LIB!"' \3Y 
 
 UWIV > !TY OF 
 
 SAN DIEGO
 
 THE 
 
 GOLDEN 
 POMP
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 A PROCESSION OF ENGLISH LYRICS 
 
 FROM SURREY TO SHIRLEY 
 
 ARRANGED BY 
 
 A. T. QUILLER COUCH 
 
 ' Aurea pompa vcnit.' 
 
 OVID 
 
 METHUEN AND CO. : LONDON 
 
 J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY 
 
 PHILADELPHIA 
 
 1895
 
 Edinburgh : T. and A. CONSTABI.K, Printers to Her Majesty
 
 TO 
 
 ARTHUR J. BUTLER
 
 PREFACE 
 
 A word must be said upon the scope of this book, and 
 another upon its arrangement. 
 
 It is a book of Lyrics: and after comparing several 
 definitions, I take the Lyric to be a short poem essentially 
 melodious in rhythm and structure treating summarily of 
 a single thought, feeling, or situation. This circumscription 
 includes the Sonnet, and excludes the Ballad and the Ode, 
 in which the treatment is sustained and progressive rather 
 than summary. The line is notoriously hard to draw ; but 
 in practice we find it moderately easy to discern a Lyric such 
 as 'Crabbed Age and Youth,' or 'Come Sleep, Sleep!' 
 from an Ode (even tliough it be not a true Pindaric) such 
 as Spenser's ' Epithalamion,' or a Ballad such as Dray ton's 
 ' Agincourt. ' 
 
 The epoch of Italian influence upon English song of 
 that influence which first made itself felt in the verses of 
 Surrey and Wyatt, and was not fairly quenched by the 
 influence of France until the Restoration falls naturally 
 into two parts ; two great creative days with no night 
 between, for the twilight in which Shirley sang was already 
 trembling with the dawn of Milton. The lyrics in this 
 volume are flowers of the first and incomparably brighter 
 of these two creative days; and at the risk of failing to
 
 viii PREFACE 
 
 follow it quite to its close I have stopped short with those 
 poets with Herrick and Herbert and Shirley who were 
 born before Elizabeth died. Again the rule may seem a 
 rude one, and it was no sooner made than broken to include 
 Grashaw ; but again in practice it will be found (I hope) 
 beyond expectation just. 
 
 Now as for the arrangement, the reader may or may not 
 make head and tail of it. And certainly had my purpose 
 been scholastic I had missed my opportunity in not forming 
 up the poets in their birthday order, for in this case the 
 birthday order happens to be full of instructiveness. Day 
 does not move towards night more steadily or by more 
 regular stages than the English lyric passed from 
 
 ' The soote season that bud and bloom forth brings' . . . 
 
 through 
 
 ' Roses, their sharp spines being gone, 
 Not royal in their smells alone, 
 
 But in their hue ' ; . . . 
 and on to 
 
 ' The glories of our blood and state 
 Are shadows, not substantial things.' 
 
 My aim, however, was not to instruct, but merely to 
 please, and to this end I laid down two rules at the begin- 
 ning. The first with a reservation presently to be noted 
 was to choose only the best lyrics of the period ; to gather 
 my flowers with a single eye to 
 
 ' Beauty making beautiful old rhyme ' ; 
 
 and to make no effort to distinguish this anthology from 
 others by including verses for their rarity rather than their 
 worth. My second rule was to arrange this garland, as far
 
 PREFACE ix 
 
 as I could, so that each flower should do its best by its 
 neighbours, either as a foil or by reflection of its colour in 
 thought and style. With this object a piece has here and 
 there been included which on its own merits had fallen 
 below the general standard. An instance occurs on page 
 256, where Herrick's ' Born was I to be Old ' follows the 
 two famous and more exalted anacreontics of Shakespeare 
 and Fletcher. As a foil to these it exemplifies that earth- 
 liness of Herrick which is the defect of his fine quality of 
 concreteness. But he is amply vindicated on other pages. 
 I find, on revising the proofs, that some few flowers have 
 dropped out of their proper places. But on the whole I trust 
 that a fairly continuous chain of thought and feeling has 
 been woven from the beginning, which treats of morning, 
 and youth, and spring 
 
 'Flower of the season, season of the flowers, 
 Son of the sun, sweet spring,' 
 
 to Raleigh's noble conclusion of the whole matter. 
 
 In saying that no single piece has been selected for its 
 rarity, I should be sorry to seem for a moment to pretend to 
 any unusual acquaintance with the byways of Elizabethan 
 poetry ; for indeed I have done little more than exercise a 
 right of choice in gardens prepared by such distinguished 
 Elizabethan scholars as Mr. A. H. Bullen and Doctors 
 Hannah and Grosart. My debt to Mr. Bullen s volumes 
 of ' Lyrics from the Elizabethan Song-Books,' apparent to 
 the initiated on every third or fourth page, is acknowledged 
 from time to time in the Notes: to acknowledge it every- 
 where was impossible. To Dr. Grosart I am particularly 
 obliged, who, on hearing that this anthology was contemplated,
 
 x PREFACE 
 
 wrote and placed the stores of his Elizabethan learning at 
 my disposal. His offer reached me when the great part of 
 the book stood already in print ; and the advantage taken 
 of it has been therefore all too slight: but the goodwill that 
 prompted it the goodwill of a veteran scholar towards a 
 trifling recruit is pleasant to record and remember. 
 
 A. T. QUJLLER-COUCH. 
 
 THE HAVEN, FOWEY, 
 Oct. i8tA, 1894.
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 HARK, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings, 
 
 And Phoebus 'gins arise, 
 His steeds to water at those springs 
 
 On chaliced flowers that lies ; 
 And winking Mary-buds begin 
 
 To ope their golden eyes : 
 With everything that pretty bin, 
 
 My lady sweet, arise: 
 Arise, arise. 
 
 Shakespeare,. 
 
 II 
 MATIN-SONG 
 
 PACK clouds, away, and welcome, day ! 
 
 With night we banish sorrow. 
 Sweet air, blow soft ; mount, lark, aloft 
 
 To give my Love good-morrow ! 
 A
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Wings from the wind to please her mind, 
 
 Notes from the lark I '11 borrow : 
 Bird, prune thy wing, nightingale, sing, 
 To give my Love good-morrow ; 
 
 To give my Love good-morrow 
 Notes from them both I '11 borrow. 
 
 Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast, 
 
 Sing birds in every furrow, 
 And from each bill let music shrill 
 Give my fair Love good-morrow ! 
 Blackbird and thrush in every bush, 
 
 Stare, 1 linnet, and cocksparrow, 
 You pretty elves, amongst yourselves 
 Sing my fair Love good-morrow : 
 To give my Love good-morrow. 
 Sing, birds, in every furrow. 
 
 T. Hey wood. 
 
 WHILST IT IS PRIME 
 
 FRESH Spring, the herald of love's mighty king, 
 In whose cote-armour richly are display' d 
 
 All sorts of flowers the which on earth do spring 
 In goodly colours gloriously array 'd, 
 
 Go to my Love, where she is careless laid 
 Yet in her Winter's bower not well awake : 
 
 Tell her the joyous time will not be stay'd 
 Unless she do him by the fore-lock take : 
 
 1 Starling.
 
 THE INVOCATION 3 
 
 Bid her therefore herself soon ready make 
 To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew : 
 
 Where every one that misseth then her make, 1 
 Shall be by him amerced with penance due. 
 
 Make haste therefore, sweet Love, whilst it is prime, 
 For none can call again the passed time. 
 
 E. Spenser. 
 
 rv 
 THE INVOCATION 
 
 PHOEBUS, arise ! 
 And paint the sable skies 
 With azure, white, and red ; 
 Rouse Memnon's mother from her Tithon's bed, 
 That she thy carriere may with roses spread ; 
 The nightingales thy coming each-where sing ; 
 Make an eternal spring ! 
 
 Give life to this dark world which lieth dead ; 
 Spread forth thy golden hair 
 In larger locks than thou wast wont before, 
 And Emperor-like decore 
 With diadem of pearl thy temples fair : 
 Chase hence the ugly night 
 Which serves but to make dear thy glorious light. 
 
 This is that happy morn 
 
 That day, long wished day 
 
 Of all my life so dark 
 
 (If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn 
 
 1 Mate.
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 And fates not hope betray), 
 
 Which, only white, deserves 
 
 A diamond for ever should it mark : 
 
 This is the morn should bring into this grove 
 
 My Love, to hear and recompense my love. 
 
 Fair King, who all preserves, 
 
 But show thy blushing beams, 
 
 And thou two sweeter eyes 
 
 Shalt see than those which by Peneus' streams 
 
 Did once thy heart surprise : 
 
 Nay, suns, which shine as clear 
 
 As thou when two thou did to Rome appear. 
 
 Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest guise : 
 
 If that ye winds would hear 
 
 A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, 
 
 Your stormy chiding stay ; 
 
 Let zephyr only breathe 
 
 And with her tresses play, 
 
 Kissing sometimes these purple ports of death. 
 
 The winds all silent are ; 
 
 And Phoabus in his chair 
 
 Ensaffroning sea and air 
 
 Makes vanish every star : 
 
 Night like a drunkard reels 
 
 Beyond the hills to shun his flaming wheels : 
 
 The fields with flowers are deck'd in every hue, 
 
 The clouds with orient gold spangle their blue : 
 
 Here is the place 
 
 And nothing wanting is, save She, alas ! 
 
 Drummond of Hawthornden.
 
 THE LOVE-CALL 
 
 THE LOVE-CALL 
 
 PHYLLIDA. Corydon, arise, my Corydon ! 
 
 Titan shineth clear. 
 CORYDON. Who is it that calleth Corydon ? 
 
 Who is it that I hear ? 
 
 PHYL. Phyllida, thy true love, calleth thee, 
 Arise then, arise then, 
 
 Arise and keep thy flock with me ! 
 COR. Phyllida, my true love, is it she ? 
 I come then, I come then, 
 
 I come and keep my flock with thee. 
 
 PHYL. Here are cherries ripe for my Corydon ; 
 
 Eat them for my sake. 
 COR. Here 's my oaten pipe, my lovely one, 
 
 Sport for thee to make. 
 PHYL. Here are threads, my true love, fine as 
 
 silk, 
 To knit thee, to knit thee, 
 
 A pair of stockings white as milk. 
 COR. Here are reeds, my true love, fine and neat, 
 To make thee, to make thee, 
 A bonnet to withstand the heat. 
 
 PHYL. I will gather flowers, my Corydon, 
 
 To set in thy cap. 
 
 COR. I will gather pears, my lovely one, 
 To put in thy lap.
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 PHYL. I will buy my true love garters gay 
 For Sundays, for Sundays, 
 
 To wear about his legs so tall. 
 COR. I will buy my true love yellow say, 1 
 For Sundays, for Sundays, 
 
 To wear about her middle small. 
 
 PHYL. When my Corydon sits on a hill 
 
 Making melody 
 COR. When my lovely one goes to her wheel, 
 
 Singing cheerily 
 
 PHYL. Sure methinks my true love doth excel 
 For sweetness, for sweetness, 
 
 Our Pan, that old Arcadian knight. 
 COR. And methinks my true love bears the 
 
 bell 
 For clearness, for clearness, 
 
 Beyond the nymphs that be so bright. 
 
 PHYL. Had my Corydon, my Corydon, 
 
 Been, alack ! her swain 
 COR. Had my lovely one, my lovely one, 
 
 Been in Ida plain 
 PHYL. Cynthia Endymion had refused, 
 Preferring, preferring 
 
 My Corydon to play withal. 
 COR. The Queen of Love had been excused 
 Bequeathing, bequeathing 
 My Phyllida the golden ball. 
 
 1 Soie, silk.
 
 CORINNA'S MAYING 7 
 
 PHYL. Yonder comes my mother, Corydon, 
 
 Whither shall I fly ? 
 COR. Under yonder beech, my lovely one, 
 
 While she passeth by. 
 
 PHYL. Say to her thy true love was not here : 
 Remember, remember, 
 
 To-morrow is another day. 
 COR. Doubt me not, my true love, do not fear; 
 Farewell then, farewell then ! 
 Heaven keep our loves alway ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 VI 
 
 CORINNA'S MAYING 
 
 GET up, get up for shame ! The blooming morn 
 Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. 
 See how Aurora throws her fair 
 Fresh-quilted colours through the air : 
 Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see 
 The dew-bespangled herb and tree ! 
 Each flower has wept and bow'd toward the east, 
 Above an hour since, yet you not drest ; 
 Nay ! not so much as out of bed ? 
 When all the birds have matins said, 
 And sung their thankful hymns, 'tis sin, 
 Nay, profanation, to keep in, 
 Whenas a thousand virgins on this day 
 Spring, sooner than the lark, to fetch in May.
 
 8 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen 
 
 To come forth, like the spring-time, fresh and 
 
 green, 
 
 And sweet as Flora. Take no care 
 For jewels for your gown or hair : 
 Fear not ; the leaves will strew 
 Gems in abundance upon you : 
 Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, 
 Against you come, some Orient pearls unwept. 
 Come, and receive them while the light 
 Hangs on the dew-locks of the night, 
 And Titan on the eastern hill 
 Retires himself, or else stands still 
 Till you come forth ! Wash, dress, be brief in 
 
 praying : 
 Few beads are best when once we go a-Maying. 
 
 Come, my Corinna, come ; and coming, mark 
 How each field turns a street, each street a park, 
 Made green and trimm'd with trees ! see how 
 Devotion gives each house a bough 
 Or branch ! each porch, each door, ere this, 
 An ark, a tabernacle is, 
 Made up of white-thorn neatly interwove, 
 As if here were those cooler shades of love. 
 Can such delights be in the street 
 And open fields, and we not see't? 
 Come, we '11 abroad : and let 's obey 
 The proclamation made for May, 
 And sin no more, as we have done, by staying, 
 But, my Corinna, come, let 's go a-Maying.
 
 CORINNA'S MAYING 9 
 
 There 's not a budding boy or girl this day 
 But is got up and gone to bring in May. 
 A deal of youth, ere this, is come 
 Back, and with white-thorn laden home. 
 Some have despatch' d their cakes and cream, 
 Before that we have left to dream : 
 And some have wept and woo'd, and plighted troth, 
 And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth : 
 Many a green-gown 1 has been given, 
 Many a kiss, both odd and even : 
 Many a glance, too, has been sent 
 From out the eye, love's firmament : 
 Many a jest told of the keys betraying 
 This night, and locks pick'd : yet we 're not a- 
 Maying. 
 
 Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, 
 And take the harmless folly of the time ! 
 
 We shall grow old apace, and die 
 
 Before we know our liberty. 
 
 Our life is short, and our days run 
 
 As fast away as does the sun. 
 And, as a vapour or a drop of rain, 
 Once lost, can ne'er be found again, 
 
 So when or you or I are made 
 
 A fable, song, or fleeting shade, 
 
 All love, all liking, all delight 
 
 Lies drown'd with us in endless night. 
 Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying. 
 Come, my Corinna, come, let 's go a- Maying. 
 
 R. Herrick. 
 
 1 Tumble on the grass.
 
 10 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 VII 
 
 THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY 
 
 Is not thilke the merry month of May, 
 
 When love-lads masken in fresh array ? 
 
 How falls it, then, we no merrier been, 
 
 Ylike as others, girt in gaudy green ? 
 
 Our blanket liveries been all too sad 
 
 For thilke same season, when all is yclad 
 
 With pleasaunce ; the ground with grass, the woods 
 
 With green leaves, the bushes with blossoming buds. 
 
 Young folk now flocken in every where 
 
 To gather May buskets l and smelling brere ; 
 
 And home they hasten the postes to dight, 
 
 And all the kirk-pillars ere day-light, 
 
 With hawthorne buds and sweet eglantine, 
 
 And garlands of roses and sops-in-wine. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 O, THE month of May, the merry month of May, 
 So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green ! 
 
 O, and then did I unto my true love say, 
 
 Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen. 
 
 Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale, 
 The sweetest singer in all the forest choir, 
 
 Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love's 
 
 tale: 
 Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier. 
 
 1 Small bushes.
 
 UPON JULIA'S HAIR FILL'D WITH DEW 11 
 
 But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo ! 
 
 See where she sitteth ; come away, my joy : 
 Come away, I prithee, I do not like the cuckoo 
 
 Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy. 
 
 O, the month of May, the merry month of May, 
 So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green ! 
 
 O, and then did I unto my true love say, 
 
 Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen. 
 
 T. Dekker. 
 
 MY FAIR A-FIELD 
 
 SEE where my Love a-maying goes 
 With sweet dame Flora sporting ! 
 
 She most alone with nightingales 
 In woods delights consorting. 
 
 Turn again, my dearest ! 
 
 The pleasant' st air's in meadows; 
 Else by the river let us breathe, 
 
 And kiss amongst the willows. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 x 
 
 UPON JULIA'S HAIR FILL'D WITH DEW 
 
 DEW sat on Julia's hair, 
 
 And spangled too, 
 Like leaves that laden are 
 
 With trembling dew :
 
 12 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Or glitter'd to my sight 
 
 As when the beams 
 Have their reflected light 
 
 Danced by the streams. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 XI 
 
 SWEET-AND-TWENTY 
 
 O MISTRESS mine, where are you roaming ? 
 O, stay and hear ; your true love 's coming, 
 
 That can sing both high and low : 
 Trip no further, pretty sweeting; 
 Journeys end in lovers meeting, 
 
 Every wise man's son doth know. 
 
 What is love ? 'tis not hereafter ; 
 Present mirth hath present laughter ; 
 
 What's to come is still unsure : 
 In delay there lies no plenty ; 
 Then come kiss me, sweet-and-twenty, 
 
 Youth 's a stuff will not endure. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 XII 
 
 LOVE'S EMBLEMS 
 
 Now the lusty spring is seen ; 
 
 Golden yellow, gaudy blue, 
 
 Daintily invite the view : 
 Everywhere on every green
 
 THE IMPATIENT MAID 13 
 
 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 stay'd ; 
 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.' 
 
 /. Fletcher, 
 
 XIII 
 
 THE IMPATIENT MAID 
 
 WHEN as the rye reach'd to the chin, 
 And chop cherry, chop cherry ripe within, 
 Strawberries swimming in the cream, 
 And schoolboys playing in the stream ; 
 Then O, then O, then O, my true love said, 
 'Til that time come again 
 She could not live a maid ! 
 
 Geo. Peek.
 
 14 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 XIV 
 
 IT WAS A LOVER AND HIS LASS 
 
 IT was a lover and his lass, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 That o'er the green corn-field did pass, 
 
 In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 Between the acres of the rye, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 These pretty country folks would lie, 
 
 In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 This carol they began that hour, 
 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 
 How that life was but a flower 
 
 In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 
 When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 
 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 And, therefore, take the present time 
 With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino, 
 
 For love is crowned with the prime 
 
 In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, 
 
 When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding ; 
 
 Sweet lovers love the spring. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 LOSS IN DELAY 15 
 
 xv 
 
 TO THE VIRGINS, TO MAKE MUCH 
 OF TIME 
 
 GATHER ye rosebuds while ye may, 
 
 Old Time is still a-flying : 
 And this same flower that smiles to-day 
 
 To-morrow will be dying. 
 
 The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun, 
 
 The higher he 's a-getting, 
 The sooner will his race be run, 
 
 And nearer he's to setting. 
 
 That age is best which is the first, 
 When youth and blood are warmer ; 
 
 But being spent, the worse, and worst 
 Times still succeed the former. 
 
 Then be not coy, but use your time, 
 
 And while ye may, go marry : 
 For having lost but once your prime 
 
 You may for ever tarry. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 XVI 
 
 LOSS IN DELAY 
 
 SHUN delays, they breed remorse ; 
 Take thy time while time is lent thee ; 
 
 Creeping snails have weakest force, 
 Fly their fault, lest thou repent thee. 
 Good is best when soonest wrought, 
 Linger'd labours come to nought.
 
 16 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Hoist up sail while gale doth last, 
 Tide and wind stay no man's pleasure ; 
 
 Seek not time when time is past, 
 Sober speed is wisdom's leisure. 
 After- wits are dearly bought, 
 Let thy fore-wit guide thy thought. 
 
 Time wears all his locks before 
 Take thy hold upon his forehead ; 
 When he flies he turns no more, 
 And behind his scalp is naked. 
 
 Works adjourn'd have many stays, 
 Long demurs breed new delays. 
 
 R. Southwell. 
 
 CARPE DIEM 
 
 LOVE in thy youth, fair Maid, be wise ; 
 
 Old Time will make thee colder, 
 And though each morning new arise 
 
 Yet we each day grow older. 
 Thou as heaven art fair and young, 
 
 Thine eyes like twin stars shining ; 
 But ere another day be sprung 
 
 All these will be declining. 
 Then winter comes with all his fears, 
 
 And all thy sweets shall borrow ; 
 Too late then wilt thou shower thy tears, 
 
 And I too late shall sorrow, 
 
 Anon.
 
 TO BE MERRY 17 
 
 XVIII 
 
 CRABBED AGE AND YOUTH 
 
 CRABBED Age and Youth 
 
 Cannot live together : 
 
 Youth is full of pleasance, 
 
 Age is full of care ; 
 
 Youth like summer morn, 
 
 Age like winter weather; 
 
 Youth like summer brave, 
 
 Age like winter bare. 
 
 Youth is full of sport, 
 
 Age's breath is short ; 
 
 Youth is nimble, Age is lame ; 
 
 Youth is hot and bold, 
 
 Age is weak and cold ; 
 
 Youth is wild, and Age is tame. 
 
 Age, I do abhor thee; 
 
 Youth, I do adore thee ; 
 
 O, my Love, my Love is young ! 
 
 Age, I do defy thee : 
 
 O, sweet shepherd, hie thee ! 
 
 For methinks thou stay'st too long. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 XIX 
 
 TO BE MERRY 
 
 LET 's now take our time 
 While we 're in our prime, 
 And old, old age, is afar off: 
 B
 
 18 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 For the evil, evil days 
 Will come on apace, 
 Before we can be aware of. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 xx 
 VIVAMUS 
 
 COME, my Celia, let us prove, 
 While wecan, the sports of Love ; 
 Time will not be ours for ever, 
 He at length our good will sever. 
 
 Spend not then his gifts in vain : 
 Suns that set may rise again ; 
 But if once we lose this light, 
 'Tis with us perpetual night. 
 
 Why should we defer our joys? 
 Fame and rumour are but toys. 
 Cannot we delude the eyes 
 Of a few poor household spies ? 
 
 Or his easier eyes beguile, 
 
 So removed by our wile ? 
 
 'Tis no sin Love's fruit to steal, 
 
 But the sweet theft to reveal : 
 To be taken, to be seen, 
 These have crimes accounted been. 
 
 B. Jonson.
 
 TIME AND LOVE 19 
 
 XXI 
 
 TIME AND LOVE 
 1 
 
 WHEN I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced 
 The rich proud cost of outworn buried age ; 
 When sometime-lofty towers I see down-razed, 
 And brass eternal slave to mortal rage ; 
 
 When I have seen the hungry ocean gain 
 Advantage on the kingdom of the shore, 
 And the firm soil win of the watery main, 
 Increasing store with loss and loss with store ; 
 
 When I have seen such interchange of state, 
 Or state itself confounded to decay, 
 Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminate 
 That Time will come and take my Love away. 
 
 This thought is as a death, which cannot choose 
 But weep to have that which it fears to lose. 
 
 XXII 
 
 2 
 
 SINCE brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, 
 But sad mortality o'ersways their power, 
 How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea, 
 Whose action is no stronger than a flower ?
 
 20 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out 
 Against the wreckful siege of battering days, 
 When rocks impregnable are not so stout, 
 Nor gates of steel so strong, but time decays ? 
 
 O fearful meditation ! Where, alack ! 
 Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie hid ? 
 Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back ? 
 Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid ? 
 
 O none, unless this miracle have might, 
 That in black ink my love may still shine bright. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 SECOND THOUGHTS 
 
 1 
 
 BEAUTY, sweet Love, is like the morning dew, 
 Whose short refresh upon the tender green 
 Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth show, 
 And straight 'tis gone as it had never been. 
 
 Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish, 
 Short is the glory of the blushing rose ; 
 The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish, 
 Yet which at length thou must be forced to lose. 
 
 When thou, surcharged with burthen of thy years, 
 Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth ; 
 And that, in Beauty's Lease expired, appears 
 The Date of Age, the Calends of our Death 
 
 But ah, no more ! this must not be foretold, 
 For women grieve to think they must be old.
 
 WHEN DAFFODILS BEGIN TO PEER 21 
 
 I MUST not grieve my Love, whose eyes would read 
 Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile ; 
 Flowers have time before they come to seed, 
 And she is young, and now must sport the while. 
 
 And sport, Sweet Maid, in season of these years, 
 And learn to gather flowers before they wither ; 
 And where the sweetest blossom first appears, 
 Let Love and Youth conduct thy pleasures thither. 
 
 Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, 
 And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise ; 
 Pity and smiles do best become the fair ; 
 Pity and smiles must only yield the praise. 
 
 Make me to say when all my griefs are gone, 
 Happy the heart that sighed for such a one. 
 
 S. Daniel. 
 
 XXV 
 
 WHEN DAFFODILS BEGIN TO PEER 
 
 WHEN daffodils begin to peer, 
 
 With heigh ! the doxy over the dale, 
 
 Why, then comes in the sweet o' the year ; 
 For the red blood reigns in the winter's pale.
 
 22 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 The white sheet bleaching on the hedge, 
 
 With heigh ! the sweet birds, O, how they sing ! 
 
 Doth set my pugging 1 tooth on edge ; 
 For a quart of ale is a dish for a king. 
 
 The lark that tirra-lirra chants, 
 
 With heigh ! with heigh ! the thrush and the jay, 
 Are summer songs for me and my aunts, 
 
 While we lie tumbling in the hay. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 CUCKOO 
 WHEN daisies pied and violets blue, 
 
 And lady-smocks all silver-white, 
 And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue 
 
 Do paint the meadows with delight, 
 The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
 Mocks married men ; for thus sings he, 
 
 Cuckoo ; 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo : O word of fear, 
 Unpleasing to the married ear ! 
 
 When shepherds pipe on oaten straws, 
 And merry larks are ploughmen's clocks, 
 
 When turtles tread, and rooks, and daws, 
 And maidens bleach their summer smocks, 
 
 The cuckoo then, on every tree, 
 
 Mocks married men ; for thus sings he, 
 Cuckoo ; 
 
 Cuckoo, cuckoo : O word of fear, 
 
 Unpleasing to the married ear. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 1 Thievish.
 
 SPRING 23 
 
 XXVII 
 
 THE ousel-cock, so black of hue, 
 
 With orange-tawny bill, 
 The throstle with his note so true, 
 
 The wren with little quill ; 
 The finch, the sparrow, and the lark, 
 
 The plain-song cuckoo gray, 
 Whose note full many a man doth mark, 
 
 And dares not answer nay. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 SPRING 
 
 SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king ; 
 Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring. 
 Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 
 
 The palm and may make country houses gay, 
 Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, 
 And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 
 
 The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, 
 Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, 
 In every street these tunes our ears do greet 
 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! 
 Spring, the sweet Spring ! 
 
 T. Nashe.
 
 24 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 XXIX 
 
 PIPING PEACE 
 
 You virgins that did late despair 
 
 To keep your wealth from cruel men, 
 
 Tie up in silk your careless hair : 
 Soft peace is come again. 
 
 Now lovers' eyes may gently shoot 
 
 A flame that will not kill ; 
 The drum was angry, but the lute 
 
 Shall whisper what you will. 
 
 Sing lo, lo ! for his sake 
 
 That hath restored your drooping heads ; 
 With choice of sweetest flowers make 
 
 A garden where he treads ; 
 
 Whilst we whole groves of laurel bring, 
 A petty triumph for his brow, 
 
 Who is the Master of our spring 
 And all the bloom we owe. 1 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
 XXX 
 
 A ROUND 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Francis Beaumont. 
 1 Own.
 
 A ROUND 25 
 
 XXXI 
 
 ANOTHER 
 HEY, nonny no ! 
 Men are fools that wish to die ! 
 Is 't not fine to dance and sing 
 When the bells of death do ring ? 
 Is 't not fine to swim in wine, 
 And turn upon the toe, 
 And sing hey, nonny no ! 
 When the winds blow and the seas flow ? 
 Hey, nonny no ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 XXXII 
 
 ANOTHER 
 
 ON a fair morning, as I came by the way, 
 
 Met I with a merry maid in the merry month of May; 
 
 When a sweet love sings his lovely lay 
 
 And every bird upon the bush bechirps it so gay : 
 
 With a heave and ho ! with a heave and ho ! 
 
 Thy wife shall be thy master, I trow. 
 
 Sing care away, care away, let the world go ! 
 
 Hey, lustily all in a row, all in a row, 
 
 Sing care away, care away, let the world go ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 ANOTHER 
 
 Now that the Spring hath fill'd our veins 
 
 With kind and active fire, 
 And made green liv'ries for the plains, 
 
 And every grove a quire :
 
 26 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Sing we a song of merry glee, 
 
 And Bacchus fill the bowl. 
 1. Then here's to thee ; 2. And thou to me 
 
 And every thirsty soul. 
 
 Nor Care nor Sorrow e'er paid debt, 
 
 Nor never shall do mine ; 
 I have no cradle going yet, 
 
 Not I, by this good wine. 
 
 No wife at home to send for me, 
 
 No hogs are in my ground, 
 No suit in law to pay a fee, 
 
 Then round, old Jocky, round ! 
 
 All. 
 
 Shear sheep that have them, cry we still, 
 But see that no man 'scape 
 To drink of the sherry 
 That makes us so merry 
 And plump as the lusty grape. 
 
 Wm. Browne. 
 
 TO LIVE MERRILY AND TO TRUST TO 
 GOOD VERSES 
 
 Now is the time for mirth, 
 
 Nor cheek or tongue be dumb ; 
 
 For, with the flowery earth, 
 The golden pomp is come.
 
 LIVE MERRILY AND TRUST GOOD VERSES 27 
 
 The golden pomp is come ; 
 
 For now each tree does wear, 
 Made of her pap and gum, 
 
 Rich beads of amber here : 
 
 Now reigns the rose, and now 
 Th' Arabian dew besmears 
 
 My uncontrolled brow 
 And my retorted hairs. 
 
 Homer, this health to thee ! 
 
 In sack of such a kind 
 That it would make thee see 
 
 Though thou wert ne'er so blind. 
 
 Next, Virgil I '11 call forth 
 To pledge this second health 
 
 In wine, whose each cup 's worth 
 An Indian commonwealth. 
 
 A goblet next I '11 drink 
 
 To Ovid, and suppose, 
 Made he the pledge, he'd think 
 
 The world had all one nose. 
 
 Then this immensive cup 
 
 Of aromatic wine, 
 Catullus, I '11 quaff up 
 
 To that terse muse of thine.
 
 28 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Wild am I now with heat : 
 O Bacchus, cool thy rays ! 
 
 Or frantic I shall eat 
 
 Thy thyrse and bite the bays. 
 
 Round, round the roof does run, 
 
 And being ravish'd thus, 
 Come, I will drink a tun 
 
 To my Propertius. 
 
 Now to Tibullus, next, 
 
 This flood I '11 drink to thee : 
 
 But stay, I see a text 
 
 That this presents to me : 
 
 Behold, Tibullus lies 
 
 Here burnt, whose small return 
 
 Of ashes scarce suffice 
 To Jill a little urn. 
 
 Trust to good verses then : 
 
 They only will aspire 
 When pyramids, as men, 
 
 Are lost i' th' funeral fire. 
 
 And when all bodies meet 
 
 In Lethe to be drown' d, 
 Then only numbers sweet 
 
 With endless life are crown'd. 
 
 Herrick,
 
 MAN'S MEDLEY 29 
 
 XXXV 
 
 MAN'S MEDLEY 
 
 HARK how the birds do sing, 
 
 And woods do ring : 
 
 All creatures have their joy, and man hath his. 
 Yet if we rightly measure, 
 
 Man's joy and pleasure 
 Rather hereafter than in present is. 
 
 To this life things of sense 
 
 Make their pretence ; 
 
 In th' other angels have a right by birth : 
 
 Man ties them both alone, 
 
 And makes them one 
 
 With th' one hand touching heaven, with t' other 
 earth. 
 
 In soul he mounts and flies, 
 
 In flesh he dies ; 
 
 He wears a stuff whose thread is coarse and round, 
 But trimm'd with curious lace, 
 
 And should take place 
 After l the trimming, not the stuff and ground. 
 
 Not that he may not here 
 
 Taste of the cheer : 
 
 But as birds drink and straight lift up their head, 
 So must he sip and think 
 
 Of better drink 
 
 He may attain to after he is dead. 
 i According to.
 
 30 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 But as his joys are double, 
 
 So is his trouble ; 
 
 He hath two winters, other things but one : 
 Both frosts and thoughts do nip 
 
 And bite his lip ; 
 And he of all things fears two deaths alone. 
 
 Yet ev'n the greatest griefs 
 
 May be reliefs, 
 
 Could he but take them right and in their ways. 
 Happy is he whose heart 
 Hath found the art 
 To turn his double pains to double praise. 
 
 Geo. Herbert. 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 VIRTUE 
 
 SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright ! 
 The bridal of the earth and sky, 
 The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; 
 For thou must die. 
 
 Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave, 
 Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 
 Thy root is ever in its grave, 
 And thou must die. 
 
 Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
 A box where sweets compacted lie, 
 My music shows ye have your closes, 
 And all must die.
 
 THE MESSAGE 31 
 
 Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 
 Like seasoned timber, never gives; 
 But though the whole world turn to coal, 
 Then chiefly lives. 
 
 Geo. Herbert. 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 THE MESSAGE 
 
 YE little birds that sit and sing 
 
 Amidst the shady valleys, 
 And see how Phillis sweetly walks 
 
 Within her garden-alleys ; 
 Go pretty birds about her bower ; 
 Sing pretty birds, she may not lower ; 
 Ah me ! methinks I see her frown ! 
 Ye pretty wantons warble. 
 
 Go tell her through your chirping bills, 
 
 As you by me are bidden, 
 To her is only known my love 
 
 Which from the world is hidden. 
 Go pretty birds and tell her so, 
 See that your notes strain not too low, 
 For still methinks I see her frown ; 
 Ye pretty wantons warble. 
 
 Go tune your voices' harmony 
 
 And sing, I am her lover ; 
 Strain loud and sweet, that every note 
 
 With sweet content may move her :
 
 32 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 And she that hath the sweetest voice, 
 Tell her I will not change my choice ; 
 Yet still methinks I see her frown ! 
 Ye pretty wantons warble. 
 
