CCCXXII.

Die not, fond man, before thy day;

Love's cold December

Will surrender

To succeeding jocund May.

And then, oh! then sorrow shall cease;

Comforts abounding,

Cares confounding,

Shall conclude a happy peace.

In the music of this Madrigal will be found a happy mixture of the grave Doric with the sprightly Ionic measure. It is one of Ward's master-pieces.

CCCXXIII.

I have intreated, and I have complain'd,
I have disprais'd, and praise I likewise gave;
All means to win her grace I tried have;
And still I love, and still I am disdain'd.
Oh! that my sighs might purchase some relief,
Or in her heart my tears imprint my grief!

But cease, vain sighs-cease, cease, ye fruitless tears;
Tears cannot pierce her heart, nor sighs her ears.

Part of a sonnet written A.D. 1608 by Walter Davison, son of Secretary Davison, mentioned above in No. CCCXVI.

CCCXXIV.

Come, sable night, put on thy mourning stole,
And help Amintas sadly to condole.

Behold, the sun hath shut his golden eye,

And shadeth from the world fair light's supply.

All things in sweet repose,

Their daily labours close;

Only Amintas wastes his hours in wailing,

Whilst all his fond hopes faint, and life is failing.

Night with her ebon wand and mourning mantle has perhaps afforded more materials for fine descriptive poetry than any other appearance or object in nature; and many a little gem on the subject still sparkles unseen in the neglected mine of English literature. The following, for instance, by Mr. Sackville (England's Parnassus, 1600): "Midnight was come, when ev'ry vital thing

“With sweet sound sleep their weary limbs did rest; "The beasts were still; the little birds that sing,

"Now sweetly slept beside their mothers' breast. "The waves were calm'd, the cruel storms did cease; "The woods, the fields, and all things held their peace."

CCCXXV.

Weep forth your tears, and still lament-He's dead,
Who living was of all the world belov'd:

Let dolorous lamenting still be spread

Through all the earth; that all hearts may be mov'd

To sigh and plain,

Since death hath slain

Prince Henry.

Oh! had he liv'd, our hopes had still increas'd;
But he is dead, and all our joy 's deceas'd.

This is a mourning song for Prince Henry, the eldest son of James the First, who died in the flower of early youth, to the inexpressible grief of the whole court and kingdom. Anthony Wood (Fasti, 1606) calls him the people's darling, and the delight of mankind.

The mourning songs for his death are numerous, but I attach more interest to a pamphlet still in existence, giving an account of his baptism, as it shows the advanced state of musical science in our northern capital, even at that early period. It is entitled, "A true representation of the most "triumphant accomplishment of the Baptism of the most "excellent, right high and mighty Prince Henry, by the "Grace of God, Prince of Scotland. Solemnized the 30th "day of August, 1594."

After a vast number of devices and pageants of various kinds, "then began there music of green holyne howboys "in five parts: after that followed viols with voices, in plain counterpoint: after which ensued a shril noise of recorders "and flutes: and for the fourth, a general consort of all the "best instruments. When all the banket was done, after "thanks being given, there was sung with most dulce voices "and sweet harmony in seven parts, the 128th Psalm with "fourteen voices."

Let no one, after reading this extract, presume to say that music was in a rude state in the 16th century. It is no such easy matter even at this time of day, to bring together fourteen dulce voices, far less to make them sing sweet harmony in seven parts.

JOHN HILTON

Was a Bachelor of Music, and chiefly known as the author and publisher of two works. The first is "Ayres, or "Fa-las, for three voices. Printed in 1627," and dedicated to "The Worshipful William Heather, Doctor of Music*.” I am rather puzzled as to Hilton's chronology; for if he be the same individual who composed one of the Orianas in 1601 (he is then styled Bachelor of Music), it seems singular that he should call this present work (printed twentyseven years after), "the unripe first fruits of his labours, "being but a drop that he received from him (Heather) "the fountain."

These Fa-las are twenty-six in number, and the poetry is for the most part very trifling. The five following are selected as the best.

CCCXXVI.

I heard a wither'd maid complain,
Who wish'd that she were young again;
She would not then man's love despise :
In time be, therefore, young ones, wise.

To such as thus in doleful dumps cry,

"Oh me, that I were young again! "+

I recommend the perusal of a very clever, tho' but little known, Scottish song:

"Saw ye ne'er a lanely lassie,

Thinking, gin she were a wife,

"The sun o' joy would ne'er gae down,

"But warm and cheer her a' her life?

* Query-Dr. William Heyther, who in 1627 founded the Musical Lectureship at Oxford?

+ Vide No. CXCIII.

nays are but your

trials;

From one to two or three they 'll move,

To try which is the surest love.

CCCXXVIII.

Though me you disdain to view,
Yet give me leave to gaze on you:
The sun as yet did never hide him,
When a Moor or Tartar ey'd him.

The same idea will be found in No. CCCLXIV.