« 이전계속 »
Thine affections, in an instant,
This and that, and here and there,
Thou art weary, thou art wavering,
Coy, and in a while as kind; All thy passions, in a turning, Shift as often as the wind. To and fro, and
and down; Change doth all thy actions crowne
But to me thou ne'er art chang'd
In thy wonted cruelty !
Oh then, let thy next change be
If in that mind I could find ye,
I would hold thee fast enow.
Then, by my example taught,
Cupid and the Clown. *
(From the same MS.]
As Cupid took his bow and bolt,
Some birding sport to find,
Which was some yeoman's hind.
Clown. “ Well met, fair boy! what sport abroad?
“ It is a goodly day;
“ You cannot choose but slay.
" Gadzooks! your eyes are both put out!
“ You will not bird, I'trow?
“ The birds will laugh at you."
Cupid. “ Why, man, thou dost deceive thyself,
“ Or else my mother lies,
“ My arrows should have eyes."
* A copy of this, with some variations, is printed in “ Wit restored."
Clorun. " Why then thy mother is a fool,
« And thou art but an elf,
“ And go without, thyself.”
Cupid.“ Not so, sir swain, but hold your prate;
66 If I do take a shaft,
With that the ploughman laugh’d.
Then angry Cupid drew his bow. Clown. “ For God's sake slay me not !" Cupid. “ I'll make thy lither liver ache.” Clown.
Nay! I'll be loth of that !"
The stinging arrow hit the mark,
And pierc'd his silly soul ;
Where Love had made a hole.
And so the clown went bleeding home;
(To stay it was no boot)
That could not see to shoot.
To his forsaken Mistress.
The following song bad been, in the first edition of this work,
assigned to the reign of Charles I. on the internal evidence of its style and sentiment. The editor has lately found it in a musical miscellany, entitled “ Select Ayres and Dia. logues,” of which a second edition was printed for Jobs Playford in 1659.
I do confess thou’rt smooth and fair,
And I might have gone near to love thee; Had I not found the slightest prayer
That lips could move, had power to move thee; But I can let thee now alone As worthy to be lov'd by none.
I do confess thou’rt sweet, yet find
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, Thy favours are but like the wind
Which kisseth every thing it meets. And since thou canst with more than one, Thou'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none.
The morning rose, that untouch'd stands,
Arm’d with her briars, how sweet she smells ! But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands,
Her sweets no longer with her dwells ;
But scent and beauty both are gone,
Such fate, ere long, will thee betide,
When thou hast handled been a while !
And I shall sigh, when some will smile,
To the Moon. *
[From a MS.)
Thou silent Moon, that look'st so pale,
So much exhausted, and so faint, Wandering over hill and dale,
Watching oft the kneeling saintHearing his groans float on the gale No wonder thou art tir'd and pale.
* The editor has to apologize to the authoress of the two following beautiful little poems, Miss Scott, of Ancram, for having printed them without her permission. For inserting compositions so much in the spirit of one of the most interesting periods of our early poetry, though the productions of the reign of George III. he cannot think any apology due to the reader.