 O fly ! make haste ! see, see, she falls 
 
 Into a pretty slumber ! 
 Sing round about her rosy bed 
 
 That waking she may wonder : 
 Say to her, 'tis her lover true 
 That sendeth love to you, to you ; 
 And when you hear her kind reply, 
 Return with pleasant warblings. 
 
 T. Heywood. 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 TO THE WESTERN WIND 
 
 SWEET western wind, whose luck it is, 
 
 Made rival with the air, 
 To give Perenna's lips a kiss, 
 
 And fan her wanton hair : 
 
 Bring me but one, I '11 promise thee, 
 
 Instead of common showers, 
 Thy wings shall be embalm'd by me, 
 
 And all beset with flowers. 
 
 Herrick.
 
 PHYLLIDA AND CORYDON 33 
 
 xxxix 
 PHYLLIDA AND CORYDON 
 
 IN the merry month of May, 
 In a morn by break of day, 
 Forth I walk'd by the wood-side 
 Whenas May was in his pride : 
 There I spyed all alone 
 Phyllida and Corydon. 
 Much ado there was, God wot ! 
 He would love and she would not. 
 She said, never man was true ; 
 He said, none was false to you. 
 He said, he had loved her long ; 
 She said, Love should have no wrong. 
 Corydon would kiss her then ; 
 She said, maids must kiss no men 
 Till they did for good and all ; 
 Then she made the shepherd call 
 All the heavens to witness truth 
 Never loved a truer youth. 
 Thus with many a pretty oath, 
 Yea and nay, and faith and troth, 
 Such as silly shepherds use 
 When they will not Love abuse, 
 Love, which long had been deluded, 
 Was with kisses sweet concluded ; 
 And Phyllida, with garlands gay, 
 Was made the Lady of the May. 
 
 N. Breton.
 
 34 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 XL 
 
 THE BLOSSOM 
 
 ON a day alack the day ! 
 
 Love, whose month was ever May, 
 
 Spied a blossom passing fair 
 
 Playing in the wanton air : 
 
 Through the velvet leaves the wind, 
 
 All unseen, 'gan passage find ; 
 
 That the lover, sick to death, 
 
 Wish'd himself the heaven's breath. 
 
 ' Air/ quoth he, ' thy cheeks may blow ; 
 
 Air, would I might triumph so ! 
 
 But, alas, my hand hath sworn 
 
 Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : 
 
 Vow, alack, for youth unmeet ; 
 
 Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. 
 
 Do not call it sin in me, 
 
 That I am forsworn for thee ; 
 
 Thou for whom Jove would swear 
 
 Juno but an Ethiope were ; 
 
 And deny himself for Jove, 
 
 Turning mortal for thy love. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 XLI 
 
 THE FAIRY LIFE 
 
 1 
 OVER hill, over dale, 
 
 Thorough bush, thorough brier, 
 Over park, over pale, 
 
 Thorough flood, thorough fire,
 
 THE FAIRY LIFE 35 
 
 I do wander everywhere, 
 Swifter than the moon's sphere ; 
 And I serve the fairy queen, 
 To dew her orbs upon the green : 
 The cowslips tall her pensioners be ; 
 In their gold coats spots you see ; 
 Those be rubies, fairy favours, 
 In those freckles live their savours : 
 I must go seek some dew-drops here, 
 And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 XLII 
 
 You spotted snakes, with double tongue, 
 Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen ; 
 
 Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong ; 
 Come not near our fairy queen. 
 
 Philomel, with melody 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby 
 Never harm, 
 Nor spell nor charm, 
 Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
 So, good night, with lullaby. 
 
 Weaving spiders, come not here ; 
 
 Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence ! 
 Beetles black, approach not near ; 
 
 Worm, nor snail, do no offence.
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Philomel, with melody 
 Sing in our sweet lullaby ; 
 Lulla, lulla, lullaby ; lulla, lulla, lullaby : 
 Never harm, 
 Nor spell nor charm, 
 Come our lovely lady nigh ; 
 So, good night, with lullaby. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 XLIII 
 
 3 
 PUCK sings : 
 
 Now the hungry lion roars, 
 
 And the wolf behowls the moon ; 
 Whilst the heavy ploughman snores, 
 
 All with weary task fordone. 
 Now the wasted brands do glow, 
 
 Whilst the scritch-owl, scritching loud, 
 Puts the wretch that lies in woe 
 
 In remembrance of a shroud. 
 Now it is the time of night, 
 
 That the graves, all gaping wide, 
 Every one lets forth his sprite, 
 
 In the churchway paths to glide : 
 And we fairies, that do run 
 
 By the triple Hecate's team, 
 From the presence of the sun, 
 
 Following darkness like a dream,
 
 THE FAIRY LIFE 37 
 
 Now are frolic ; not a mouse 
 Shall disturb this hallow'd house : 
 I am sent with broom before 
 To sweep the dust behind the door. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 XLIV 
 
 4 
 COME unto these yellow sands. 
 
 And then take hands : 
 Courtsied when you have, and kiss'd, 
 
 The wild waves whist, 
 Foot it featly here and there ; 
 And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear. 
 Hark, hark ! 
 Bow, wow, 
 The watch-dogs bark : 
 
 Bow, wow. 
 Hark, hark ! I hear 
 The strain of strutting chanticleer 
 Cry, Cock-a-diddle-dow ! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 XLV 
 
 5 
 
 WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I ; 
 In a cowslip's bell I lie : 
 There I couch when owls do cry. 
 On the bat's back I do fly 
 After summer merrily : 
 
 Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, 
 Under the blossom that hangs on the bough. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 38 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 XLVI 
 
 THE FAIRY QUEEN PROSERPINA 
 
 HARK, all you ladies that do sleep ! 
 
 The fairy-queen Proserpina 
 Bids you awake and pity them that weep. 
 You may do in the dark 
 
 What the day doth forbid ; 
 Fear not the dogs that bark, 
 Night will have all hid. 
 
 But if you let your lovers moan. 
 
 The fairy-queen Proserpina 
 Will send abroad her fairies every one, 
 That shall pinch black and blue 
 
 Your white hands and fair arms 
 That did not kindly rue 
 Your paramours' harms. 
 
 In myrtle arbours on the downs 
 
 The fairy-queen Proserpina, 
 This night by moonshine leading merry rounds, 
 Holds a watch with sweet Love, 
 
 Down the dale, up the hill ; 
 No plaints or groans may move 
 Their holy vigil. 
 
 All you that will hold watch with Love, 
 
 The fairy-queen Proserpina 
 Will make you fairer than Dione's dove :
 
 LOVE'S HARVESTERS 
 
 Roses red, lilies white, 
 
 And the clear damask hue, 
 Shall on your cheeks alight : 
 
 Love will adorn you. 
 
 All you that love or loved before, 
 
 The fairy-queen Proserpina 
 Bids you increase that loving humour more : 
 They that have not fed 
 
 On delight amorous 
 She vows that they shall lead 
 Apes in Avernus. 
 
 T. Campion, 
 
 XLVII 
 LOVE'S HARVESTERS 
 
 ALL ye that lovely lovers be 
 
 Pray you for me : 
 
 Lo here we come a-sowing, a-sowing, 
 And sow sweet fruits of love ; 
 In your sweet hearts well may it prove ! 
 
 Lo here we come a-reaping, a-reaping, 
 To reap our harvest fruit ! 
 And thus we pass the year so long, 
 And never be we mute. 
 
 Geo. Peele.
 
 40 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 XLVIII 
 
 COME live with me and be my Love, 
 And we will all the pleasures prove 
 That hills and valleys, dales and fields, 
 Or woods or steepy mountain yields. 
 
 And we will sit upon the rocks, 
 And see the shepherds feed their flocks 
 By shallow rivers to whose falls 
 Melodious birds sing madrigals. 
 
 And I will make thee beds of roses 
 And a thousand fragrant posies ; 
 A cap of flowers, and a kirtle 
 Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. 
 
 A gown made of the finest wool 
 Which from our pretty lambs we pull ; 
 Fair-lined slippers for the cold, 
 With buckles of the purest gold. 
 
 A belt of straw and ivy-buds 
 With coral clasps and amber studs : 
 And if these pleasures may thee move, 
 Come live with me and be my Love. 
 
 The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 
 For thy delight each May morning : 
 If these delights thy mind may move, 
 Then live with me and be my Love. 
 
 C. Marlowe.
 
 HER REPLY 41 
 
 XLIX 
 
 HER REPLY 
 
 IF all the world and love were young, 
 And truth in every shepherd's tongue, 
 These pretty pleasures might me move 
 To live with thee and be thy Love. 
 
 But Time drives flocks from field to fold ; 
 Where rivers rage and rocks grow cold ; 
 And Philomel becometh dumb, 
 The rest complains of cares to come. 
 
 The flowers do fade, the wanton fields 
 To wayward winter reckoning yields : 
 A honey tongue, a heart of gall, 
 Is fancy's spring but sorrow's fall. 
 
 Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 
 Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, 
 Soon break, soon wither soon forgotten, 
 In folly ripe, in reason rotten. 
 
 Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, 
 Thy coral clasps and amber studs, 
 All these in me no means can move 
 To come to thee and be thy Love. 
 
 But could youth last, and love still breed, 
 Had joys no date, nor age no need, 
 Then those delights my mind might move 
 To live with thee and be thy Love. 
 
 Sir W. Raleigh.
 
 42 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE 
 
 AMIENS sings : 
 
 UNDER the greenwood tree, 
 Who loves to lie with me, 
 And turn his merry note 
 Unto the sweet bird's throat, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither : 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 Who doth ambition shun, 
 And loves to live i' the sun, 
 Seeking the food he eats, 
 And pleased with what he gets, 
 Come hither, come hither, come hither; 
 Here shall he see 
 No enemy 
 But winter and rough weather. 
 
 JAQUES replies : 
 
 If it do come to pass 
 That any man turn ass, 
 Leaving his wealth and ease 
 A stubborn will to please, < 
 
 Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame : 
 Here shall he see 
 Gross fools as he, 
 An if he will come to me. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 AMIENS' SONG 43 
 
 LI 
 AMIENS' SONG 
 
 BLOW, blow, thou winter wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 
 As man's ingratitude ; 
 Thy tooth is not so keen, 
 Because thou art not seen, 
 
 Although thy breath be rude. 
 Heigh ho ! sing, heigh ho! unto the green holly: 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : 
 
 Then heigh ho, the holly : 
 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, 
 That dost not bite so nigh 
 
 As benefits forgot : 
 Though thou the waters warp, 
 Thy sting is not so sharp 
 
 As friend remember'd not. 
 
 Heigh ho ! sing, heigh ho ! unto the green holly : 
 Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly : 
 Then heigh ho, the holly ! 
 This life is most jolly. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 44 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 LII 
 
 SPRING'S WELCOME 
 
 WHAT bird so sings, yet so does wail ? 
 O 'tis the ravish'd nightingale. 
 Jug,jug,jug,jug, tereu \ she cries, 
 And still her woes at midnight rise. 
 Brave prick-song ! Who is 't now we hear ? 
 None but the lark so shrill and clear ; 
 Now at heaven's gate she claps her wings, 
 The morn not waking till she sings. 
 Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat 
 Poor robin redbreast tunes his note ; 
 Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing 
 Cuckoo ! to welcome in the spring ! 
 Cuckoo I to welcome in the spring ! 
 
 J. Lyly. 
 
 LIII 
 ON A BANK AS I SAT A-FISHING 
 
 THIS day Dame Nature seem'd in love ; 
 The lusty sap began to move ; 
 Fresh juice did stir th' embracing vines, 
 And birds had drawn their valentines ; 
 The jealous trout that low did lie 
 Rose at the well-dissembled fly ; 
 There stood my friend, with patient skill 
 Attending of his trembling quill.
 
 THE HAPPY COUNTRYMAN 45 
 
 Already were the eaves possess' d 
 With the swift pilgrim's daubed nest ; 
 The groves already did rejoice 
 In Philomel's triumphing voice ; 
 The showers were short, the weather mild, 
 The morning fresh, the evening smiled ; 
 Joan takes her neat-rubb'd pail, and now 
 She trips to milk the sand-red cow; 
 Where for some sturdy football swain 
 Joan strokes a syllabub or twain ; 
 The fields and gardens were beset 
 With tulip, crocus, violet ; 
 And now, though late the modest rose 
 Did more than half a blush disclose, 
 Thus all look'd gay and full of cheer 
 To welcome the new-liveried year. 
 
 Sir H. Wotton. 
 
 LIV 
 THE HAPPY COUNTRYMAN 
 
 WHO can live in heart so glad 
 As the merry country lad ? 
 Who upon a fair green balk 
 May at pleasure sit and walk, 
 And amid the azure skies 
 See the morning sun arise, 
 While he hears in every spring 
 How the birds do chirp and sing : 
 Or before the hounds in cry 
 See the hare go stealing by :
 
 46 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Or along the shallow brook, 
 
 Angling with a baited hook, 
 
 See the fishes leap and play 
 
 In a blessed sunny day : 
 
 Or to hear the partridge call, 
 
 Till she have her covey all : 
 
 Or to see the subtle fox, 
 
 How the villain plies the box ; 
 
 After feeding on his prey, 
 
 How he closely sneaks away, 
 
 Through the hedge and down the furrow 
 
 Till he gets into his burrow : 
 
 Then the bee to gather honey, 
 
 And the little black-haired coney, 
 
 On a bank for sunny place, 
 
 With her forefeet wash her face : 
 
 Are not these, with thousands moe 
 
 Than the courts of kings do know, 
 
 The true pleasing spirit's sights 
 
 That may breed true love's delights ? 
 
 But with all this happiness, 
 
 To behold that Shepherdess, 
 
 To whose eyes all shepherds yield 
 
 All the fairest of the field, 
 
 Fair Aglaia, in whose face 
 
 Lives the shepherds' highest grace : 
 
 For whose sake I say and swear, 
 
 By the passions that I bear, 
 
 Had I got a kingly grace, 
 
 I would leave my kingly place
 
 SWEET CONTENT 47 
 
 And in heart be truly glad 
 To become a country lad ; 
 Hard to lie, and go full bare. 
 And to feed on hungry fare, 
 So I might but live to be 
 Where I might but sit to see 
 Once a day, or all day long, 
 The sweet subject of my song : 
 In Aglaia's only eyes 
 All my worldly Paradise. 
 
 N. Breton. 
 
 LV 
 
 SWEET CONTENT 
 1 
 
 SWEET are the thoughts that savour of content ; 
 
 The quiet mind is richer than a crown ; 
 Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent ; 
 
 The poor estate scorns fortune's angry frown : 
 Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such 
 
 bliss, 
 Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss. 
 
 The homely house that harbours quiet rest, 
 
 The cottage that affords nor pride nor care, 
 The mean that 'grees with country music best, 
 The sweet consort of mirth and modest fare, 1 
 Obscured life sets down a type of bliss : 
 A mind content both crown and kingdom is. 
 
 R. Greene. 
 
 1 Orig. 'Music's fare.' 'Modest fare' is Mr. W. J. Linton's 
 conjecture.
 
 48 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 LVI 
 
 2 
 
 ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ? 
 
 O sweet content ! 
 Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplex' d ? 
 
 O punishment ! 
 
 Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vex'd 
 To add to golden numbers golden numbers ? 
 
 O sweet content ! O sweet, O sweet content ! 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 
 Honest labour bears a lovely face ; 
 Then hey nonny nonny hey nonny nonny ! 
 
 Can'st drink the waters of the crisped spring ? 
 
 O sweet content ! 
 Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? 
 
 O punishment ! 
 
 Then he that patiently want's burden bears, 
 No burden bears, but is a king, a king ! 
 
 O sweet content ! O sweet, O sweet content ! 
 Work apace, apace, apace, apace ; 
 Honest labour bears a lovely face ; 
 Then hey nonny nonny hey nonny nonny ! 
 
 T. Dekker. 
 
 LVII 
 THE COUNTRY'S RECREATIONS 
 
 QUIVERING fears, heart-tearing cares, 
 Anxious sighs, untimely tears, 
 
 Fly, fly to courts ! 
 
 Fly to fond worldlings' sports
 
 THE COUNTRY'S RECREATIONS 49 
 
 Where strain'd sardonic smiles are glozing still, 
 And grief is forced to laugh against her will ; 
 
 Where mirth's but mummery, 
 
 And sorrows only real be ! 
 
 Fly from our country pastimes, fly, 
 Sad troop of human misery ! 
 
 Come, serene looks, 
 
 Clear as the crystal brooks, 
 Or the pure azured heaven, that smiles to see 
 The rich attendance of our poverty ! 
 
 Peace, and a secure mind, 
 
 Which all men seek, we only find. 
 
 Abused mortals ! did you know 
 
 Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, 
 
 You'd scorn proud towers, 
 
 And seek them in these bowers 
 Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may 
 
 shake, 
 But blustering care could never tempest make, 
 
 Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, 
 
 Saving of fountains that glide by us. 
 
 Here 's no fantastic mask, nor dance 
 But of our kids that frisk and prance : 
 
 Nor wars are seen 
 
 Unless upon the green 
 
 Two harmless lambs are butting one another 
 Which done, both bleating run, each to his mother ; 
 
 And wounds are never found, 
 
 Save what the ploughshare gives the ground.
 
 60 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Here are no false entrapping baits 
 To hasten too-too hasty Fates ; 
 
 Unless it be 
 
 The fond credulity 
 
 Of silly fish, which worldling-like still look 
 Upon the bait, but never on the hook : 
 
 Nor envy, unless among 
 
 The birds, for prize of their sweet song. 
 
 Go, let the diving negro seek 
 
 For gems hid in some forlorn creek ; 
 
 We all pearls scorn 
 
 Save what the dewy morn 
 Congeals upon each little spire of grass, 
 Which careless shepherds beat down as they pass ; 
 
 And gold ne'er here appears 
 
 Save what the yellow Ceres bears. 
 
 Blest silent groves ! O may ye be 
 For ever mirth's best nursery ! 
 
 May pure contents 
 
 For ever pitch their tents 
 Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these 
 
 mountains, 
 And peace still slumber by these purling fountains ; 
 
 Which we may every year 
 
 Find when we come a-fishing here ! 
 
 Anon,
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG 51 
 
 LVIH 
 THE SHEPHERD'S WIFE'S SONG 
 
 AH, what is Love ? It is a pretty thing, 
 As sweet unto a shepherd as a king ; 
 
 And sweeter too ; 
 
 For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, 
 And cares can make the sweetest love to frown : 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 His flocks are folded, he comes home at night, 
 As merry as a king in his delight ; 
 
 And merrier too ; 
 
 For kings bethink then what the state require. 
 Where shepherds careless carol by the fire : 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat 
 
 His cream and curds as doth the king his meat ; 
 
 And blither too ; 
 
 For kings have often fears when they do sup, 
 Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup : 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ?
 
 52 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 To bed he goes, as wanton then, I ween, 
 As is a king in dalliance with a queen ; 
 
 More wanton too ; 
 
 For kings have many griefs affects to move, 
 Where shepherds have no greater grief than love : 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound 
 As doth a king upon his beds of down ; 
 
 More sounder too ; 
 
 For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill, 
 Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill : 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 Thus with his wife he spends the year, as blithe 
 As doth the king at every tide or sithe ; l 
 
 And blither too ; 
 
 For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, 
 Where shepherds laugh and love upon the land : 
 
 Ah then, ah then, 
 
 If country loves such sweet desires do gain, 
 What lady would not love a shepherd swain ? 
 
 R. Greene. 
 
 1 Time.
 
 COUNTRY NIGHTS 53 
 
 LIX 
 
 COUNTRY NIGHTS 
 
 THE damask meadows and the crawling streams 
 
 Sweeten and make soft thy dreams : 
 The purling springs, groves, birds, and well-weaved 
 bowers, 
 
 With fields enamelled with flowers, 
 Present thee shapes, while phantasy discloses 
 
 Millions of lilies mixt with roses. 
 Then dream thou hearest the lamb with many a 
 bleat 
 
 Woo'd to come suck the milky teat ; 
 Whilst Faimus in the vision vows to keep 
 
 From ravenous wolf the woolly sheep ; 
 With thousand such enchanting dreams, which meet 
 
 To make sleep not so sound as sweet. 
 Nor can these figures so thy rest endear 
 
 As not to up when chanticleer 
 Speaks the last watch, but with the dawn dost rise 
 
 To work, but first to sacrifice : 
 Making thy peace with Heaven for some late fault, 
 
 With holy meat and crackling salt. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 LX 
 
 HEIGHO ! chill go to plough no more ! 
 
 Sit down and take thy rest ; 
 Of golden groats I have full store 
 
 To flaunt it with the best.
 
 54 THE GOLDEN PJMP 
 
 But I love and I love, and who thinks you ? 
 The finest lass that ever you knew : 
 Which makes me sing when I should cry 
 Heigho ! for love I die. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 LXI 
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S LASS 
 
 MY Love is neither young nor old, 
 Nor fiery-hot nor frozen-cold, 
 But fresh and fair as springing-briar 
 Blooming the fruit of love's desire : 
 Not snowy-white nor rosy-red, 
 But fair enough for shepherd's bed ; 
 And such a love was never seen 
 On hill or dale or country green. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 A WELCOME 
 
 Welcome, welcome ! do I sing, 
 Far more welcome than the spring ; 
 He that parteth from you never, 
 Shall enjoy a spring for ever. 
 
 He that to the voice is near 
 Breaking from your iv'ry pale, 
 
 Need not walk abroad to hear 
 The delightful nightingale. 
 
 Welcome, welcome
 
 DAMELUS' SONG OF HIS DIAPHENIA 55 
 
 He that looks still on your eyes, 
 Though the winter have begun 
 
 To benumb our arteries, 
 
 Shall not want the summer's sun. 
 
 Welcome, welcome . . . 
 
 He that still may see your cheeks, 
 Where all rareness still reposes, 
 
 Is a fool if e'er he seeks 
 Other lilies, other roses. 
 
 Welcome, welcome . . . 
 
 He to whom your soft lip yields, 
 
 And perceives your breath in kissing, 
 
 All the odours of the fields 
 Never, never shall be missing. 
 
 Welcome, welcome . . . 
 
 He that question would anew 
 What fair Eden was of old, 
 Let him rightly study you, 
 And a brief of that behold. 
 
 Welcome, welcome . . . 
 Win. Browne. 
 
 LXIII 
 DAMELUS' SONG OF HIS DIAPHENIA 
 
 DIAPHENIA like the daffadowndilly, 
 White as the sun, fair as the lily, 
 
 Heigh ho, how I do love thee ! 
 I do love thee as my lambs 
 Are beloved of their dams 
 
 How blest were I if thou wouldst prove me !
 
 66 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Diaphenia like the spreading roses, 
 That in thy sweets all sweets encloses, 
 
 Fair sweet, how I do love thee ! 
 I do love thee as each flower 
 Loves the sun's life-giving power, 
 
 For death, thy breath to life might move me. 
 
 Diaphenia, like to all things blessed 
 When all thy praises are expressed, 
 
 Dear joy, how I do love thee ! 
 As the birds do love the spring, 
 Or the bees their careful king : 
 
 Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me ! 
 
 H. Constable. 
 
 LXIV 
 SAMELA 
 
 LIKE to Diana in her summer weed, 
 
 Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, 
 
 Goes fair Samela. 
 
 Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed 
 When wash'd by Arethusa fount they lie, 
 
 Is fair Samela. 
 
 As fair Aurora in her morning grey, 
 Deck'd with the ruddy glister of her love 
 
 Is fair Samela ; 
 
 Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day 
 Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancies move, 
 
 Shines fair Samela.
 
 A DITTY 57 
 
 Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams, 
 Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory 
 
 Of fair Samela. 
 
 Her cheeks like rose and lily yield forth gleams ; 
 Her brows bright arches framed of ebony : 
 
 Thus fair Samela 
 
 Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, 
 And Juno in the show of majesty : 
 
 For she's Samela. 
 
 Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view, 
 For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity, 
 
 Yield to Samela. 
 
 R. Greene. 
 
 LXV 
 
 A DITTY 
 
 IN PRAISE OF ELIZA, QUEEN OF THE SHEPHERDS 
 
 SEE where she sits upon the grassy green, 
 
 O seemly sight ! 
 Yclad in scarlet, like a maiden Queen, 
 
 And ermines white : 
 Upon her head a crimson coronet 
 With Damask roses and Daffadillies set : 
 
 Bay leaves between, 
 
 And Primroses green, 
 Embellish the sweet Violet. 
 
 Tell me, have ye beheld her angelic face 
 
 Like Phoebe fair ? 
 Her heavenly haviour, her princely grace, 
 
 Can ye well compare ?
 
 68 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 The Red rose medled l with the White yfere, 2 
 In either cheek depeinten lively cheer : 
 
 Her modest eye, 
 
 Her majesty, 
 Where have you seen the like but there ? 
 
 I saw Calliope speed her to the place 
 
 Where my goddess shines ; 
 And after her the other Muses trace 
 
 With their violines. 
 
 Bin they not bay-branches which they do bear 
 All for Eliza in her hand to wear ? 
 
 So sweetly they play, 
 
 And sing all the way, 
 That it a heaven is to hear. 
 
 Lo, how finely the Graces can it foot 
 
 To the instrument : 
 They dancen deftly, and singen soot 3 
 
 In their merriment. 
 
 Wants not a fourth Grace to make the dance even ? 
 Let that room to my Lady be given. 
 
 She shall be a Grace, 
 
 To fill the fourth place, 
 And reign with the rest in heaven. 
 
 Bring hither the Pink and purple Columbine, 
 
 With Gillyflowers; 
 Bring Coronations, 4 and Sops-in-wine 
 
 Worn of Paramours : 
 
 1 Mixed. 2 Together. s Sweet. 4 Carnations.
 
 SIRENA 59 
 
 Strow me the ground with Daffadowndillies, 
 And Cowslips and Kingcups and loved Lilies : 
 
 The pretty Paunce l 
 
 And the Chevisaunce 2 
 
 Shall match with the fair Flower-delice. 3 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 LXVI 
 
 SIRENA 
 
 NEAR to the silver Trent 
 
 SIRENA dwelleth ; 
 She to whom Nature lent 
 
 All that excelleth ; 
 By which the Muses late 
 
 And the neat Graces 
 Have for their greater state 
 
 Taken their places ; 
 Twisting an anadem 
 
 Wherewith to crown her, 
 As it belonged to them 
 Most to renown her. 
 On thy bank, 
 In a rank, 
 
 Let thy swans sing her, 
 And with their music 
 
 Along let them bring her. 
 
 Tagus and Pactolus 
 
 Are to thee debtor, 
 Nor for their gold to us 
 
 Are they the better : 
 1 Pansy. 2 Wall-flower. 3 Iris.
 
 60 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Henceforth of all the rest 
 
 Be thou the River 
 Which, as the daintiest, 
 
 Puts them down ever. 
 For as my precious one 
 
 O'er thee doth travel, 
 She to pearl paragon 
 
 Turneth thy gravel. 
 
 On thy bank . . 
 
 Our mournful Philomel, 
 
 That rarest tuner, 
 Henceforth in April 
 
 Shall wake the sooner, 
 And to her shall complain 
 
 From the thick cover, 
 Redoubling every strain 
 
 Over and over : 
 For when my Love too long 
 
 Her chamber keepeth, 
 As though it suffer'd wrong, 
 
 The Morning weepeth. 
 
 On thy bank . . 
 
 Oft have I seen the Sun, 
 
 To do her honour, 
 Fix himself at his noon 
 
 To look upon her; 
 And hath gilt every grove, 
 
 Every hill near her, 
 With his flames from above 
 
 Striving to cheer her :
 
 SIRENA 61 
 
 And when she from his sight 
 
 Hath herself turned, 
 He, as it had been night, 
 
 In clouds hath mourned. 
 
 On thy bank . . . 
 
 The verdant meads are seen, 
 
 When she doth view them, 
 In fresh and gallant green 
 
 Straight to renew them ; 
 And every little grass 
 
 Broad itself spreadeth, 
 Proud that this bonny lass 
 
 Upon it treadeth : 
 Nor flower is so sweet 
 
 In this large cincture, 
 But it upon her feet 
 
 Leaveth some tincture. 
 
 On thy bank . . , 
 
 The fishes in the flood, 
 
 When she doth angle, 
 For the hook strive a-good 
 
 Them to entangle ; 
 And leaping 011 the land, 
 
 From the clear water, 
 Their scales upon the sand 
 
 Lavishly scatter ; 
 Therewith to pave the mould 
 
 Whereon she passes, 
 So herself to behold 
 
 As in her glasses. 
 
 On thy bank . . .
 
 62 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 When she looks out by night, 
 
 The stars stand gazing, 
 Like comets to our sight 
 
 Fearfully blazing ; 
 As wond'ring at her eyes 
 
 With their much brightness, 
 Which so amaze the skies, 
 
 Dimming their lightness. 
 The raging tempests are calm 
 
 When she speaketh, 
 Such most delightsome balm 
 
 From her lips breaketh. 
 
 On thy bank . . . 
 
 In all our Brittany 
 
 There 's not a fairer, 
 Nor can you fit any 
 
 Should you compare her. 
 Angels her eye-lids keep, 
 
 All hearts surprising ; 
 Which look whilst she doth sleep 
 
 Like the sun's rising : 
 She alone of her kind 
 
 Knoweth true measure, 
 And her unmatched mind 
 
 Is heaven's treasure. 
 
 On thy bank . . . 
 
 Fair Dove and Dement clear, 
 Boast ye your beauties, 
 
 To Trent your mistress here 
 Yet pay your duties :
 
 SIRENA 63 
 
 My Love was higher born 
 
 Tow'rds the full fountains. 
 Yet she doth moorland scorn 
 
 And the Peak mountains ; 
 Nor would she none should dream 
 
 Where she abideth, 
 Humble as is the stream 
 
 Which by her slideth. 
 
 On thy bank , . . 
 
 Yet my poor rustic Muse 
 Nothing can move her, 
 Nor the means I can use 
 
 Though her true lover : 
 Many a long winter's night 
 
 Have I waked for her, 
 Yet this my piteous plight 
 
 Nothing can stir her. 
 All thy sands, silver Trent, 
 
 Down to the Humber, 
 The sighs that I have spent 
 Never can number. 
 On thy bank, 
 In a rank, 
 
 Let thy swans sing her, 
 And with their music 
 
 Along let them bring her. 
 
 M. Dray toil,
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 PERIGOT AND WILLY'S ROUNDELAY 
 
 PERIGOT. It fell upon a holy eve, 
 WILLY. (Hey ho, holiday !) 
 
 PER. When holy fathers wont to shrive, 
 WILL. (Now 'ginneth this roundelay), 
 
 PER. Sitting upon a hill so high, 
 WILL. (Hey ho, the high hill !) 
 
 PER. The while my flock did feed thereby, 
 WILL. The while the shepherd's self did spill ; 
 
 PER. I saw the bouncing Bellibone, 
 WILL. (Hey ho, Bonnibell !) 
 
 PER. Tripping over the dale alone ; 
 WILL. (She can trip it very well :) 
 
 PER. Well decked in a frock of gray, 
 WILL. (Hey ho, gray is greet ! l ) 
 
 PER. And in a kirtle of green say ; 2 
 WILL. (The green is for maidens meet.) 
 
 PER. A chaplet on her head she wore, 
 WILL. (Hey ho, the chaplet !) 
 
 PER. Of sweet violets therein was store, 
 WILL. She sweeter than the violet. 
 
 PER. My sheep did leave their wonted food, 
 WILL. (Hey ho, silly sheep !) 
 
 PER. And gazed on her as they were wood, 3 
 WILL. Wood as he that did them keep. 
 i Weeping. 2 Soie, silk. s Wild, distraught.
 
 PERIGOT AND WILLY'S ROUNDELAY 65 
 
 PER. As the bonny lass pass'd by, 
 
 WILL. (Hey ho, bonny lass !) 
 
 PER. She roved at me with glancing eye, 
 
 WILL. As clear as the crystal glass : 
 
 PER. All as the sunny beam so bright, 
 
 WILL. (Hey ho, the sunbeam !) 
 
 PER. Glanceth from Phoebus' face forth-right, 
 
 WILL. So love into my heart did stream. 
 
 PER. The glance into my heart did glide, 
 WILL. (Hey ho, the glider !) 
 
 PER. Therewith my soul was sharply gride ; ' 
 WILL. Such wounds soon waxen wider. 
 
 PER. Hasting to wraunch the arrow out, 
 WILL. (Hey ho, Perigot !) 
 
 PER. I left the head in my heart-root. 
 WILL. It was a desperate shot. 
 
 PER. There it rankleth aye more and more, 
 WILL. (Hey ho, the arrow !) 
 
 PER. Nor can I find salve for my sore : 
 WILL. (Love is a cureless sorrow.) 
 
 PER. And if for graceless grief I die 
 WILL. (Hey ho, graceless grief!) 
 
 PER. Witness, she slew me with her eye. 
 WILL. Let thy folly be the prief. 2 
 
 PER. And you that saw it, simple sheep 
 WILL. (Hey ho, the fair flock !) 
 
 PER. For prief thereof my death shall weep 
 WILL. And moan with many a mock. 
 
 1 Pierced. '* Proof. 
 
 E
 
 66 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 PER. So learn'd I love on a holy eve 
 WILL. (Hey-ho, holy day !) 
 
 PER. That ever since my heart did grieve : 
 WILL. Now endeth our roundelay. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 LXVIII 
 
 A ROUNDELAY 
 
 BETWEEN TWO SHEPHERDS 
 
 TELL me, thou skilful shepherd swain, 
 Who 's yonder in the valley set ? 
 
 O, it is she, whose sweets do stain 
 The lily, rose, the violet ! 
 
 Why doth the sun against his kind 
 Stay his bright chariot in the skies ? 
 
 He pauseth, almost stricken blind 
 With gazing on her heavenly eyes. 
 
 Why do thy flocks forbear their food, 
 
 Which sometime was their chief delight ? 
 
 Because they need no other good 
 That live in presence of her sight. 
 
 How come these flowers to flourish still, 
 Not with' ring with sharp Winter's breatli 
 
 She hath robb'd Nature of her skill, 
 
 And comforts all things ivith her brcalh.
 
 FAIR AND^FAIR 67 
 
 Why slide these brooks so slow away, 
 As swift as the wild roe that were ? 
 
 O, muse not, shepherd, that they stay, 
 When they her heavenly voice do hear. 
 
 From whence come all these goodly swains, 
 And lovely girls attired in green ? 
 
 From gathering garlands on the plains, 
 To crown our fair the Shepherds' Queen. 
 
 The sun that lights this world below, 
 
 Flocks, jlowers, and brooks will witness bear ; 
 
 These nymphs and shepherds all do know 
 That it is she is only fair. 
 
