Part 3

AS I traversed to and fro, And in the fields was walking, I chanced to hear two sisters That secretly were talking. The younger to the elder said, Prithee why do'st not marry? In faith, quoth she, I'll tell to thee I mean not long to tarry. When I was fifteen years of age Then I had suitors many, But I, a wanton peevish wench, Would not sport with any; Till at the last, I sleeping fast, Cupid came to woo me, And like a lad that was stark mad He swore he would come to me. And then he lay down by my side And spread his arms upon me, And I being 'twixt sleep and wake Did strive to thrust him from me, But he with all the power he had Did lie the harder on me. And then he did so play with me As I was play'd with never; The wanton boy so pleased me, I would have slept for ever. And then methought the world turn'd round And Phoebus fell a-skipping, And all the nymphs and goddesses About us two were tripping. Then seemed Neptune as he had pour'd His Ocean streams upon us, But Boreas with his blust'ring blasts Did strive to keep him from us. Limping Vulcan he came As if he had been jealous, Venus follow'd after him And swore she'd blow the bellows. Mars called Cupid Jack-an-apes, And swore he would him smother: Quoth Cupid, Said I so to thee When thou lay'st with my mother? Juno, then, and Jupiter Came marching with Apollo; Pan came in with Mercury, And then began the hollo; Cupid ran and hid himself, And so of joys bereft me: For suddenly I did awake, And all these fancies left me.

From _Songs and Poems of Love and Drollery_. By T. W.[26] 1654.

TO SYLVIA FROWNING.

NO, Sylvia, 'tis not your disdain, Nor scorn, nor cruelty, nor hate, Shall make my sadder verse complain Or my well kindled fame abate: Such goblins fright Love from a coward heart, But one resolved like mine can make them start.

Contract thy brow, and let thine eye Dart thunderbolts of anger still; Storm me with all th' artillery, With which Love's rebels use to kill: I'll not retreat till I or conqueror be Or martyr of thy cruelty and thee.

Shoot, Sylvia, then, and spare not till Thy magazine of anger's spent: If I survive and love thee still, I know thou then must needs relent: Patience in suffering oft-times hath o'ercome A tyrant's rage, and made him change his doom.

But if I fall unto[27] thy hate And stubborn scorn a sacrifice, I shall be happy in that fate Whilst with me all my torment dies: Thus shall my constancy for thy disdain Either begin my bliss or end my pain.

[26] _Rawlinson MS. Poet._ 211, contains very many, if not all, of the poems in this collection. On the fly-leaf of the MS. is a note, "Charles Williams his booke written with Thomas."

[27] Old ed. "into."

From _The New Academy of Compliments_, 1671.

I[28] DREAM'D we both were in a bed Of roses almost smothered; But when I heard thy sweet breath say "Faults done by night will blush by day," I kiss'd thee panting, and I call The night to record that was all. But ah, if empty dreams so please, Love give me more such nights as these.

[28] These dainty verses are by Robert Herrick.

From _The Westminster Drollery_, 1671.

CHLORIS, when I to thee present The cause of all my discontent; And show that all the wealth that can Flow from this little world of man Is nought but constancy and love, Why will you other objects prove?

O do not cozen your desires With common and mechanic fires: That picture which you see in gold In every shop is to be sold: And diamonds of richest price Men only value with their eyes.

But look upon my loyal heart That knows to value every part, And loves thy hidden virtue more Than outward shape, which fools adore: In that you'll all the treasures find That can content a noble mind.

From _The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence_, 1658.

CUPID CONTEMNED.

CUPID, thou art a sluggish boy And dost neglect thy calling; Thy bow and arrows are a toy; Thy monarchy is falling.

Unless thou dost recall thy self And take thy tools about thee, Thou wilt be scorn'd by every elf, And all the world will flout thee.

Rouse up thy spirit like a god, And play the archer finely, Let none escape thy shaft or rod 'Gainst thee have spoke unkindly: So mayst thou chance to plague that heart That cruelly hath made me smart.

From _The New Academy of Compliments_, 1671.

DO[29] not ask me, charming Phillis, Why I lead you here alone By this bank of pinks and lilies And of roses newly blown.

