WOMEN ARE BUT MEN'S SHADOWS. BEN JONSON. Follow a shadow, it still flies you, At morn and even shades are longest; WHAT JUST EXCUSE. BEN JONSON. What just excuse had aged Time, His limbs now to have eased, And sate him down without his crime, While every thought was so much pleased! But he so greedy to devour His own, and all that he brings forth, Some object of the rarest worth- As not to die by time, or age: For beauty hath a living name, And will to heaven, from whence it came. [Sung after the last Masque Dance in " Love freed from Ignorance and Folly."] OH DO NOT WANTON. BEN JONSON. Oh do not wanton with those eyes, Nor cast them down, but let them rise, O be not angry with those fires, O do not steep them in thy tears, Mine own enough betray me. [Mr. Gifford writes-" With respect to the present song, if it be not the most beautiful in the language, I freely confess, for my own part, that I know not where it is to be found." Gifford's Ben Jonson, vol. 8, p. 319.] DANCING SONG. BEN JONSON. Come on, come on! and where you go, First figure out the doubtful way, At which a while all youth should stay, Which should have Hercules to friend. Then as all actions of mankind But measur'd, and so numerous too, And when they see the graces meet For dancing is an exercise, Not only shows the mover's wit, [Sung by "Daedalus the wise," before the first dance in the Masque of " Pleasure reconciled to Virtue."] ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW. From Oberon, in fairye land, The king of ghosts and shadowes there, Am sent to viewe the night-sports here. Is kept about, In every corner where I go, I will o'ersee, And merry bee, And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho! More swift than lightning can I flye About this aery welkin soone, And, in a minutes space, descrye Each thing that's done belowe the moone, There's not a hag Or ghost shall wag, Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go; But Robin I Their feats will spy, And send them home, with ho, ho, ho! Whene'er such wanderers I meete, As from their night-sports they trudge home, With counterfeiting voice I greete And call them on, with me to roame Thro' woods, thro' lakes, Thro' bogs, thro' brakes; Or else, unseene with them I go, All in the nicke To play some tricke And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho! Sometimes I meete them like a man ; To trip and trot about them round, My backe they stride, More swift than wind away I go, Thro' pools and ponds I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho! When lads and lasses merry be, I eat their cakes and sip their wine; I — and snort; And out the candles I do blow. The maides I kiss. They shrieke-who's this! I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho! Yet now and then, the maids to please, Their malt up still; |