Move your feet
To our sound,
Whilst we greet

All this ground

With his honour and his name

That defends our flocks from blame !
He is great, and he is just;
He is ever good, and must
Thus be honour'd. Daffodillies,
Roses, pinks, and lovèd lilies,
Let us fling

Sleep within these heaps of stones!

Here they lie had realms and lands,

Who now want strength to stir their hands

138

FRANCIS BEAUMONT AND JOHN FLETCHER.

Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust

They preach-" In greatness is no trust!"
Here's an acre sown indeed

With the richest, royalest seed

That the earth did e'er suck in

Since the first man died for sin!

Here the bones of Birth have cried

"Though Gods they were, as men they died!"
Here are sands, ignoble things,

Dropp'd from the ruin'd sides of Kings!

Here's a world of pomp and state

Buried in dust, once dead, by Fate.

SONG FOR A DANCE.

Shake off your heavy trance!
And leap into a dance

Such as no mortals use to tread :

Fit only for Apollo

To play to, for the Moon to lead,
And all the Stars to follow!

TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY!

Take, O take those lips away

That so sweetly were forsworn!
And those eyes, like break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn!
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, though seal'd in vain!

Hide, O hide those hills of snow

Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow
Are yet of those that April wears!
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee!

COME, SLEEP!

Come, Sleep! and with thy sweet deceiving
Lock me in delight awhile;

Let some pleasing dreams beguile
All my fancies, that from thence

I may feel an influence

All my powers of care bereaving!

Though but a shadow, but a sliding,
Let me know some little joy!
We that suffer long annoy
Are contented with a thought
Through an idle fancy wrought:
O, let my joys have some abiding!

TRUE BEAUTY.

May I find a woman fair
And her mind as clear as air!

If her beauty go alone,

'Tis to me as if 'twere none.

May I find a woman rich,

And not of too high a pitch!

If that pride should cause disdain,
Tell me, Lover! where's thy gain?

May I find a woman wise,

And her falsehood not disguise!
Hath she wit as she hath will,
Double-arm'd she is to ill.

May I find a woman kind,
And not wavering like the wind!
How should I call that love mine

When 'tis his, and his, and thine?

May I find a woman true!
There is beauty's fairest hue :
There is beauty, love, and wit.
Happy he can compass it!

GILES FLETCHER.

1588 ?-1623.

WORLD-GLORY'S WOOING SONG.

Love is the blossom where there blows
Every thing that lives or grows :
Love doth make the heavens to move,
And the sun doth burn in love;
Love the strong and weak doth yoke,
And makes the ivy climb the oak;
Under whose shadow lions wild,

Soften'd by Love, grow tame and mild;
Love no medicine can appease;

He burns the fishes in the seas;

Not all the skill his wounds can staunch;
Not all the seas his fire can quench;
Love did make the bloody spear
Once a leafy coat to wear,

Whilst in his leaves there shrouded lay
Sweet birds for love that sing and play :
And of all Love's joyful frame

I the bud and blossom am.

Only bend thy knee to me!

Thy wooing shall thy winning be.

See! see the flowers that below
Now as fresh as morning blow!
And, of all, the virgin Rose
That as bright Aurora shows :

How they all unleafed die,

Losing their virginity,

Like unto a summer shade,—

But now born, and now they fade.
Every thing doth pass away:
There is danger in delay.

Come! come gather then the Rose !

Gather it, or it you lose!

All the sand of Tagus' shore
In my bosom casts his ore;
All the valleys' swimming corn
To my house is yearly borne ;
Every grape of every vine

Is gladly bruized to make me wine;
While ten thousand kings as proud
To carry up my train have bow'd,
And a world of ladies send me
In my chambers to attend me :
All the stars in heaven that shine
And ten thousand more are mine.
Only bend thy knee to me!
Thy wooing shall thy winning be.

JOHN FORD.

1586-1640.

DIRGE.

Glories, pleasures, pomps, delights, and ease

Can but please

The outward senses when the mind
Is or untroubled'or by peace refined.

Crowns may flourish and decay;
Beauties shine, but fade away;
Youth may revel, yet it must