THE LITTLE FRENCH LAWYER.

SONG IN THE WOOD.

THIS way, this way come, and hear,
You that hold these pleasures dear;
Fill your ears with our sweet sound,
Whilst we melt the frozen ground.
This way come; make haste, oh, fair!
Let your clear eyes gild the air;
Come, and bless us with your sight;
This way, this way, seek delight!

THE TRAGEDY OF VALENTINIAN.

THE LUSTY SPRING.

NOW the lusty spring is seen;

Golden yellow, gaudy blue,
Daintily invite the view.
Everywhere on every green,
Roses blushing as they blow,
And enticing men to pull,
Lilies whiter than the snow,
Woodbines of sweet honey full:

All love's emblems, and all cry,
'Ladies, if not plucked, we die.'
Yet the lusty spring hath stayed,
Blushing red and purest white
Daintily to love invite
Every woman, every maid.
Cherries kissing as they grow,

And inviting men to taste,
Apples even ripe below,
Winding gently to the waist:

All love's emblems, and all cry,
'Ladies, if not plucked, we die.'

HE

HEAR WHAT LOVE CAN DO.

EAR, ye ladies that despise, What the mighty love has done; Fear examples, and be wise:

Fair Calisto was a nun; Leda, sailing on the stream

To deceive the hopes of man, Love accounting but a dream, Doated on a silver swan;

Danaë, in a brazen tower,

Where no love was, loved a shower.

Hear, ye ladies that are coy,

What the mighty love can do;

Fear the fierceness of the boy:

The chaste moon he makes to woo;

Vesta, kindling holy fires,

Circled round about with spies, Never dreaming loose desires,

Doting at the altar dies;

Ilion, in a short hour, higher
He can build, and once more fire.

MY

Did me promise,

He would visit me this night.

I am here, love;

Tell me, dear love,

How I may obtain thy sight.

Come up to my window, love;

Come, come, come!

* By Fletcher.

Come to my window, my dear;
The wind nor the rain

Shall trouble thee again,
But thou shalt be lodged here.

THE CHANCES.*

AN INVOCATION.

COME away, thou lady gay:

Hoist how she stumbles!
Hark how she mumbles.
Dame Gillian!

Answer.-I come, I come.

By old Claret I enlarge thee,
By Canary thus I charge thee,
By Britain Metheglin, and Peeter,t
Appear, and answer me in metre!
Why, when?
Why, Gill!

Why when?

Answer. You'll tarry till I am ready.

Once again I conjure thee,

By the

pose in thy nose,

And the gout in thy toes;
By thine old dried skin,
And the mummy within;
By thy little, little ruff,

And thy hood that's made of stuff;
By thy bottle at thy breech,

And thine old salt itch;

*Ascribed to Fletcher.

An abbreviation of Peter-see-me, itself a corruption of PedroXimenes, derived from Pedro-Simon, who is said to have imported the grape from the Rhine.-See note by Mr. Dyce, from Henderson's History of Wines-Works of Beaumont and Fletcher, vii. 297. Ximenes is still a well-known wine.

THE BLOODY BROTHER; OR, ROLLO, DUKE OF

DR

A DRINKING SONG.

RINK to-day, and drown all sorrow,
You shall perhaps not do it to-morrow:
Best, while you have it, use your breath;
There is no drinking after death.

Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit,
There is no cure 'gainst age but it:
It helps the head-ach, cough, and ptisick,
And is for all diseases physick.

Then let us swill, boys, for our health;
Who drinks well, loves the commonwealth.†
And he that will to bed go sober

Falls with the leaf, still in October.‡

*The sole authorship of this play by Fletcher is doubtful, although ascribed to him on the title-page of the edition of 1640. Parts of it are supposed, on internal evidence, to have been written by some other dramatist.-Weber suggests either W. Rowley or Middleton.

This defence of drinking is repeated and expanded in a song by Shadwell.

The following well-known catch, or glee, is formed on this song:
'He who goes to bed, and goes to bed sober,
Falls as the leaves do, and dies in October;
But he who goes to bed, and goes to bed mellow,
Lives as he ought to do, and dies an honest fellow.'

SONG OF THE YEOMAN OF THE CELLAR, THE BUTLER, THE COOK, AND PAUL THE PANTLER* GOING TO EXECUTION.

Co

Yeoman.

YOME, Fortune's a jade, I care not who tell her, Would offer to strangle a page of the cellar, That should by his oath, to any man's thinking, And place, have had a defence for his drinking; But thus she does still when she pleases to palter,— Instead of his wages, she gives him a halter.

Chorus.

Three merry boys, and three merry boys,
And three merry boys are we,
As ever did sing in a hempen string
Under the gallows tree!

Butler.

But I that was so lusty,
And ever kept my bottles,
That neither they were musty,
And seldom less than pottles;
For me to be thus stopped now,
With hemp instead of cork, sir,
And from the gallows lopped now,
Shews that there is a fork, sir,
In death, and this the token;
Man may be two ways killed,
Or like the bottle broken,
Or like the wine be spilled.

Chorus.-Three merry boys, &c.

Cook.

Oh, yet but look

On the master cook,

*The Pantler was the servant who had charge of the pantry.