'Tis not to behold the beauty Of those flowers that crown the spring, 'Tis to--but I know my duty And dare never name the thing.

'Tis at worst but her denying: Why should I thus fearful be? Every minute, gently flying, Smiles and says "Make use of me."

What the sun does to those roses While the beams play sweetly in, I would--but my fear opposes And I dare not name the thing.

Yet I die if I conceal it: Ask my eyes, or ask your own, And if neither dare reveal it, Think what lovers think alone.

On this bank of pinks and lilies, Might I speak what I would do, I would--with my lovely Phillis-- I would--I would--ah, would you?

[29] These verses are found in many later Miscellanies. [It was variously entitled "The Fearful Lover," "Pinks and Lilies; or, Phillis at a Non-plus." An answer to it begins, "Forbid me not t'enquire, Why you meet me here alone."--_J. W. Ebsworth._]

From WILLIAM CORKINE'S _Airs_, 1610.

HE that hath no mistress must not wear a favour, He that wooes a mistress must serve before he have her; He that hath no bedfellow must [learn to] lie alone, And he that hath no lady must be content with Joan: And so must I, for why, alas! my love and I am parted: False Cupid, I will have thee whipped and have thy mother carted!

From _The Marrow of Compliments_, 1655.

HER dainty palm I gently prest And with her lip I play'd; My cheek upon her panting breast And on her neck I laid: And yet we had no sense of wanton lust, Nor did we then mistrust.

With pleasant toil we breathless grew, And kiss'd in warmer blood; Upon her lips the honey-dew Like drops on roses' stood: And on those flowers play'd I the busy bee, Whose sweets were such to me.

But kissing and embracing we So long together lay, Her touches all inflamed me And I began to stray; My hands presumed too far, they were too bold, My tongue unwisely told.

From THOMAS GREAVES' _Songs_, 1604.

"I PRAY thee, sweet John, away! I cannot tell how to love thee!" "Pish, phew, in faith all this will not move me." "O me, I dare not before our marriage-day: If this will not move thee, gentle John, Come quickly kiss me and let me be gone. (Down a down!)

"Nay, will ye, faith? this is more than needs, This fooling I cannot abide; Leave off! or in faith I must chide. See now, faith, here are proper deeds: Have done, have done then! I now bewail my hap, Repentance follows with an after-clap. Ay me, my joys are murdered with a frown, And sorrow pulls untimely pleasure down." (Down a down!)

From DR. JOHN WILSON'S _Cheerful Airs or Ballads_, 1660.

I SWEAR[30] by muscadel That I do love thee well And more than I can tell; By the white claret and sack I do love thy Black, black, black.

So lovely and so fair, O'ershadowed with thy hair, So nimble just like air: All these set me on love's wrack For thy sweeter Black, black, black.

No goddess 'mongst them all So slender and so tall, And graceful too withal: Which makes my sinews to crack For thy dainty Black, black, black.

Thy kind and loving eye, When first I did espy, Our loves it did descry, Dumb speaking "What d'ye lack?" Mine answered, "Thy Black, black, black."

[30] "This was written by Willm. Cavendish, Duke of Newcastle, and sung in his 'Variety' (printed 1649), at the Black Friars Theatre."--_J. W. Ebsworth._

From _The New Academy of Compliments_, 1671.

SWEET Jane, sweet Jane, I love thee wondrous well, But I'm afraid Thou'lt die a maid And so lead apes to[31] hell. For why,[32] my dear, 'tis pity it should be so Thou'rt better than[33] To take a man And keep thee from the foe. Thou art so pretty and fine, And wondrous handsome too; Then be not coy, Let's get a boy: Alas! what should we do? I see thy brow, And well I know What colour is below: Then do not jest, But smile the rest: I'faith I know what I know.

[31] Qy. "in"?

[32] "For why" = because.

[33] An old form of "then." I restore it (old ed. reads "then") for the sake of the rhyme.

From _Sportive Wit; the Muses' Merriment_, 1656.