 M. Drayton. 
 
 LXIX 
 FAIR AND FAIR 
 
 CENONE. FAIR and fair, and twice so fair, 
 
 As fair as any may be ; 
 The fairest shepherd on our green, 
 
 A love for any lady. 
 PARIS. Fair and fair, and twice so fair, 
 
 As fair as any may be ; 
 Thy love is fair for thee alone, 
 
 And for no other lady. 
 CENONE. My love is fair, my love is gay, 
 
 As fresh as bin the flowers in May, 
 
 And of my love my roundelay 
 
 My merry, merry, merry roundelay,
 
 68 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Concludes with Cupid's curse, 
 
 'They that do change old love for new, 
 Pray gods they change for worse ! ' 
 AMBO SIMUL. They that do change old love for new, 
 Pray gods they change for worse ! 
 
 (ENONE. Fair and fair, etc. 
 PARIS. Fair and fair, etc. 
 
 Thy love is fair, etc. 
 
 CENONE. My love can pipe, my love can sing. 
 My love can many a pretty thing, 
 And of his lovely praises ring 
 My merry, merry, merry roundelays, 
 
 Amen to Cupid's curse, 
 They that do change, etc. 
 PARIS. They that do change, etc. 
 AMBO. Fair and fair, etc. 
 
 Geo. Peck. 
 
 LXX 
 
 A MADRIGAL 
 
 LIKE the Idalian queen, 
 
 Her hair about her eyne, 
 
 With neck and breast's ripe apples to be seen, 
 
 At first glance of the morn 
 
 In Cyprus' gardens gathering those fair flow'rs 
 
 Which of her blood were born, 
 
 I saw, but fainting saw, my paramours.
 
 BEAUTY BATHING 69 
 
 The Graces naked danced about the place, 
 
 The winds and trees amazed 
 
 With silence on her gazed, 
 
 The flower did smile, like those upon her face ; 
 
 And as their aspen stalks those fingers band, 
 
 That she might read my case, 
 
 A hyacinth I wished me in her hand. 
 
 Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 
 LXXI 
 
 BEAUTY BATHING 
 
 BEAUTY sat bathing by a spring, 
 
 Where fairest shades did hide her ; 
 The winds blew calm, the birds did sing, 
 
 The cool streams ran beside her. 
 My wanton thoughts enticed mine eye 
 
 To see what was forbidden : 
 But better memory said Fie ; 
 
 So vain desire was chidden 
 
 Hey nonny nonny O! 
 Hey nonny nonny ! 
 
 Into a slumber then I fell, 
 
 And fond imagination 
 Seemed to see, but could not tell, 
 
 Her feature or her fashion : 
 But ev'n as babes in dreams do smile, 
 
 And sometimes fall a-weeping, 
 So I awaked as wise that while 
 
 As when I fell a-sleeping. 
 
 Anthony Munday.
 
 70 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 LXXII 
 
 DISCREET 
 
 1 OPEN the door ! Who 's there within ? 
 The fairest of thy mother's kin, 
 
 come, come, come abroad 
 And hear the shrill birds sing, 
 The air with tunes that load ! 
 
 It is too soon to go to rest, 
 
 The sun not midway yet to west, 
 
 The day doth miss thee 
 And will not part until it kiss thee.' 
 
 ' Were I as fair as you pretend, 
 
 Yet to an unknown seld-seen x friend, 
 
 1 dare not ope the door : 
 
 To hear the sweet birds sing 
 Oft proves a dangerous thing. 
 The sun may run his wonted race 
 And yet not gaze on my poor face ; 
 
 The day may miss me : 
 Therefore depart ; you shall not kiss me.' 
 
 Anon. 
 LXXIII 
 
 THE WAKENING 
 ON a time the amorous Silvy 
 Said to her shepherd, ' Sweet, how do ye ? 
 Kiss me this once and then God be with ye. 
 
 My sweetest dear ! 
 
 Kiss me this once and then God be with ye, 
 For now the morning draweth near.' 
 1 Seldom seen.
 
 HYMN TO PAN 71 
 
 With that, her fairest bosom showing, 
 Op'ning her lips, rich perfumes blowing, 
 She said, ' Now kiss me and be going, 
 
 My sweetest dear ! 
 
 Kiss me this once and then be going, 
 For now the morning draweth near.' 
 
 With that the shepherd waked from sleeping, 
 And spying that the day was peeping, 
 He said, ' Now take my soul in keeping, 
 
 My sweetest dear ! 
 
 Kiss me and take my soul in keeping, 
 Since I must go, now day is near.' 
 
 Anon. 
 
 LXXIV 
 HYMN TO PAN 
 
 SING his praises that doth keep 
 
 Our flocks from harm, 
 Pan, the father of our sheep ; 
 
 And arm in ann 
 Tread we softly in a round, 
 Whilst the hollow neighbouring ground 
 Fills the music with her sound. 
 
 Pan, O great god Pan, to thee 
 
 Thus do we sing ! 
 Thou who keep'st us chaste and free 
 
 As the young spring :
 
 72 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Ever by thy honour spoke 
 
 From that place the morn is broke 
 
 To that place day doth unyoke ! 
 
 /. Fletcher. 
 
 LXXV 
 
 HYMN TO DIANA 
 
 QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, 
 
 Now the sun is laid to sleep, 
 Seated in thy silver chair, 
 
 State in wonted manner keep : 
 Hesperus entreats thy light, 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Earth, let not thy envious shade 
 
 Dare itself to interpose ; 
 Cynthia's shining orb was made 
 
 Heaven to clear when day did close : 
 Bless us then with wished sight, 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 Lay thy bow of pearl apart, 
 
 And thy crystal-shining quiver ; 
 Give unto the flying hart 
 
 Space to breathe, how short soever : 
 
 Thou that mak'st a day of night, 
 Goddess excellently bright. 
 
 B. Jonson.
 
 ANTIQUE COURTSHIP 73 
 
 LXXVI 
 THE CHASE 
 
 ART thou gone in haste ? 
 
 I '11 not forsake thee ; 
 Runn'st thou ne'er so fast, 
 
 I '11 overtake thee : 
 O'er the dales, o'er the downs, 
 
 Through the green meadows, 
 From the fields through the towns, 
 
 To the dim shadows. 
 
 All along the plain, 
 
 To the low fountains, 
 Up and down again 
 
 From the high mountains ; 
 Echo then shall again 
 
 Tell her I follow, 
 And the floods to the woods 
 
 Carry my holla ! 
 
 Holla ! 
 Ce ! la ! ho ! ho ! hu ! 
 
 Wm. Rowley. 
 
 LXXVII 
 
 ANTIQUE COURTSHIP 
 
 IN time of yore when shepherds dwelt 
 
 Upon the mountain rocks ; 
 And simple people never felt 
 
 The pain of lovers' mocks ;
 
 74 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 But little birds would carry tales 
 
 'Twixt Susan and her sweeting, 
 And all the dainty nightingales 
 
 Did sing at lovers' meeting : 
 Then might you see what looks did pass 
 
 Where shepherds did assemble, 
 And where the life of true love was 
 
 When hearts could not dissemble. 
 
 Then yea and nay was thought an oath 
 
 That was not to be doubted ; 
 And when it came to faith and troth 
 
 We were not to be flouted. 
 Then did they talk of curds and cream, 
 
 Of butter, cheese, and milk ; 
 There was no speech of sunny beam 
 
 Nor of the golden silk. 
 Then for a gift a row of pins, 
 
 A purse, a pair of knives, 
 Was all the way that love begins ; 
 
 And so the shepherd wives. 
 
 But now we have so much ado. 
 
 And are so sore aggrieved, 
 That when we go about to woo 
 
 We cannot be believed. 
 Such choice of jewels, rings, and chains, 
 
 That may but favour move, 
 And such intolerable pains 
 
 Ere one can hit on love ;
 
 ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL 75 
 
 That if I still shall bide this life 
 
 'Twixt love and deadly hate, 
 I will go learn the country life, 
 
 Or leave the lover's state. 
 
 N. Breton. 
 
 LXXVIII 
 
 ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL 
 
 LOVE in ray bosom, like a bee, 
 
 Doth suck his sweet : 
 Now with his wings he plays with me, 
 
 Now with his feet. 
 
 Within mine eyes he makes his nest. 
 His bed amidst my tender breast ; 
 My kisses are his daily feast, 
 And yet he robs me of my rest : 
 Ah ! wanton, will ye ? 
 
 And if I sleep, then percheth he 
 
 With pretty flight, 
 And makes his pillow of my knee 
 
 The livelong night. 
 Strike I my lute, he tunes the string ; 
 His music plays if so I sing ; 
 He lends me every lovely thing, 
 Yet cruel he my heart doth sting : 
 Whist, wanton, still ye !
 
 76 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Else I with roses every day 
 
 Will whip you hence, 
 And bind you, when you long to play, 
 
 For your offence. 
 
 I '11 shut mine eyes to keep you in ; 
 I '11 make you fast it for your sin ; 
 I '11 count your power not worth a pin. 
 Alas ! what hereby shall I win 
 If he gainsay me ? 
 
 What if I beat the wanton boy 
 
 With many a rod ? 
 He will repay me with annoy, 
 
 Because a god. 
 
 Then sit thou safely on my knee ; 
 Then let thy bower my bosom be ; 
 Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee ; 
 O Cupid, so thou pity me, 
 
 Spare not, but play thee ! 
 
 T. Lodge. 
 
 LXXIX 
 THE SHEPHERD'S DESCRIPTION OF LOVE 
 
 MELIBCEUS. SHEPHERD, what 's Love, I pray thee tell ? 
 FAUSTUS. It is that fountain and that well 
 
 Where pleasures and repentance dwell ; 
 It is perhaps that sauncing bell 1 
 That tolls all into heaven or hell : 
 And this is Love, as I heard tell. 
 
 1 Saint's bell, quod ad sancta vocat. Another form is ' sacring 
 bell," the bell sounded at the elevation of the Host.
 
 THE SHEPHERD'S DESCRIPTION OF LOVE 77 
 
 MEL. Yet what is Love, I prithee say ? 
 FAUST. It is a work on holiday : 
 
 It is December matched with May, 
 When lusty bloods in fresh array 
 Hear ten months after of the play : 
 And this is Love, as I hear say. 
 
 MEL. Yet what is Love, good Shepherd, sain? 1 
 FAUST. It is a sunshine mix'd with rain ; 
 It is a toothache, or like pain ; 
 It is a game where none doth gain ; 
 The lass saith no, and would full fain ; 
 And this is Love, as I hear sain. 
 
 MEL. Yet, Shepherd, what is Love, I pray ? 
 FAUST. It is a yea, it is a nay ; 
 
 A pretty kind of sporting fray ; 
 It is a thing will soon away ; 
 
 Then, nymphs, take vantage while ye 
 
 may : 
 And this is Love, as I hear say. 
 
 MEL. Yet what is Love, good Shepherd, show ? 
 FAUST. A thing that creeps ; it cannot go ; 
 A prize that passeth to and fro ; 
 A thing for one, a thing for moe ; 
 And he that proves shall find it so : 
 And, Shepherd, this is Love, I trow. 
 Sir W. Raleigh. 
 
 Say.
 
 78 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 LXXX 
 
 YOUNGLING LOVE 
 
 TELL me where is fancy bred, 
 Or in the heart or in the head ? 
 How begot, how nourished ? 
 
 Reply, reply. 
 
 It is engendered in the eyes, 
 With gazing fed ; and fancy dies 
 In the cradle where it lies. 
 
 Let us all ring fancy's knell : 
 I '11 begin it, Ding, dong, bell. 
 ALL. Ding dong, bell. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 LXXXI 
 
 LOVE SICKNESS 
 
 LOVE is a sickness full of woes, 
 
 All remedies refusing ; 
 A plant that with most cutting grows, 
 Most barren with best using. 
 
 Why so ? 
 
 More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
 If not enjoy' d, it sighing cries 
 Heigh ho ! 
 
 Love is a torment of the mind, 
 
 A tempest everlasting ; 
 And Jove hath made it of a kind 
 Not well, nor full, nor fasting. 
 Why so ?
 
 HEY, DOWN A DOWN 79 
 
 More we enjoy it, more it dies ; 
 If not enjoy'd, it sighing cries 
 Heigh ho ! 
 
 S. Daniel. 
 
 HEY, DOWN A DOWN 
 
 HEY, down a down ! ' did Dian sing 
 
 Amongst her virgins sitting ; 
 ' Than love there is no vainer thing, 
 
 For maidens most unfitting.' 
 And so think I, with a down, down, derry. 
 
 When women knew no woe, 
 
 But lived themselves to please, 
 Men's feigning guiles they did not know, 
 
 The ground of their disease. 
 Unborn was false suspect; 
 
 No thought of jealousy ; 
 From wanton toys and fond affect, 
 
 The virgin's life was free. 
 
 ' Hey, dotvn a down !' . . . 
 
 At length men used charms 
 
 To which what maids gave ear, 
 Embracing gladly endless harms, 
 
 Anon enthralled were. 
 Thus women welcomed woe 
 
 Disguised in name of love, 
 A jealous hell, a painted show : 
 
 So shall they find that prove.
 
 80 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 ' Hey, down a down ! ' did Dian sing, 
 
 Amongst her virgins sitting ; 
 ' Than love there is no vainer thing, 
 
 For maidens most unfitting.' 
 And so think I, with a down, down, deny ! ' 
 
 Anon. 
 
 LXXXIII 
 A COUNSEL FOR MAIDS 
 
 NEVER love unless you can 
 
 Bear with all the faults of man ! 
 
 Men sometimes will jealous be, 
 
 Though but little cause they see, 
 
 And hang the head as discontent, 
 
 And speak what straight they will repent. 
 
 Men that but one Saint adore, 
 Make a show of love to more ; 
 Beauty must be scorn' d in none, 
 Though but truly served in one : 
 For what is courtship but disguise ? 
 True hearts may have dissembling eyes. 
 
 Men, when their affairs require, 
 Must awhile themselves retire ; 
 Sometimes hunt and sometimes hawk, 
 And not ever sit and talk : 
 If these and such-like you can bear, 
 Then like and love, and never fear ! 
 
 T. Campion.
 
 FANCY AND DESIRE 81 
 
 LXXXIV 
 
 THUS saith my Chloris bright, 
 When we of love sit down and talk together : 
 ' Beware of Love, dear ; Love is a walking sprite, 
 And Love is this and that, 
 And, O, I know not what, 
 And comes and goes again I wot not whither/ 
 No, no, these are but bugs l to breed amazing, 
 For in her eyes I saw his torchlight blazing. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 LXXXV 
 FANCY AND DESIRE 
 
 COME hither, shepherd's swain ! 
 
 ' Sir, what do you require ? ' 
 I pray thee, shew to me thy name ! 
 
 ' My name is Fond Desire.' 
 
 When wert thou born, Desire ? 
 
 ' In pomp and prime of May.' 
 By whom, sweet boy, wert thou begot ? 
 
 ' By fond Conceit, men say.' 
 
 Tell me who was thy nurse ? 
 
 ' Fresh Youth, in sugar'd joy.' 
 What was thy meat and daily food 
 1 Sad sighs, with great annoy.' 
 1 Bugbears. 
 F
 
 82 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 What hadst thou then to drink ? 
 
 ' Unfeigned lovers' tears/ 
 What cradle wert thou rocked in ? 
 
 ' In hope devoid of fears.' 
 
 What lull'd thee then asleep ? 
 
 ( Sweet speech., which likes me best.' 
 Tell me where is thy dwelling-place ? 
 
 ' In gentle hearts I rest.' 
 
 What thing doth please thee most ? 
 
 ' To gaze on beauty still.' 
 Whom dost thou think to be thy foe ? 
 
 ' Disdain of my good-will.' 
 
 Doth company displease ? 
 
 ' Yes, surely, many one.' 
 Where doth Desire delight to live ? 
 
 ' He loves to live alone.' 
 
 Doth either time or age 
 
 Bring him into decay ? 
 ' No, no ! Desire both lives and dies 
 
 A thousand times a day.' 
 
 Then, Fond Desire, farewell ! 
 
 Thou art no mate for me ; 
 I should be loth, methinks, to dwell 
 
 With such a one as thee. 
 
 Ed. Vere, Earl of Oxford.
 
 FIRST LOVE 83 
 
 LXXXVI 
 
 CASSANDRA 
 
 THE sea hath many thousand sands, 
 The sun hath motes as many ; 
 The sky is full of stars, and Love 
 As full of woes as any : 
 Believe me, that do know the elf, 
 And make no trial by thyself. 
 
 It is in truth a pretty toy 
 
 For babes to play withal ; 
 
 But O, the honies of our youth 
 
 Are oft our age's gall ! 
 
 Self-proof in time will make thee know 
 
 He was a prophet told thee so : 
 
 A prophet that, Cassandra-like, 
 
 Tells truth without belief; 
 
 For headstrong youth will run his race, 
 
 Although his goal be grief: 
 
 Love's martyr, when his heat is past, 
 
 Proves Care's confessor at the last. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 LXXXVII 
 
 FIRST LOVE 
 1 
 
 IF thou long'st so much to learn, sweet boy, what 
 
 'tis to love, 
 Do but fix thy thoughts on me, and thou shall 
 
 quickly prove :
 
 84 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Little suit at first shall win 
 
 Way to thy abasht desire, 
 But then will I hedge thee in, 
 
 Salamander-like with fire. 
 
 With thee dance I will, and sing, and thy fond 
 
 dalliance bear ; 
 
 We the grovy hills will climb and play the wantons 
 there ; 
 
 Other whiles we '11 gather flowers, 
 
 Lying dallying on the grass ; 
 And thus our delightful hours 
 Full of waking dreams shall pass. 
 
 When thy joys were thus at height, my love should 
 
 turn from thee, 
 
 Old acquaintance then should grow as strange as 
 strange might be : 
 
 Twenty rivals thou shouldst find 
 
 Breaking all their hearts for me, 
 While to all I '11 prove more kind 
 And more forward than to thee. 
 
 Thus thy silly youth, enraged, would soon my love 
 
 defy ; 
 
 But alas, poor soul, too late ! clipt wings can never 
 fly. 
 
 Those sweet hours which we had pass'd, 
 Call'd to mind, thy heart would burn ; 
 And couldst thou fly ne'er so fast, 
 
 They would make thee straight return. 
 
 T. Campion.
 
 FIRST LOVE 85 
 
 LXXXVIII 
 
 2 
 
 SILLY boy, 'tis full moon yet, thy night as day shines 
 
 clearly ; 
 Had thy youth but wit to fear, thou couldst not love 
 
 so dearly. 
 Shortly will thou mourn when all thy pleasures are 
 
 bereaved ; 
 Little knows he how to love that never was deceived. 
 
 This is thy first maiden flame, that triumphs yet 
 
 unstained ; 
 All is artless now you speak, not one word yet is 
 
 feigned ; 
 All is heaven that you behold, and all your thoughts 
 
 are blessed ; 
 But no spring can want his fall, each Troilus hath 
 
 his Cressid. 
 
 Thy well-order'd locks ere long shall rudely hang 
 
 neglected ; 
 And thy lively pleasant cheer read grief on earth 
 
 dejected. 
 Much then wilt thou blame thy Saint, that made 
 
 thy heart so holy, 
 And with sighs confess, in love that too much faith 
 
 is folly. 
 
 Yet be just and constant still ! Love may beget a 
 
 wonder, 
 Not unlike a summer's frost, or winter's fatal 
 
 thunder.
 
 86 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 He that holds his sweetheart true unto his day of 
 
 dying, 
 Lives, of all that ever breath' d, most worthy the 
 
 envying. 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 LXXXIX 
 
 LOVE guards the roses of thy lips 
 
 And flies about them like a bee ; 
 If I approach he forward skips, 
 
 And if I kiss he stingeth me. 
 
 Love in thine eyes doth build his bower, 
 And sleeps within his pretty shrine ; l 
 
 And if I look the boy will lower, 
 
 And from their orbs shoot shafts divine. 
 
 Love works thy heart within his fire, 
 And in my tears doth firm the same ; 
 
 And if I tempt it will retire, 
 
 And of my plaints doth make a game. 
 
 Love, let me cull her choicest flowers ; 
 
 And pity me, and calm her eye ; 
 Make soft her heart, dissolve her lowers ; 
 
 Then will I praise thy deity. 
 
 But if thou do not, Love, I'll truly serve her 
 In spite of thee, and by firm faith deserve her. 
 
 T. Lodge. 
 
 1 v.l. ' their pretty shine.'
 
 CARDS AND KISSES 87 s 
 
 xc 
 A CONSPIRACY 
 
 SWEET Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory, 
 Subdue her heart who makes me glad and sorry : 
 Out of thy golden quiver 
 Take thou thy strongest arrow- 
 That will through bone and marrow, 
 And me and thee of grief and fear deliver : 
 But come behind, for if she look upon thee, 
 Alas ! poor Love, then thou art woe-begone thee ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 xci 
 CARDS AND KISSES 
 
 CUPID and my Campaspe play'd 
 
 At cards for kisses Cupid paid : 
 
 He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, 
 
 His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; 
 
 Loses them too ; then down he throws 
 
 The coral of his lip, the rose 
 
 Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how) ; 
 
 With these, the crystal of his brow, 
 
 And then the dimple of his chin : 
 
 All these did my Campaspe win. 
 
 At last he set her both his eyes 
 
 She won, and Cupid blind did rise. 
 
 O Love ! has she done this for thee ? 
 
 What shall, alas ! become of me ? 
 
 John Lyly,
 
 88 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 xcn 
 
 O CUPID ! monarch over kings, 
 Wherefore hast thou feet and wings ? 
 It is to show how swift thou art 
 When thou wound'st a tender heart ! 
 Thy wings being clipt, and feet held still, 
 Thy bow so many could not kill. 
 
 It is all one in Venus' wanton school, 
 Who highest sits, the wise man or the fool. 
 Fools in love's college 
 Have far more knowledge 
 To read a woman over 
 Than a neat prating lover : 
 
 Nay, 'tis confest 
 That fools please women best. 
 
 John Lyly. 
 
 XCIII 
 
 THE KISS 
 
 O, that joy so soon should waste ! 
 
 Or so sweet a bliss 
 
 As a kiss 
 
 Might not for ever last ! 
 So sugar' d, so melting, so soft, so delicious, 
 
 The dew that lies on roses, 
 When the morn herself discloses, 
 
 Is not so precious.
 
 THE KISS 89 
 
 O, rather than it would I smother, 
 Were I to taste such another, 
 
 It should be my wishing 
 
 That I might die kissing. 
 
 B. Jonson. 
 
 xciv 
 
 COME you pretty false-eyed wanton, 
 
 Leave your crafty smiling ! 
 Think you to escape me now 
 
 With slipp'ry words beguiling ? 
 No ; you mock'd me t' other day ; 
 When you got loose, you fled away ; 
 But, since I have caught you now, 
 
 I'll clip your wings for flying : 
 Smoth'ring kisses fast I'll heap, 
 
 And keep you so from crying. 
 
 Sooner may you count the stars 
 
 And number hail down-pouring, 
 Tell the osiers of the Thames, 
 
 Or Goodwin sands devouring, 
 Than the thick-shower' d kisses here 
 Which now thy tired lips must bear. 
 Such a harvest never was 
 
 So rich and full of pleasure, 
 But 'tis spent as soon as reap'd, 
 
 So trustless is Love's treasure. 
 
 T. Campion.
 
 90 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 xcv 
 TO ELECTRA 
 
 I DARE not ask a kiss, 
 
 I dare not beg a smile, 
 Lest having that, or this, 
 
 I might grow proud the while. 
 
 No, no, the utmost share 
 
 Of my desire shall be 
 Only to kiss the air 
 
 That lately kissed thee. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 xcvi 
 BASIA 
 
 TURN back, you wanton flyer, 
 And answer my desire 
 
 With mutual greeting. 
 Yet bend a little nearer, 
 True beauty still shines clearer 
 
 In closer meeting. 
 Hearts with hearts delighted 
 Should strive to be united 
 
 Each other's arms with arms enchaining 
 Hearts with a thought, 
 Rosy lips with a kiss still entertaining.
 
 SONG OF THE SIRENS 91 
 
 What harvest half so sweet is 
 As still to reap the kisses 
 
 Grown ripe in sowing ? 
 And straight to be receiver 
 Of that which thou art giver, 
 
 Rich in bestowing ? 
 There 's no strict observing 
 Of times' or seasons' swerving, 
 
 There is ever one fresh spring abiding ; 
 Then what we sow, 
 
 With our lips let's reap, love's gains dividing. 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 XCVII 
 
 SONG OF THE SIRENS 
 
 STEER, hither steer your winged pines, 
 
 All beaten mariners ! 
 Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines, 
 
 A prey to passengers ; 
 Perfumes far sweeter than the best 
 Which make the Phoenix' urn and nest. 
 
 Fear not your ships, 
 Nor any to oppose you save our lips ; 
 
 But come on shore 
 Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more. 
 
 For swelling waves our panting breasts, 
 
 Where never storms arise, 
 Exchange, and be awhile our guests 
 
 For stars gaze on our eyes :
 
 92 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 The compass Love shall hourly sing, 
 And as he goes about the ring, 
 
 We will not miss 
 To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. 
 
 Then come on shore, 
 
 Where no joy dies till Love hath gotten more. 
 
 Wm. Browne. 
 
 XCVIII 
 
 ULYSSES AND THE SIREN 
 
 SIREN 
 
 COME, worthy Greek ! Ulysses, come, 
 
 Possess these shores with me : 
 The winds and seas are troublesome 
 
 And here we may be free. 
 Here may we sit and view their toil 
 
 That travail in the deep, 
 And joy the day in mirth the while, 
 
 And spend the night in sleep. 
 
 ULYSSES 
 Fair Nymph, if fame or honour were 
 
 To be attain' d with ease, 
 Then would I come and rest with thee, 
 
 And leave such toils as these. 
 But here it dwells, and here must I 
 
 With danger seek it forth : 
 To spend the time luxuriously 
 
 Becomes not men of worth.
 
 ULYSSES AND THE SIREN 93 
 
 SIREN 
 
 Ulysses, O be not deceived 
 
 With that unreal name ; 
 This honour is a thing conceived 
 
 And rests on others' fame : 
 Begotten only to molest 
 
 Our peace, and to beguile 
 The best thing of our life our rest, 
 
 And give us up to toil. 
 
 ULYSSES 
 
 Delicious Nymph, suppose there were 
 
 No honour nor report, 
 Yet manliness would scorn to wear 
 
 The time in idle sport : 
 For toil doth give a better touch 
 
 To make us feel our joy, 
 And ease finds tediousness as much 
 
 As labour yields annoy. 
 
 SIREN 
 
 Then pleasure likewise seems the shore 
 
 Whereto tends all your toil, 
 Which you forgo to make it more, 
 
 And perish oft the while. 
 Who may disport them diversely 
 
 Find never tedious day, 
 And ease may have variety 
 
 As well as action may.
 
 94 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 ULYSSES 
 
 But natures of the noblest frame 
 
 These toils and dangers please ; 
 And they take comfort in the same 
 
 As much as you in ease ; 
 And with the thought of actions past 
 
 Are recreated still : 
 When Pleasure leaves a touch at last 
 
 To show that it was ill. 
 
 SIREN 
 
 That doth Opinion only cause 
 
 That 's out of Custom bred, 
 Which makes us many other laws 
 
 Than ever Nature did. 
 No widows wail for our delights, 
 
 Our sports are without blood ; 
 The world we see by warlike wights 
 
 Receives more hurt than good. 
 
 ULYSSES 
 
 But yet the state of things require 
 
 These motions of unrest : 
 And these great spirits of high desire 
 
 Seem born to turn them best : 
 To purge the mischiefs that increase 
 
 And all good order mar, 
 For oft we see a wicked peace 
 
 To be well changed for war.
 
 WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS 95 
 
 SIREN 
 Well, well, Ulysses, then I see 
 
 I shall not have thee here : 
 And therefore I will come to thee, 
 
 And take my fortune there. 
 I must be won, that cannot win, 
 
 Yet lost were I not won, 
 For beauty hath created been 
 T' undo, or be undone. 
 
 S. Daniel. 
 
 XCIX 
 
 WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS 
 
 WHOE'ER she be 
 
 That not impossible She 
 
 That shall command my heart and me ; 
 
 Where'er she lie, 
 
 Lock'd up from mortal eye 
 
 In shady leaves of destiny ; 
 
 Till that ripe birth 
 
 Of studied Fate step forth 
 
 And teach her fair steps to our earth ; 
 
 Till that divine 
 
 Idea take a shrine 
 
 Of crystal flesh, through which to shine ;
 
 96 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Meet you her, my Wishes, 
 Bespeak her to my blisses, 
 And be ye call'd my absent kisses. 
 
 I wish her Beauty, 
 
 That owes not all its duty 
 
 To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie : 
 
 Something more than 
 
 Taflfata or tissue can, 
 
 Or rampant feather, or rich fan. 
 
 A Face, that 's best 
 
 By its own beauty drest, 
 
 And can alone command the rest : 
 
 A Face made up 
 
 Out of no other shop 
 
 Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. 
 
 A Cheek, where youth 
 
 And blood, with pen of truth, 
 
 Write what the reader sweetly rueth. 
 
 A Cheek where grows 
 More than a morning rose, 
 Which to no box his being owes. 
 
 Lips, where all day 
 
 A lover's kiss may play, 
 
 Yet carry nothing thence away. 
 
 Eyes, that displace 
 
 The neighbour diamond, and outface 
 
 That sunshine by their own sweet grace.
 
 WISHES TO HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS 97 
 
 Tresses, that wear 
 
 Jewels but to declare 
 
 How much themselves more precious are : 
 
 Whose native ray 
 
 Can tame the wanton day 
 
 Of gems that in their bright shades play. 
 
 Each ruby there, 
 
 Or pearl that dare appear, 
 
 Be its own blush, be its own tear. 
 
 A well tamed Heart, 
 
 For whose more noble smart 
 
 Love may be long choosing a dart. 
 
 Sydneian showers 
 
 Of sweet discourse, whose powers 
 
 Can crown old Winter's head with flowers. 
 
 Soft silken hours, 
 
 Open suns, shady bowers, 
 
 'Bove all, nothing within that lowers. 
 
 Whate'er delight 
 
 Can make Day's forehead bright, 
 
 Or give down to the wings of night. 
 
 Days that need borrow 
 
 No part of their good morrow, 
 
 From a fore-spent night of sorrow : 
 
 Days that, in spite 
 
 Of darkness, by the light 
 
 Of a clear mind are day all night.
 
 98 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Life that dares send 
 
 A challenge to his end, 
 
 And when it comes, say Welcome, friend ! 
 
 I wish her store 
 
 Of worth may leave her poor 
 
 Of wishes ; and I wish no more. 
 
 Now, if Time knows 
 
 That Her, whose radiant brows 
 
 Weave them a garland of my vows ; 
 
 Her that dares be 
 
 What these lines wish to see ; 
 
 I seek no further, it is She. 
 
 'Tis She, and here, 
 
 Lo ! I unclothe and tear 
 
 My Wish's cloudy character. 
 
 May she enjoy it, 
 
 Whose merit dare apply it, 
 
 But modesty dares still deny it ! 
 
 Such work as this is 
 Shall fix my flying wishes, 
 And determine them to kisses. 
 
 Let her full glory, 
 
 My fancies fly before ye, 
 
 Be ye my fictions but her story. 
 
 Rich. Crashaw.
 
 FLOS FLORUM 99 
 
 FLOS FLORUM 
 
 ME so oft my fancy drew 
 Here and there, that I ne'er knew 
 Where to place desire before 
 So that range it might no more ; 
 But as he that passeth by 
 Where, in all her jollity, 
 Flora's riches in a row 
 Doth in seemly order grow, 
 And a thousand flowers stand 
 Bending as to kiss his hand ; 
 Out of which delightful store 
 One he may take and no more ; 
 Long he pausing doubteth whether 
 Of those fair ones he should gather. 
 
 First the Primrose courts his eyes, 
 Then a Cowslip he espies ; 
 Next the Pansy seems to woo him, 
 Then Carnations bow unto him ; 
 Which whilst that enamour'd swain 
 From the stalk intends to strain, 
 As half-fearing to be seen 
 Prettily her leaves between 
 Peeps the Violet, pale to see 
 That her virtues slighted be ; 
 Which so much his liking wins 
 That to seize her he begins.
 
 100 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Yet before he stoop'd so low 
 He his wanton eye did throw 
 On a stem that grew more high, 
 And the Rose did there espy. 
 Who, beside her precious scent, 
 To procure his eyes content 
 Did display her goodly breast, 
 Where he found at full express'd 
 All the good that Nature showers 
 On a thousand other flowers ; 
 Wherewith he affected takes it, 
 His beloved flower he makes it, 
 And without desire of more 
 Walks through all he saw before. 
 
 So I wandering but erewhere 
 
 Through the garden of this isle, 
 
 Saw rich beauties I confess, 
 
 And in number numberless. 
 
 Yea, so differing lovely too, 
 
 That I had a world to do 
 
 Ere I could set up my rest, 
 
 Where to choose and choose the best. 
 
 Thus I fondly fear'd, till Fate 
 (Which I must confess in that 
 Did a greater favour to me 
 Than the world can malice do me) 
 Show'd to me that matchless flower, 
 Subject for this song of our;
 
 FLOS FLORUM 101 
 
 Whose perfection having eyed, 
 Reason instantly espied 
 That Desire, which ranged abroad, 
 There would find a period : 
 And no marvel if it might, 
 For it there hath all delight, 
 And in her hath nature placed 
 What each several fair one graced. 
 
 Let who list for me advance 
 The admired flowers of France, 
 Let who will praise and behold 
 The reserved Marigold ; 
 Let the sweet-breath'd Violet now 
 Unto whom she pleaseth bow ; 
 And the fairest Lily spread 
 Where she will her golden head ; 
 I have such a flower to wear 
 That for those I do not care. 
 
 Let the young and happy swains 
 Playing on the Britain plains 
 Court unblamed their shepherdesses, 
 And with their gold curled tresses 
 Toy uncensured, until I 
 Grudge at their prosperity. 
 
 Let all times, both present, past, 
 And the age that shall be last, 
 Vaunt the beauties they bring forth. 
 I have found in one each worth,
 
 102 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 That content I neither care 
 What the best before me were ; 
 Nor desire to live and see 
 Who shall fair hereafter be ; 
 For I know the hand of Nature 
 Will not make a fairer creature. 
 
 G. Wither. 
 
 ci 
 
 SPRING SONG 
 
 Now each creature joys the other, 
 Passing happy days and hours ; 
 
 One bird reports unto another 
 In the fall of silver showers ; 
 
 Whilst the Earth, our common mother, 
 Hath her bosom deck'd with flowers. 
 
 Whilst the greatest torch of heaven 
 With bright rays warms Flora's lap, 
 
 Making nights and days both even, 
 Cheering plants with fresher sap ; 
 
 My field of flowers quite bereaven, 
 Wants refresh of better hap. 
 
