Be she with that goodness blest What care I how good she be? 'Cause her fortune seems too high, Shall I play the fool and die? Those that bear a noble mind Where they want of riches find, Think what with them they would do And unless that mind I see, What care I though great she be? Great or good, or kind or fair, For if she be not for me, G. Wither CIV MELANCHOLY HENCE, all you vain delights, short as are the nights Wherein you spend your folly : There's nought in this life sweet If man were wise to see 't, But only melancholy, O sweetest Melancholy ! Welcome, folded arms, and fixéd eyes, A look that's fasten'd to the ground, Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley; Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 7. Fletcher THY CV TO A LOCK OF HAIR `HY hue, dear pledge, is pure and bright As in that well-remember'd night When first thy mystic braid was wove, And first my Agnes whisper'd love. Since then how often hast thou prest A breast whose blood 's a troubled ocean, Yet keep thy hue unstain'd and pure, Nor heaven nor earth could then reprove me Not then this world's wild joys had been To me one savage hunting scene, My sole delight the headlong race And frantic hurry of the chase; To start, pursue, and bring to bay, Rush in, drag down, and rend my prey, Then from the carcass turn away! Mine ireful mood had sweetness tamed, And soothed each wound which pride inflamed :· Yes, God and man might now approve me If thou hadst lived, and lived to love me! Sir W. Scott CVI O THE FORSAKEN BRIDE WALY waly up the bank, And waly waly down the brae, And waly waly yon burn-side Where I and my Love wont to gae ! I leant my back unto an aik, I thought it was a trusty tree; But first it bow'd, and syne it brak, Sae my true Love did lichtly me. O waly waly, but love be bonny For my true Love has me forsook, Now Arthur-seat sall be my bed; The sheets shall ne'er be prest by me: Saint Anton's well sall be my drink, Since my true Love has forsaken me. Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw And shake the green leaves aff the tree? O gentle Death, when wilt thou come? For of my life I am wearie. 'Tis not the frost that freezes fell, Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town We were a comely sight to see; My Love was clad in the black velvét, And I mysell in cramasie. But had I wist, before I kist, That love had been sae ill to win; And the green grass growing over me! Anon. I CVII FAIR HELEN WISH I were where Helen lies: Night and day on me she cries; O that I were where Helen lies On fair Kirconnell lea! Curst be the heart that thought the thought, O think na but my heart was sair On fair Kirconnell lea. As I went down the water-side, I lighted down my sword to draw, For her sake that died for me. O Helen fair, beyond compare! |