42.

Ah! thought I, thou mourn'st in vain,
None takes pity on thy pain:

Senseless trees they cannot hear thee,
Ruthless beasts they will not cheer thee:
King Pandion he is dead,

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;
All thy fellow birds do sing
Careless of thy sorrowing:
Even so, poor bird, like thee,
None alive will pity me.

R. Barnfield

SAY,

A Nosegay

AY, crimson Rose and dainty Daffodil,
With Violet blue;

Since you have seen the beauty of my saint,
And eke her view;

Did not her sight (fair sight!) you lonely fill,
With sweet delight

Of goddess' grace and angels' sacred teint
In fine, most bright?

Say, golden Primrose, sanguine Cowslip fair,
With Pink most fine;

Since you beheld the visage of my dear,
And eyes divine;

Did not her globy front, and glistening hair,

With cheeks most sweet,

So gloriously like damask flowers appear,

The gods to greet?

Say, snow-white Lily, speckled Gilly-flower,
With Daisy gay;

Since you have viewed the Queen of my desire,

In her array;

Did not her ivory paps, fair Venus' bower,
With heavenly glee,

A Juno's grace, conjure you to require
Her face to see?

Say Rose, say Daffodil, and Violet blue,
With Primrose fair,

Since ye have seen my nymph's sweet dainty face,
And gesture rare,

Did not (bright Cowslip, blooming Pink) her view
(White Lily) shine-

(Ah, Gilly-flower, ah Daisy!) with a grace

Like stars divine?

J. Reynolds

43.

The Shepherd's Holyday

IUS, thus begin the yearly rites

1 Nymph. THUS,

Are due to Pan on these bright nights;

His morn now riseth and invites

To sports, to dances, and delights:
All envious and profane, away,

This is the shepherd's holyday.

2 Nymph. Strew, strew the glad and smiling ground With every flower, yet not confound;

The primrose drop, the spring's own spouse,
Bright day's-eyes and the lips of cows;
The garden-star, the queen of May,
The rose, to crown the holyday.

3 Nymph. Drop, drop, you violets; change your hues, Now red, now pale, as lovers use;

44.

And in your death go out as well
As when you lived unto the smell:
That from your odour all may say,
This is the shepherd's holyday.

B. Jonson

To Phyllis, the Fair Shepherdess

MY Phyllis hath the morning sun,

At first to look upon her;

And Phyllis hath morn-waking birds
Her risings for to honour.

My Phyllis hath prime-feathered flowers
That smile when she treads on them;

And Phyllis hath a gallant flock
That leaps since she doth own them.

But Phyllis hath so hard a heart,
Alas that she should have it,
As yields no mercy to desart,

Nor grace to those that crave it.
Sweet sun, when thou look'st on,
Pray her regard my moan;
Sweet birds, when you sing to her,
To yield some pity, woo her;

45.

Sweet flowers whenas she treads on,

Tell her, her beauty deads one,

And if in life her love she nill agree me,

Pray her before I die she will come see me.

The Beggars' Holiday

CAST

AST our caps and cares away:
This is beggars' holiday!

At the crowning of our king,
Thus we ever dance and sing.
In the world look out and see,
Where so happy a prince as he?
Where the nation live so free,
And so merry as do we?
Be it peace, or be it war,
Here at liberty we are,

And enjoy our ease and rest:
To the field we are not pressed;

Nor are called into the town,
To be troubled with the gown.
Hang all officers, we cry,
And the magistrate too, by!
When the subsidy's increased,
We are not a penny sessed;
Nor will any go to law
With the beggar for a straw.
All which happiness, he brags,
He doth owe unto his rags.

T. Lodge

7. Fletcher

46.

Young Love

“ELL me where is Fancy bred,

TELL

Or in the heart or in the head?

How begot, how nourished?
Reply, reply.

God Lyaus, Ever Young

OD Lyæus, ever young,

GOD

Ever honour'd, ever sung,
Stain'd with blood of lusty grapes,
In a thousand lusty shapes
Dance upon the mazer's brim,
In the crimson liquor swim;
From thy plenteous hand divine
Let a river run with wine:

God of youth, let this day here
Enter neither care nor fear.

J. Fletcher