 Echo, daughter of the air, 
 
 Babbling guest of rocks and hills, 
 Knows the name of my fierce fair, 
 
 And sounds the accents of my ills. 
 Each thing pities my despair, 
 
 Whilst that she her lover kills.
 
 DESCRIPTION OF SPRING 103 
 
 Whilst that she O cruel maid ! 
 
 Doth me and my love despise, 
 My life's flourish is decay'd, 
 
 That depended on her eyes : 
 But her will must be obey'd 
 
 And well he ends, for love who dies. 
 
 S. Daniel. 
 
 en 
 DESCRIPTION OF SPRING 
 
 WHEREIN EACH THING RENEWS, SAVE ONLY THE LOVER 
 
 THE soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings, 
 With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale : 
 The nightingale with feathers new she sings ; 
 The turtle to her make hath told her tale. 
 
 Summer is come, for every spray now springs : 
 The hart hath hung his old head on the pale ; 
 The buck in brake his winter coat he flings ; 
 The fishes flete with new repaired scale. 
 
 The adder all her slough away she slings ; 
 The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale ; 
 The busy bee her honey now she mings ; a 
 Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale. 
 
 And thus I see among these pleasant things 
 Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs. 
 
 Earl of Surrey. 
 1 Mingles, mixes.
 
 104 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CHI 
 
 PHILOMELA 
 
 1 
 
 THE Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth 
 Unto her rested sense a perfect waking, 
 While late-bare Earth, proud of new clothing, 
 
 springeth, 
 
 Sings out her woes, a thorn her song-book making; 
 And mournfully bewailing, 
 Her throat in tunes expresseth 
 What grief her breast oppresseth, 
 For Tereus' force on her chaste will prevailing. 
 
 Philomela fair, take some gladness 
 
 That here isjuster cause of plaint ful sadness ! 
 
 Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; 
 Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. 
 
 Alas ! she hath no other cause of anguish 
 
 But Tereus' love, on her by strong hand wroken ; 
 Wherein she suffering, all her spirits languish, 
 Full womanlike complains her will was broken. 
 But I, who, daily craving, 
 Cannot have to content me, 
 Have more cause to lament me, 
 Since wanting is more woe than too much having. 
 
 Philomela fair, take some gladness 
 That here is juster cause of plaintful sadness ! 
 
 Thine earth now springs, mine fadeth ; 
 Thy thorn without, my thorn my heart invadeth. 
 
 Sir P. Sidney.
 
 PHILOMELA 105 
 
 civ 
 
 2 
 
 As it fell upon a day 
 
 In the merry month of May, 
 
 Sitting in a pleasant shade 
 
 Which a grove of myrtles made, 
 
 Beasts did leap and birds did sing, 
 
 Trees did grow and plants did spring; 
 
 Everything did banish moan 
 
 Save the Nightingale alone : 
 
 She, poor bird as all forlorn 
 
 Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn, 
 
 And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, 
 
 That to hear it was great pity. 
 
 Fie, fa, fa ! now would she cry ; 
 
 Tercu, Tereu ! by and by ; 
 
 That to hear her so complain 
 
 Scarce I could from tears refrain ; 
 
 For her griefs so lively shown 
 
 Made me think upon mine own. 
 
 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 Barnefield.
 
 106 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 cv 
 THE FAITHLESS SHEPHERDESS 
 
 WHILE that the sun with his beams hot 
 
 Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain, 
 Philon the shepherd, late forgot, 
 Sitting beside a crystal fountain 
 In shadow of a green oak tree, 
 Upon his pipe this song play'd he : 
 Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love ! 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ! 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 So long as I was in your sight 
 
 I was your heart, your soul, your treasure ; 
 And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd 
 Burning in flames beyond all measure : 
 
 Three days endured your love to me, 
 And it was lost in other three ! 
 Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love ! 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ! 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 Another shepherd you did see 
 
 To whom your heart was soon enchained ; 
 Full soon your love was leapt from me, 
 Full soon my place he had obtained. 
 
 Soon came a third your love to win, 
 And we were out and he was in. 
 Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love ! 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ! 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.
 
 SHORT SUNSHINE 107 
 
 Sure you have made me passing glad 
 
 That you your mind so soon removed, 
 Before that I the leisure had 
 
 To choose you for my best beloved : 
 
 For all my love was pass'd and done 
 Two days before it was begun. 
 Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love ! 
 Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love ! 
 Your mind is light, soon lost for new love. 
 
 A non. 
 
 CVI 
 
 SHORT SUNSHINE 
 
 FULL many a glorious morning have I seen 
 Flatter the mountain tops with sovran eye, 
 Kissing with golden face the meadows green, 
 Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy ; 
 
 Anon permit the basest clouds to ride 
 With ugly rack on his celestial face, 
 And from the forlorn world his visage hide, 
 Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace. 
 
 E'en so my sun one early morn did shine 
 With all-triumphant splendour on my brow : 
 But out, alack ! he was but one hour mine, 
 The region cloud hath mask'd him from me now. 
 
 Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth ; 
 Suns of the world may stain when heaven's sun 
 staineth. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 108 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 cvn 
 A MADRIGAL 
 
 THE earth, late choked with showers, 
 
 Is now array'd in green ; 
 Her bosom springs with flowers, 
 
 The air dissolves her teen, 
 The heavens laugh at her glory : 
 Yet bide I sad and sorry. 
 
 The woods are deckt with leaves, 
 
 And trees are clothed gay, 
 And Flora, crown'd with sheaves, 
 
 With oaken boughs doth play : 
 Where I am clad in black, 
 The token of my wrack. 
 
 The birds upon the trees 
 
 Do sing with pleasant voices, 
 
 And chant in their degrees 
 
 Their loves and lucky choices : 
 
 When I, whilst they are singing, 
 
 With sighs mine arms am wringing. 
 
 The thrushes seek the shade, 
 
 And I my fatal grave ; 
 Their flight to heaven is made, 
 
 My walk on earth I have : 
 They free, I thrall ; they jolly, 
 I sad and pensive wholly. 
 
 T. Lodge.
 
 THE BLOSSOM 109 
 
 TO DAFFODILS 
 
 FAIR daffodils, we weep to see 
 
 You haste away so soon ; 
 As yet the early-rising sun 
 Has not attain'd his noon. 
 
 Stay, stay 
 Until the hasting day 
 
 Has run 
 
 But to the evensong ; 
 And, having prayed together, we 
 Will go with you along. 
 
 We have short time to stay, as you, 
 
 We have as short a spring; 
 As quick a growth to meet decay, 
 As you, or anything. 
 
 We die 
 As your hours do, and dry 
 
 Away, 
 
 Like to the summer's rain ; 
 Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 
 Ne'er to be found again. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 cix 
 THE BLOSSOM 
 
 LITTLE think'st thou, poor flower, 
 Whom I have watched six or seven days, 
 And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour 
 Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise,
 
 110 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 And now dost laugh and triumph on this bough, 
 
 Little think'st thou 
 That it will freeze anon, and that I shall 
 To-morrow find thee fall'n, or not at all. 
 
 Little think'st thou, poor heart, 
 
 That labourest yet to nestle thee, 
 
 And think'st by hovering here to get a part 
 
 In a forbidden or forbidding tree, 
 
 And hop'st her stiffness by long siege to bow, 
 
 Little think'st thou 
 
 That thou, to-morrow, ere the sun doth wake, 
 Must with the sun and me a journey take. 
 
 /. Donne. 
 
 ex 
 TO BLOSSOMS 
 
 FAIR pledges of a fruitful tree, 
 
 Why do ye fall so fast ? 
 
 Your date is not so past 
 But you may stay yet here awhile 
 
 To blush and gently smile, 
 And go at last. 
 
 What ! were ye born to be 
 An hour or half's delight, 
 And so to bid good night ? 
 
 'Twas pity Nature brought you forth 
 Merely to show your worth 
 And lose you quite.
 
 TO VIOLETS 111 
 
 But you are lovely leaves, where we 
 May read how soon things have 
 Their end, though ne'er so brave : 
 And after they have shown their pride 
 Like you awhile, they glide 
 Into the grave. 
 
 Herrick, 
 
 CXI 
 
 TO VIOLETS 
 
 WELCOME, maids of honour, 
 
 You do bring 
 
 In the Spring, 
 And wait upon her. 
 
 She has virgins many, 
 
 Fresh and fair; 
 
 Yet you are 
 More sweet than any. 
 
 You 're the maiden posies, 
 
 And so graced 
 
 To be placed 
 'Fore damask roses. 
 
 Yet, though thus respected, 
 
 By-and-by 
 
 Ye do lie, 
 Poor girls, neglected. 
 
 Herrick.
 
 112 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CXH 
 THE ROSE 
 
 A ROSE, as fair as ever saw the North, 
 Grew in a little garden all alone ; 
 A sweeter flower did Nature ne'er put forth, 
 Nor fairer garden yet was never known : 
 
 The maidens danced about it morn and noon, 
 And learned bards of it their ditties made ; 
 The nimble fairies by the pale-faced moon 
 Water'd the root and kiss'd her pretty shade. 
 
 But well-a-day ! the gardener careless grew ; 
 The maids and fairies both were kept away, 
 And in a drought the caterpillars threw 
 Themselves upon the bud and every spray. 
 
 God shield the stock ! If heaven send no supplies, 
 The fairest blossom of the garden dies. 
 
 Wm. Browne. 
 
 CXIII 
 
 THE FUNERAL RITES OF THE ROSE 
 
 THE Rose was sick and smiling died ; 
 And, being to be sanctified, 
 About the bed there sighing stood 
 The sweet and flowery sisterhood : 
 Some hung the head, while some did bring, 
 To wash her, water from the spring ; 
 Some laid her forth, while others wept, 
 But all a solemn fast there kept :
 
 A SUMMER'S EVENING 113 
 
 The holy sisters, some among, 
 The sacred dirge and trental x sung. 
 But ah ! what sweets smelt everywhere, 
 As Heaven had spent all perfumes there. 
 At last, when prayers for the dead 
 And rites were all accomplished, 
 They, weeping, spread a lawny loom, 
 And closed her up as in a tomb. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 cxrv 
 A SUMMER'S EVENING 
 
 CLEAR had the day been from the dawn, 
 
 All chequer'd was the sky, 
 The clouds, like scarfs of cobweb lawn, 
 
 Veil'd heaven's most glorious eye. 
 
 The wind had no more strength than this, 
 
 That leisurely it blew 
 To make one leaf the next to kiss 
 
 That closely by it grew. 
 
 The rills, that on the pebbles play'd, 
 
 Might now be heard at will ; 
 This world the only music made, 
 
 Else everything was still. 
 
 The flowers, like brave embroider'd girls, 
 
 Look'd as they most desired 
 To see whose head with orient pearls 
 
 Most curiously was tyred. 
 
 1 Trental, a service for the dead, of thirty masses, usually cele- 
 brated upon as many different days.
 
 114 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 And to itself the subtle air 
 Such sovereignty assumes, 
 
 That it receiv'd too large a share 
 From Nature's rich perfumes. 
 
 M. Drayton. 
 
 cxv 
 ROSALINE 
 
 LIKE to the clear in highest sphere 
 
 Where all imperial glory shines, 
 Of selfsame colour is her hair 
 
 Whether unfolded or in twines : 
 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
 Her eyes are sapphires set in snow, 
 
 Resembling heaven by every wink ; 
 The gods do fear whenas they glow, 
 
 And I do tremble when I think 
 
 Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 
 
 Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud 
 
 That beautifies Aurora's face, 
 Or like the silver crimson shroud 
 
 That Phoebus' smiling looks doth grace 
 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
 Her lips are like two budded roses 
 
 Whom ranks of lilies neighbour nigh, 
 Within whose bounds she balm encloses 
 
 Apt to entice a deity : 
 
 Heigh ho, would she were mine !
 
 ROSALINE 115 
 
 Her neck is like a stately tower 
 
 Where Love himself imprison'd lies, 
 To watch for glances every hour 
 
 From her divine and sacred eyes : 
 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
 Her paps are centres of delight, 
 
 Her breasts are orbs of heavenly frame, 
 Where Nature moulds the dew of light 
 
 To feed perfection with the same : 
 Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 
 
 With orient pearl, with ruby red, 
 
 With marble white, with sapphire blue, 
 Her body every way is fed, 
 
 Yet soft in touch and sweet in view : 
 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
 Nature herself her shape admires ; 
 
 The Gods are wounded in her sight ; 
 And Love forsakes his heavenly fires 
 
 And at her eyes his brand doth light : 
 Heigh ho, would she were mine ! 
 
 Then muse not, Nymphs, though I bemoan 
 
 The absence of fair Rosaline, 
 Since for a fair there 's fairer none, 
 Nor for her virtues so divine : 
 Heigh ho, fair Rosaline ! 
 Heigh ho, my heart ! would God that she 
 were mine ! 
 
 T. Lodge.
 
 116 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CXVI 
 
 BEAUTY AND RHYME 
 
 1 
 
 WHEN in the chronicle of wasted time 
 I see descriptions of the fairest wights, 
 And beauty making beautiful old rhyme 
 In praise of ladies dead and lovely knights ; 
 
 Then, in the blazon of sweet beauty's best, 
 Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow, 
 I see their antique pen would have exprest 
 Even such a beauty as you master now. 
 
 So all their praises are but prophecies 
 
 Of this our time, all you prefiguring ; 
 
 And for they look'd but with divining eyes, 
 
 They had not skill enough your worth to sing : 
 
 For we, who now behold these present days, 
 Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CXVII 
 
 2 
 
 LET others sing of Knights and Paladines 
 In aged accents and untimely words, 
 Paint shadows in imaginary lines, 
 Which well the reach of their high wit records : 
 
 But I must sing of thee, and those fair eyes 
 Authentic shall my verse in time to come, 
 When yet th' unborn shall say, Lo, where she lies ! 
 Whose beauty made him speak, that else was dumb !
 
 BEAUTY AND RHYME 117 
 
 These are the arcs, the trophies I erect, 
 That fortify thy name against old age ; 
 And these thy sacred virtues must protect 
 Against the Dark, and Time's consuming rage. 
 
 Though th' error of my youth in them appear, 
 Suffice, they show I lived, and loved thee dear. 
 
 S. Daniel. 
 
 CXVIH 
 
 3 
 
 ONE day I wrote her name upon the strand, 
 But came the waves and washed it away : 
 Again I wrote it with a second hand, 
 But came the tide and made my pains his prey. 
 
 Vain man (said she) that dost in vain assay 
 A mortal thing so to immortalise ; 
 For I myself shall like to this decay, 
 And eke my name be wiped out likewise, 
 
 Not so (quod I) ; let baser things devise 
 To die in dust, but you shall live by fame ; 
 My verse your virtues rare shall eternise, 
 And in the heavens write your glorious name : 
 
 Where, whenas Death shall all the world subdue, 
 Our love shall live, and later life renew. 
 
 Spenser.
 
 118 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CXIX 
 
 IF thou survive my well-contented day 
 
 When that churl Death my bones with dust shall 
 
 cover, 
 
 And shall by fortune once more re-survey 
 These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover, 
 
 Compare them with the bettering of the time, 
 And though they be outstripp'd by every pen, 
 Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme, 
 Exceeded by the height of happier men. 
 
 then vouchsafe me but this loving thought : 
 
 1 Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing 
 
 age, 
 
 A dearer birth than this his love had brought 
 To march in ranks of better equipage : 
 
 But since he died, and poets better prove, 
 Theirs for their style I '11 read, his for his love.' 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 cxx 
 
 NOT mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul 
 Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, 
 Can yet the lease of my true love control, 
 Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
 
 THERE IS NONE, O, NONE BUT YOU 119 
 
 The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured, 
 And the sad augurs mock their own presage ; 
 Incertainties now crown themselves assured, 
 And peace proclaims olives of endless age. 
 
 Now with the drops of this most balmy time 
 My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes, 
 Since spite of him I '11 live in this poor rhyme, 
 While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes : 
 
 And thou in this shalt find thy monument 
 
 When tyrants' crests and tombs of brass are spent. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CXXI 
 
 THERE IS NONE, O, NONE BUT YOU 
 
 THERE is none, O, none but you, 
 That from me estrange your sight, 
 
 Whom mine eyes affect to view 
 Or chained ears hear with delight. 
 
 Other beauties others move, 
 
 In you I all graces find ; 
 Such is the effect of Love, 
 
 To make them happy that are kind. 
 
 Women in frail beauty trust, 
 
 Only seem you fair to me ; 
 Yet prove truly kind and just, 
 
 For that may not dissembled be.
 
 120 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Sweet, afford me then your sight ! 
 
 That, surveying all your looks, 
 Endless volumes I may write 
 
 And fill the world with envied books : 
 
 Which when after-ages view, 
 All shall wonder and despair, 
 
 Woman to find a man so true, 
 Or man a woman half so fair. 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 CXXII 
 
 A PRAISE OF HIS LADY 
 
 GIVE place, you ladies, and begone ! 
 
 Boast not yourselves at all ! 
 For here at hand approacheth one 
 
 Whose face will stain you all. 
 
 The virtue of her lively looks 
 Excels the precious stone ; 
 
 I wish to have none other books 
 To read or look upon. 
 
 In each of her two crystal eyes 
 
 Smileth a naked boy ; 
 It would you all in heart suffice 
 
 To see that lamp of joy.
 
 A PRAISE OF HIS LADY 121 
 
 I think Nature hath lost the mould 
 Where she her shape did take ; 
 
 Or else I doubt if Nature could 
 So fair a creature make. 
 
 She may be well compared 
 
 Unto the Phoenix kind, 
 Whose like was never seen nor heard 
 
 That any man can find. 
 
 In life she is Diana chaste, 
 
 In truth Penelope ; 
 In word and eke in deed steadfast. 
 
 What will you more we say ? 
 
 If all the world were sought so far, 
 Who could find such a wight ? 
 
 Her beauty twinkleth like a star 
 Within the frosty night. 
 
 Her roseal colour comes and goes 
 
 With such a comely grace, 
 More ruddier, too, than doth the rose, 
 
 Within her lively face. 
 
 At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet, 
 
 Ne at no wanton play, 
 Nor gazing in an open street, 
 
 Nor gadding as a stray.
 
 122 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 The modest mirth that she doth use 
 Is mix'd with shamefastness ; 
 
 All vice she wholly doth refuse, 
 And hateth idleness. 
 
 O Lord ! it is a world to see 
 
 How virtue can repair, 
 And deck her in such honesty, 
 
 Whom Nature made so fair. 
 
 Truly she doth so far exceed 
 
 Our women nowadays, 
 As doth the gillyflower a weed ; 
 
 And more a thousand ways. 
 
 How might I do to get a graff 
 
 Of this unspotted tree ? 
 For all the rest are plain but chaff, 
 
 Which seem good corn to be. 
 
 This gift alone I shall her give ; 
 
 When death doth what he can, 
 Her honest fame shall ever live 
 
 Within the mouth of man. 
 
 John Heywood. 
 
 CXXlll 
 
 ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA 
 
 You meaner beauties of the night, 
 
 That poorly satisfy our eyes 
 More by your number than your light, 
 
 You common people of the skies ; 
 What are you when the moon shall rise ?
 
 ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA 123 
 
 You curious chanters of the wood 
 
 That warble forth Dame Nature's lays, 
 
 Thinking your passions understood 
 
 By your weak accents ; what's your praise 
 
 When Philomel her voice shall raise ? 
 
 You violets that first appear 
 
 By your pure purple mantles known 
 
 Like the proud virgins of the year, 
 As if the spring were all your own ; 
 
 What are you when the rose is blown ? 
 
 So, when my mistress shall be seen 
 
 In form and beauty of her mind, 
 By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, 
 
 Tell me, if she were not design'd 
 Th' eclipse and glory of her kind. 
 
 Sir H. Wotton. 
 
 THERE is a Lady sweet and kind, 
 Was never face so pleased my mind ; 
 I did but see her passing by, 
 And yet I love her till I die. 
 
 Her gesture, motion, and her smiles, 
 Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles, 
 Beguiles my heart, I know not why, 
 And yet 1 love her till I die.
 
 124 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Cupid is winged and doth range, 
 Her country so my love doth change : 
 But change she earth, or change she sky, 
 Yet will I love her till I die. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 cxxv 
 HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS 
 
 IF I freely may discover 
 
 What would please me in my lover, 
 
 I would have her fair and witty, 
 
 Savouring more of court than city ; 
 
 A little proud, but full of pity ; 
 
 Light and humorous in her toying ; 
 
 Oft building hopes and soon destroying ; 
 
 Long, but sweet in the enjoying; 
 Neither too easy, nor too hard : 
 All extremes I would have barr'd. 
 
 She should be allowed her passions, 
 So they were but used as fashions ; 
 
 Sometimes froward and then frowning, 
 Sometimes sickish and then swowning, 
 Every fit with change still crowning. 
 Purely jealous I would have her, 
 Then only constant when I crave her : 
 'Tis a virtue should not save her. 
 Thus nor her delicates would cloy me, 
 Neither her peevishness annoy me. 
 
 B. Jonson.
 
 BEAUTY CLEAR AND FAIR 125 
 
 CXXVI 
 
 SILVIA 
 
 WHO is Silvia ? What is she, 
 
 That all our swains commend her ? 
 
 Holy, fair and wise is she ; 
 
 The heaven such grace did lend her. 
 
 That she might admired be. 
 
 Is she kind as she is fair? 
 
 For beauty lives with kindness : 
 Love doth to her eyes repair, 
 
 To help him of his blindness ; 
 And, being help'd, inhabits there. 
 
 Then to Silvia let us sing, 
 
 That Silvia is excelling ; 
 She excels each mortal thing 
 
 Upon the dull earth dwelling : 
 To her let us garlands bring. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CXXV1I 
 
 BEAUTY CLEAR AND FAIR 
 
 BEAUTY clear and fair, 
 Where the air 
 
 Rather like a perfume dwells; 
 Where the violet and the rose 
 Their blue veins and blush disclose, 
 
 And come to honour nothing else :
 
 126 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Where to live near 
 
 And planted there 
 
 Is to live, and still live new ; 
 Where to gain a favour is 
 More than light, perpetual bliss, 
 
 Make me live by serving you. 
 
 Dear, again back recall 
 
 To this light, 
 
 A stranger to himself and all ! 
 Both the wonder and the story 
 Shall be yours, and eke the glory ; 
 I am your servant, and your thrall. 
 
 J. Fletcher. 
 
 CXXVIII 
 
 A COMPARISON 
 1 
 
 MARK when she smiles with amiable cheer, 
 And tell me whereto can ye liken it 
 When on each eyelid sweetly do appear 
 An hundred Graces as in shade to sit ? 
 
 Likest it seemeth to my simple wit 
 Unto the fair sunshine in summer's day, 
 That, when a dreadful storm away is flit, 
 Through the broad world doth spread his goodly 
 ray :
 
 A COMPARISON 127 
 
 At sight whereof each bird that sits on spray, 
 And every beast that to his den was fled, 
 Comes forth afresh out of their late dismay, 
 And to the light lift up their drooping head. 
 
 So my storm-beaten heart likewise is cheer'd 
 With that sunshine when cloudy looks are clear'd. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 CXXIX 
 
 2 
 
 SHALL I compare thee to a summer's day ? 
 Thou art more lovely and more temperate : 
 Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, 
 And summer's lease hath all too short a date : 
 
 Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, 
 And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ; 
 And every fair from fair sometime declines, 
 By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd. 
 
 But thy eternal summer shall not fade 
 Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; 
 Nor shall death brag thou wanderest in his shade, 
 When in eternal lines to time thou growest : 
 
 So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, 
 So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 128 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 cxxx 
 SONG 
 
 ASK me no more where Jove bestows, 
 When June is past, the fading rose ; 
 For in your beauty's orient deep 
 These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. 
 
 Ask me no more whither do stray 
 The golden atoms of the day ; 
 For in pure love heaven did prepare 
 Those powders to enrich your hair. 
 
 Ask me no more whither doth haste 
 The nightingale when May is past ; 
 For in your sweet dividing throat 
 She winters and keeps warm her note. 
 
 Ask me no more where those stars light 
 That downwards fall in dead of night ; 
 For in your eyes they sit, and there 
 Fixed become as in their sphere. 
 
 Ask me no more if east or west 
 The Phoenix builds her spicy nest ; 
 For unto you at last she flies, 
 And in your fragrant bosom dies. 
 
 T. Carew.
 
 CHERRY-RIPE 129 
 
 CXXXI 
 
 CHERRY-RIPE 
 1 
 
 CHERRY-RIPE, ripe, ripe, I cry, 
 Full and fair ones ; come and buy. 
 If so be you ask me where 
 They do grow, I answer : There 
 Where my Julia's lips do smile ; 
 There 's the land, or cherry-isle, 
 Whose plantations fully show 
 All the year where cherries grow. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 CXXXII 
 
 2 
 
 THERE is a garden in her face 
 
 Where roses and white lilies blow ; 
 A heavenly paradise is that place 
 Wherein all pleasant fruits do flow : 
 
 There cherries grow that none may buy 
 Till ' Cherry-ripe ' themselves do cry. 
 
 Those cherries fairly do enclose 
 Of orient pearl a double row, 
 Which when her lovely laughter shows, 
 They look like rose-buds fill'd with snow ; 
 Yet them nor peer nor prince may buy 
 Till ' Cherry-ripe ' themselves do cry.
 
 130 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Her eyes like angels watch them still ; 
 
 Her brows like bended bows do stand, 
 Threat' ning with piercing frowns to kill 
 All that attempt with eye or hand 
 Those sacred cherries to come nigh, 
 Till ' Cherry-ripe ' themselves do cry. 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 cxxxm 
 DRESS AND UNDRESS 
 
 MY Love in her attire doth show her wit, 
 
 It doth so well become her; 
 For every season she hath dressings fit, 
 For Winter, Spring, and Summer. 
 No beauty she doth miss 
 
 When all her robes are on : 
 But Beauty's self she is 
 
 When all her robes are gone. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CXXXIV 
 
 SIMPLEX MUNDITIIS 
 
 STILL to be neat, still to be drest, 
 
 As you were going to a feast ; 
 
 Still to be powder'd, still perfumed : 
 
 Lady, it is to be presumed, 
 
 Though art's hid causes are not found, 
 
 All is not sweet, all is not sound.
 
 ART ABOVE NATURE : TO JULIA 131 
 
 Give me a look, give me a face 
 That makes simplicity a grace ; 
 Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : 
 Such sweet neglect more taketh me 
 Than all th' adulteries of art ; 
 They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. 
 
 B. Jonson. 
 
 cxxxv 
 ART ABOVE NATURE : TO JULIA 
 
 WHEN I behold a forest spread 
 With silken trees upon thy head, 
 And when I see that other dress 
 Of flowers set in comeliness ; 
 When I behold another grace 
 In the ascent of curious lace, 
 Which like a pinnacle doth show 
 The top, and the top-gallant too ; 
 Then, when I see thy tresses bound 
 Into an oval, square, or round, 
 And knit in knots far more than I 
 Can tell by tongue, or true-love tie ; 
 Next, when those lawny films I see 
 Play with a wild civility, 
 And all those airy silks to flow, 
 Alluring me, and tempting so : 
 I must confess mine eye and heart 
 Dotes less of Nature than on Art. 
 
 Herrick.
 
 132 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CXXXVI 
 
 DELIGHT IN DISORDER 
 
 A SWEET disorder in the dress 
 
 Kindles in clothes a wantonness : 
 
 A lawn about the shoulders thrown 
 
 Into a fine distraction : 
 
 An erring lace, which here and there 
 
 Enthrals the crimson stomacher : 
 
 A cuff neglectful, and thereby 
 
 Ribbons to flow confusedly : 
 
 A winning wave, deserving note, 
 
 In the tempestuous petticoat : 
 
 A careless shoe-string, in whose tie 
 
 I see a wild civility : 
 
 Do more bewitch me than when art 
 
 Is too precise in every part. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 cxxxvn 
 
 UPON JULIA'S CLOTHES 
 
 WHENAS in silks my Julia goes, 
 
 Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows 
 
 The liquefaction of her clothes ! 
 
 Next, when I cast mine eyes and see 
 That brave vibration each way free, 
 O how that glittering taketh me ! 
 
 Herrick.
 
 THE COMPLETE LOVER 133 
 
 CXXXVIII 
 
 THE COMPLETE LOVER 
 
 1. He 
 
 FOR her gait, if she be walking ; 
 Be she sitting, I desire her 
 For her state's sake ; and admire her 
 For her wit if she be talking ; 
 
 Gait and state and wit approve her ; 
 
 For which all and each I love her. 
 
 Be she sullen, I commend her 
 
 For a modest. Be she merry, 
 
 For a kind one her prefer I. 
 
 Briefly, everything doth lend her 
 
 So much grace, and so approve her, 
 That for everything I love her. 
 
 Wm. Browne. 
 
 cxxxix 
 
 2. She 
 
 LOVE not me for comely grace, 
 For my pleasing eye or face, 
 Nor for any outward part, 
 No, nor for a constant heart : 
 
 For these may fail or turn to ill, 
 
 So thou and I shall sever : 
 Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye, 
 And love me still but know not why 
 So hast thou the same reason still 
 To doat upon me ever ! 
 
 Anon.
 
 134 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CXL 
 
 MY LADY'S HAND 
 
 O GOODLY hand ! 
 Wherein doth stand 
 
 My heart distraught in pain ; 
 Dear hand, alas ! 
 In little space 
 
 My life thou dost restrain. 
 
 O fingers slight ! 
 Departed right, 
 
 So long, so small, so round ; 
 Goodly begone, 
 And yet a bone, 
 
 Most cruel in my wound. 
 
 With lilies white 
 And roses bright 
 
 Doth strain thy colour fair ; 
 Nature did lend 
 Each finger's end 
 
 A pearl for to repair. 
 
 Consent at last, 
 Since that thou hast 
 
 My heart in thy demesne,
 
 HER HAIR 135 
 
 For service true 
 On me to rue, 
 
 And reach me love again. 
 
 And if not so, 
 There with more woe 
 
 Enforce thyself to strain 
 This simple heart, 
 That suffer' d smart, 
 
 And rid it out of pain. 
 
 Sir Thomas Wyat. 
 
 CXLI 
 
 HER HAIR 
 
 THERE 's her hair with which Love angles 
 
 And beholders' eyes entangles ; 
 
 For in those fair curled snares, 
 
 They are hamper'd unawares, 
 
 And compell' d to swear a duty 
 
 To her sweet enthralling beauty. 
 
 In my mind 'tis the most fair 
 
 That was ever called hair ; 
 
 Somewhat brighter than a brown, 
 
 And her tresses waving down 
 
 At full length, and so dispread, 
 
 Mantle her from foot to head. 
 
 Geo. Wither.
 
 136 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CXLII 
 
 A DOUBLE DOUBTING 
 
 LADY, when I behold the roses sprouting, 
 
 Which clad in damask mantles deck the arbours, 
 And then behold your lips where sweet love 
 
 harbours, 
 
 My eyes present me with a double doubting : 
 For viewing both alike, hardly my mind supposes 
 Whether the roses be your lips, or your lips the roses. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CXLIII 
 
 ROSE-CHEEK' D Laura, come ; 
 Sing thou smoothly with thy beauty's 
 Silent music, either other 
 Sweetly gracing. 
 
 Lovely forms do flow 
 From concent divinely framed : 
 Heaven is music, and thy beauty's 
 Birth is heavenly. 
 
 These dull notes we sing 
 Discords need for helps to grace them ; 
 Only beauty purely loving 
 Knows no discord ; 
 
 But still moves delight, 
 Like clear springs renew' d by flowing 
 Ever perfect, ever in them- 
 selves eternal. 
 
 T. Campion.
 
 TO DIANEME 137 
 
 CXLIV 
 
 CHLORIS IN THE SNOW 
 
 I SAW fair Chloris walk alone, 
 When feather'd rain came softly down, 
 As Jove descending from his Tower 
 To court her in a silver shower : 
 The wanton snow flew to her breast, 
 Like pretty birds into their nest, 
 But, overcome with whiteness there, 
 For grief it thaw'd into a tear : 
 
 Thence falling on her garment's hem, 
 To deck her, froze into a gem. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CXLV 
 
 PRETTY twinkling starry eyes, 
 How did Nature first devise 
 Such a sparkling in your sight 
 As to give Love such delight 
 As to make him, like a fly, 
 Play with looks until he die ? 
 
 N. Breton. 
 
 CXLVI 
 
 TO DIANEME 
 
 SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes 
 Which starlike sparkle in their skies ; 
 Nor be you proud that you can see 
 All hearts your captives, yours yet free ;
 
 138 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Be you not proud of that rich hair 
 Which wantons with the love-sick air ; 
 Whenas that ruby which you wear, 
 Sunk from the tip of your soft ear, 
 Will last to be a precious stone 
 When all your world of beauty 's gone. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 CXLVII 
 
 TO CELIA 
 
 DRINK to me only with thine eyes, 
 
 And I will pledge with mine ; 
 Or leave a kiss but in the cup 
 
 And I '11 not look for wine. 
 The thirst that from the soul doth rise 
 
 Doth ask a drink divine ; 
 But might I of Jove's nectar sup, 
 
 I would not change for thine. 
 
 I sent thee late a rosy wreath, 
 
 Not so much honouring thee 
 As giving it a hope that there 
 
 It could not wither' d be ; 
 But thou thereon didst only breathe 
 
 And sent'st it back to me ; 
 Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, 
 
 Not of itself but thee ! 
 
 B. Jonson,
 
 HEART'S HIDING 139 
 
 CXLVIII 
 
 A MADRIGAL 
 
 WHEN in her face mine eyes I fix, 
 A fearful boldness takes my mind, 
 Sweet honey Love with gall doth mix, 
 And is unkindly kind : 
 It seems to breed, 
 And is indeed 
 
 A special pleasure to be pined. 
 No danger then I dread : 
 For though I went a thousand times to Styx, 
 I know she can revive me with her eye 
 As many looks, as many lives to me : 
 And yet had I a thousand hearts, 
 As many looks, as many darts, 
 Might make them all to die. 
 
 W. Alexander, Earl of Stirling. 
 
 CXLIX 
 
 HEART'S HIDING 
 
 SWEET Love, mine only treasure, 
 For service long unfeigned, 
 Wherein I nought have gained 
 
 Vouchsafe this little pleasure, 
 To tell me in what part 
 My mistress keeps her heart.
 
 140 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 If in her hair so slender 
 
 Like golden nets entwined 
 Which fire and art have 'fined, 
 
 Her thrall my heart I render 
 For ever to abide 
 With locks so dainty tied. 
 
 If in her eyes she bind it, 
 
 Wherein that fire was framed 
 By which it is inflamed, 
 
 I dare not look to find it : 
 I only wish it sight 
 To see that pleasant light. 
 
 But if her breast have deigned 
 
 With kindness to receive it, 
 
 I am content to leave it, 
 Though death thereby were gained. 
 
