Thine affections, in an instant, Struggle which shall first be new: Thou art weary, thou art wavering, To and fro, and up and down; But to me thou ne'er art chang'd Still from me thou keeps estrang'd; Oh then, let thy next change be If in that mind I could find ye, Then, by my example taught, Thou shouldst see that change is naught. Cupid and the Clown. * [From the same MS.] As Cupid took his bow and bolt, Which was some yeoman's kind. Clown. "Well met, fair boy! what sport abroad? "It is a goodly day; “ The birds will sit this frosty morn, "Gadzooks! your eyes are both put out! "The birds will laugh at you.” Cupid. "Why, man, thou dost deceive thyself, "Or else my mother lies, "Who said, altho' that I were blind, "My arrows should have eyes." A copy of this, with some variations, is printed in " Wit restored." Clown." Why then thy mother is a fool, "To let thy arrows to have eyes, Cupid. "Not so, sir swain, but hold your prate; "If I do take a shaft, Clown. "I'll make thee ken what I can do!" Then angry Cupid drew his bow. Cupid. "I'll make thy lither liver ache." Clown. The stinging arrow hit the mark, You might know by his hollow eyes And so the clown went bleeding home; (To stay it was, no boot) And found, that he could see to hit, That could not see to shoot. To his forsaken Mistress. The following song had been, in the first edition of this work, assigned to the reign of Charles I. on the internal evidence of its style and sentiment. The editor has lately found it in a musical miscellany, entitled "Select Ayres and Dialogues," of which a second edition was printed for John Playford in 1659. I DO confess thou'rt smooth and fair, And I might have gone near to love thee; Had I not found the slightest prayer That lips could move, had power to move thee; But I can let thee now alone As worthy to be lov'd by none. I do confess thou'rt sweet, yet find Which kisseth every thing it meets. The morning rose, that untouch'd stands, But scent and beauty both are gone, Such fate, ere long, will thee betide, When thou hast handled been a while! And I shall sigh, when some will smile, To the Moon.* [From a MS.] THOU silent Moon, that look'st so pale, Watching oft the kneeling saint- * The editor has to apologize to the authoress of the two following beautiful little poems, Miss Scott, of Ancram, for having printed them without her permission. For inserting compositions so much in the spirit of one of the most interesting periods of our early poetry, though the productions of the reign of George III. he cannot think any apology due to the reader. |