking at me.”—Burns.