 Then, Lady, take your own 
 
 That lives for you alone. 
 
 A. W. 
 
 CL 
 
 So sweet is thy discourse to me, 
 And so delightful is thy sight, 
 
 As I taste nothing right but thee. 
 
 O why invented Nature light ? 
 Was it alone for Beauty's sake, 
 
 That her graced words might better take ?
 
 DEVOTION 141 
 
 No more can I old joys recall : 
 
 They now to me become unknown, 
 
 Not seeming to have been at all. 
 
 Alas ! how soon is this Love grown 
 To such a spreading height in me 
 As with it all must shadow'd be ! 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 CLI 
 
 DEVOTION 
 
 FAIN would I change that note 
 To which fond Love hath charm' d me 
 Long long to sing by rote, 
 Fancying that that harm'd me : 
 Yet when this thought doth come, 
 ' Love is the perfect sum 
 
 Of all delight/ 
 I have no other choice 
 Either for pen or voice 
 
 To sing or write. 
 
 Love, they wrong thee much 
 That say thy sweet is bitter, 
 When thy rich fruit is such 
 
 As nothing can be sweeter. 
 Fair house of joy and bliss, 
 Where truest pleasure is, 
 I do adore thee : 
 
 1 know thee what thou art, 
 I serve thee with my heart, 
 
 And fall before thee. 
 
 Anon.
 
 142 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CLH 
 
 A RECANTATION 
 
 O LOVE, sweet Love, O high and heavenly Love ! 
 The court of pleasures, paradise of rest, 
 Without whose circuit all things bitter prove, 
 Within whose ceinture every wretch is blest : 
 
 grant me pardon, sacred deity, 
 
 1 do recant my former heresy ! 
 
 And thou, the dearest idol of my thought, 
 Whom love I did, and do, and always will : 
 O pardon what my coy disdain hath wrought, 
 My coy disdain, the author of this ill : 
 
 And for the pride that I have show'd before, 
 By Love I swear I'll love thee ten times more. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CLIII 
 VIA AMORIS 
 
 HIGHWAY, since you my chief Parnassus be, 
 And that my Muse, to some ears not un sweet, 
 Tempers her words to trampling horses' feet 
 More oft than to a chamber-melody, 
 
 Now blessed you bear onward blessed me 
 To her, where I my heart, safe-left, shall meet ; 
 My Muse and I must you of duty greet 
 With thanks and wishes, wishing thankfully ;
 
 COMFORT 143 
 
 Be you still fair, honour'd by public heed ; 
 By no encroachment wrong' d, nor time forgot ; 
 Nor blamed for blood, nor shamed for sinful deed ; 
 And that you know I envy you no lot 
 
 Of highest wish, I wish you so much bliss, 
 Hundreds of years you Stella's feet may kiss ! 
 
 Sir P. Sidney. 
 
 cuv 
 COMFORT 
 
 WHEN in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes 
 I all alone beweep my outcast state, 
 And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries, 
 And look upon myself, and curse my fate, 
 
 Wishing me like to one more rich in hope, 
 Featured like him, like him with friends possest, 
 Desiring this man's art and that man's scope, 
 With what I most enjoy contented least, 
 
 Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising, 
 Haply I think on Thee : and then my state, 
 Like to the lark at break of day arising 
 From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven's gate ; 
 
 For thy sweet love remember'd such wealth brings 
 That then I scorn to change my fate with kings. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 144 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CLV 
 
 WHEN to the sessions of sweet silent thought 
 
 I summon up remembrance of things past, 
 
 I sigh the lack of many a thing I sought, 
 
 And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste : 
 
 Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, 
 For precious friends hid in death's dateless night, 
 And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe, 
 And moan th' expense of many a vanish'd sight : 
 
 Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, 
 And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er 
 The sad account of fore-bemoaned moan, 
 Which I new pay as if not paid before. 
 
 But if the while I think on thee, dear Friend, 
 All losses are restored and sorrows end. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CLVI 
 
 THY bosom is endeared with all hearts 
 Which I, by lacking, have supposed dead : 
 And there reigns Love,and all Love's loving parts, 
 And all those friends which I thought buried. 
 
 How many a holy and obsequious tear 
 Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, 
 As interest for the dead ! which now appear 
 But things removed that hidden in thee lie.
 
 THE UNFADING BEAUTY 145 
 
 Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, 
 Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, 
 Who all their parts of me to thee did give : 
 That due of many now is thine alone: 
 
 Their images I loved I view in thee, 
 And thou, all they, hast all the all of me. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CLVII 
 
 THE INTERPRETER 
 
 THOUGH others may her brow adore 
 
 Yet more must I, that therein see far more 
 
 Than any other's eyes have power to see : 
 
 She is to me 
 More than to any others she can be ! 
 
 I can discei'ii more secret notes 
 
 That in the margin of her cheek Love quotes, 
 
 Than any else beside have art to read : 
 
 No looks proceed 
 
 From those fair eyes but to me wonder breed. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 HE that loves a rosy cheek, 
 Or a coral lip admires, 
 
 Or from star-like eyes doth seek 
 Fuel to maintain his fires :
 
 146 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 As old Time makes these decay, 
 So his flames must waste away. 
 
 But a smooth and steadfast mind, 
 Gentle thoughts and calm desires, 
 
 Hearts with equal love combined, 
 Kindle never-dying fires : 
 
 Where these are not, I despise 
 
 Lovely cheeks or lips or eyes. 
 
 T. Carew. 
 
 CLIX 
 
 YEA OR NAY 
 
 1 
 
 MADAM, withouten many words 
 Once I am sure you will or no ; 
 
 And if you will, then leave your boards, 1 
 And use your wit and show it so. 
 
 For with a beck you shall me call ; 
 
 And if of one that burns alway 
 You have pitie or ruth at all, 
 
 Answer him fair with yea or nay. 
 
 If it be yea, I shall be fain ; 
 
 If it be nay, friends as before ; 
 You shall another man obtain, 
 
 And I mine own, and yours no more. 
 
 Sir Thomas Wyat. 
 
 1 Tackings to and fro. A vessel tacking is still said to ' make 
 boards.'
 
 YEA OR NAY 147 
 
 CLX 
 
 2 
 
 MAID, will ye love me, yea or no ? 
 Tell me the truth, and let me go. 
 It can be no less than a sinful deed, 
 
 Trust me truly, 
 To linger a lover that looks to speed 
 
 In due time duly. 
 
 You maids, that think yourselves as fine 
 
 As Venus and all the Muses nine, 
 
 The Father himself when He first made man, 
 
 Trust me truly, 
 Made you for his help, when the world began, 
 
 In due time duly. 
 
 Then sith God's will was even so, 
 
 Why should you disdain your lover tho ? l 
 
 But rather with a willing heart 
 
 Love him truly : 
 For in so doing you do but your part ; 
 
 Let reason rule ye. 
 
 Consider, Sweet, what sighs and sobs 
 Do nip my heart with cruel throbs, 
 And all, my Dear, for love of you, 
 
 Trust me truly ; 
 
 But I hope that you will some mercy show 
 In due time duly. 
 
 Anon. 
 i Then.
 
 148 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CLXI 
 
 THE PRIMROSE 
 
 ASK me why I send you here 
 
 This firstling of the infant year ? 
 
 Ask me why I send to you 
 
 This Primrose, all bepearl'd with dew ? 
 
 I straight whisper to your ears : 
 
 The sweets of love are wash'd with tears. 
 
 Ask me why this flower does show 
 So yellow-green and sickly too ? 
 Ask me why the stalk is weak 
 And bending, yet it doth not break ? 
 I will answer : These discover 
 What doubts and fears are in a lover. 
 
 T. Carew or R. Herrick. 
 
 CLXII 
 LOVE'S CASUISTRY 
 
 IF love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love ? 
 Ah, never faith could hold,, if not to beauty vow'd ! 
 Though to myself forsworn, to thee I '11 faithful prove ; 
 Those thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like 
 osiers bow'd.
 
 LOVE'S CASUISTRY 149 
 
 Study his bias leaves and makes his book thine eyes, 
 Where all those pleasures live that art would 
 
 comprehend ; 
 
 If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; 
 Well learned is that tongue that well can thee 
 
 commend ; 
 
 All ignorant that soul that sees thee without 
 wonder ; 
 
 Which is to me some praise that I thy parts admire. 
 
 Thy eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dread- 
 ful thunder, 
 
 Which, not to anger bent, is music and sweet fire. 
 
 Celestial as thou art, O pardon love this wrong 
 That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly 
 tongue. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CLXIII 
 
 2 
 
 DID not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye, 
 'Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument, 
 Persuade my heart to this false perjury ? 
 Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. 
 
 A woman I forswore ; but I will prove, 
 Thou being a goddess, I forswore not thee : 
 My vow was earthly, thou a heavenly love ; 
 Thy grace being gain'd cures all disgrace in me.
 
 150 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Vows are but breath, and breath a vapour is : 
 Then thou, fair sun, which on my earth dost shine, 
 Exhal'st this vapour-vow ; in thee it is : 
 If broken then, it is no fault of mine ; 
 
 If by me broke, what fool is not so wise 
 To lose an oath to win a paradise ? 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CLXIV 
 
 THE GIFT 
 
 FAIN would I have a pretty thing 
 
 To give unto my Lady : 
 I name no thing, nor I mean no thing, 
 
 But as pretty a thing as may be. 
 
 Twenty journeys would I make, 
 And twenty ways would hie me, 
 
 To make adventure for her sake, 
 To set some matter by me : 
 
 But fain would I have . . . 
 
 Some do long for pretty knacks, 
 And some for strange devices : 
 
 God send me that my Lady lacks, 
 I care not what the price is. 
 
 Thus fain . . . 
 
 I walk the town and tread the street, 
 In every corner seeking
 
 THE GIFT 161 
 
 The pretty thing I cannot meet, 
 That's for my Lady's liking : 
 
 For fain . . . 
 
 The mercers pull me, going by, 
 
 The silk-wives say ' What lack ye ? ' 
 
 ' The thing you have not/ then say I : 
 ' Ye foolish knaves, go pack ye ! ' 
 But fain . . . 
 
 It is not all the silk in Cheap, 
 
 Nor all the golden treasure ; 
 Nor twenty bushels on a heap 
 
 Can do my Lady pleasure. 
 
 But fain . . . 
 
 But were it in the wit of man 
 
 By any means to make it, 
 I could for money buy it then, 
 
 And say, ' Fair Lady, take it ! ' 
 
 Thus fain . . . 
 
 O Lady, what a luck is this, 
 
 That my good willing misseth 
 To find what pretty thing it is 
 That my Good Lady wisheth ! 
 
 Thus fain would I have had this 
 
 pretty thing 
 To give unto my Lady; 
 I said no harm, nor I meant no harm, 
 But as pretty a thing as may be. 
 
 Anon.
 
 152 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CLXV 
 
 TO HIS BOOK 
 
 HAPPY ye leaves whenas those lily hands, 
 Which hold my life in their dead-doing might, 
 Shall handle you, and hold in love's soft bands, 
 Like captives trembling at the victor's sight : 
 
 And happy lines, on which with starry light 
 Those lamping eyes will deign sometime to look 
 And read the sorrows of my dying sprite, 
 Written with tears in heart's close bleeding book: 
 
 And happy rhymes, bathed in the second book 
 Of Helicon, whence she derived is, 
 When ye behold that angel's blessed look, 
 My soul's long lacked food, my heaven's bliss : 
 
 Leaves, lines, and rhymes, seek her to please alone, 
 Whom if ye please, I care for other none. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 CLXVI 
 UPON JULIA'S RECOVERY 
 
 DROOP, droop no more, or hang the head, 
 
 Ye roses almost withered ; 
 
 Now strength and newer purple get, 
 
 Each here declining violet ; 
 
 O primroses ! let this day be 
 
 A resurrection unto ye,
 
 TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON 153 
 
 And to all flowers allied in blood, 
 Or sworn to that sweet sisterhood : 
 For health on Julia's cheek hath shed 
 Claret and cream commingled ; 
 And those her lips do now appear 
 As beams of coral, but more clear. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 CLXVII 
 THE BRACELET: TO JULIA 
 
 WHY I tie about thy wrist, 
 
 Julia, this silken twist ; 
 
 For what other reason is 't 
 But to show thee how, in part, 
 Thou my pretty captive art ? 
 But thy bond-slave is my heart : 
 'Tis but silk that bindeth thee, 
 Knap the thread and thou art free ; 
 But 'tis otherwise with me : 
 I am bound and fast bound, so 
 That from thee I cannot go ; 
 If I could, I would not so. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 CLXVIII 
 TO DAISIES, NOT TO SHUT SO SOON 
 
 SHUT not so soon ; the dull-eyed night 
 
 Has not as yet begun 
 To make a seizure on the light, 
 
 Or to seal up the sun.
 
 154 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 No marigolds yet closed are, 
 
 No shadows great appear ; 
 Nor doth the early shepherd's star 
 
 Shine like a spangle here. 
 
 Stay but till my Julia close 
 
 Her life-begetting eye, 
 And let the whole world then dispose 
 
 Itself to live or die. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 CLXIX 
 THE NIGHT-PIECE : TO JULIA 
 
 HER eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 
 The shooting stars attend thee ; 
 
 And the elves also, 
 
 Whose little eyes glow 
 Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. 
 
 No Will-o'-the-wisp mislight thee, 
 Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee ; 
 
 But on, on thy way 
 
 Not making a stay, 
 Since ghost there 's none to affright thee. 
 
 Let not the dark thee cumber : 
 What though the moon does slumber ? 
 
 The stars of the night 
 
 Will lend thee their light 
 Like tapers clear without number.
 
 LOVE SEES BY NIGHT 155 
 
 Then, Julia, let me woo thee, 
 Thus, thus to come unto me ; 
 
 And when I shall meet 
 
 Thy silvr'y feet 
 My soul I '11 pour into thee. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 CLXX 
 LOVE SEES BY NIGHT 
 
 O NIGHT, O jealous Night, repugnant to my measures ! 
 
 O Night so long desired, yet cross to my content ! 
 There 's none but only thou that can perform my 
 pleasures, 
 
 Yet none but only thou that hind'reth my intent. 
 
 Thy beams, thy spiteful beams, thy lamps that burn 
 
 too brightly, 
 
 Discover all my trains, and naked lay my drifts, 
 That night by night I hope, yet fail my purpose 
 
 nightly ; 
 Thy envious glaring gleam defeateth so my shifts. 
 
 Sweet Night, withhold thy beams, withhold them 
 
 till to-morrow ! 
 Whose joy's in lack so long a hell of torment 
 
 breeds. 
 Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night, do not prolong 
 
 my sorrow : 
 Desire is guide to me, and Love no lodestar needs.
 
 156 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Let sailors gaze on Stars and Moon so freshly shining; 
 Let them that miss the way be guided by the 
 
 light ; 
 I know my Lady's bower, there needs no more 
 
 divining ; 
 
 Affection sees in dark, and Love hath eyes by 
 night. 
 
 Dame Cynthia, couch awhile ! hold in thy horns for 
 
 shining, 
 And glad not low'ring Night with thy too glorious 
 
 rays; 
 
 But be she dim and dark, tempestuous and repining, 
 That in her spite my sport may work thy endless 
 praise. 
 
 And when my will is wrought, then, Cynthia, shine, 
 
 good lady, 
 
 All other nights and days in honour of that night, 
 That happy, heavenly night, that night so dark and 
 
 shady, 
 
 Wherein my Love had eyes that lighted my 
 delight. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CLXXI 
 SLEEPING 
 
 SLEEP, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me : 
 For w v a sleeping lion dares provoke ? 
 
 It shall suffice me here to sit and see 
 
 Those lips shut up that never kindly spoke :
 
 SLEEP 157 
 
 What sight can more content a lover's mind 
 Than beauty seeming harmless, if not kind ? 
 
 My words have charm'd her, for secure she sleeps, 
 Though guilty much of wrong done to my love; 
 
 And in her slumber, see ! she close-eyed weeps ! 
 Dreams often more than waking passions move. 
 
 Plead, Sleep, my cause, and make her soft like thee, 
 
 That she in peace may wake and pity me ! 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 CLXXII 
 SLEEP 
 
 COME, Sleep ; O Sleep ! the certain knot of peace, 
 The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, 
 The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, 
 Th' indifferent judge between the high and low ; 
 
 With shield of proof shield me from out the prease l 
 Of those fierce darts Despair at me doth throw : 
 
 make in me those civil wars to cease ; 
 
 1 will good tribute pay, if thou do so. 
 
 Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, 
 A chamber deaf of noise and blind of light, 
 A rosy garland and a weary head ; 
 And if these things, as being thine by right, 
 
 Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me 
 Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see. 
 
 Sir P. Sidney. 
 1 Press.
 
 158 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CLXXIII 
 
 INVOCATION TO SLEEP 
 
 CARE-CHARMING Sleep, thou easer of all woes, 
 Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose 
 On this afflicted prince ; fall like a cloud 
 In gentle showers ; give nothing that is loud 
 Or painful to his slumbers ; easy, light, 
 And as a purling stream, thou son of Night 
 Pass by his troubled senses ; sing his pain 
 Like hollow murmuring wind or silver rain ; 
 In to this prince gently, O gently, slide, 
 And kiss him into slumbers like a bride. 
 
 J. Fletcher. 
 
 CLXXIV 
 ANOTHER 
 
 CARE-CHARMER Sleep, son of the sable Night, 
 Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, 
 Relieve my languish and restore the light ; 
 With dark forgetting of my care, return : 
 
 And let the day be time enough to mourn 
 The shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth : 
 Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, 
 Without the torment of the night's untruth.
 
 MORTIS IMAGO 159 
 
 Cease dreams, the images of day's desires, 
 To model forth the passions of the morrow ; 
 Never let rising Sun approve you liars, 
 To add more grief to aggravate my sorrow. 
 
 Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, 
 And never wake to feel the day's disdain. 
 
 S. Daniel. 
 
 CLXXV 
 
 MORTIS IMAGO 
 
 SLEEP, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, 
 Prince, whose approach peace to all mortals brings, 
 Indifferent host to shepherds and to kings, 
 Sole comforter of minds with grief opprest ; 
 
 Lo, by thy charming rod all breathing things 
 Lie slumb'ring, with forgetfulness possest, 
 And yet o'er me to spread thy drowsy wings 
 Thou spares, alas ! who cannot be thy guest. 
 
 Since I am thine, O come ! but with that face 
 To inward light which thou art wont to show, 
 With feigned solace ease a true-felt woe ; 
 Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace, 
 
 Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath, 
 I long to kiss the image of my death. 
 
 Drummond of Hawthornden.
 
 160 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CLXXVI 
 
 THE DREAM 
 
 THE ivory, coral, gold, 
 
 Of breast, of lips, of hair, 
 
 So lively Sleep doth show to inward sight, 
 
 That wake I think I hold 
 
 No shadow, but my Fair : 
 
 Myself so to deceive, 
 
 With long-shut eyes I shun the irksome light. 
 
 Such pleasure thus I have, 
 
 Delighting in false gleams, 
 
 If Death Sleep's brother be, 
 
 And souls relieved of sense have so sweet dreams, 
 That I would wish me thus to dream and die. 
 Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 
 CLXXVII 
 
 A SWEET PASTORAL 
 
 GOOD Muse, rock me asleep 
 
 With some sweet harmony ; 
 The weary eye is not to keep 
 
 Thy wary company. 
 
 Sweet Love, begone awhile ; 
 
 Thou know'st my heaviness ; 
 Beauty is born but to beguile 
 
 My heart of happiness. 
 
 See how my little flock, 
 
 That loved to feed on high, 
 Do headlong tumble down the rock 
 
 And in the valley die.
 
 A SWEET PASTORAL 161 
 
 The bushes and the trees 
 
 That were so fresh and green, 
 
 Do all their dainty colour leese, 1 
 And not a leaf is seen. 
 
 The blackbird and the thrush 
 That made the woods to ring, 
 
 With all the rest are now at hush 
 And not a note they sing. 
 
 Sweet Philomel, the bird 
 
 That hath the heavenly throat, 
 
 Doth now, alas ! not once afford 
 Recording of a note. 
 
 The flowers have had a frost, 
 Each herb hath lost her savour, 
 
 And Phyllida the fair hath lost 
 The comfort of her favour. 
 
 Now all these careful sights 
 
 So kill me in conceit, 
 That how to hope upon delights, 
 
 It is but mere deceit. 
 
 And therefore, my sweet Muse, 
 Thou know'st what help is best ; 
 
 Do now thy heavenly cunning use 
 To set my heart at rest : 
 
 And in a dream bewray 
 
 What fate shall be my friend, 
 
 Whether my life shall still decay, 
 Or when my sorrow end. 
 
 N. Breton. 
 1 Lose.
 
 162 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CLXXVIII 
 
 ORPHEUS 
 
 ORPHEUS with his lute made trees 
 And the mountain tops that freeze 
 
 Bow themselves when he did sing : 
 To his music plants and flowers 
 Ever sprung ; as sun and showers 
 
 There had made a lasting spring. 
 
 Every thing that heard him play, 
 Even the billows of the sea, 
 
 Hung their heads and then lay by. 
 In sweet music is such art, 
 Killing care and grief of heart 
 
 Fall asleep, or hearing, die. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CLXXIX 
 
 TO MUSIC, TO BECALM HIS FEVER 
 
 CHARM me asleep and melt me so 
 
 With thy delicious numbers 
 That, being ravisht, hence I go 
 Away in easy slumbers. 
 Ease my sick head, 
 And make my bed, 
 Thou power that canst sever 
 From me this ill, 
 And quickly still, 
 Though thou not kill, 
 My fever.
 
 CHURCH MUSIC 163 
 
 Thou sweetly canst convert the same 
 
 From a consuming fire 
 Into a gentle licking flame, 
 And make it thus expire. 
 Then make me weep 
 My pains asleep ; 
 And give me such reposes 
 That I, poor I, 
 May think thereby 
 I live and die 
 'Mongst roses. 
 
 Fall on me like the silent dew, 
 Or like those maiden showers 
 Which, by the peep of day, do strew 
 A baptim o'er the flowers. 
 Melt, melt my pains 
 With thy soft strains ; 
 That, having ease me given, 
 With full delight 
 I leave this light, 
 And take my flight 
 For Heaven. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 CLXXX 
 
 CHURCH MUSIC 
 
 SWEETEST of sweets, I thank you : when displeasure 
 Did through my body wound my mind, 
 
 You took me thence, and in your house of pleasure 
 A dainty lodging me assign'd.
 
 164 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Now I in you without a body move, 
 Rising and falling with your wings ; 
 
 We both together sweetly live and love, 
 Yet say sometimes, God help poor kings ! 
 
 Comfort, I '11 die ; for if you post from me 
 Sure I shall do so and much more ; 
 
 But if I travel in your company, 
 
 You know the way to Heaven's door. 
 
 Geo. Herbert. 
 
 CLXXXI 
 TEARS 
 
 WEEP you no more, sad fountains ; 
 
 What need you flow so fast ? 
 Look how the snowy mountains 
 
 Heaven's sun doth gently waste ! 
 But my Sun's heavenly eyes 
 View not your weeping, 
 That now lies sleeping 
 Softly, now softly lies 
 Sleeping. 
 
 Sleep is a reconciling, 
 
 A rest that peace begets ; 
 Doth not the sun rise smiling 
 When fair at even he sets ? 
 Rest you then, rest, sad eyes ! 
 Melt not in weeping 
 While she lies sleeping 
 Softly, now softly lies 
 
 Sleeping. Anon.
 
 IN TEARS HER TRIUMPH 165 
 
 CLXXXII 
 
 SLOW, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears ; 
 
 Yet slower, yet ; O faintly, gentle springs ! 
 List to the heavy part the music bears, 
 
 Woe weeps out her division when she sings. 
 Droop herbs and flowers ; 
 Fall grief in showers ; 
 Our beauties are not ours : 
 
 O, I could still, 
 Like melting snow upon some craggy hill, 
 
 Drop, drop, drop, drop, 
 
 Since Nature's pride is now a withered daffodil. 
 
 B. Jonson. 
 
 CLXXXIII 
 IN TEARS HER TRIUMPH 
 
 So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not 
 
 To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, 
 As thy eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote 
 
 The night of dew that on my cheek down flows : 
 Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright 
 
 Through the transparent bosom of the deep, 
 As doth thy face through tears of mine give light : 
 
 Thou shin'st in every tear that I do weep ; 
 No drop but as a coach doth carry thee, 
 
 So ridest thou triumphing in my woe : 
 Do but behold the tears that swell in me, 
 
 And they thy glory through my grief will show :
 
 166 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep 
 My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. 
 O queen of queens ! how far dost thou excel, 
 No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell ! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CLXXXIV 
 
 IN TEARS YET EXCELLENT 
 
 I SAW my Lady weep, 
 And Sorrow proud to be advanced so 
 In those fair eyes where all perfections keep. 
 
 Her face was full of woe ; 
 
 But such a woe (believe me) as wins more hearts 
 Than Mirth can do with her enticing parts. 
 
 Sorrow was there made fair, 
 And Passion wise ; Tears a delightful thing ; 
 Silence beyond all speech, a wisdom rare : 
 
 She made her sighs to sing, 
 And all things with so sweet a sadness move 
 As made my heart at once both grieve and love. 
 
 O fairer than aught else 
 
 The world can show, leave off in time to grieve ! 
 Enough, enough : your joyful look excels : 
 
 Tears kill the heart, believe. 
 O strive not to be excellent in woe, 
 Which only breeds your beauty's overthrow. 
 
 Anon.
 
 HER CRUELTY 167 
 
 CLXXXV 
 
 SWEET MELANCHOLY 
 
 HENCE, all you vain delights, 
 As short as are the nights 
 
 Wherein you spend your folly ! 
 There 's naught in this life sweet, 
 If men were wise to see 't, 
 
 But only melancholy 
 
 O sweetest melancholy ! 
 Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes, 
 A sight that piercing mortifies, 
 A look that's fasten'd to the ground, 
 A tongue chain'd up without a sound ! 
 
 Fountain-heads and pathless groves, 
 Places which pale passion loves ! 
 Moonlight walks, when all the fowls 
 Are warmly housed, save bats or owls ! 
 A midnight bell, a parting groan 
 These are the sounds we feed upon : 
 Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley, 
 Nothing 's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy. 
 
 J, Fletcher. 
 
 CLXXXVI 
 HER CRUELTY 
 
 WITH how sad steps, O moon, thou climb'st the skies ! 
 How silently, and with how wan a face ! 
 What ! may it be that e'en in heavenly place 
 That busy archer his sharp arrows tries ?
 
 168 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes 
 Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case : 
 I read it in thy looks ; thy 1 anguish' d grace 
 To me, that feel the like, thy state descries. 
 
 Then, e'en of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, 
 Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit ? 
 Are beauties there as proud as here they be ? 
 Do they above love to be loved, and yet 
 
 Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess ? 
 Do they call ' virtue/ there, ungratefulness ? 
 
 Sir P. Sidney. 
 
 CLXXXVII 
 
 DELIA 
 
 FAIR is my Love and cruel as she 's fair ; 
 
 Her brow shades frowns, although her eyes are 
 
 sunny, 
 
 Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair, 
 And her disdains are gall, her favours honey : 
 
 A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour, 
 Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love ; 
 The wonder of all eyes that look upon her, 
 Sacred on earth, design' d a Saint above. 
 
 Chastity and beauty, which were deadly foes, 
 Live reconciled friends within her brow ;
 
 THE UNWILLING ONE 169 
 
 And had she pity to conjoin with those, 
 Then who had heard the plaints I utter now ? 
 
 For had she not been fair, and thus unkind, 
 My Muse had slept, and none had known my mind. 
 
 8. Daniel. 
 
 CLXXXVIII 
 
 THOU art not fair, for all thy red and white, 
 For all those rosy ornaments in thee ; 
 
 Thou art not sweet, tho' made of mere delight, 
 Nor fair, nor sweet unless thou pity me. 
 
 I will not soothe thy fancies : thou shalt prove 
 
 That beauty is no beauty without love. 
 
 Yet love not me, nor seek not to allure 
 
 My thoughts with beauty, were it more divine ; 
 
 Thy smiles and kisses I cannot endure, 
 
 I '11 not be wrapp'd up in those arms of thine : 
 
 Now show it, if thou by a woman right, 
 
 Embrace and kiss and love me in despite. 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 AH ! were she pitiful as she is fair, 
 
 Or but as mild as she is seeming so, 
 
 Then were my hopes greater than my despair, 
 
 Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe.
 
 170 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Ah ! were her heart relenting as her hand, 
 That seems to melt even with the mildest touch, 
 Then knew I where to seat me in a land 
 Under wide heavens, but yet there is none such. 
 
 So as she shows she seems the budding rose, 
 Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower ; 
 Sov'ran of beauty, like the spray she grows ; 
 Compass' d she is with thorns and canker'd bower. 
 
 Yet were she willing to be pluck'd and worn, 
 She would be gathered, though she grew on thorn. 
 
 R. Greene. 
 
 cxc 
 
 FIRE that must flame is with apt fuel fed ; 
 Flowers that will thrive in sunny soil are bred ; 
 How can a heart feel heat that no hope finds ? 
 Or can he love on whom no comfort shines ? 
 
 Fair ! I confess there 's pleasure in your sight : 
 Sweet ! you have power, I grant, of all delight : 
 But what is all to me, if I have none ? 
 Churl that you are, t' enjoy such wealth alone ! 
 
 Prayers move the heavens but find no grace with you; 
 
 Yet in your looks a heavenly form I view ; 
 
 Then will I pray again, hoping to find, 
 
 As well as in your looks, Heaven in your mind.
 
 THE LOVER CURSETH FIRST LOVE 171 
 
 Saint of my heart, Queen of my life and love, 
 O let my vows thy loving spirit move ! 
 Let me no longer mourn through thy disdain ; 
 But with one touch of grace cure all my pain ! 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 cxci 
 
 THE LOVER CURSETH THE TIME WHEN 
 FIRST HE FELL IN LOVE 
 
 WHEN first mine eyes did view and mark 
 
 Thy beauty fair for to behold, 
 And when mine ears 'gan first to hark 
 
 The pleasant words that thou me told ; 
 I would as then I had been free 
 From ears to hear and eyes to see. 
 
 And when my hands did handle oft, 
 That might thee keep in memory, 
 
 And when my feet had gone so soft 
 To find and have thy company ; 
 
 I would each hand a foot had been, 
 
 And eke each foot a hand had seen. 
 
 And when in mind I did consent 
 
 To follow thus my fancy's will, 
 And when my heart did first relent 
 
 To taste such bait myself to spill, 
 I would my heart had been as thine, 
 Or else thy heart as soft as mine.
 
 172 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Then should not I such cause have found 
 To wish this monstrous sight to see, 
 
 Nor thou, alas ! that madest the wound, 
 Should not deny me remedy : 
 
 Then should one will in both remain, 
 
 To ground one heart which now is twain. 
 
 W. Hunnis (?). 
 
 CXCII 
 
 O CRUDELIS AMOR 
 
 GENTLE Love, ungentle for thy deed, 
 
 Thou mak'st my heart 
 
 A bloody mark 
 With piercing shot to bleed. 
 Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss ; 
 
 For fear too keen 
 
 Thy arrows been, 
 
 And hit the heart where my Beloved is. 
 Too fair that fortune were, nor never I 
 
 Shall be so blest, 
 
 Among the rest, 
 
 That Love shall seize on her by sympathy. 
 Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot, 
 
 This doth remain 
 
 To cease my pain, 
 
 1 take the wound and die at Venus' foot. 
 
 Geo. Peele.
 
 A LOVER'S DIRGE 173 
 
 CXCIII 
 VOBISCUM EST OPE, VOBISCUM CANDIDA TYRO 
 
 WHEN thou must home to shades of underground, 
 And there arrived, a new admired guest, 
 The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round, 
 White lope, blithe Helen, and the rest, 
 To hear the stories of thy finish'd love 
 From that smooth tongue whose music hell can 
 move ; 
 
 Then wilt thou speak of banqueting delights, 
 Of masques and revels which sweet youth did make, 
 Of tourneys and great challenges of knights, 
 And all these triumphs for thy beauty's sake : 
 When thou hast told these honours done to thee, 
 Then tell, O tell, how thou didst murder me ! 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 cxciv 
 A LOVER'S DIRGE 
 
 COME away, come away, death, 
 And in sad cypres l let me be laid ; 
 
 Fly away, fly away, breath ; 
 I am slain by a fair cruel maid. 
 My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, 
 
 O prepare it ! 
 
 My part of death, no one so true 
 Did share it. 
 
 1 Cypres, crape. Cf. Autolycus' song 
 
 Lawn as white as driven snow, 
 Cypres black as e'er was crow.' 
 
 and Milton's 
 
 4 Sable stole of cypres-lawn.' // Penscroso.
 
 174 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Not a flower, not a flower sweet, 
 On my black coffin let there be strown ; 
 
 Not a friend, not a friend greet 
 My poor corse, where my bones shall be thrown : 
 A thousand thousand sighs to save 
 
 Lay me, O, where 
 Sad true lover never find my grave 
 To weep there ! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 cxcv 
 THE NOBLE FALL 
 
 MY spotless love hovers with purest wings, 
 About the temple of the proudest frame, 
 Where blaze those lights, fairest of earthly things, 
 Which clear our clouded world with brightest flame. 
 
 My ambitious thoughts, confined in her face, 
 Affect no honour but what She can give ; 
 My hopes do rest in limits of her grace ; 
 I weigh no comfort unless she relieve. 
 
 For She, that can my heart imparadise, 
 Holds in her fairest hand what dearest is ; 
 My Fortune's wheel's the circle of her eyes, 
 Whose rolling grace deign once a turn of bliss. 
 
 All my life's sweet consists in her alone ; 
 So much I love the most Unloving one. 
 
 8. Daniel.
 
 ICARUS 175 
 
 CXCVI 
 
 AND yet I cannot reprehend the flight 
 Or blame th' attempt presuming so to soar ; 
 The mounting venture for a high delight 
 Did make the honour of the fall the more : 
 
 For who gets wealth, that puts not from the shore ? 
 Danger hath honour, great designs their fame ; 
 Glory doth follow, courage goes before ; 
 And though th' event oft answers not the same 
 
 Suffice that high attempts have never shame. 
 The mean observer, whom base safety keeps. 
 Lives without honour, dies without a name, 
 And in eternal darkness ever sleeps : 
 
 And therefore, Delia, 'tis to me no blot 
 To have attempted, tho' attain' d thee not. 
 
 S. Daniel. 
 
 CXCVII 
 
 ICARUS 
 
 LOVE wing'd my Hopes and taught me how to fly 
 Far from base earth, but not to mount too high : 
 
 For true pleasure 
 
 Lives in measure, 
 
 Which if men forsake, 
 Blind they into folly run and grief for pleasure take.
 
