And he that will to bed go sober,

Falls with the leaf still in October.1

Rollo, Duke of Normandy. Act ii. Sc. 2.

Three merry boys, and three merry boys,
And three merry boys are we,2

As ever did sing in a hempen string

Under the gallows-tree.

Ibid. Act iii. Sc. 2.

Hence, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights

Wherein you spend your folly!
There's naught in this life sweet.
If man were wise to see 't,
But only melancholy;

O sweetest Melancholy!

The Nice Valour. Act iii. Sc. 3.

Fountain heads and pathless groves,

Places which pale passion loves!

Ibid.

I The following well-known catch, or glee, is formed

on this song:

He who goes to bed, and goes to bed sober,
Falls as the leaves do, and dies in October;

But he who goes to bed, and goes to bed mellow,
Lives as he ought to do, and dies an honest fellow.

2 See Peele's The Old Wives Tale, 1595; "Three merry men be we," quoted in Westward Hoe, by Dekker and Webster, 1607.

156 Fletcher. Beaumont.— Browne.

Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan,
Sorrow calls no time that 's gone:

Violets plucked, the sweetest rain

Makes not fresh nor grow again.1

The Queen of Corinth. Act iii. Sc. 2.

FRANCIS BEAUMONT.

1586-1616.

What things have we seen

Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have

been

So nimble and so full of subtile flame,

As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest,

And resolved to live a fool the rest

Of his dull life.

Letter to Ben Jonson.

WILLIAM BROWNE.

1590-1645.

Whose life is a bubble, and in length a span. Britannia's Pastorals. Book i. Song 2.

Did therewith bury in oblivion.

8

2

Well-languaged Danyel.

1 Weep no more, lady, weep no more,

Thy sorrow is in vain ;

For violets plucked the sweetest showers
Will ne'er make grow again.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Percy's Reliques, The Friar of Orders Gray.

"See Bacon, The World.

3 Buried in oblivion.- Sidney's Discourses concerning Government, Vol. ii. Ch. iii. Sec. 30.

Beaumont and Fletcher.

157

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

A soul as white as heaven.

The Maid's Tragedy. Act iv. Sc. 1.

There is a method in man's wickedness,

It grows up by degrees.1

A King and no King. Act v. Sc. 4.

Calamity is man's true touchstone.2

Four Plays in One. The Triumph of Honour. Sc. 1.

The fit 's upon me now!
Come quickly, gentle lady:
The fit 's upon me now!

Wit without Money. Act v. Sc. 4.

Of all the paths lead to a woman's love

Pity 's the straightest.3

The Knight of Malta. Acti. Sc. 1.

What's one man's poison, signor,

Is another's meat or drink.

Love's Cure. Act iii. Sc. 2.

1 Nemo repente fuit turpissimus. —Juvenal, ii. 83. 2 Ignis aurum probat, miseria fortes viros. - Seneca,

Oli.

That's a degree to love.

Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, Act iii. Sc. 1. Pity swells the tide of love.

Young, Night Thoughts, iii. 104.

Pity 's akin to love.

Southerne, Oroonoka, Act ii. Sc. 1.

158 Beaumont and Fletcher.-Carew.

Nothing can cover his high fame, but Heaven ;
No pyramids set off his memories,

But the eternal substance of his greatness;
To which I leave him.

The False One. Act ii. Sc. 1.

Primrose, first-born child of Ver,
Merry spring-time's harbinger.

The Two Noble Kinsmen. Acti. Sc. 1.

O great corrector of enormous times,

Shaker of o'er-rank states, thou grand decider Of dusty and old titles, that healest with blood The earth when it is sick, and curest the world O' the plurisy of people.

Ibid. Act v. Sc. I.

THOMAS CAREW. 1589- 1639.

He that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,

Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

Disdain Returned.

Then fly betimes, for only they
Conquer Love, that run away.

Conquest by Flight.

On the Duke of Buckingham.

An untimely grave.1

The magic of a face.

Epitaph on the Lady S.

1 Untimely grave. -Tate and Brady, Psalm vii.

GEORGE WITHER. 1588-1667.
Shall I, wasting in despair,

Die because a woman 's fair?

Or make pale my cheeks with care,
'Cause another's rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,

Or the flow'ry meads in May,

If she be not so to me,

What care I how fair she be?1

The Shepherd's Resolution.

Jack shall pipe, and Gill shall dance.

Poem on Christmas.

Hang sorrow! care will kill a cat,
And therefore let 's be merry.
Though I am young, I scorn to flit
On the wings of borrowed wit.

Ibid.

The Shepherd's Hunting.
And I oft have heard defended
Little said is soonest mended.
And he that gives us in these days

New Lords may give us new laws.

Ibid.

Contented Man's Morrice.

THOMAS HOBBES. 1588-1679.

For words are wise men's counters, they do but reckon by them; but they are the money of fools. The Leviathan. Parti. Ch. 4. And the life of man solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short.

1 If she undervalue me,

What care I how fair she be.

Ibid. Ch. 13.

Raleigh, according to Oldys.