A MAIDEN'S DENIAL.[34]

NAY pish! nay phew! nay, faith and will you? fie! A gentleman and use me thus! I'll cry. Nay, God's body, what means this? Nay, fie for shame, Nay faith, away! Nay, fie, you are to blame. Hark! somebody comes! hands off, I pray! I'll pinch, I'll scratch, I'll spurn, I'll run away. Nay, faith, you strive in vain, you shall not speed You mar my ruff, you hurt my back, I bleed. Look how the door stands ope, somebody sees! Your buttons scratch, in faith you hurt my knees. What will men say? Lord, what a coil is here! You make me sweat; i' faith, here's goodly gear. Nay, faith, let me entreat you, if you list; You mar my clothes, you tear my smock, but, had I wist So much before, I would have shut you out. Is it a proper thing you go about? I did not think you would have used me this, But now I see I took my aim amiss. A little thing would make me not be friends: You've used me well! I hope you'll make amends. Hold still, I'll wipe your face, you sweat amain: You have got a goodly thing with all your pain. Alas! how hot am I! what will you drink? If you go sweating down what will men think? Remember, sir, how you have used me now; Doubtless ere long I will be meet with you. If any man but you had used me so, Would I have put it up? in faith, sir, no. Nay, go not yet; stay here and sup with me, And then at cards we better shall agree.

[34] This song was printed from a MS. in the Sloane Collection, by Ritson, in _Antient Songs_, 1790. It is in _Egerton MS._ 923, fol. 65, and _Ashmole MS._ 38, No. 272.

["Cf. _Oxford Drollery_ (3 stanzas), ii. 89, 'Nay pish, nay fie! you venter to enter,' which is by Thomas Jordan, or before 1664. There is much closer resemblance (beyond accidental coincidence) to 'Loves Follies,' a four stanza song in _Merry Drollery_, 1661, 'Nay, out upon this fooling, for shame!'"--_J. W. Ebsworth._]

From _Sloane MS._ 1792. fol. 6.

ON DREAMS.

YOU nimble dreams, with cobweb wings, That fly from brain to brain, And represent a world of things With much ado and little pain:

You visit ladies in their beds, And are most busy in their ease; You put such fancies in their heads That make them think of what you please.

How highly am I bound to you (Safe messengers of secrecy) That made my mistress think on me Just in the place where I would be!

O that you would me once prefer To be in place of one of you, That I might go to visit her And she might swear her dream were true!

From THOMAS CAMPION'S _Two Books of Airs_ (circ. 1613).

SWEET, exclude me not, nor be divided From him that ere long must bed thee; All thy maiden doubts law hath decided; Sure[35] we are and I must wed thee. Presume then yet a little more: Here's the way, bar not the door.

Tenants, to fulfil their landlords' pleasure, Pay their rent before the quarter; 'Tis my case, if you it rightly measure; Put me not then off with laughter: Consider then a little more, Here's the way to all my store.

Why were doors in love's despite devised, Are not laws enough restraining? Women are most apt to be surprised, Sleeping, or sleep wisely feigning. Then grace me yet a little more: Here's the way, bar not the door.

[35] Affianced.

From THOMAS JORDAN'S _Poetical Varieties_,[36] 1637.

A DIALOGUE BETWIXT CASTADORUS AND ARABELLA IN BED.

_Arabella._

DEAR Castadorus, let me rise, Aurora 'gins to jeer me: She tells me I do wantonise. _Castadorus._ I prithee, sweet, lie near me.

Let red Aurora blush, my dear, And Phoebus laughing follow; Thou only art Aurora here, Let me be thy Apollo.

It is to envy at our bliss That they do rise before us: Is there such hurt in this or this? _Arabella._ Nay, fie! why, Castadorus!

_Castadorus._ What, Arabella, can one night Of wanton dalliance tire you? I could be ever if I might: One hour let me desire you.

_Arabella._ Fie, fie, you hurt me; let me go! If you so roughly use me, What can I say or think of you. _Castadorus._ I prithee, Love, excuse me.

Thy beauty and my love defend I should ungently move thee: 'Tis kisses sweet that I intend: Is it not I that love thee?

_Arabella._ I do confess it is, but then-- Since you do so importune That I should once lie down again-- Vouchsafe to draw the curtain.

Aurora and Apollo, too, May visit silent fields; By my consent they ne'er shall know The bliss our pleasure yields.