 176 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 But my vain Hopes, proud of their new-taught 
 
 flight, 
 
 Enamour'd sought to win the sun's fair light, 
 Whose rich brightness 
 Moved their lightness 
 To aspire so high 
 
 That all scorch'd and consumed with fire now 
 drown'd in woe they lie. 
 
 And none but Love their woeful hap did rue, 
 For Love did know that their desires were true ; 
 
 Though fate frowned, 
 
 And now drowned 
 
 They in sorrow dwell, 
 It was the purest light of heav'n for whose fair love 
 
 they fell. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CXCVIII 
 
 ARISE, my Thoughts, and mount you with the sun ! 
 
 Call all the winds to make you speedy wings, 
 
 And to my fairest Maia see you run 
 
 And weep your last while wantonly she sings : 
 
 Then if you cannot move her heart to pity, 
 
 Let Oh, alas, ay me ! be all your ditty. 
 
 Arise, my Thoughts, beyond the highest star ! 
 And gently rest you in fair Maia's eye, 
 For that is fairer than the brightest are : 
 But, if she frown to see you climb so high, 
 Couch in her lap, and with a moving ditty 
 Of smiles and love and kisses beg for pity. 
 
 Anon.
 
 TRUE DEVOTION 177 
 
 CXCIX 
 
 My Thoughts are wing'd with Hopes, ray Hopes 
 
 with Love : 
 
 Mount, Love, unto the Moon in clearest night, 
 And say, As she doth in the heavens move, 
 In earth so wanes and waxes my delight : 
 And whisper this, but softly, in her ears, 
 ' Hope oft doth hang the head and Trust shed tears.' 
 
 Anon. 
 
 cc 
 TRUE DEVOTION 
 
 FOLLOW your saint, follow with accents sweet ! 
 Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet ! 
 There, wrapt in cloud of sorrow, pity move, 
 And tell the ravisher of my soul I perish for her love : 
 But if she scorn my never-ceasing pain, 
 Then burst with sighing in her sight, and ne'er 
 return again. 
 
 All that I sang still to her praise did tend ; 
 Still she was first, still she my songs did end ; 
 Yet she my love and music both doth fly, 
 The music that her echo is and beauty's sympathy : 
 Then let my notes pursue her scornful flight ! 
 It shall suffice that they were breath' d and died for 
 her delight. 
 
 T. Campion.
 
 178 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 cci 
 
 THE SHADOW 
 1 
 
 FOLLOW thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! 
 
 Though thou be black as night, 
 
 And she made all of light, 
 Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! 
 
 Follow her, whose light thy light depriveth ! 
 
 Though here thou liv'st disgraced, 
 
 And she in heaven is placed, 
 Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth ! 
 
 Follow those pure beams, whose beauty burneth ! 
 
 That so have scorched thee 
 
 As thou still black must be, 
 Till her kind beams thy black to brightness tumeth. 
 
 Follow her, while yet her glory shineth ! 
 
 There comes a luckless night 
 
 That will dim all her light ; 
 And this the black unhappy shade divineth. 
 
 Follow still, since so thy fates ordained ! 
 
 The sun must have his shade, 
 
 Till both at once do fade, 
 The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained. 
 
 T. Campion.
 
 KIND ARE HER ANSWERS 179 
 
 ecu 
 2 
 
 FOLLOW a shadow, it still flies you ; 
 
 Seem to fly it, it will pursue : 
 So court a mistress, she denies you ; 
 Let her alone, she will court you. 
 Say, are not women truly, then, 
 Styled but the shadows of us men ? 
 
 At morn and even, shades are longest ; 
 
 At noon they are or short or none : 
 So men at weakest, they are strongest, 
 But grant us perfect, they 're not known. 
 Say, are not women truly, then, 
 Styled but the shadows of us men ? 
 
 B. Jonson. 
 
 CCIII 
 
 KIND ARE HER ANSWERS 
 
 KIND are her answers, 
 
 But her performance keeps no day ; 
 Breaks time, as dancers 
 
 From their own music when they stray. 
 All her free favours and smooth words 
 Wing my hopes in vain. 
 O did ever voice so sweet but only feign ? 
 
 Can true love yield such delay, 
 
 Converting joy to pain?
 
 180 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Lost is our freedom 
 
 When we submit to woman so : 
 Why do we need 'em 
 
 When, in their best, they work our woe ? 
 There is no wisdom 
 Can alter ends by fate prefixt. 
 O why is the good of man with evil mixt ? 
 
 Never were days yet called two 
 
 But one night went betwixt. 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 THE SCORNER SCORNED 
 
 SHALL I, wasting in despair, 
 Die because a woman 's fair ? 
 Or make pale my cheeks with care 
 'Cause another's rosy are ? 
 Be she fairer than the day, 
 Or the flowery meads in May 
 If she think not well of me, 
 What care I how fair she be ? 
 
 Shall my silly heart be pined 
 'Cause I see a woman kind ? 
 Or a well disposed nature 
 Joined with a lovely feature ?
 
 THE SCORNER SCORNED 181 
 
 Be she meeker, kinder, than 
 
 Turtle-dove or pelican, 
 If she be not so to me, 
 What care I how kind she be ? 
 
 Shall a woman's virtues move 
 
 Me to perish for her love ? 
 
 Or her well-deservings known 
 
 Make me quite forget my own ? 
 
 Be she with that goodness blest 
 
 Which may merit name of Best ; 
 If she be not such to me, 
 What care I how good she be ? 
 
 'Cause her fortune seems too high, 
 Shall I play the fool and die ? 
 She that bears a noble mind, 
 If not outward helps she find, 
 Thinks what with them he would do 
 Who without them dares her woo ; 
 And unless that mind I see, 
 What care I how great she be ? 
 
 Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 
 
 I will ne'er the more despair; 
 
 If she love me, this believe, 
 
 I will die ere she shall grieve ; 
 
 If she slight me when I woo, 
 
 I can scorn and let her go ; 
 For if she be not for me, 
 What care I for whom she be ? 
 
 Geo. Wither.
 
 182 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 ccv 
 TO HIS FORSAKEN MISTRESS 
 
 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 loved by none. 
 
 I do confess thou 'rt sweet ; yet find 
 Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, 
 
 Thy favours are but like the wind 
 That kisseth everything it meets : 
 
 And since thou canst with more than one, 
 
 Thou 'rt worthy to be kiss'd by none. 
 
 The morning rose that untouch'd stands 
 
 Arm'd with her briars, how sweet she smells ! 
 
 But pluck'd and strain'd through ruder hands, 
 Her sweets no longer with her dwells : 
 
 But scent and beauty both are gone, 
 
 And leaves fall from her, one by one. 
 
 Such fate ere long will thee betide 
 When thou hast handled been awhile, 
 
 With sere flowers to be thrown aside ; 
 And I shall sigh, while some will smile, 
 
 To see thy love to every one 
 
 Hath brought thee to be loved by none. 
 
 Sir jR. Ayton.
 
 FAITHLESS, FICKLE 183 
 
 FAITHLESS, FICKLE 
 
 CAN a maid that is well bred, 
 Hath a blush so lovely red, 
 Modest looks, wise, mild, discreet, 
 And a nature passing sweet, 
 
 Break her promise, untrue prove, 
 On a sudden change her love, 
 Or be won e'er to neglect 
 Him to whom she vow'd respect ? 
 
 Such a maid, alas ! I know : 
 O that weeds 'mongst corn should grow ! 
 Or a rose should prickles have, 
 Wounding where she ought to save ! 
 
 Reason, wake, and sleep no more ! 
 Land upon some safer shore, 
 Think on her and be afraid 
 Of a faithless, fickle maid. 
 
 Of a faithless, fickle maid 
 Thus true love is still betray' d : 
 Yet it is some ease to sing 
 That a maid is light of wing. 
 
 Anon.
 
 184 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCVII 
 
 TO CENONE 
 
 WHAT conscience, say, is it in thee 
 
 When I a heart had one, 
 To take away that heart from me, 
 
 And to retain thy own ? 
 
 For shame or pity now incline 
 
 To play a loving part ; 
 Either to send me kindly thine, 
 
 Or give me back my heart. 
 
 Covet not both ; but if thou dost 
 Resolve to part with neither, 
 
 Why, yet to show that thou art just, 
 Take me and mine together. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 CCVIII 
 
 THE BARGAIN 
 
 MY true love hath my heart, and I have his, 
 By just exchange one for another given : 
 
 I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, 
 There never was a better bargain driven : 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
 
 THE MESSAGE 185 
 
 lis heart in me keeps him and me in one, 
 
 My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : 
 le loves my heart, for once it was his own, 
 I cherish his because in me it bides : 
 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his. 
 
 Sir P. Sidney. 
 
 ccix 
 THE MESSAGE 
 
 SEND home my long-stray'd eyes to me, 
 Which, oh ! too long have dwelt on thee ; 
 But if they there have learnt such ill, 
 Such forced fashions 
 And false passions, 
 That they be 
 Made by thee 
 Fit for no good sight, keep them still. 
 
 Send home my harmless heart again, 
 Which no unworthy thought could stain ; 
 But if it be taught by thine 
 To make jestings 
 Of pretestings, 
 
 And break both 
 Word and oath, 
 Keep it still, 'tis none of mine. 
 
 Yet send me back my heart and eyes, 
 That I may know and see thy lies,
 
 186 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 And may laugh and joy when thou 
 Art in anguish, 
 And dost languish 
 For some one 
 That will none, 
 Or prove as false as thou dost now. 
 
 /. Donne. 
 
 ccx 
 THE EXCUSE 
 
 CALLING to mind, my eyes went long about 
 
 To cause my heart for to forsake my breast ; 
 All in a rage I sought to pull them out 
 As who had been such traitors to my rest : 
 
 What could they say to win again my grace ? 
 Forsooth, that they had seen my Mistress' face. 
 
 Another time, my heart I call'd to mind, 
 
 Thinking that he this woe on me. had brought, 
 For he my breast the fort of love, resign' d, 1 
 When of such wars my fancy never thought : 
 What could he say when I would have him slain ? 
 That he was hers, and had forgone my chain. 
 
 At last, when I perceived both eyes and heart 
 
 Excuse themselves as guiltless of my ill, 
 I found myself the cause of all my smart, 
 And told myself that I myself would kill : 
 Yet when I saw myself to you was true, 
 I loved myself, because myself loved you. 
 
 Sir W. Raleigh. 
 1 v.l. ' Because that he to love his force resign' d.'
 
 AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND 187 
 
 CCXI 
 
 AS YE CAME FROM THE HOLY LAND 
 
 As ye came from the holy land 
 
 Of Walsinghame, 
 Met you not with my true love 
 
 By the way as you came ? 
 
 How should I know your true love, 
 
 That have met many one, 
 As I came from the holy land, 
 
 That have come, that have gone ? 
 
 She is neither white nor brown, 
 
 But as the heavens fair; 
 There is none hath her form divine 
 
 In the earth or the air. 
 
 Such a one did I meet, good sir, 
 
 Such an angelic face, 
 Who like a nymph, like a queen, did appear 
 
 In her gait, in her grace. 
 
 She hath left me here alone 
 
 All alone, as unknown, 
 Who sometime did me lead with herself, 
 
 And me loved as her own.
 
 188 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 What 's the cause that she leaves you alone 
 
 And a new way doth take, 
 That sometime did love you as her own, 
 
 And her joy did you make ? 
 
 I have loved her all my youth, 
 But now am old, as you see : 
 
 Love likes not the falling fruit, 
 Nor the wither'd tree. 
 
 Know that Love is a careless child, 
 
 And forgets promise past : 
 He is blind, he is deaf when he list, 
 
 And in faith never fast. 
 
 His desire is a dureless content, 
 
 And a trustless joy ; 
 He is won with a world of despair, 
 
 And is lost with a toy. 
 
 Of womenkind such indeed is the love, 
 
 Or the word love abused, 
 Under which many childish desires 
 
 And conceits are excused. 
 
 But true love is a durable fire, 
 
 In the mind ever burning, 
 Never sick, never old, never dead, 
 
 From itself never turning. 
 
 Sir W. Raleigh (?).
 
 FHE LOVER BESEECHETH HIS MISTRESS 189 
 
 ccxn 
 
 FORGET not yet the tried intent 
 Of such a truth as I have meant ; 
 My great travail so gladly spent,, 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not yet when first began 
 The weary life ye know, since whan 
 The suit, the service, none tell can ; 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not yet the great assays, 
 The cruel wrong, the scornful ways, 
 The painful patience in delays, 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not ! O, forget not this ! 
 How long ago hath been, and is 
 The mind that never meant amiss 
 Forget not yet ! 
 
 Forget not then thine own approved, 
 The which so long hath thee so loved, 
 Whose steadfast faith yet never moved : 
 Forget not this ! 
 
 Sir Thomas Wyat.
 
 190 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCXIII 
 
 CONSTANCY 
 
 O NEVER say that I was false of heart ! 
 Though absence seem'd my flame to qualify. 
 As easy might I from myself depart, 
 As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie : 
 
 That is the home of love; if I have ranged, 
 Like him that travels, I return again, 
 Just to the time, not with the time exchanged, 
 So that myself bring water for my stain. 
 
 Never believe, though in my nature reign'd 
 All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood, 
 That it could so prepost'rously be stain'd, 
 To leave for nothing all thy sum of good : 
 
 For nothing this wide universe I call, 
 Save thou, my rose ; in it thou art my all. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ccxiv 
 HOW CAN THE HEART FORGET HER? 
 
 AT her fair hands how have I grace entreated, 
 
 With prayers oft repeated ! 
 
 Yet still my love is thwarted : 
 
 Heart, let her go, for she '11 not be converted 
 
 Say, shall she go ? 
 
 O no, no, no, no, no ! 
 She is most fair, though she be marble-hearted.
 
 SINCE FIRST I SAW YOUR FACE 191 
 
 How often have my sighs declared my anguish, 
 
 Wherein I daily languish ! 
 
 Yet still she doth procure it : 
 
 Heart, let her go, for I can not endure it 
 
 Say, shall she go ? 
 
 O no, no, no, no, no ! 
 She gave the wound, and she alone must cure it. 
 
 But shall I still a true affection owe her, 
 
 Which prayers, sighs, tears do show her, 
 
 And shall she still disdain me ? 
 
 Heart, let her go, if they no grace can gain me 
 
 Say, shall she go ? 
 
 O no, no, no, no, no ! 
 She made me hers, and hers she will retain me. 
 
 But if the love that hath and still doth burn me 
 
 No love at length return me, 
 
 Out of my thoughts I '11 set her : 
 
 Heart, let her go, O heart I pray thee, let her ! 
 
 Say, shall she go ? 
 
 O no, no, no, no, no ! 
 
 Fix'd in the heart, how can the heart forget her. 
 
 F. or W. Davison. 
 
 ccxv 
 SINCE FIRST I SAW YOUR FACE 
 
 SINCE first I saw your face I resolved to honour and 
 
 renown ye ; 
 If now I be disdained, I wish my heart had never 
 
 known ye.
 
 192 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 What? I that loved and you that liked, shall we 
 
 begin to wrangle ? 
 No, no, no, my heart is fast and cannot disentangle. 
 
 If I admire or praise you too much, that fault you 
 
 may forgive me ; 
 Or if my hands had stray'd but a touch, then justly 
 
 might you leave me. 
 I asked you leave, you bade me love ; is 't now a 
 
 time to chide me ? 
 No, no, no, I '11 love you still what fortune e'er 
 
 betide me. 
 
 The sun, whose beams most glorious are, rejecteth 
 
 no beholder, 
 And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor 
 
 eyes the bolder : 
 Where beauty moves and wit delights and signs of 
 
 kindness bind me, 
 There, O there ! where'er I go I '11 leave my heart 
 
 behind me ! 
 
 Anon, 
 
 CCXVI 
 
 FALSE LOVE 
 
 WHEN Love on time and measure makes his ground, 
 Time that must end, though Love can never die, 
 
 'Tis Love betwixt a shadow and a sound, 
 A love not in the heart but in the eye ; 
 
 A love that ebbs and flows, now up, now down, 
 
 A morning's favour and an evening's frown.
 
 LOVE UNALTERABLE 193 
 
 veet looks show love, yet they are but as beams ; 
 Fair words seem true, yet they are but as wind ; 
 pes shed their tears, yet are but outward streams ; 
 Sighs paint a shadow in the falsest mind. 
 )oks, words, tears, sighs, show love when love they 
 
 leave, 
 
 ilse hearts can weep, sigh, swear, and yet deceive. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 ccxvn 
 LOVE UNALTERABLE 
 
 IT me not to the marriage of true minds 
 Imit impediments. Love is not love 
 hich alters when it alteration finds, 
 bends with the remover to remove : 
 
 no ! it is an ever-fixed mark, 
 lat looks on tempests and is never shaken ; 
 is the star to every wand' ring bark, 
 hose worth 's unknown, although his height be 
 taken. 
 
 ve's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks 
 ithin his bending sickle's compass come ; 
 ve alters not with his brief hours and weeks, 
 it bears it out even to the edge of doom : 
 
 this be error and upon me proved, 
 lever writ, nor no man ever loved. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 194 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCXVIII 
 
 FAST FAITH 
 
 DEAR, if you change, I'll never choose again ; 
 Sweet, if you shrink, I'll never think of love ; 
 Fair, if you fail, I'll judge all beauty vain ; 
 Wise, if too weak, more wits I'll never prove. 
 Dear, sweet, fair, wise ! change, shrink, nor be not 
 
 weak; 
 And, on my faith, my faith shall never break. 
 
 Earth with her flowers shall sooner heaven adorn ; 
 Heaven her bright stars through earth's dim globe 
 
 shall move : 
 
 Fire heat shall lose, and frost of flames be born ; 
 Air, made to shine, as black as hell shall prove : 
 Earth, heaven, fire, air, the world transform'd shall 
 
 view, 
 Ere I prove false to faith or strange to you. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CCXIX 
 
 MONTANUS' VOW 
 
 FIRST shall the heavens want starry light, 
 The seas be robbed of their waves ; 
 The day want sun, the sun want bright, 
 The night want shade and dead men graves j 
 The April, flowers and leaf and tree, 
 Before I false my faith to thee.
 
 LOVE OMNIPRESENT 195 
 
 First shall the tops of highest hills 
 
 By humble plains be overpry'd ; 
 
 And poets scorn the Muses' quills, 
 
 And fish forsake the water-glide ; 
 And Iris lose her colour'd weed 
 Before I fail thee at thy need. 
 
 First direful Hate shall turn to Peace, 
 And Love relent in deep disdain; 
 And Death his fatal stroke shall cease, 
 And Envy pity every pain ; 
 
 And Pleasure mourn, and Sorrow smile, 
 
 Before I talk of any guile. 
 
 First Time shall stay his stayless race, 
 And Winter bless his brows with corn ; 
 And snow bemoisten July's face, 
 And Winter spring and Summer mourn, 
 Before my pen by help of Fame 
 Cease to recite thy sacred name. 
 
 T. Lodge. 
 
 ccxx 
 LOVE OMNIPRESENT 
 
 TURN I my looks unto the skies, 
 Love with his arrows wounds mine eyes ; 
 If so I gaze upon the ground, 
 Love then in every flower is found ; 
 Search I the shade to fly my pain, 
 He meets me in the shade again ;
 
 196 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Wend I to walk in secret grove, 
 Ev'n there I meet with sacred Love ; 
 If so I bain me in the spring, 
 Ev'n on the bank I hear him sing ; 
 If so I meditate alone, 
 He will be partner of my moan ; 
 If so I mourn, he weeps with me, 
 And where I am there he will be. 
 
 T. Lodge. 
 
 ccxxi 
 
 WERE I as base as is the lowly plain, 
 
 And you, my Love, as high as heaven above, 
 
 Yet should the thoughts of me, your humble swain, 
 
 Ascend to heaven in honour of my Love. 
 
 Were I as high as heaven above the plain, 
 And you, my Love, as humble and as low 
 As are the deepest bottoms of the main, 
 Whereso'er you were, with you my love should go. 
 
 Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies, 
 My love should shine on you like to the Sun, 
 And look upon you with ten thousand eyes 
 Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world were 
 done. 
 
 Whereso'er I am, below, or else above you 
 Whereso'er you are, my heart shall truly love you. 
 
 Joshua Sylvester.
 
 TO ANTHEA 197 
 
 CCXXII 
 
 TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND 
 HIM ANYTHING 
 
 BID me to live, and I will live 
 
 Thy Protestant to be, 
 Or bid me love, and I will give 
 
 A loving heart to thee. 
 
 A heart as soft, a heart as kind, 
 
 A heart as sound and free 
 As in the whole world thou canst find, 
 
 That heart I'll give to thee. 
 
 Bid that heart stay, and it will stay 
 
 To honour thy decree : 
 Or bid it languish quite away, 
 
 And 't shall do so for thee. 
 
 Bid me to weep, and I will weep 
 
 While I have eyes to see : 
 And, having none, yet will I keep 
 
 A heart to weep for thee. 
 
 Bid me despair, and I'll despair 
 
 Under that cypress-tree : 
 Or bid me die, and I will dare 
 
 E'en death to die for thee. 
 
 Thou art my life, my love, my heart, 
 
 The very eyes of me : 
 And hast command of every part 
 
 To live and die for thee. Her rick.
 
 198 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCXXIII 
 
 LIKE as a ship, that through the Ocean wide 
 By conduct of some star doth make her way, 
 Whenas a storm hath dimm'd her trusty guide, 
 Out of her course doth wander far astray : 
 
 So I whose star, that wont with her bright ray 
 Me to direct, with clouds is overcast 
 Do wander now in darkness and dismay 
 Through hidden perils round about me placed. 
 
 Yet hope I well that when this storm is past, 
 My Helice, the lodestar of my life, 
 Will shine again and look on me at last, 
 With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief. 
 
 Till then I wander careful, comfortless, 
 In secret sorrow and sad pensiveness. 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 CCXXIV 
 
 THE PATIENT LOVER 
 
 THOUGH I be scorn' d, yet will I not disdain, 
 
 But bend my thoughts fair beauty to adore ; 
 What though she smile when I sigh and complain ? 
 It is, I know, to try my faith the more : 
 
 For she is fair, and fairness is regarded ; 
 And I am firm, firm love will be rewarded. 
 
 Suppose I love and languish to my end, 
 
 And she my plaints, my sighs, my tears despise :
 
 THE SILENT LOVER 199 
 
 'tis enough, when Fates for me do send, 
 If she vouchsafe to close my dying eyes ; 
 
 Which if she do, and chance to drop a tear, 
 From death to life that balm will me uprear. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 ccxxv 
 
 THE HONEST PEDLAR 
 
 FINE knacks for ladies ! cheap, choice, brave, and new, 
 Good pennyworths, but money cannot move : 
 
 1 keep a fair but for the Fair to view, 
 
 A beggar may be liberal of love. 
 Though all my wares be trash, the heart is true, 
 The heart is true. 
 
 Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again ; 
 My trifles come as treasures from my mind : 
 It is a precious jewel to be plain ; 
 
 Sometimes in shell the orient' st pearls we find : 
 Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain ! 
 
 Of me a grain ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CCXXVI 
 
 THE SILENT LOVER 
 
 PASSIONS are liken'd best to floods and streams : 
 The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb ; 
 
 So, when affection yields discourse, it seems 
 The bottom is but shallow whence they come. 
 
 They that are rich in words, in words discover 
 
 That they are poor in that which makes a lover.
 
 200 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Wrong not, sweet empress of my heart, 
 
 The merit of true passion, 
 With thinking that he feels no smart, 
 
 That sues for no compassion. 
 
 Silence in love bewrays more woe 
 Than words, though ne'er so witty ; 
 
 A beggar that is dumb, you know, 
 May challenge double pity. 
 
 Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, 
 My true, though secret passion : 
 
 He smarteth most that hides his smart, 
 And sues for no compassion. 
 
 Sir W. Raleigh. 
 
 CCXXVII 
 
 THE FULL LOVE IS HUSHED 
 
 MY love is strengthen' d, though more weak in 
 
 seeming ; 
 
 I love not less, though less the show appear : 
 That love is merchandised whose rich esteeming 
 The owner's tongue doth publish everywhere. 
 
 Our love was new, and then but in the spring, 
 When I was wont to greet it with my lays ; 
 As Philomel in summer's front doth sing 
 And stops her pipe in growth of riper days :
 
 ABSENCE 201 
 
 Not that the summer is less pleasant now 
 
 Than when her mournful hymns did hush the night, 
 
 But that wild music burthens every bough, 
 
 And sweets grown common lose their dear delight. 
 
 Therefore, like her, I sometimes hold my tongue, 
 Because I would not dull you with my song. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CCXXVIII 
 
 ABSENCE 
 
 How like a winter hath my absence been 
 From thee, the pleasure of the fleeting year ! 
 What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen, 
 What old December's bareness everywhere ! 
 
 And yet this time removed was summer's time ; 
 The teeming autumn, big with rich increase, 
 Bearing the wanton burden of the prime 
 Like widow' d wombs after their lord's decease : 
 
 Yet this abundant issue seem'd to me 
 But hope of orphans and unfather'd fruit ; 
 For summer and his pleasures wait on thee, 
 And, thou away, the very birds are mute : 
 
 Or if they sing, 'tis with so dull a cheer 
 The leaves look pale, dreading the winter 's near. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 202 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCXXIX 
 
 FROM you have I been absent in the spring, 
 When proud-pied April, dress'd in all his trim, 
 Hath put a spirit of youth in everything, 
 That heavy Saturn laugh'd and leap'd with him. 
 
 Yet nor the lays of birds, nor the sweet smell 
 Of different flowers in odour and in hue, 
 Could make me any summer's story tell, 
 Or from their proud lap pluck them where they 
 grew : 
 
 Nor did I wonder at the lily's white, 
 Nor praise the deep vermilion of the rose ; 
 They were but sweet, but figures of delight, 
 Drawn after you, you pattern of all those. 
 
 Yet seem'd it winter still, and, you away, 
 As with your shadow I with these did play. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ccxxx 
 
 THE forward violet thus did I chide : 
 
 Sweet thief, whence didst thou steal thy sweet that 
 
 smells, 
 
 If not from my love's breath ? The purple pride, 
 Which on thy soft cheek for complexion dwells,
 
 LOVE IN HARBOUR 203 
 
 In my love's veins thou hast too grossly dyed. 
 The lily I condemned for thy hand 
 And buds of marjoram had stolen thy hair ; 
 The roses fearfully on thorns did stand, 
 One blushing shame, another white despair ; 
 
 A third, nor red nor white, had stolen of both, 
 And to his robbery had annex'd thy breath ; 
 But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth 
 A vengeful canker ate him up to death. 
 
 More flowers I noted ; yet I none could see 
 But sweet or colour it had stolen from thee. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 LOVE IN HARBOUR 
 
 SWEET, come again ! 
 
 Your happy sight, so much desired 
 Since you from hence are now retired 
 
 I seek in vain : 
 
 Still must I mourn 
 
 And pine in longing pain 
 
 Till you, my life's delight, again 
 
 Vouchsafe your wish'd return ! 
 
 If true desire, 
 
 Or faithful vow of endless love, 
 Thy heart inflamed may kindly move 
 
 With equal fire ;
 
 204 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 O then my joys, 
 
 So long distraught, shall rest 
 Reposed soft in thy chaste breast, 
 
 Exempt from all annoys. 
 
 You had the power 
 
 My wand'ring thoughts first to restrain, 
 You first did hear my love speak plain ; 
 
 A child before, 
 
 Now it is grown 
 
 Confirm' d, do you it keep : 
 
 And let 't safe in your bosom sleep, 
 
 There ever made your own ! 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 ccxxxn 
 
 That Time and absence proves, 
 Rather helps than hurts to loves. 
 
 ABSENCE, hear thou my protestation, 
 
 Against thy strength, 
 
 Distance and length : 
 Do what thou can for alteration, 
 
 For hearts of truest mettle 
 
 Absence doth join and time doth settle. 
 
 Who loves a mistress of such quality, 
 
 He soon hath found 
 
 Affection's ground 
 Beyond time, place, and all mortality. 
 
 To hearts that cannot vaiy 
 
 Absence is present, Time doth tarry.
 
 ABSENCE 205 
 
 My senses want their outward motions 
 
 Which now within 
 
 Reason doth win, 
 Redoubled in her secret notions : 
 
 Like rich men that take pleasure 
 
 In hiding more than handling treasure. 
 
 By absence this good means I gain, 
 
 That I can catch her 
 
 Where none doth watch her, 
 In some close corner of my brain : 
 
 There I embrace and kiss her, 
 
 And so I both enjoy and miss her. 
 
 /. Donne. 
 
 ccxxxm 
 
 SWEET love, renew thy force : be it not said 
 Thine edge shall blunter be than appetite, 
 Which but to-day by feeding is allay'd, 
 To-morrow sharpen' d in his former might : 
 
 So, love, be thou : although to-day thou fill 
 Thy hungry eyes even till they wink with fulness, 
 To-morrow see again, and do not kill 
 The spirit of love with a perpetual dulness. 
 
 Let this sad interim like the ocean be 
 Which parts the shore, where two contracted new 
 Come daily to the banks, that, when they see 
 Return of love, more bless'd may be the view :
 
 206 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Or call it winter, which, being full of care, 
 Makes summer's welcome thrice more wish'd, more 
 rare. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CCXXXIV 
 
 BEING your slave, what should I do but tend 
 Upon the hours and times of your desire ? 
 I have no precious time at all to spend, 
 Nor services to do, till you require. 
 
 Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour 
 Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you, 
 Nor think the bitterness of absence sour 
 When you have bid your servant once adieu : 
 
 Nor dare I question with my jealous thought 
 Where you may be, or your affairs suppose, 
 But, like a sad slave, stay and think of nought 
 Save, where you are how happy you make those ! 
 
 So true a fool is love, that in your will 
 Though you do any thing, he thinks no ill. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 ccxxxv 
 
 COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER 
 LOVER BEING UPON THE SEA 
 
 O HAPPY dames ! that may embrace 
 
 The fruit of your delight, 
 Help to bewail the woful case 
 
 And eke the heavy plight
 
 COMPLAINT OF ABSENCE OF HER LOVER 207 
 
 Of me that wonted to rejoice 
 
 The fortune of my pleasant choice : 
 
 Good ladies, help to fill my mourning voice. 
 
 In ship, freight with rememberance 
 
 Of thoughts and pleasures past, 
 He sails that hath in governance 
 
 My life while it will last : 
 With scalding sighs, for lack of gale, 
 Furthering his hope, that is his sail, 
 Toward me, the sweet port of his avail. 
 
 Alas ! how oft in dreams I see 
 
 Those eyes that were my food ; 
 Which sometime so delighted me, 
 
 That yet they do me good : 
 Wherewith I wake with his return 
 Whose absent flame did make me burn : 
 But when I find the lack, Lord ! how I mourn ! 
 
 When other lovers in arms across 
 
 Rejoice their chief delight, 
 Drowned in tears, to mourn my loss 
 
 I stand the bitter night 
 In my window where I may see 
 Before the winds how the clouds flee : 
 Lo ! what a mariner love hath made me ! 
 
 And in green waves when the salt flood 
 
 Doth rise by rage of wind, 
 A thousand fancies in that mood 
 
 Assail my restless mind.
 
 208 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Alas ! now drencheth x my sweet foe, 
 That with the spoil of my heart did go, 
 And left me ; but alas ! why did he so ? 
 
 And when the seas wax calm again 
 
 To chase from me annoy, 
 My doubtful hope doth cause me plain ; 
 
 So dread cuts off my joy. 
 Thus is my wealth mingled with woe 
 And of each thought a doubt doth grow ; 
 Now he comes ! Will he come ? Alas ! no, no. 
 
 Earl of Surrey. 
 
 CCXXXVI 
 
 VALEDICTION, FORBIDDING MOURNING 
 
 As virtuous men pass mildly away, 
 And whisper to their souls to go ; 
 
 While some of their sad friends do say, 
 Now his breath goes, and some say, No ; 
 
 So let us melt, and make no noise, 
 
 No tear-floods nor sigh-tempests move ; 
 
 'Twere profanation of our joys 
 To tell the laity our love. 
 
 Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears, 
 Men reckon what it did and meant ; 
 
 But trepidations of the spheres, 
 Though greater far, are innocent. 
 
 1 i.e. is drenched or drowned.
 
 VALEDICTION, FORBIDDING MOURNING 209 
 
 Dull sublunary lovers' love, 
 
 Whose soul is sense, cannot admit 
 
 Absence ; for that it doth remove 
 Those things which elemented it. 
 
 But we, by a love so far refined, 
 That ourselves know not what it is, 
 
 Inter-assured of the mind, 
 
 Careless, eyes, lips and hands to miss, 
 
 Our two souls therefore, which are one, 
 Though I must go, endure not yet 
 
 A breach, but an expansion, 
 Like gold to airy thinness beat. 
 
 If they be two, they are two so 
 As stiff twin compasses are two ; 
 
 Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show 
 To move, but doth if th' other do. 
 
 And though it in the centre sit, 
 Yet when the other far doth roam, 
 
 It leans and hearkens after it, 
 
 And grows erect as that comes home. 
 
 Such wilt thou be to me, who must, 
 Like th' other foot, obliquely run ; 
 Thy firmness makes my circles just, 
 And makes me end where I begun. 
 
 J. Donne. 
 o
 
 210 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCXXXVII 
 
 THE GREAT ADVENTURE 
 
 As careful merchants do expecting stand, 
 After long time and merry gales of wind, 
 
 Upon the place where their brave ship must land : 
 So wait I for the vessel of my mind. 
 
 Upon a great adventure it is bound, 
 
 Whose safe return will valued be at more 
 
 Than all the wealthy prizes which have crown'd 
 The golden wishes of an age before. 
 
 Out of the East jewels of worth she brings ; 
 
 Th' unvalued diamond of her sparkling eye 
 Wants 1 in the treasures of all Europe's kings; 
 
 And were it mine, they nor their crowns should buy. 
 
 The sapphires ringed on her panting breast 
 Run as rich veins of ore about the mould, 
 
 And are in sickness with a pale possess'd, 
 So true, for them I should disvalue gold. 
 
 The melting rubies on her cherry lip 
 
 Are of such power to hold, that as one day 
 
 Cupid flew thirsty by, he stoop' d to sip, 
 And fasten' d there could never get away. 
 
 1 Is lacking.
 
 AN ECSTASY 211 
 
 The sweets of Candy are no sweets to me 
 
 When hers I taste ; nor the perfumes of price, 
 
 Robb'd from the happy shrubs of Arabye, 
 As her sweet breath so powerful to entice. 
 
 O hasten then ! and if thou be not gone 
 Unto that wished traffic through the main, 
 
 My powerful sighs shall quickly drive thee on, 
 And then begin to draw thee back again. 
 
