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SONG.

SET BY MR. HENRY LAWES.

TO AMARANTHA;' THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVELL

HER HAIRE.

I.

MARANTHA sweet and faire,

Ah brade no more that shining haire!
As my curious hand or eye,
Hovering round thee, let it flye.

II.

Let it flye as unconfin'd

As it's calme ravisher, the winde,
Who hath left his darling, th' East,
To wanton o're that3 spicie neast.

III.

Ev'ry tresse must be confest:
But neatly tangled at the best;

A portion of this song is printed, with a few orthographical variations, in the Ayres and Dialogues, part i. 1653; and it is also found in Cotgrave's Wits Interpreter, 1655, where it is called "Amarantha counselled." Cotgrave used the text of Lawes, and only gives that part of the production which he found in Ayres and Dialogues.

2 Forbear to brade-Lawes' Ayres and Dialogues, and Cot. grave.

3 This-Lawes' Ayres and Dialogues. Cotgrave reads his.

Like a clue of golden thread,
Most excellently ravelled.

IV.

Doe not then winde up that light
In ribands, and o'er-cloud in night,
Like the sun in's early ray;

But shake your head, and scatter day.

V.

See, 'tis broke! within this grove,
The bower and the walkes of love,
Weary lye we downe and rest,
And fanne each other's panting breast.

VI.

Heere wee'll strippe and coole our fire,
In creame below, in milke-baths1 higher :
And when all wells are drawne dry,
I'll drink a teare out of thine eye.

VII.

Which our very joys shall leave,
That sorrowes thus we can deceive;
Or our very sorrowes weepe,
That joyes so ripe so little keepe.

'Milk-baths have been a favourite luxury in all ages. Peele had probably in his mind the custom of his own time and country when he wrote the following passage:

"Bright Bethsabe shall wash in David's bower,

In water mix'd with purest almond flower,
And bathe her beauty in the milk of kids."

King David and Fair Bethsabe, 1599.

SONNET.

SET BY MR. HUDSON.

I.

EPOSE your finger of that ring,

And crowne mine with't awhile;
Now I restor't. Pray, dos it bring
Back with it more of soile?

Or shines it not as innocent,
As honest, as before 'twas lent?

II.

So then inrich me with that treasure,
"Twill but increase your store,

And please me (faire one) with that pleasure
Must please you still the more.

Not to save others is a curse

The blackest, when y'are ne're the worse.

ODE.

SET BY DR JOHN WILSON.i

TO LUCASTA. THE ROSE.

I.

WEET serene skye-like flower,

Haste to adorn her bower;

From thy long clowdy bed

Shoot forth thy damaske2 head.

Dr. John Wilson was a native of Feversham in Kent, a gentleman of Charles the First's chapel, and chamber-musician to his majesty. For an account of his works, see Burney's His

II.

New-startled blush of Flora!

The griefe of pale Aurora,
Who will contest no more,

Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.

III.

Vermilion ball, that's given

From lip to lip in Heaven;
Loves couches cover-led,

Haste, haste, to make her bed.

IV.

Dear offspring of pleas'd Venus,
And jollie plumpe Silenus;

Haste, haste, to decke the haire,

Of th' only sweetly faire.

V.

See! rosie is her bower,

Her floore is all this flower;

Her bed a rosie nest

By a bed of roses prest.

tory of Music, vol. iii. pp. 399-400, or Hawkins' History of Music, iii. 57, where a portrait of Wilson, taken from the original painting, will be found. Wood, author of the Fasti and Athenæ, says that he was in his time, "the best at the lute in all England." Herrick, in his Hesperides, 1648, has these lines in reference to Henry Lawes :

"Then if thy voice commingle with the string,

I hear in thee the rare Laniere to sing,

Or curious Wilson."

2 In a MS. copy of the poem contemporary with the author, now before me, this word is omitted.

VI.

But early as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright tresses?
Ah! I have found, I feare;
Because her cheekes are neere.

LOVE CONQUER'D.

A SONG.

SET BY MR. HENRY LAWES.

I.

HE childish god of love did sweare
Thus: By my awfull bow and quiver,
Yon' weeping, kissing, smiling pair,
I'le scatter all their vowes i' th' ayr,
And their knit imbraces shiver.

II.

Up then to th' head with his best art
Full of spite and envy blowne,

At her constant marble heart,

He drawes his swiftest surest dart,

Which bounded back, and hit his owne.

III.

Now the prince of fires burnes;

Flames in the luster of her eyes; Triumphant she, refuses, scornes; He submits, adores and mournes, And is his votresse sacrifice.

D

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