III.

I, whilst I wished to be retired,
Into this private room was turned;
As if their wisdoms had conspired

A salamander should be burned;
And like a sophy who would drown a fish,
I am condemned to suffer what I wish.

IV.

The Cynic hugs his poverty,

The pelican her wilderness; And 'tis the Indian's pride to be Naked on frozen Caucasus. Contentment cannot smart; Stoics, we see, Make torments easy by their apathy.

V.

These manacles upon my arm

I as my mistress' favours wear; And then, to keep my ancles warm, I have some iron shackles there: These walls are but my garrison; this cell, Which men call gaol, doth prove my citadel.

VI.

So he that struck at Jason's life,

Thinking he had his purpose sure,

By a malicious friendly knife

Did only wound him to a cure.

Malice, I see, wants wit; for what is meant

Mischief, oft-times proves favour in the event.

VII.

Here sin for want of food doth starve,
Where tempting objects are not seen;
And these strong walls do only serve
To keep vice out, not let sin in.
Malice of late's grown charitable sure;
I'm not committed, but I'm kept secure.

VIII.

I'm in this cabinet locked up,
As some high-prized margarite;
And, like some great Mogul or Pope,
Am cloistered up from public sight.

Retiredness is a point of majesty;

And thus, proud Sultan, I'm as great as thee!

IX.

When once my prince affliction hath,
Prosperity doth treason seem;
And then to smooth so rough a path,

I can learn patience too from him.

Now not to suffer shows no loyal heart;

When kings want ease, subjects must learn to smart.

X.

What though I cannot see my king,

Either in's person, or—his coin;

Yet contemplation is a thing

Which renders what I have not mine: My king from me what adamant can part? Whom I do wear engraven on my heart.

XI.

My soul is free as ambient air,
Although my baser parts be mew'd;
Whilst loyal thoughts do still repair
To company my solitude;

And though rebellion may my body bind,
My king can only captivate my mind.

XII.

Have you not seen the nightingale
A pilgrim cooped into a cage,
And heard her tell her wonted tale,
In that her narrow hermitage?

Even then her charming melody doth prove
That all her bars are trees, her cage a grove.

XIII.

I am the bird whom they combine
Thus to deprive of liberty;

But though they do my corps confine,
Yet, maugre hate, my soul is free.
And though I'm mew'd, yet I can chirp and sing,
Disgrace to rebels, glory to my king!

XXXIX.

AN EXCELLENT NEW BALLAD.

TO THE TUNE OF "I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE.'

(By James, Marquis of Montrose. Born

1612; died 1650.)

I.

Y dear and only love, I pray

M

That little world of thee
Be governed by no other sway
Than purest monarchy;

For if confusion have a part,
Which virtuous souls abhor,
And hold a synod in thine heart,
I'll never love thee more.

II.

As Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone;
My thoughts did evermore disdain

A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,

That dares not put it to the touch,

To gain or lose it all.

1 Napier's "Memoirs of Montrose," 1856, Appendix, p. xxxiv. from two old copies, and with a second part which is probably older than Montrose; see Chappell's "Popular Music of the Olden Time," second edition, p. 379. I have introduced one or two small corrections from other copies.

III.

But I will reign and govern still,
And always give the law,
And have each subject at my will,
And all to stand in awe;
But 'gainst my batteries if I find
Thou kick, or vex me sore,
As that thou set me up a blind,
I'll never love thee more.

IV.

And in the empire of thine heart,
Where I should solely be,

If others do pretend a part,
Or dare to vie with me,
Or if committees thou erect,
And go on such a score,
I'll laugh and sing at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.

V.

But if thou wilt prove faithful, then,
And constant of thy word,
I'll make thee glorious by my pen,
And famous by my sword;
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
Was never heard before ;

I'll crown and deck thee all with bays,
And love thee more and more.