 If in the mean rude waves have it oppress'd 
 It shall suffice I ventured at the best. 
 
 Wm. Browne. 
 
 CCXXXVIII 
 
 AN ECSTASY 
 
 E'EN like two little bank-dividing brooks, 
 
 That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, 
 
 And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks, 
 
 Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, 
 
 Where in a greater current they conjoin : 
 
 So I my Best-beloved's am ; so He is mine. 
 
 E'en so we met ; and after long pursuit, 
 E'en so we joined; we both became entire; 
 
 No need for either to renew a suit, 
 
 For I was flax, and He was flames of fire : 
 Our firm-united souls did more than twine ; 
 
 So I my Best-beloved's am ; so He is mine.
 
 212 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 If all those glittering Monarchs, that command 
 
 The servile quarters of this earthly ball, 
 Should tender in exchange their shares of land, 
 I would not change my fortunes for them all : 
 
 Their wealth is but a counter to my coin : 
 The world 's but theirs ; but my Beloved's mine. 
 
 F. Quarles. 
 
 ccxxxix 
 THE TRIUMPH 
 
 SEE the Chariot at hand here of Love, 
 
 Wherein my Lady rideth ! 
 Each that draws is a swan or a dove, 
 
 And well the car Love guideth. 
 As she goes, all hearts do duty 
 
 Unto her beauty ; 
 And enamour'd do wish, so they might 
 
 But enjoy such a sight, 
 That they still were to run by her side, 
 Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride. 
 
 Do but look on her eyes, they do light 
 
 All that Love's world compriseth ! 
 Do but look on her hair, it is bright 
 
 As Love's star when it riseth ! 
 Do but mark her forehead's smoother 
 Than words that soothe her ;
 
 BRIDAL SONG 213 
 
 And from her arch'd brows, such a grace 
 Sheds itself through the face, 
 As alone there triumphs to the life 
 All the gain, all the good, of the elements' strife. 
 
 Have you seen but a bright lily grow 
 Before rude hands have touch'd it ? 
 Have you marked but the fall of the snow 
 
 Before the soil hath smutch'd it ? 
 Have you felt the wool of the beaver, 
 
 Or swan's down ever ? 
 Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier, 
 
 Or the nard in the fire ? 
 Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? 
 O so white, O so soft, O so sweet is she ! 
 
 B. Jonson. 
 
 CCXL 
 BRIDAL SONG 
 
 ROSES, their sharp spines being gone, 
 Not royal in their smells alone, 
 
 But in their hue ; 
 Maiden pinks, of odour faint, 
 Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, 
 
 And sweet thyme true ; 
 
 Primrose, firstborn child of Ver ; 
 Merry springtime's harbinger, 
 With her bells dim ;
 
 214 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Oxlips in their cradles growing, 
 Marigolds on deathbeds blowing, 
 Larks' -heels trim. 
 
 All dear Nature's children sweet 
 Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, 
 
 Blessing their sense ! 
 Not an angel of the air, 
 Bird melodious or bird fair, 
 
 Be absent hence ! 
 
 The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor 
 The boding raven, nor chough hoar, 
 
 Nor chattering pye, 
 May on our bridehouse perch or sing, 
 Or with them any discord bring, 
 
 But from it fly ! 
 
 Shakespeare (?). 
 
 CCXLI 
 
 BRIDAL SONG 
 
 Now hath Flora robb'd her bowers 
 To befriend this place with flowers : 
 
 Strow about, strow about ! 
 The sky rain'd never kindlier showers. 
 Flowers with bridals well agree, 
 Fresh as brides and bridegrooms be : 
 
 Strow about, strow about,
 
 FAR ABOVE RUBIES 215 
 
 And mix them with fit melody ! 
 
 Earth hath no princelier flowers 
 
 Than roses white and roses red, 
 
 But they must still be mingled : 
 
 And as a rose new pluckt from Venus' thorn, 
 
 So doth a bride her bridegroom's bed adorn. 
 
 Divers divers flowers affect 
 For some private dear respect : 
 
 Strow about, strow about ! 
 Let every one his own protect ; 
 But he 's none of Flora's friend 
 That will not the rose commend : 
 
 Strow about, strow about ! 
 Let princes princely flowers defend : 
 Roses, the garden's pride, 
 Are flowers for love and flowers for kings, 
 In courts desired and weddings : 
 And as a rose in Venus' bosom worn, 
 So doth a bridegroom his bride's bed adorn. 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 CCXLII 
 FAR ABOVE RUBIES 
 
 WHAT is it all that men possess, among themselves 
 conversing ? 
 
 Wealth, or fame, or some such boast, scarce worthy 
 the rehearsing : 
 
 Women only are men's good, with them in love con- 
 versing.
 
 216 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 If weary, they prepare us rest ; if sick, their hand 
 attends us ; 
 
 When with grief our hearts are press' d, their com- 
 fort best befriends us ; 
 
 Sweet or sour, they willing go to share what fortune 
 sends us. 
 
 What pretty babes with pains they bear, our name 
 
 and form presenting ! 
 What we get how wise they keep, by sparing wants 
 
 preventing ! 
 Sorting all their household cares to our observed 
 
 contenting ! 
 
 All this, of whose large use I sing, in two words is 
 
 expressed : 
 Good Wife is the good I praise, if by good men 
 
 possessed. 
 Bad with bad in ill suit well, but good with good 
 
 live blessed. 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 CCXLIII 
 A LULLABY 
 
 UPON my lap my sovereign sits 
 
 And sucks upon my breast ; 
 
 Meantime his love maintains my life 
 
 And gives my sense her rest. 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy !
 
 SEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD 217 
 
 When thou hast taken thy repast, 
 
 Repose, my babe, on me ; 
 
 So may thy mother and thy nurse 
 
 Thy cradle also be. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 
 
 I grieve that duty doth not work 
 
 All that my wishing would ; 
 
 Because I would not be to thee 
 
 But in the best I should. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 
 
 Yet as I am, and as I may, 
 
 I must and will be thine, 
 
 Though all too little for thyself 
 
 Vouchsafing to be mine. 
 
 Sing lullaby, my little boy, 
 Sing lullaby, mine only joy ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CCXLIV 
 SEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD 
 
 WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
 When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee. 
 
 Mother's wag, pretty boy, 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy ;
 
 218 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 When thy father first did see 
 Such a boy by him and me, 
 He was glad, I was woe ; 
 Fortune changed made him so, 
 When he left his pretty boy, 
 Last his sorrow, first his joy. 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
 When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee. 
 
 Streaming tears that never stint, 
 
 Like pearl-drops from a flint, 
 
 Fell by course from his eyes, 
 
 That one another's place supplies ; 
 
 Thus he griev'd in every part. 
 
 Tears of blood fell from his heart, 
 
 When he left his pretty boy, 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy. 
 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee ; 
 When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee. 
 
 The wanton smiled, father wept, 
 
 Mother cried, baby leapt ; 
 
 More he crow'd, more we cried, 
 
 Nature could not sorrow hide : 
 
 He must go, he must kiss 
 
 Child and mother, baby bless, 
 
 For he left his pretty boy, 
 
 Father's sorrow, father's joy. 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, 
 When thou art old there 's grief enough for thee. 
 
 R. Greene.
 
 A CRADLE SONG 219 
 
 CCXLV 
 
 A CRADLE SONG 
 
 COME little babe, come silly soul, 
 
 Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief, 
 
 Born as I doubt to all our dole, 
 
 And to thyself unhappy chief : 
 
 Sing lullaby, and lap it warm, 
 
 Poor soul that thinks no creature harm. 
 
 Thou little think'st and less dost know 
 The cause of this thy mother's moan ; 
 Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe, 
 And I myself am all alone : 
 
 Why dost thou weep ? why dost thou wail ? 
 
 And knowest not yet what thou dost ail. 
 
 Come little wretch ah, silly heart ! 
 
 Mine only joy, what can I more ? 
 
 If there be any wrong thy smart, 
 
 That may the destinies implore : 
 'Twas I, I say, against my will, 
 I wail the time, but be thou still. 
 
 And dost thou smile ? O, thy sweet face ! 
 Would God Himself He might thee see ! 
 No doubt thou wouldst soon purchase grace, 
 I know right well, for thee and me : 
 
 But come to mother, babe, and play, 
 
 For father false is fled away.
 
 220 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance 
 Thy father home again to send, 
 If death do strike me with his lance, 
 Yet mayst thou me to him commend : 
 If any ask thy mother's name, 
 Tell how by love she purchased blame. 
 
 Then will his gentle heart soon yield : 
 
 I know him of a gentle mind : 
 
 Although a lion in the field, 
 
 A lamb in town thou shalt him find : 
 Ask blessing, babe, be not afraid, 
 His sugar'd words hath me betray'd. 
 
 Then mayst thou joy and be right glad ; 
 
 Although in woe I seem to moan, 
 
 Thy father is no rascal lad, 
 
 A noble youth of blood and bone : 
 
 His glancing looks, if he once smile, 
 Right honest women may beguile. 
 
 Come little boy and rock asleep, 
 
 Sing lullaby and be thou still ; 
 
 I, that can do naught else but weep, 
 
 Will sit by thee and wail my fill : 
 God bless my babe, and lullaby 
 From this thy father's quality. 
 
 N. Breton.
 
 WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY 221 
 
 CCXLVI 
 
 WALY WALY, LOVE BE BONNY 
 
 WALY waly up the bank, 
 
 And waly waly down the brae, 
 And waly waly yon burnside 
 
 Where I and my Love wont to gae ! 
 
 1 leant my back unto an aik, 
 
 I thought it was a trusty tree ; 
 But first it bow'd and syne it brak, 
 Sae my true Love did lightly me. 
 
 O waly waly, gin love be bonny 
 
 A little time while it is new ; 
 But when 'tis auld, it waxeth cauld, 
 
 And fades awa' like morning dew. 
 O wherefore should I busk my head ? 
 
 Or wherefore should I kame my hair ? 
 For my true Love has me forsook, 
 
 And says he '11 never love me mair. 
 
 Now Arthur Seat sail be my bed ; 
 
 The sheets shall ne'er be 'filed 1 by me : 
 Saint Anton's Well sail be my drink, 
 
 Since my true Love has forsaken me. 
 Marti'mas wind, when wilt thou blaw 
 
 And shake the green leaves affthe tree ? 
 O gentle Death, when wilt thou come ? 
 
 For of my life I am wearie. 
 
 i Defiled.
 
 222 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 'Tis not the frost, that freezes fell, 
 
 Nor blawing snaw's inclemencie ; 
 'Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, 
 
 But my Love's heart grown cauld to me. 
 When we came in by Glasgow town 
 
 We were a comely sight to see ; 
 My love was clad in the black velvet, 
 
 And I mysell in cramasie. 1 
 
 But had I wist, before I kist, 
 
 That love had been sae ill tae win ; 
 I had lockt my heart in a case of gowd, 
 
 And pinn'd it with a siller pin. 
 And O ! if my young babe were born, 
 
 And set upon the nurse's knee, 
 And I myself were dead and gane, 
 
 And the green grass growing over me ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CCXLVII 
 OPHELIA SINGS 
 
 How should I your true love know 
 
 From another one ? 
 By his cockle hat and staff, 
 
 And his sandal shoon. 
 
 1 Crimson.
 
 THE MAD MAID'S SONG 223 
 
 He is dead and gone, lady, 
 
 He is dead and gone ; 
 At his head a grass-green turf, 
 
 At his heels a stone. 
 
 White his shroud as the mountain snow, 
 
 Larded with sweet flowers, 
 Which bewept to the grave did go 
 
 With true-love showers. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CCXLVIII 
 
 ASPATIA'S SONG 
 
 LAY a garland on my hearse 
 
 Of the dismal yew ; 
 Maidens, willow branches bear ; 
 
 Say, I died true. 
 
 My love was false, but I was firm 
 
 From my hour of birth. 
 Upon my buried body lie 
 
 Lightly, gentle earth ! 
 
 /. Fletcher. 
 
 CCXLIX 
 
 THE MAD MAID'S SONG 
 
 GOOD-MORROW to the day so fair, 
 
 Good-morrow, sir, to you ; 
 Good-morrow to mine own torn hair 
 
 Bedabbled with the dew.
 
 224 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Good-morning to this primrose too, 
 
 Good-morrow to each maid 
 That will with flowers the tomb bestrew 
 
 Wherein my love is laid. 
 
 Ah ! woe is me, woe, woe is me, 
 
 Alack and well-a-day ! 
 For pity, sir, find out that bee 
 
 Which bore my love away. 
 
 I '11 seek him in your bonnet brave, 
 
 I '11 seek him in your eyes ; 
 Nay, now I think they 've made his grave 
 
 I' th' bed of strawberries. 
 
 I '11 seek him there ; I know ere this 
 The cold, cold earth doth shake him ; 
 
 But I will go or send a kiss 
 By you, sir, to awake him. 
 
 Pray hurt him not ; though he be dead, 
 He knows well who do love him, 
 
 And who with green turfs rear his head, 
 And who do rudely move him. 
 
 He 's soft and tender (pray take heed) ; 
 
 With bands of cowslips bind him, 
 And bring him home ; but 'tis decreed 
 
 That I shall never find him. 
 
 Herrick.
 
 SIGH NO MORE, LADIES 225 
 
 SIGH NO MORE, LADIES 
 
 SIGH no more, ladies, sigh no more ; 
 
 Men were deceivers ever ; 
 One foot in sea, and one on shore, 
 To one thing constant never. 
 Then sigh not so, 
 But let them go, 
 And be you blithe and bonny, 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 Into Hey nonny, nonny. 
 
 Sing no more ditties, sing no moe, 
 
 Of dumps so dull and heavy ; 
 The fraud of men was ever so, 
 Since summer first was leafy. 
 Then sigh not so, 
 But let them go, 
 And be you blithe and bonny, 
 Converting all your sounds of woe 
 Into Hey nonny, nonny. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 226 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCLI 
 
 TAKE, O TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY 
 
 TAKE, O take those lips away, 
 
 That so sweetly were forsworn ; 
 And those eyes, the break of day, 
 
 Lights that do mislead the morn : 
 But my kisses bring again, 
 
 Bring again ; 
 
 Seals of love, but seal'd in vain, 
 Seal'd in vain ! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CCLII 
 
 A LEAVE-TAKING 
 
 HARDEN now thy tired heart with more than flinty 
 
 rage ! 
 Ne'er let her false tears henceforth thy constant 
 
 grief assuage ! 
 Once true happy days thou saw'st when she stood 
 
 firm and kind, 
 Both as one then lived and held one ear, one tongue, 
 
 one mind : 
 But now those bright hours be fled, and never may 
 
 return ; 
 What then remains but her untruths to mourn ? 
 
 Silly traitress, who shall now thy careless tresses 
 
 place ? 
 Who thy pretty talk supply, whose ear thy music 
 
 grace ?
 
 FAREWELL, FALSE LOVE ! 227 
 
 Who shall thy bright eyes admire? What lips 
 
 triumph with thine ? 
 Day by day who '11 visit thee and say ' Th' art only 
 
 mine ' ? 
 Such a time there was, God wot; but such can 
 
 never be : 
 Too oft, I fear, thou wilt remember me. 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 CCLIII 
 FAREWELL, FALSE LOVE! 
 
 AWAY, delights ! go seek some other dwelling, 
 
 For I must die. 
 Farewell, false love ! thy tongue is ever telling 
 
 Lie after lie. 
 For ever let me rest now from thy smarts ; 
 
 Alas, for pity go 
 
 And fire their hearts 
 That have been hard to thee ! Mine was not so. 
 
 Never again deluding love shall know me, 
 
 For I will die ; 
 And all those griefs, that think to overgrow me, 
 
 Shall be as I : 
 For ever will I sleep, while poor maids cry 
 
 ' Alas, for pity stay, 
 
 And let us die 
 
 With thee ! Men cannot mock us in the clay.' 
 
 J. Fletcher.
 
 228 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCLIV 
 
 AN EARNEST SUIT TO HIS UNKIND 
 MISTRESS, NOT TO FORSAKE HIM 
 
 AND wilt thou leave me thus ? 
 Say nay, say nay, for shame ! 
 To save thee from the blame 
 Of all my grief and grame. 1 
 And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus, 
 That hath loved thee so long 
 In wealth and woe among : 
 And is thy heart so strong 
 As for to leave me thus ? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus, 
 That hath given thee my heart 
 Never for to depart 
 Neither for pain nor smart : 
 And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus, 
 And have no more pitye 
 Of him that loveth thee ? 
 Alas, thy cruelty ! 
 And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
 Say nay ! say nay ! 
 
 Sir Thomas Wyat. 
 1 Sorrow.
 
 THE PARTING 229 
 
 CCLV 
 
 THE RECALL OF LOVE 
 
 FAREWELL ! them art too dear for my possessing, 
 And like enough thou know'st thy estimate : 
 The charter of thy worth gives thee releasing ; 
 My bonds in thee are all determinate. 
 
 For how do I hold thee but by thy granting ? 
 And for that riches where is my deserving ? 
 The cause of this fair gift in me is wanting, 
 And so my patent back again is swerving. 
 
 Thyself thou gav'st, thy own worth then not knowing, 
 Or me, to whom thou gav'st it, else mistaking ; 
 So thy great gift, upon misprision growing, 
 Comes home again, on better judgment making. 
 
 Thus have I had thee as a dream doth flatter, 
 In sleep a king ; but waking, no such matter. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CCLVI 
 
 THE PARTING 
 
 SINCE there 's no help, come let us kiss and part 
 Nay, I have done, you get no more of me ; 
 And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, 
 That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; 
 
 Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, 
 And when we meet at any time again, 
 Be it not seen in either of our brows 
 That we one jot of former love retain.
 
 230 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Now at the last gasp of Love's latest breath, 
 When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, 
 When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, 
 And Innocence is closing up her eyes, 
 
 Now if thou wouldst, when all have given him 
 
 over, 
 
 From death to life thou mightst him yet recover. 
 
 M. Dray ton. 
 
 CCLVII 
 
 THEN hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now ; 
 Now, while the world is bent my deeds to cross, 
 Join with the spite of fortune, make me bow, 
 And do not drop in for an after-loss : 
 
 Ah ! do not, when my heart hath 'scaped this sorrow, 
 Come in the rearward of a conquer'd woe ; 
 Give not a windy night a rainy morrow, 
 To linger out a purposed overthrow. 
 
 If thou wilt leave me, do not leave me last, 
 When other petty griefs have done their spite. 
 But in the onset come : so shall I taste 
 At first the very worst of fortune's might ; 
 
 And other strains of woe, which now seem woe, 
 Compared with loss of thee will not seem so ! 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 THE FUNERAL 231 
 
 CCLVIII 
 
 FORGET 
 
 No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
 Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
 Give warning to the world that I am fled 
 From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell : 
 
 Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
 The hand that writ it ; for I love you so, 
 That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot 
 If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
 
 O if, I say, you look upon this verse, 
 When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
 Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, 
 But let your love even with my life decay ; 
 
 Lest the wise world should look into your moan, 
 And mock you with me after I am gone. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CCLIX 
 
 THE FUNERAL 
 
 WHOEVER comes to shroud me, do not harm 
 
 Nor question much 
 
 That subtle wreath of hair about mine arm ; 
 The mystery, the sign you must not touch, 
 
 For 'tis my outward soul, 
 Viceroy to that which, unto heav'n being gone, 
 
 Will leave this to control 
 And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.
 
 232 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall 
 
 Through every part 
 
 Can tie those parts, and make me one of all ; 
 Those hairs, which upward grow, and strength and art 
 
 Have from a better brain, 
 Can better do't: except she meant that I 
 
 By this should know my pain, 
 
 As prisoners then are manacled, when they 're com- 
 demn'd to die. 
 
 Whate'er she meant by 't, bury it with me, 
 
 For since I am 
 
 Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry 
 If into other hands these reliques came. 
 
 As 'twas humility 
 T' afford to it all that a soul can do, 
 
 So 'tis some bravery 
 
 That, since you would have none of me, I bury some 
 of you. 
 
 /. Donne. 
 
 CCLX 
 DAPHNAIDA 
 
 AN ELEGY 
 
 How happy was I when I saw her lead 
 The shepherd's daughters dancing in a round ! 
 How trimly would she trace and softly tread 
 The tender grass, with rosy garland crown'd ! 
 And when she list advance her heavenly voice, 
 Both Nymphs and Muses nigh she made astown'd 
 And flocks and shepherds caused to rejoice.
 
 DAPHNAIDA 233 
 
 But now, ye shepherd lasses, who shall lead 
 Your wandering troops, or sing your virelays ? 
 Or who shall dight your bow'rs, sith she is dead 
 That was the Lady of your holy days ? 
 Let now your bliss be turned into bale, 
 And into plaints convert your joyous plays, 
 And with the same fill every hill and dale. 
 
 But I will walk this wandering pilgrimage 
 
 Throughout the world from one to other end, 
 
 And in affliction waste my better age : 
 
 My bread shall be the anguish of my mind, 
 
 My drink the tears which fro' mine eyes do rain, 
 
 My bed the ground that hardest I may find ; 
 
 So will I wilfully increase my pain. 
 
 Ne sleep (the harbinger of weary wights) 
 Shall ever lodge upon mine eye-lids more ; 
 Ne shall with rest refresh my fainting sprights, 
 Nor failing force to former strength restore : 
 But I will wake and sorrow all the night 
 With Philomene, my fortune to deplore, 
 With Philomene, the partner of my plight. 
 
 And ever as I see the star to fall, 
 And underground to go to give them light 
 Which dwell in darkness, I to mind will call 
 How my fair star, that shined on me so bright, 
 Fell suddenly and faded underground ; 
 Since whose departure day is turn'd to night, 
 And night without a Venus star is found.
 
 234 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 And she, my Love that was, my Saint that is, 
 
 When she beholds from her celestial throne, 
 
 In which she joyeth in eternal bliss, 
 
 My bitter penance, will my case bemoan, 
 
 And pity me that living thus do die ; 
 
 For heavenly spirits have compassion 
 
 On mortal men, and rue their misery. 
 
 So when I have with sorrow satisfied 
 Th' importune Fates, which vengeance on me seek, 
 And th' Heavens with long languor pacified, 
 She, for pure pity of my sufferance meek, 
 Will send for me : for which I daily long : 
 And will till then my painful penance eke. 
 Weep, shepherd, weepe, to make my undersong ? 
 
 Spenser. 
 
 CCLXI 
 
 GONE IS THE FLOWER OF FLOWERS 
 
 WHEN thou from earth didst pass, 
 Sweet nymph, perfection's mirror broken was, 
 And this of late so glorious world of ours, 
 
 Like meadow without flowers, 
 Or ring of a rich gem made blind, appear' d ; 
 Or night, by star nor Cynthia neither cleared. 
 
 Love when he saw thee die 
 Entomb'd him in the lid of either eye, 
 And left his torch within thy sacred urn, 
 
 There for a lamp to burn. 
 
 Worth, honour, pleasure, with thy life expired, 
 Death since, grown sweet, begins to be desired.
 
 SPRING DESOLATE 235 
 
 That zephyr every year 
 So soon was heard to sigh in forests here, 
 It was for her : that wrapp'd in gowns of green 
 
 Meads were so early seen, 
 
 That in the saddest months oft sung the merles, 
 It was for her ; for her trees dropp'd forth pearls. 
 
 That proud and stately courts 
 Did envy those our shades and calm resorts, 
 It was for her ; and she is gone, O woe ! 
 
 Woods cut again do grow, 
 Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done ; 
 But we, once dead, no more do see the sun. 
 
 Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 
 CCLXII 
 SPRING DESOLATE 
 
 SWEET Spring, thou turn'st with all thy goodly train, 
 Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with 
 
 flow'rs : 
 
 The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain, 
 The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their 
 
 show'rs. 
 
 Thou turn'st, sweet youth, but ah ! my pleasant 
 
 hours 
 
 And happy days with thee come not again ; 
 The sad memorials only of my pain 
 Do with thee turn, which turn my sweets in sours.
 
 236 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Thou art the same which still thou wast before, 
 Delicious, wanton, amiable, fair; 
 But she, whose breath embalm'd thy wholesome air, 
 Is gone nor gold nor gems her can restore. 
 
 Neglected virtue, seasons go and come, 
 While thine forgot lie closed in a tomb. 
 
 Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 
 CCLXIII 
 TO HIS LUTE 
 
 MY lute, be as thou wast when thou didst grow 
 With thy green mother in some shady grove, 
 When immelodious winds but made thee move, 
 And birds on thee their ramage l did bestow. 
 
 Sith that dear voice which did thy sounds approve, 
 Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow, 
 Is reft from earth to tune those spheres above, 
 What art thou but an harbinger of woe ? 
 
 Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, 
 But orphan wailings to the fainting ear ; 
 Each stop a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear ; 
 Be therefore silent as in woods before : 
 
 Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, 
 Like widow'd turtle, still her loss complain. 
 
 Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 
 1 Music of the bough, woodland song.
 
 FIDELE 237 
 
 CCLXIV 
 
 FIDELE 
 
 FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, 
 
 Nor the furious winter's rages ; 
 Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
 
 Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : 
 Golden lads and girls all must, 
 As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
 Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; 
 
 Care no more to clothe and eat; 
 To thee the reed is as the oak : 
 
 The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
 
 All follow this, and come to dust. 
 
 Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
 Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone ; 
 
 Fear not slander, censure rash ; 
 Thou hast finish' d joy and moan : 
 
 All lovers young, all lovers must 
 
 Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
 
 No exorciser harm thee ! 
 Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! 
 Ghost unlaid forbear thee ! 
 Nothing ill come near thee ! 
 Quiet consummation have ; 
 And renowned be thy grave ! 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 238 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCLXV 
 
 IDLE TEARS 
 
 WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan 
 Sorrow calls no time that 's gone : 
 Violets pluck' d, the sweetest rain 
 Makes not fresh nor grow again ; 
 Trim thy locks, look cheerfully ; 
 Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see ; 
 Joy as winged dreams fly past, 
 Why should sadness longer last ? 
 Grief is but a wound to woe ; 
 Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no moe. 
 
 /. Fletcher 
 
 CCLXVI 
 
 MARINA 's gone, and now sit I 
 
 As Philomela on a thorn, 
 Turn'd out of nature's livery 
 
 Mirthless, alone, and all forlorn : 
 Only she sings not, while my sorrows can 
 Breathe forth such notes as fit a dying swan 
 
 So shuts the marigold her leaves 
 
 At the departure of the sun ; 
 So from the honeysuckle sheaves 
 
 The bee goes when the day is done ; 
 So sits the turtle when she is but one, 
 And so all woe, as I, now she is gone.
 
 COMFORT TO A YOUTH 239 
 
 To some few birds kind Nature hath 
 Made all the summer as one day ; 
 
 Which once enjoy'd, cold winter's wrath, 
 As night, they sleeping pass away. 
 
 Those happy creatures are, that know not yet 
 
 The paui to be deprived or to forget. 
 
 Wm. Browne. 
 
 COMFORT TO A YOUTH THAT HAD 
 LOST HIS LOVE 
 
 WHAT needs complaints, 
 When she a place 
 Has with the race 
 Of saints ? 
 
 In endless mirth 
 She thinks not on 
 What's said or done 
 In Earth. 
 
 She sees no tears, 
 Or any tone 
 Of thy deep groan 
 She hears : 
 
 Nor does she mind 
 Or think on 't now 
 That ever thou 
 Wast kind ;
 
 240 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 But changed above, 
 She likes not there, 
 As she did here, 
 Thy love. 
 
 Forbear therefore, 
 And lull asleep 
 Thy woes, and weep 
 No more. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 CCLXVIII 
 LET NO BIRD SING! 
 
 GLIDE soft, ye silver floods, 
 
 And every spring : 
 Within the shady woods 
 
 Let no bird sing ! 
 Nor from the grove a turtle-dove 
 Be seen to couple with her love ; 
 But silence on each dale and mountain dwell, 
 Whilst Willy bids his friend and joy farewell. 
 
 But of great Thetis' train, 
 
 Ye mermaids fair, 
 That on the shores do plain l 
 
 Your sea-green hair, 
 As ye in trammels knit your locks, 
 Weep ye ; and so enforce the rocks 
 In heavy murmurs through the broad shores tell 
 How Willy bade his friend and joy farewell. 
 1 Smooth.
 
 LET NO BIRD SING 241 
 
 Cease, cease, ye murdering winds, 
 
 To move a wave ; 
 But if with troubled minds 
 
 You seek his grave, 
 Know 'tis as various as yourselves, 
 Now in the deep, then on the shelves, 
 His coffin toss'd by fish and surges fell, 
 Whilst Willy weeps and bids all joy farewell. 
 
 Had he Arion-like 
 
 Been judged to drown, 
 He on his lute could strike 
 
 So rare a sown, 
 
 A thousand dolphins would have come 
 
 And jointly strove to bring him home. 
 
 But he on shipboard died, by sickness fell, 
 
 Since when his Willy bade all joy farewell. 
 
 Great Neptune, hear a swain ! 
 
 His coffin take, 
 And with a golden chain 
 
 For pity make 
 
 It last unto a rock near land ! 
 Where every calmy morn I '11 stand, 
 And ere one sheep out of my fold I tell, 
 Sad Willy's pipe shall bid his friend farewell. 
 
 Wm. Browne,
 
 242 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCLXIX 
 
 THE NOBLE BALM 
 
 HIGH-SPIRITED friend, 
 I send nor balms nor cor'sives to your wound : 
 
 Your fate hath found 
 A gentler and more agile hand to tend 
 The cure of that which is but corporal ; 
 And doubtful days, which were named critical, 
 
 Have made their fairest flight 
 
 And now are out of sight. 
 Yet doth some wholesome physic for the mind 
 
 Wrapped in this paper lie, 
 Which in the taking if you misapply, 
 
 You are unkind. 
 
 Your covetous hand, 
 Happy in that fair honour it hath gain'd, 
 
 Must now be rein'd. 
 
 True valour doth her own renown command 
 In one full action ; nor have you now more 
 To do, than be a husband of that store. 
 
 Think but how dear you bought 
 
 This same which you have caught 
 Such thoughts will make you more in love with truth. 
 
 'Tis wisdom, and that high, 
 For men to use their fortune reverently, 
 
 Even in youth. 
 
 B. Jomon.
 
 A LOVER'S LULLABY 243 
 
 CCLXX 
 
 A LOVER'S LULLABY 
 
 SING lullaby, as women do, 
 
 Wherewith they bring their babes to rest ; 
 And lullaby can I sing too, 
 
 As womanly as can the best. 
 With lullaby they still the child ; 
 And if I be not much beguiled, 
 Full many a wanton babe have I, 
 Which must be still'd with lullaby. 
 
 First lullaby my youthful years, 
 
 It is now time to go to bed : 
 For crooked age and hoary hairs 
 
 Have won the haven within my head. 
 With lullaby, then, youth be still ; 
 With lullaby content thy will ; 
 Since courage quails and comes behind, 
 Go sleep, and so beguile thy mind ! 
 
 Next lullaby my gazing eyes, 
 
 Which wonted were to glance apace ; 
 
 For every glass may now suffice 
 To show the furrows in thy face. 
 
 With lullaby then wink awhile ; 
 
 With lullaby your looks beguile ; 
 
 Let no fair face, nor beauty bright, 
 
 Entice you eft with vain delight.
 
 244 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 And lullaby my wanton will ; 
 
 Let reason's rule now reign thy thought ; 
 Since all too late I find by skill 
 
 How dear I have thy fancies bought ; 
 With lullaby now take thine ease, 
 With lullaby thy doubts appease ; 
 For trust to this, if thou be still, 
 My body shall obey thy will. 
 
 Thus lullaby my youth, mine eyes, 
 My will, my ware, and all that was : 
 
 I can no more delays devise ; 
 
 But welcome pain, let pleasure pass. 
 
 With lullaby now take your leave ; 
 
 With lullaby your dreams deceive ; 
 
 And when you rise with waking eye, 
 
 Remember then this lullaby. 
 
 Geo. Gascoignv. 
 
 CCLXXI 
 
 LINES WRITTEN ON A GARDEN SEAT 
 
 IF thou sit here to view this pleasant garden place, 
 Think thus At last will come a frost and all these 
 
 flowers deface : 
 
 But if thou sit at ease to rest thy weary bones, 
 Remember death brings final rest to all our grievous 
 
 groans ; 
 
 So whether for delight, or here thou sit for ease, 
 Think still upon the latter day : so shalt thou God 
 
 best please. 
 
 Geo. Gascoigne.
 
 VIXI PUELLIS NUPER IDONEUS 245 
 
 CCLXXII 
 
 VIXI PUELLIS NUPER IDONEUS . . . 
 
 THEY flee from me that sometime did me seek, 
 With naked foot stalking within my chamber : 
 
 Once have I seen them gentle, tame, and meek, 
 That now are wild, and do not once remember 
 
 That sometime they have put themselves in danger 
 
 To take bread at my hand ; and now they range, 
 Busily seeking in continual change. 
 
 Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise 
 Twenty times better; but once especial. 
 
 In thin array : after a pleasant guise, 
 
 When her long gown did from her shoulders fall, 
 
 And she me caught in her arms long and small, 
 
 And therewithal so sweetly did me kiss, 
 
 And softly said, ' Dear heart, how like you this ? ' 
 
 It was no dream ; for I lay broad awaking : 
 But all is turn'd now, through my gentleness, 
 
 Into a bitter fashion of forsaking ; 
 
 And I have leave to go of her goodness ; 
 
 And she also to use new-fangleness. 
 
 But since that I unkindly so am served, 
 
 ' How like you this ? ' what hath she now deserved ? 
 
 Sir Thomas Wyat.
 
 246 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCLXXIII 
 
 CHIDIOCK TICHBORNE'S LAMENT 
 
 MY prime of youth is but a frost of cares ; 
 
 My feast of joy is but a dish of pain ; 
 My crop of corn is but a field of tares ; 
 
 And all my good is but vain hope of gain ; 
 The day is fled, and yet I saw no sun ; 
 And now I live,, and now my life is done ! 
 
 The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung; 
 
 The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves be green 
 My youth is gone, and yet I am but young ; 
 
 I saw the world, and yet I was not seen ; 
 My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun ; 
 And now I live, and now my life is done ! 
 
 I sought my death, and found it in my womb ; 
 
 I look'd for life, and saw it was a shade ; 
 I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb ; 
 
 And now I die, and now I am but made ; 
 The glass is full, and now my glass is run ; 
 And now I live, and now my life is done. 
 
 Chidioclc Tichborne. 
 