[36] Mr. Ebsworth kindly pointed out to me that this dialogue belongs to Jordan. I had taken it from _Wit and Drollery_, 1656. The earlier text is more correct. There is an MS. copy of it in _Harleian MS._ 3511 fol. 108.

From JOHN DOWLAND'S _Third Book of Songs or Airs_, 1603.

WHEN Phoebus first did Daphne love, And no means might her favour move, He craved the cause: "The cause," quoth she, "Is I have vowed virginity." Then in a rage he sware and said, Past fifteen years that none should live a maid.

If maidens then shall chance be sped Ere they can scarcely dress their head, Yet pardon them, for they be loth To make God Phoebus break his oath: And better 'twere a child were born Than that a God should be foresworn.

In Wit's Interpreter, 1655, and other Miscellanies, a third stanza is given:--

"Yet silly they, when all is done, Complain our wits their hearts have won, When 'tis for fear that they should be With Daphne turn'd into a tree: And who would so herself abuse To be a tree, if she could chuse?"

The younger Donne printed the verses among the _Poems by William, Earl of Pembroke, and Benjamin Ruddier_, 1660, ascribing them to the Earl. Donne's authority carries no weight.

From _Harl. MS._ 791, fol. 54.

WHY[37] should passion lead thee blind 'Cause thy mistress is unkind? She's yet too young to shew delight And is not plumed for Cupid's flight; She cannot yet in height of pleasure Pay her lover equal measure, But like the rose new blown doth feed The eye alone but bears no seed.

She is yet but in her spring, Cold in love till Cupid bring A hotter season with his fire, Which soon will ripen her desire. Autumn will shortly come and greet her, Making her taste and colour sweeter: Her ripeness then will soon be such As she will fall even with a touch.

[37] This poem is ascribed by the younger Donne to William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke. It was very popular, and is found in many MS. collections. "Go, soul, the body's guest," is ascribed by Donne to Pembroke. People must have been very credulous in the second half of the seventeenth century. (See _Windsor Drollery_, 1672; _Add. MS._ 10309, &c.).

From _Malone MS._ 16.

YES[38] I could love if I could find A mistress fitting to my mind; Whom neither pride nor gold could move To buy her beauty, sell her love; Were neat, yet cared not to be fine, And loved me for myself, not mine; Were rather comely than too fair, White skinn'd and of a lovely hair; Not ever-blushing, nor too bold; Not ever-fond, nor yet too cold; Not sullen-silent, nor all tongue; Nor puling weak, nor manlike strong; Modestly full of pleasing mirth, Yet close as centre of the earth; In whom you no passion see But when she looks or speaks of me; Who calls to bed with melting eyes; As sweet and fresh as morn, doth rise: If such a one you chance to find, She is a mistress to my mind.

[38] There is a printed copy of this poem, widely different from the MS. version, in the second book of _The Treasury of Music_, 1659. After l. 6, the printed copy reads:--

"Not lady-proud nor city-coy, But full of freedom, full of joy; Not wise enough to rule a state, Nor so much fool to be laugh'd at; Nor childish young, nor beldam old; Not fiery hot, nor icy cold; Not richly proud, nor basely poor; Not chaste, yet no reputed whore. If such a one I chance to find, I have a mistress to my mind."

Compare the song in Ben Jonson's _Poetaster_, ii. 1--

"If I freely may discover What would please me in my lover," &c.

which probably suggested the present poem.

From _Ashmole MS._ 38, No. 196.

YOU that in the midst of night Can acquaint mine eyes with light, Also can command the day, When you please, to go or stay; Nothing can your powers resist Whilst your shining eyes persist. O do but smile! show more delight In adding lustre to the night, That your admirer now may say Night's more clearer than the day.

From _The Banquet of Music_, 1688.

WHY is your faithful slave disdain'd? By gentle arts my heart you gain'd, O keep it by the same. For ever shall my passion last, If you will make me once possest Of what I dare not name.

Though charming are your wit and face, 'Tis not alone to hear and gaze That will suffice my flame. Love's infancy on hopes may live, But you to mine full grown must give Of what I dare not name.

When I behold your lips, your eyes, Those snowy breasts that fall and rise, Fanning my raging flame; That shape so made to be embraced; What would I give I might but taste Of what I dare not name?

