CHO.

CHO.

CHO.

CHO.

SONG.

What need we use many beseeches,

Or trouble our brain with long speeches

If we love, tis enough,

Hang poetical stuff,

As the rule of honesty teaches.

If we love, &c.

Why should we stand whining like fools,

Or woe by platonical rules;

If they love, we'll repayt,

If not, let em sayt,

What need they the help of the schools.
If they love, &c.

But they must be won by romances,
And that by verse and fine dances :

A third do's delight

In a song, yet at night

You must crack a string which she fancies.

From the English Rogue, a Comedy, by T.

Thompson. 1668.

SONG

SONG.

Fond Love, no more

Will I adore

Thy feigned Deity.

Go throw thy darts
At simple hearts,

And prove thy victory.

Whilst I do keep

My harmless sheep,

Love hath no power on me.

Tis idle soules

Which he controules,

The busie man is free.

From Loves Labyrinth, or the Royal Shepherdess, a Tragi-comedy, by Tho. Forde Philothal. 1660.

SONG.

Thine eyes to me like suunes appeare,
Or brighter starres their light,
Which makes it summer all the yeare,

Or else a day of night:

But truly I do think they are

But eyes-and neither sunne nor starre.

Thy brow is as the milky way,
Whereon the gods might trace
Thy lips ambrosia, I dare say,
Or nectar of thy face.

But to speake truly, I doe vowe,

They are but womans lips and browe,

Thy cheeke it is a mingled bath
Of lillyes and of roses;

But here theres no man power hath

To gather loves fresh posies.
Beleeve it the flowers that bud,
Are but a womans flesh and blood.

Thy nose a promontory faire,

Thy necke a necke of land;
At natures giftes that are so rare,
All men amazed do stand.

But to the clearer judgment, those
Are but a womans necke and nose.

For foure lines in passion I can dye,
As is the lovers guise,

And dabble too in poetry,

Whilst love possess the wise.

As greatest statesmen, or as those

That know love best, get him in prose.

From the Variety. A Comedy. By the Duke

of Newcastle.

1649.

SONG.

Not he that knows how to acquire,

But to enjoy, is blest;

Nor does our happiness consist

In motion, but in rest.

The

The Gods passe man in blisse, because
They toile not for more height,

But can enjoy, and in their own'
Eternall rest delight.

Then, princes, do not toile nor care,

Enjoy what you possessė,

Which whilest you do, you equallize

The gods in happinesse.

From the Tragedie of Cleopatra, by Thomas May. 1654. First printed in 1639.

Is there a lady in this place,

Would not bee maskt, but for her face?
O doe not blush, for heere is that

Will make your pale cheeks plumpe and fat.
Then why

Should I thus crye,

And none a scruple of me buye?

E 4

Coma

Come buy, you lusty gallants,

These simples which I sell;

In all our days were never seene like these,
For beauty, strength, and smell.

Heres the king cup, the panzee, with the violet,

The rose that loves the shower,

The wholsome gilliflower,

Both the cowslip, lilly,

And the daffadilly,

With a thousand in my power.

Heres golden amaranthus,

That true love can provoke,

Of horehound store, and poysoning elebore,

With the polipode of the oake;
Heres chast vervine, and lustful eringo,

Health preserving sage,
And rue which cures old age,

With a world of others,

Making fruitful mothers;

All these attend mee as my page:

From the true Tragedy of Herod and Antipater, by Gervase Markham and William Samp1622.

son,

To the above I might easily have added other specimens of equal merit, but my object was to produce a performance of miscellaneous entertainment. It may be objected, that what I have inserted are not sufficiently select, and that far better examples of the poetry of the times in