ULYSSES. But yet the state of things require And these great spirits of high desire To be well chang'd for war. SYREN. Well, well, Ulysses, then I see And take my fortune there. I must be wonne that cannot win, X. CUPID'S PASTIME. 60 65 70 This beautiful poem, which possesses a classical elegance hardly to be expected in the age of James I. is printed from the 4th edition of Davison's Poems, 1 &c. 1621. It is also found in a later miscellany, intitled, 'Le Prince d'Amour,' 1660, 8vo.-Francis Davison, editor of the poems above referred to, was son of that unfortunate secretary of state, who suffered so much from the affair of Mary Q. of Scots. These poems, he tells us in his preface, were written by himself, by his brother [Walter], who was a soldier in the wars of the Low Countries, and by some dear friends anonymoi.' Among them are found some pieces by Sir J. Davis, the Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser, and other wits of those times. In the fourth vol. of Dryden's Miscellanies, this poem is attributed to Sydney Godolphin, Esq; but erroneously, being probably written before he was born. One edit. of Davison's book was published in 1608. Godolphin was born in 1610, and died in 1642-3. Ath. Ox. II. 23.2 1 See the full title in Vol. II. Book IIL No. IV. 2 Davison was born in 1575, and died about 1619.-ED. Ir chanc'd of late a shepherd swain, Espied a dainty nymph asleep. Her golden hair o'erspred her face; Her careless arms abroad were cast; The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill; 5 Nought durst he do; nought durst he say; 10 Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will, Did guide the god of love that way. The crafty boy that sees her sleep, Whom if she wak'd he durst not see, Behind her closely seeks to creep, Before her nap should ended bee. There come, he steals her shafts away, But, ere she wakes, hies thence apace. Scarce was he gone, but she awakes, Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart. Yet up again forthwith he start, And to the nymph he ran amain. Amazed to see so strange a sight, She shot, and shot, but all in vain; Her angry eyes were great with tears, She blames her hand, she blames her skill; Take heed, sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft, Yet try she will, and pierce some bare; That made the shepherd senseless stand. That breast she pierc'd; and through that breast 45 Love found an entry to her heart; At feeling of this new-come guest, Lord! how this gentle nymph did start! She runs not now; she shoots no more; She thinks the shepherd's haste too slow. Though mountains meet not, lovers may: The god of love sate on a tree, 50 XI. THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE. This little moral poem was writ by Sir Henry Wotton, who died Provost of Eaton, in 1639. Æt. 72. It is printed from a little collection of his pieces, intitled, Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, 1651, 12mo; compared with one or two other copies.1 How happy is he born or taught, That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his highest skill: Whose passions not his masters are; Who hath his life from rumours freed; Nor ruine make oppressors great: 10 Who envies none, whom chance doth raise, How deepest wounds are given with praise; 15 Who God doth late and early pray And entertaines the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend, 20 1 Ben Jonson, when he visited Drummond, at Hawthornden, had these verses by heart.'-ED. This man is freed from servile bands XII. GILDEROY -was a famous robber, who lived about the middle of the last century, (i.e. 17th) if we may credit the histories and story-books of highwaymen, which relate many improbable feats of him, as his robbing Cardinal Richlieu, Oliver Cromwell, &c. But these stories have probably no other authority, than the records of Grub-street: At least the Gilderoy, who is the hero of Scottish Songsters, seems to have lived in an earlier age; for, in Thomson's Orpheus Caledonius, Vol. II. 1733, 8vo. is a copy of this ballad, which, tho' corrupt and interpolated, contains some lines that appear to be of genuine antiquity: in these he is represented as contemporary with Mary Q. of Scots : ex. gr. 'The Queen of Scots possessed nought, That my love let me want: For cow and ew to me he brought, And ein whan they were scant.' Those lines perhaps might safely have been inserted among the following stanzas, which are given from a written copy, that appears to have received some modern corrections. Indeed the common popular ballad contained some indecent luxuriances that required the pruning-hook.' GILDEROY was a bonnie boy, Had roses tull his shoone, It was, I weene, a comelie sight, To see sae trim a boy; He was my jo and hearts delight, 5 1 Gilderoy and some of his gang were hanged at Gallowlee, between Leith and Edinburgh, July 1638. They had been notorious robbers in the Highlands of Perthshire. Campbell has a short poem on the subject.—ED. |