In Courts I never wish to rise, Both wealth and honour I despise, And that vain breath call'd Fame; By Love I hope no crowns to gain, 'Tis something more I would obtain-- 'Tis that I dare not name.

From _The Marrow of Compliments_, 1655.

THE LOVER PITHILY PERSUADING HIS MISTRESS TO RELINQUISH HER VIRGIN RESOLVES.

_Beauteous Mistress_,

THOUGH that no God may thee deserve, Yet for thy own sake (whom I serve) Abandon cold Virginity, The Queen of Love's sole enemy. Practise the gesture of a nun When your flowery youth is done: Pallas joys in single life 'Cause she cannot be a wife. Love then, and be not tyrannous; Heal the heart thou hast wounded thus. Stain not thy youth with avarice; Fair fools love to be counted nice. The corn dies if it be not reapt, Beauty is lost too strictly kept. Come then (dearest) let's not tarry; One day more and we will marry.

_Which he humbly begs, who is wholly yours not to be disobliged_, T. W.

From JOHN COTGRAVE'S _Wit's Interpreter_, 1655.

'TIS[39] not how witty, nor how free, Nor yet how beautiful she be, But how much kind and true to me: Freedom and wit none can confine, And beauty like the sun doth shine, But Kind and True are only thine.

Let others with attention sit To listen and admire her wit; That is a rock where I ne'er split. Let others dote upon her eyes And burn their hearts for sacrifice: Beauty's a calm where danger lies.

Yet Kind and True have been long tried, A[40] harbour where we may confide And safely there at anchor ride: From change of winds there we are free, Nor need we fear storms' tyranny, Nor pirate though a prince he be.

[39] This poem is also found in _The Academy of Compliments_ and other collections.

[40] Old ed. "And."

From ROBERT JONES' _First Book of Songs and Airs_, 1601.

SWEET Philomel in groves and desarts haunting Oft glads my heart and ears with her sweet chaunting, But then her tunes delight me best, When perched with prick against her breast She sings "Fy, fy!" as if she suffered wrong, Till, seeming pleased, "Sweet, sweet!" concludes her song.

Sweet Jinny sings and talks and sweetly smileth, And with her wanton mirth my griefs beguileth, But then methinks she pleaseth best When, while my hands move love's request, She cries "Fy, fy!" and, seeming loth, gainsays, Till better pleased "Sweet, sweet!" content bewrays.

From _The Westminster Drollery_. (_The Second Part._) 1672.

THE VALENTINE.

AS youthful day put on his best Attire to usher morn And she to greet her glorious guest Did her fair self adorn, Up did I rise, and hid mine eyes As I went through the street, Lest I should one that I despise Before a fairer meet. And why Was I, Think you, so nice and fine? Well did I wot (Who wots it not?) It was Saint Valentine.

In fields by Phoebus great with young Of flowers and hopeful buds, Resembling thoughts that freshly sprung In lovers' lively bloods, A damsel fair and fine I saw, So fair and finely dight, As put my heart almost in awe To attempt a mate so bright: But O Why so? Her purpose was like mine, And readily She said as I "Good morrow, Valentine."

A fair of love we kept a while: She for each word I said Gave me two smiles, and for each smile I her two kisses paid. The violet, made haste to appear To be her bosom-guest, With first primrose that grew this year, I purchased for[41] her breast: To me Gave she Her golden lock for mine; My ring of jet, For her bracelet, I gave my Valentine.

Subscribed with a line of love, My name for her I wrote; In silk for me her name she wove Whereto this was her mot,[42] "As shall this year thy truth appear, I still, my dear, am thine"; "Your mate today, and love for aye, If you so say," was mine. While thus On us Each other's favours shine, "No more have we To change," quoth she, "Now farewell, Valentine."

"Alas," said I, "let friends not seem Between themselves so strange; The jewels both we dear'st esteem You know are yet to change." She answers, "No," yet smiles as though Her tongue her thought denies; Who truth of maiden's mind will know Must seek it in her eyes. She blush'd, I wish'd Her heart as free as mine, She sight[43] and sware "In sooth you are Too wanton, Valentine."