Doth cite each moving sense from idle rest.
Not daring trust the office of mine eyes,

While Philomela sits and sings, I sit and mark, And wish her lays were tuned like the lark; For she doth welcome daylight with her ditty, And drives away dark dismal-dreaming night: The night so pack'd, I post unto my pretty; Heart hath his hope, and eyes their wished sight; Sorrow chang'd to solace, solace mix'd with sorrow;

For why? she sigh'd, and bade me come to

morrow.

Were I with her, the night would post too soon;

But now are minutes added to the hours;
To spite me now, each minute seems a moon;"
Yet not for me, shine sun to succour flowers!
Pack night, peep day; good day, of night

now borrow;

Short, night, to-night, and length thyself to

morrow.

■ A moon. The original has an hour-evidently a misprint. The emendation of moon, in the sense of month, is by Steevens, and it ought to atone for some faults of the commentator.

Through the velvet leaves the wind,
All unseen, 'gan passage find;
That the lover, sick to death,
Wish'd himself the heaven's breath.
Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow;
Air, would I might triumph so!
But, alas, my hand hath sworn
Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn :
Vow, alack, for youth unmeet,
Youth, so apt to pluck a sweet.
Thou for whom Jove would swear
Juno but an Ethiope were;
And deny himself for Jove,
Turning mortal for thy love."

For a sweet content, the cause of all my

moan: a

Poor Coridon Must live alone,

Other help for him I see that there is none.

XVII.

Whenas thine eye hath chose the dame,

And stall'd the deer that thou shouldst strike,
Let reason rule things worthy blame,
As well as fancy, partial might:

Take counsel of some wiser head,
Neither too young, nor yet unwed.

And when thou com'st thy tale to tell,
Smooth not thy tongue with filed talk,
Lest she some subtle practice smell;
(A cripple soon can find a halt :)
But plainly say thou lov'st her well,
And set her person forth to sell.a

e

What though her frowning brows be bent
Her cloudy looks will calm ere night;
And then too late she will repent,
That thus dissembled her delight;

And twice desire, ere it be day,
That which with scorn she put away.

What though she strive to try her strength,
And ban and brawl, and say thee nay,
Her feeble force will yield at length,
When craft hath taught her thus to say:
'Had women been so strong as men,
In faith you had not had it then.'
And to her will frame all thy ways;
Spare not to spend,—and chiefly there
Where thy desert may merit praise,
By ringing in thy lady's ear:

The strongest castle, tower, and town,
The golden bullet beats it down.

Serve always with assured trust,

And in thy suit be humble, true;

b

Moan. This is the reading in 'England's Helicon.' The Passionate Pilgrim has woe.

b Strike. So the original. Mr. Dyce, who seldom indulges in conjectural emendation, alters the word to smite, "for the sake of the rhyme." This we think is scarcely allowable; for there are many examples of loose rhymes in these little poems. In the seventh stanza of this poem we have nought to rhyme with oft.

• Fancy is here used as love, and might as power. Steevens, mischievously we should imagine, changed partial might to partial tike; and Malone adopts this reading, which makes Cupid a bull-dog.

d Sell. The reading of the Passionate Pilgrim is sale. A manuscript in the possession of Mr. Lysons gives us sell.

• Calm is the reading of The Passionate Pilgrim; the manuscript just mentioned has clear.

In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade
Which a groveb of myrtles made,
Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring:
Everything did banish moan,
Save the nightingale alone:
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn,
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity:
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry,
Teru, Teru, by and by:
That to hear her so complain,
Scarce I could from tears refrain;
For her griefs so lively shown,
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah! thought I, thou mourn'st in vain;
None take pity on thy pain:

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee;
Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee.

d

King Pandion, he is dead;

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;
All thy fellow-birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.
[Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me."]
Whilst as fickle fortune smil'd,
Thou and I were both beguil'd.
Every one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery.

Words are easy like the wind;
Faithful friends are hard to find.
Every man will be thy friend,
Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ;
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.

We insert this poem in the order in which it appears in The Passionate Pilgrim. The variations of other copies will be found in our Illustrations.

b This poem is also incompletely printed in England's Helicon; where it bears the signature Ignoto. There are some variations in the twenty-eight lines there given, as in the case before us, of grove in The Passionate Pilgrim, which in 'England's Helicon is, group.

• Up-till. This is given against in England's Helicon.' d Bears. In England's Helicon' beasts.

• The poem in England's Helicon' here ends; but the two lines with which it concludes are wanting in The Passionate Pilgrim.

If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call:
And with such-like flattering,
Pity but he were a king.'
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to women he be bent,
They have him at commandement;
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown:

They that fawn'd on him before,
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need;
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep:
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

Take, ob, take those lips away, That so sweetly were forsworn, And those eyes, the break of day, Lights that do mislead the morn: But my kisses bring again,

Seals of love, but seal'd in vain.

SONG.

Hide, oh, hide those hills of snow, Which thy frozen bosom bears On whose tops the pinks that grow

Are of those that April wears. But first set my poor heart free, Bound in those icy chains by thee."

LET the bird of loudest lay, On the sole Arabian tree," Herald sad and trumpet be,

To whose sound chaste wings obey.

But thou, shrieking harbinger,
Foul pre-currer of the fiend,
Augur of the fever's end,

To this troop come thou not near.

From this session interdict
Every fowl of tyrant wing,
Save the eagle, feather'd king:
Keep the obsequy so strict.

There is a curious coincidence in a passage in the Tempest:

"Now I will believe

That there are unicorns; that in Arabia There is one tree, the phoenix' throne."

Let the priest in surplice white,
That defunctive music can,"
Be the death-divining swan,
Lest the requiem lack his right.

And thou, treble-dated crow,
That thy sable gender mak'st

With the breath thou giv'st and takʼst, 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go.

Here the anthem doth commence :
Love and constancy is dead;
Phoenix and the turtle fled
In a mutual flame from hence.

So they lov'd, as love in twain
Had the essence but in one;
Two distincts, division none:
Number there in love was slain.

a Can-knows.