 CCLXXIV 
 
 HER AUTUMN 
 1 
 
 WHEN I do count the clock that tells the time, 
 And see the brave day sunk in hideous night ; 
 When I behold the violet past prime, 
 And sable curls all silver'd o'er with white ;
 
 HER AUTUMN 247 
 
 When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, 
 Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, 
 And summer's green, all girded up in sheaves, 
 Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard ; 
 
 Then of thy beauty do I question make, 
 That thou among the wastes of time must go, 
 Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake 
 And die as fast as they see others grow ; 
 
 And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence 
 Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CCLXXV 
 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be old ; 
 For as you were when first your eye I eyed, 
 Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold 
 Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; 
 
 Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turn'd 
 In process of the seasons have I seen, 
 Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, 
 Since first I saw you fresh, which yet are green. 
 
 Ah ! yet doth beauty, like a dial-hand, 
 Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived ; 
 So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, 
 Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived : 
 
 For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred : 
 Ere you were born was beauty's summer dead. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 248 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCLXXVI 
 
 TO MEADOWS 
 
 YE have been fresh and green. 
 Ye have been fill'd with flowers, 
 
 And ye the walks have been 
 
 Where maids have spent their hours. 
 
 You have beheld how they 
 With wicker arks did come 
 
 To kiss and bear away 
 The richer cowslips home. 
 
 You've heard them sweetly sing, 
 And seen them in a round : 
 
 Each virgin like a spring, 
 With honeysuckles crown'd. 
 
 But now we see none here 
 
 Whose silvery feet did tread 
 And with dishevell'd hair 
 
 Adorn'd this smoother mead. 
 
 f 
 
 Like unthrifts, having spent 
 Your stock and needy grown, 
 
 You 're left here to lament 
 Your poor estates, alone. 
 
 Herrick.
 
 IN TIME OF PLAGUE 249 
 
 CCLXXVII 
 
 BRIGHT SOUL OF THE SAD YEAR 
 
 FAIR summer droops, droop men and beasts therefore, 
 So fair a summer look for never more : 
 All good things vanish less than in a day, 
 Peace, plenty, pleasure suddenly decay. 
 
 Go not yet away, bright soul of the sad year, 
 The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear. 
 
 What, shall those flowers, that deck'd thy garland 
 erst, 
 
 Upon thy grave be wastefully dispersed ? 
 
 O trees, consume your sap in sorrow's source, 
 
 Streams, turn to tears your tributary course. 
 
 Go not yet hence, bright soul of the sad year, 
 The earth is hell when thou leav'st to appear. 
 
 T. Nashe. 
 
 CCLXXVIII 
 IN TIME OF PLAGUE 
 
 ADIEU, farewell earth's bliss, 
 This world uncertain is: 
 Fond are life's lustful joys, 
 Death proves them all but toys. 
 None from his darts can fly : 
 I am sick, I must die 
 
 Lord have mercy on us !
 
 250 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Rich men, trust not in wealth, 
 Gold cannot buy you health ; 
 Physic himself must fade ; 
 All things to end are made ; 
 The plague full swift goes by ; 
 I am sick, I must die 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Beauty is but a flower 
 Which wrinkles will devour : 
 Brightness falls from the air ; 
 Queens have died young and fair ; 
 Dust hath closed Helen's eye : 
 I am sick, I must die 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Strength stoops unto the grave, 
 Worms feed on Hector brave : 
 Swords may not fight with fate : 
 Earth still holds ope her gate. 
 Come, come ! the bells do cry : 
 I am sick, I must die 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 Wit with his wantonness 
 Tasteth death's bitterness : 
 Hell's executioner 
 Hath no ears for to hear 
 What vain art can reply ; 
 I am sick, I must die 
 
 Lord have mercy 0*1 us !
 
 EMBERS 251 
 
 Haste therefore each degree 
 To welcome destiny : 
 Heaven is our heritage, 
 Earth but a player's stage. 
 Mount we unto the sky : 
 I am sick, I must die 
 
 Lord have mercy on us ! 
 
 T. Natthe. 
 
 CCLXXIX 
 EMBERS 
 
 THAT time of year thou may'st in me behold 
 When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang 
 Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, 
 Bare ruin'd choirs where late the sweet birds sang. 
 
 In me thou see'st the twilight of such day 
 As after sunset fadeth in the west, 
 Which by and by black night doth take away,, 
 Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. 
 
 In me thou see'st the glowing of such fire 
 That on the ashes of his youth doth lie, 
 As the death-bed whereon it must expire, 
 Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by. 
 
 This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more 
 
 strong, 
 
 To love that well which thou must leave ere long. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 252 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 A FAREWELL TO ARMS 
 
 (TO QUEEN ELIZABETH) 
 
 His golden locks time hath to silver turn'd ; 
 
 O time too swift, O swiftness never ceasing ! 
 His youth 'gainst time and age hath ever spurn' d, 
 
 But spurn'd in vain ; youth waneth by increasing : 
 Beauty, strength, youth are flowers but fading 
 
 seen; 
 Duty, faith, love are roots, and ever green. 
 
 His helmet now shall make a hive for bees ; 
 
 And, lovers' sonnets turn'd to holy psalms, 
 A man-at-arms must now serve on his knees, 
 
 And feed on prayers, which are age his alms : 
 But though from court to cottage he depart, 
 His Saint is sure of his unspotted heart. 
 
 And when he saddest sits in homely cell, 
 
 He '11 teach his swains this carol for a song, 
 
 ' Blest be the hearts that wish my sovereign well, 
 Curst be the souls that think her any wrong.' 
 
 Goddess, allow this aged man his right 
 
 To be your beadsman now that was your knight. 
 
 Geo. Peele.
 
 WHEN THAT I WAS AND A TINY BOY 253 
 
 CCLXXXI 
 
 WHEN THAT I WAS AND A LITTLE 
 TINY BOY 
 
 WHEN that I was and a little tiny boy, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain ; 
 
 A foolish thing was but a toy, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came to man's estate, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain ; 
 
 'Gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came, alas ! to wive, 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain ; 
 
 By swaggering could I never thrive, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 But when I came unto my beds, 
 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain ; 
 
 With toss-pots still had drunken heads, 
 For the rain it raineth every day. 
 
 A great while ago the world begun, 
 With hey, ho, the wind and the rain ; 
 
 But that 's all one, our play is done, 
 
 And we '11 strive to please you every day. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 254 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCLXXXII 
 
 TIMES GO BY TURNS 
 
 THE lopped tree in time may grow again, 
 Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower ; 
 The sorest wight may find release of pain, 
 The driest soil suck in some moist'ning shower; 
 Times go by turns and chances change by course, 
 From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. 
 
 The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow, 
 She draws her favours to the lowest ebb ; 
 Her time hath equal times to come and go, 
 Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web ; 
 No joy so great but runneth to an end, 
 No hap so hard but may in fine amend. 
 
 Not always fall of leaf nor ever spring, 
 No endless night yet not eternal day ; 
 The saddest birds a season find to sing, 
 The roughest storm a calm may soon allay : 
 Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all, 
 That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. 
 
 A chance may win that by mischance was lost ; 
 The well that holds no great, takes little fish ; 
 In some things all, in all things none are cross'd, 
 Few all they need, but none have all they wish ; 
 Unmeddled l joys here to no man befall : 
 Who least, hath some ; who most, hath never all. 
 
 R. Southwell. 
 1 Unmixed. Cf. p. 51, line i.
 
 THE MERRY HEART 255 
 
 CCLXXXIII 
 
 THE MERRY HEART 
 
 JOG on, jog on, the footpath way, 
 
 And merrily hent the stile-a : 
 A merry heart goes all the day, 
 
 Your sad tires in a mile-a. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CCLXXXIV 
 
 LAUGH ! laugh ! laugh ! laugh ! 
 
 Wide, loud, and vary ! 
 A smile is for a simpering novice, 
 
 One that ne'er tasted caviare 
 Nor knows the smack of dear anchovies. 
 
 /. Fletcher. 
 
 CCLXXXV 
 
 ANACREONTIC 
 
 1 
 
 COME, thou monarch of the vine, 
 Plumpy Bacchus with pink eyne 
 In thy vats our cares be drown'd, 
 With thy grapes our hair be crown'd : 
 Cup us till the world go round, 
 Cup us till the world go round ! 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 256 
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCLXXXVI 
 
 GOD Lyaeus, ever young, 
 Ever honour' d, ever sung, 
 Stain'd with blood of lusty grapes, 
 In a thousand lusty shapes 
 Dance upon the mazer's l 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. 
 
 /. Fletcher. 
 
 CCLXXXVI I 
 
 BORN was I to be old 
 
 And for to die here : 
 After that, in the mould 
 
 Long for to lie here. 
 But before that day comes 
 
 Still I be bouzing, 
 For I know in the tombs 
 
 There 's no carousing. 
 
 1 A bowl of maple-wood. 
 
 Herrick.
 
 A RELIGIOUS USE OF TAKING TOBACCO 257 
 
 CCLXXXVIII 
 
 TROLL THE BOWL ! 
 
 COLD'S the wind, and wet's the rain, 
 Saint Hugh be our good speed ! 
 Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain, 
 Nor helps good hearts in need. 
 
 Troll the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl, 
 And here 's, kind mate, to thee ! 
 Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul, 
 And down it merrily. 
 
 T. Dekker. 
 
 CCLXXXIX 
 A RELIGIOUS USE OF TAKING TOBACCO 
 
 THE Indian weed withered quite ; 
 Green at morn, cut down at night ; 
 Shows thy decay ; all flesh is hay : 
 Thus think, then drink tobacco. 
 
 And when the smoke ascends on high, 
 Think thou beholds the vanity 
 Of worldly stuff; gone with a puff: 
 Thus think, then drink tobacco. 
 
 But when the pipe grows foul within, 
 Think of thy soul defiled with sin, 
 And that the fire doth it require : 
 Thus think, then drink tobacco.
 
 258 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 The ashes that are left behind, 
 May serve to put thee still in mind, 
 That unto dust return thou must : 
 Thus think, then drink tobacco. 
 
 Robert Wisdome. 
 
 ccxc 
 AMANTIUM IRAE 
 
 IN going to my naked bed as one that would have slept, 
 I heard a wife sing to her child, that long before 
 
 had wept ; 
 She sighed sore and sang full sweet, to bring the 
 
 babe to rest, 
 That would not cease but cried still, in sucking at 
 
 her breast. 
 She was full weary of her watch, and grieved with 
 
 her child, 
 
 She rocked it and rated it, till that on her it smiled . 
 Then did she say, Now have I found this proverb 
 
 true to prove, 
 The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love. 
 
 Then took I paper, pen, and ink, this proverb for to 
 
 write, 
 
 In register for to remain, of such a worthy wight : 
 As she proceeded thus in song unto her little brat, 
 Much matter utter'd she of weight, in place whereas 
 
 she sat : 
 And proved plain there was no beast, nor creature 
 
 bearing life, 
 Could well be known to live in love without discord 
 
 and strife :
 
 AMANTIUM IRAE 259 
 
 Then kissed she her little babe, and sware by God 
 
 above, 
 The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love. 
 
 She said that neither king nor prince nor lord could 
 
 live aright, 
 Until their puissance they did prove, their manhood 
 
 and their might. 
 When manhood shall be matched so that fear can 
 
 take no place, 
 Then weary works make warriors each other to 
 
 embrace, 
 And left their force that failed them, which did 
 
 consume the rout, 
 That might before have lived their time, their 
 
 strength and nature out : 
 Then did she sing as one that thought no man 
 
 could her reprove, 
 The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love. 
 
 She said she saw no fish nor fowl, no beast within 
 
 her haunt, 
 That met a stranger in their kind, but could give it 
 
 a taunt : 
 Since flesh might not endure, but rest must wrath 
 
 succeed, 
 And force the fight to fall to play in pasture where 
 
 they feed, 
 So noble nature can well end the work she hath 
 
 begun, 
 And bridle well that will not cease her tragedy in 
 
 some:
 
 260 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Thus in song she oft rehearsed, as did her well behove, 
 The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love. 
 
 I marvel much pardy (quoth she) for to behold the 
 
 rout, 
 To see man, woman, boy, and beast, to toss the 
 
 world about : 
 Some kneel, some crouch, some beck, some check, 
 
 and some can smoothly smile, 
 And some embrace others in arm, and there think 
 
 many awile, 
 Some stand aloof at cap and knee, some humble and 
 
 some stout, 
 Yet are they never friends in deed until they once 
 
 fall out ; 
 Thus ended she her song and said, before she did 
 
 remove, 
 
 The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CCXCI 
 
 MYRA 
 
 I, WITH whose colours Myra dress'd her head, 
 I, that wore posies of her own hand-making, 
 
 I, that mine own name in the chimneys l read 
 By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking : 
 
 Must I look on, in hope time coming may 
 
 With change bring back my turn again to play ? 
 
 1 Chemintes, chimney-screens of tapestry work.
 
 A NOSEGAY 261 
 
 I, that on Sunday at the church-stile found 
 
 A garland sweet with true-love-knots in flowers, 
 
 Which I to wear about mine arms was bound 
 That each of us might know that all was ours : 
 
 Must I lead now an idle life in wishes, 
 
 And follow Cupid for his waves and fishes ? 
 
 I, that did wear the ring her mother left, 
 I, for whose love she gloried to be blamed, 
 
 I, with whose eyes her eyes committed theft, 
 I, who did make her blush when I was named : 
 
 Must I lose ring, flowers, blush, theft, and go naked, 
 
 Watching with sighs till dead love be awaked ? 
 
 Was it for this that I might Myra see 
 
 Washing the water with her beauties white ? 
 
 Yet would she never write her love to me. 
 
 Thinks wit of change when thoughts are in delight ! 
 
 Mad girls may safely love as they may leave ; 
 
 No man can print a kiss : lines may deceive. 1 
 
 Fulfee Greville, Lord Brooke. 
 
 ccxcn 
 A NOSEGAY 
 
 SAY, crimson Rose and dainty Daffodil, 
 
 With Violet blue ; 
 Since you have seen the beauty of my saint, 
 
 And eke her view ; 
 
 1 Betray.
 
 262 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Did not her sight (fair sight !) you lonely fill, 
 
 With sweet delight 
 Of goddess' grace and angels' sacred teint l 
 
 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, bloomingPink) her view 
 
 (White Lily) shine 
 (Ah, Gilly-flower, ah Daisy !) with a grace 
 
 Like stars divine ? 
 
 John Reynolds. 
 
 Tint, hue.
 
 MY LADY GREENSLEEVES 263 
 
 CCXCIII 
 
 MY LADY GREENSLEEVES 
 
 ALAS ! my love, you do me wrong 
 
 To cast me off discourteously ; 
 And I have loved you so long, 
 
 Delighting in your company. 
 For oh, Greensleeves was all my joy ! 
 And oh, Greensleeves was my delight ! 
 And oh, Greensleeves was my heart of gold ! 
 
 And who but my Lady Greensleeves ! 
 
 I bought thee petticoats of the best, 
 
 The cloth as fine as might be ; 
 I gave thee jewels for thy chest, 
 
 And all this cost I spent on thee. 
 
 For oh, Greensleeves . . . 
 
 Thy smock of silk, both fair and white, 
 With gold embroider' d gorgeously : 
 
 Thy petticoat of sendal right : 
 And these I bought thee gladly. 
 
 For oh, Greensleeves . . . 
 
 Greensleeves now farewell ! adieu ! 
 
 God I pray to prosper thee ! 
 For I am still thy lover true : 
 Come once again and love me ! 
 
 For oh, Greensleeves . . . 
 
 Anon,
 
 264 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCXCIV 
 
 A NOBLE SUIT 
 
 THOUGH beauty be the mark of praise, 
 And yours of whom I sing be such 
 As not the world can praise too much, 
 
 Yet 'tis your Virtue now I raise. 
 
 A virtue, like allay l so gone 
 
 Throughout your form as, though that move 
 And draw and conquer all men's love, 
 
 This subjects you to love of one. 
 
 Wherein you triumph yet, because 
 'Tis of your flesh, and that you use 
 The noblest freedom, not to choose 
 
 Against or faith or honour's laws. 
 
 But who should less expect from you ? 
 In whom alone Love lives again : 
 By whom he is restored to men, 
 
 And kept and bred and brought up true. 
 
 His falling temples you have rear'd, 
 The wither'd garlands ta'en away ; 
 His altars kept from that decay 
 
 That envy wish'd, and nature fear'd : 
 
 i Alloy.
 
 BEYOND 265 
 
 And on them burn so chaste a flame, 
 With so much loyalty's expense, 
 As Love to acquit such excellence 
 
 Is gone himself into your name. 
 
 And you are he, the deity 
 
 To whom all lovers are design'd 
 That would their better objects find ; 
 
 Among which faithful troop am I 
 
 Who as an off' ring l at your shrine 
 Have sung this hymn, and here entreat 
 One spark of your diviner heat 
 
 To light upon a love of mine. 
 
 Which if it kindle not, but scant 
 Appear, and that to shortest view, 
 Yet give me leave to adore in you 
 
 What I in her am grieved to want ! 
 
 B. Jonson. 
 
 ccxcv 
 
 BEYOND 
 
 O NO, Belov'd : I am most sure 
 These virtuous habits we acquire 
 As being with the soul entire 
 
 Must with it evermore endure. 
 
 1 Old editions ' off-spring."
 
 266 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Else should our souls in vain elect ; 
 
 And vainer yet were Heaven's laws, 
 
 When to an everlasting cause 
 They give a perishing effect. 
 
 These eyes again thine eyes shall see, 
 These hands again thine hand enfold, 
 And all chaste blessings can be told 
 
 Shall with us everlasting be. 
 
 For if no use of sense remain 
 
 When bodies once this life forsake, 
 Or they could no delight partake, 
 
 Why should they ever rise again ? 
 
 And if ev'ry imperfect mind 
 
 Make love the end of knowledge here, 
 How perfect will our love be where 
 
 All imperfection is refined ! 
 
 So when from hence we shall be gone, 
 And be no more nor you or I ; 
 As one another's mystery 
 
 Each shall be both, yet both but one. 
 
 Edward, Lord Herbert of Cherbury. 
 
 CCXCVI 
 
 FOR SOLDIERS 
 
 YE buds of Brutus' land, 1 courageous youths, now 
 
 play your parts ; 
 Unto your tackle stand, abide the brunt with valiant 
 
 hearts. 
 
 1 ' Scions of England ' held of mythical descent from Brute, or 
 Brutus.
 
 FOR SOLDIERS 267 
 
 For news is carried to and fro, that we must forth to 
 
 warfare go : 
 Men muster now in every place, and soldiers are 
 
 prest forth apace. 
 Faint not, spend blood, to do your Queen and 
 
 country good ; 
 Fair words, good pay, will make men cast all care 
 
 away. 
 
 The time of war is come, prepare your corslet, 
 
 spear and shield ; 
 Methinks I hear the drum strike doleful marches to 
 
 the field ; 
 Tantara, tantara, ye trumpets sound, which makes 
 
 our hearts with joy abound. 
 The roaring guns are heard afar, and everything 
 
 denounceth war. 
 Serve God; stand stout; bold courage brings this 
 
 gear about ; 
 Fear not ; fate run ; faint heart fair lady never won. 
 
 Ye curious l carpet-knights, that spend the time in 
 
 sport and play ; 
 Abroad and see new sights, your country's cause calls 
 
 you away ; 
 Do not to make your ladies' game, bring blemish to 
 
 your worthy name. 
 Away to field and win renown, with courage beat 
 
 your enemies down. 
 
 1 Dainty.
 
 268 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Stout hearts gain praise, when dastards sail in 
 
 Slander's seas : 
 Hap what hap shall, we sure shall die but once for 
 
 all. 
 
 Alarm methinks they cry, Be packing, mates; begone 
 
 with speed ; 
 Our foes are very nigh ; shame have that man that 
 
 shrinks at need, 
 Unto it boldly let us stand, God will give Right the 
 
 upper hand. 
 Our cause is good, we need not doubt, in sign of 
 
 coming give a shout. 
 March forth, be strong, good hap will come ere it 
 
 be long. 
 Shrink not, fight well, for lusty lads must bear the 
 
 bell. 
 
 All you that will shun evil, must dwell in warfare 
 
 every day ; 
 The world, the flesh, and devil, always do seek our 
 
 soul's decay. 
 Strive with these foes with all your might, so shall 
 
 you fight a worthy fight. 
 That conquest doth deserve most praise, where vice 
 
 do yield to virtue's ways. 
 Beat down foul sin, a worthy crown then shall ye 
 
 win; 
 If ye live well, in heaven with Christ our souls shall 
 
 dwell. 
 
 Humfrey Giffbrd.
 
 A SONG FOR PRIESTS 269 
 
 CCXCVII 
 
 A SONG FOR PRIESTS 
 
 O WEARISOME condition of humanity ! 
 
 Born under one law, to another bound ; 
 Vainly begot, and yet forbidden vanity ; 
 Created sick, commanded to be sound : 
 
 What meaneth Nature by these diverse laws? 
 Passion and Reason self-division cause. 
 
 Is it the mark or majesty of power 
 
 To make offences that it may forgive ? 
 Nature herself doth her own self deflower, 
 To hate those errors she herself doth give. 
 But how should Man think that he may not do, 
 If Nature did not fail and punish too ? 
 
 Tyrant to others, to herself unjust, 
 
 Only commands things difficult and hard. 
 Forbids us all things which it knows we lust; 
 Makes easy pains, impossible reward. 
 If Nature did not take delight in blood, 
 She would have made more easy ways to good. 
 
 We that are bound by vows, and by promotion, 
 
 With pomp of holy sacrifice and rites, 
 To lead belief in good and 'stil l devotion. 
 
 To preach of Heaven's wonders and delights ; 
 Yet when each of us in his own heart looks,, 
 He finds the God there far unlike his books 
 Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke. 
 1 Instil.
 
 270 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCXCVIH 
 
 THE LIFE OF MAN 
 
 1 
 
 LIKE to the falling of a star, 
 
 Or as the flights of eagles are, 
 
 Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, 
 
 Or silver drops of morning dew, 
 
 Or like the wind that chafes the flood, 
 
 Or bubbles which on water stood : 
 
 Even such is Man, whose borrow' d light 
 
 Is straight call'd in and paid to night. 
 
 The wind blows out ; the bubble dies ; 
 The spring entomb'd in autumn lies ; 
 The dew 's dry'd up; the star is shot; 
 The flight is past; and man forgot. 
 
 Henry King. 
 
 ccxcix 
 2 
 
 THE World 's a bubble ; and the life of Man 
 
 Less than a span : 
 In his conception wretched from the womb 
 
 So to the tomb ; 
 Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years 
 
 With cares and fears. 
 Who then to frail mortality shall trust 
 But limns on water, or but writes in dust.
 
 THE LIFE OF MAN 271 
 
 Yet whilst with sorrow here we live opprest, 
 
 What life is best ? 
 Courts are but only superficial schools 
 
 To dandle fools ; 
 The rural part is turn'd into a den 
 
 Of savage men ; 
 
 And where 's the city from foul vice so free 
 But may be term'd the worst of all the three ? 
 
 Domestic cares afflict the husband's bed, 
 
 Or pains his head : 
 Those that live single take it for a curse, 
 
 Or do things worse : 
 
 These would have children ; those that have them 
 moan, 
 
 Or wish them gone : 
 
 What is it then, to have, or have no wife, 
 But single thraldom, or a double strife ? 
 
 Our own affections still at home to please, 
 
 Is a disease ; 
 To cross the seas to any foreign soil, 
 
 Peril and toil ; 
 
 Wars with their noise affright us : when they 
 cease, 
 
 We 're worse in peace : 
 What then remains, but that we still should 
 
 cry 
 For being born, or, being born, to die ? 
 
 Francis, Lord Bacon.
 
 272 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 ccc 
 
 THIS life, which seems so fair, 
 
 Is like a bubble blown up in the air 
 
 By sporting children's breath, 
 
 Who chase it everywhere 
 
 And strive who can most motion it bequeath. 
 
 And though it sometime seem of its own might 
 
 Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there, 
 
 And firm to hover in that empty height, 
 
 That only is because it is so light. 
 
 But in that pomp it doth not long appear ; 
 For e'en when most admired, it in a thought, 
 As swell'd from nothing, doth dissolve in naught. 
 Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 
 CCCl 
 
 INEXORABLE DEATH 
 
 MY thoughts hold mortal strife ; 
 I do detest my life, 
 And with lamenting cries 
 Peace to my soul to bring 
 
 Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise : 
 But he, grim-grinning King, 
 Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise, 
 Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, 
 Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. 
 Drummond of Hawthornden,
 
 A PASSION 273 
 
 CCCII 
 
 OF MISERY 
 
 CoRPSE, 1 clad with carefulness ; 
 Heart, heap'd with heaviness ; 
 Purse, poor and penniless ; 
 Back bare in bitterness ; 
 O get my grave in readiness ; 
 Fain would I die to end this stress. 
 
 Thomas Howell. 
 
 CCCII I 
 
 A PASSION 
 
 HAPPY were he could finish forth his fate 
 In some unhaunted desert, where, obscure 
 From all society, from love and hate 
 Of worldly folk, there might he sleep secure ; 
 
 Then wake again, and ever give God praise ; 
 Content with hips, with haws, with bramble-berry; 
 In contemplation spending still his days, 
 And change of holy thoughts to make him merry : 
 
 Where, when he dies, his tomb may be a bush, 
 Where harmless robin dwells with gentle thrush : 
 Happy were he ! 
 
 R. Devereux, Earl of Essex. 
 
 1 Body.
 
 274 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCIV 
 
 THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE 
 
 How happy is he bom and taught 
 That serveth not another's will ; 
 Whose armour is his honest thought, 
 And simple truth his utmost skill ! 
 
 Whose passions not his masters are ; 
 Whose soul is still prepared for death, 
 Untied unto the world by care 
 Of public fame or private breath ; 
 
 Who envies none that chance doth raise, 
 Nor vice ; who never understood 
 How deepest wounds are given by praise ; 
 Nor rules of state, but rules of good ; 
 
 Who hath his life from rumours freed ; 
 Whose conscience is his strong retreat ; 
 Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 
 Nor ruin make oppressors great ; 
 
 Who God doth late and early pray 
 More of His grace than gifts to lend ; 
 And entertains the harmless day 
 With a religious book or friend ; 
 
 This man is freed from servile bands 
 Of hope to rise or fear to fall : 
 Lord of himself, though not of lands, 
 And having nothing, yet hath all. 
 
 Sir H. Wotton.
 
 MY MIND A KINGDOM 275 
 
 cccv 
 MY MIND A KINGDOM 
 
 MY mind to me a kingdom is ; 
 
 Such present joys therein I find, 
 That it excels all other bliss 
 
 That earth affords or grows by kind : 
 Though much I want that most would have, 
 Yet still my mind forbids to crave. 
 
 No princely pomp, no wealthy store, 
 
 No force to win the victory, 
 No wily wit to salve a sore, 
 
 No shape to feed a loving eye ; 
 To none of these I yield as thrall ; 
 For why ? my mind doth serve for all. 
 
 I see how plenty surfeits oft, 
 
 And hasty climbers soon do fall ; 
 I see that those which are aloft 
 
 Mishap doth threaten most of all : 
 They get with toil, they keep with fear : 
 Such cares my mind could never bear. 
 
 Content I live, this is my stay ; 
 
 I seek no more than may suffice ; 
 I press to bear no haughty sway ; 
 
 Look, what I lack my mind supplies. 
 Lo, thus I triumph like a king, 
 Content with that my mind doth bring.
 
 276 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Some have too much, yet still do crave ; 
 
 I little have, and seek no more. 
 They are but poor, though much they have, 
 
 And I am rich with little store ; 
 They poor, I rich ; they beg, I give ; 
 They lack, I leave ; they pine, I live. 
 
 I laugh not at another's loss, 
 I grudge not at another's gain ; 
 
 No worldly waves my mind can toss ; 
 My state at one doth still remain : 
 
 I fear no foe, I fawn no friend ; 
 
 I loathe not life, nor dread my end. 
 
 Some weigh their pleasure by their lust, 
 Their wisdom by their rage of will ; 
 
 Their treasure is their only trust, 
 A cloaked craft their store of skill : 
 
 But all the pleasure that I find 
 
 Is to maintain a quiet mind. 
 
 My wealth is health and perfect ease, 
 My conscience clear my chief defence ; 
 
 I neither seek by bribes to please, 
 Nor by deceit to breed offence : 
 
 Thus do I live; thus will I die; 
 
 Would all did so as well as I ! 
 
 Sir E. Dyer.
 
 THE GENTLE MAN 277 
 
 CCCVI 
 
 IT is not growing like a tree, 
 In bulk, doth make man better be ; 
 Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 
 To fall a log at last, dry, bald and sere : 
 A lily of a day 
 Is fairer far in May : 
 Although it fall and die that night, 
 It was the plant and flower of light. 
 In small proportions we just beauties see ; 
 And in short measures life may perfect be. 
 
 B. Jonson. 
 
 CCCVII 
 
 THE GENTLE MAN 
 
 WISE men patience never want, 
 
 Good men pity cannot hide ; 
 Feeble spirits only vaunt 
 
 Of revenge, the poorest pride : 
 He alone, forgive that can, 
 Bears the true soul of a man. 
 
 Deeds from love, and words, that flow, 
 Foster like kind April showers ; 
 
 In the warm sun all things grow, 
 
 Wholesome fruits and pleasant flowers : 
 
 All so thrives his gentle rays 
 
 Whereon human love displays. 
 
 T. Campion.
 
 278 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCVIII 
 
 INTEGER VITAE 
 
 THE man of life upright, 
 
 Whose guiltless heart is free 
 
 From all dishonest deeds, 
 Or thought of vanity ; 
 
 The man whose silent days 
 In harmless joys are spent, 
 
 Whom hopes cannot delude, 
 Nor sorrow discontent ; 
 
 That man needs neither towers 
 Nor armour for defence, 
 
 Nor secret vaults to fly 
 From thunder's violence : 
 
 He only can behold 
 
 With unaffrighted eyes 
 The horrors of the deep 
 
 And terrors of the skies. 
 
 Thus, scorning all the cares 
 That fate or fortune brings, 
 
 He makes the heaven his book, 
 His wisdom heavenly things ; 
 
 Good thoughts his only friends, 
 His wealth a well-spent age, 
 The earth his sober inn 
 
 And quiet pilgrimage. 
 
 T. Campion.
 
 HIS WINDING-SHEET 279 
 
 CCCIX 
 
 MAN'S SERVICE 
 
 THE chief use then in Man of that he knows 
 
 Is his pains-taking for the good of all ; 
 Not fleshly weeping for our own made woes, 
 
 Not laughing from a melancholy gall. 
 Not hating from a soul that overflows 
 
 With bitterness, breath'd out from inward thrall : 
 But sweetly rather to ease, loose, or bind, 
 As need requires, this frail, fall'n humankind. 
 Fulke Greville, Lord Brooke. 
 
 cccx 
 A WISH 
 
 ALL I can 
 
 My worldly strife shall be 
 They one day say of me 
 
 ' He died a good old man ' : 
 On his sad soul a heavy burden lies 
 Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 cccxi 
 HIS WINDING-SHEET 
 
 COME thou, who art the wine and wit 
 
 Of all I Ve writ : 
 The grace, the glory, and the best 
 
 Piece of the rest.
 
 280 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Thou art of what I did intend 
 
 The all and end; 
 And what was made, was made to meet 
 
 Thee, thee, my sheet. 
 Come then and be to my chaste side 
 
 Both bed and bride : 
 We two, as reliques left, will have 
 
 One rest, one grave : 
 And hugging close, we will not fear 
 
 Lust entering here : 
 Where all desires are dead and cold 
 
 As is the mould ; 
 And all affections are forgot, 
 
 Or trouble not. 
 Here, here, the slaves and prisoners be 
 
 From shackles free : 
 And weeping widows long oppress'd 
 
 Do here find rest. 
 The wronged client ends his laws 
 
 Here, and his cause. 
 Here those long suits of Chancery lie 
 
 Quiet, or die : 
 And all Star-Chamber bills do cease 
 
 Or hold their peace. 
 Here needs no Court for our Request 
 
 Where all are best, 
 All wise, all equal, and all just 
 
 Alike i' th' dust. 
 Nor need we here to fear the frown 
 
 Of court or crown : 
 Where fortune bears no sway o'er things, 
 
 There all are kings.
 
 A SEA DIRGE 281 
 
 In this securer place we '11 keep 
 
 As lulFd asleep ; 
 Or for a little time we '11 lie 
 
 As robes laid by ; 
 To be another day reworn, 
 
 Turn'd, but not torn ; 
 Or like old testaments engross'd, 
 
 Lock'd up, not lost. 
 And for a while lie here conceal'd, 
 
 To be reveal' d 
 Next at the great Platonick year, 1 
 
 And then meet here. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 cccxn 
 A SEA DIRGE 
 
 FULL fathom five thy father lies ; 
 
 Of his bones are coral made ; 
 Those are pearls that were his eyes : 
 
 Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange. 
 Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : 
 Ding-dong. 
 Hark now I hear them, 
 
 Ding-dong, bell ! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 1 The 36,000th year, when all creation returns upon itself, and 
 begins a new cycle.
 
 282 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCXIII 
 
 A LAND DIRGE 
 
 CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren, 
 
 Since o'er shady groves they hover, 
 
 And with leaves and flowers do cover 
 
 The friendless bodies of unburied men. 
 
 Call unto his funeral dole l 
 
 The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, 
 
 To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, 
 
 And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm ; 
 
 But keep the wolf far hence, that 's foe to men, 
 
 For with his nails he'll dig them up again. 
 
 /. Webster. 
 
 CCCXIV 
 
 THE SHROUDING OF THE DUCHESS 
 OF MALFI 
 
 HARK ! Now everything is still, 
 
 The screech-owl and the whistler shrill, 
 
 Call upon our dame aloud, 
 
 And bid her quickly don her shroud ! 
 
 Much you had of land and rent ; 
 Your length in clay 's now competent : 
 A long war disturb'd your mind ; 
 Here your perfect peace is sign'd. 
 
 1 Lamentation.
 
 URNS AND ODOURS BRING AWAY ! 283 
 
 Of what is 't fools make such vain keeping ? 
 
 Sin their conception, their birth weeping, 
 
 Their life a general mist of error, 
 
 Their death a hideous storm of terror. 
 
 Strew your hair with powders sweet, 
 
 Don clean linen, bathe your feet, 
 
 And the foul fiend more to check 
 
 A crucifix let bless your neck : 
 
 'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day ; 
 
 End your groan and come away. 
 
 /. Webster. 
 
 cccxv 
 URNS AND ODOURS BRING AWAY ! 
 
 URNS and odours bring away ! 
 
 Vapours, sighs, darken the day ! 
 Our dole 1 more deadly looks than dying ; 
 
 Balms and gums and heavy cheers, 
 
 Sacred vials filled with tears, 
 And clamours through the wild air flying ! 
 
 Come, all sad and solemn shows, 
 That are quick-eyed Pleasure's foes ! 
 We convent naught else but woes. 
 
 Shakespeare or Fletcher. 
 
 1 See note opposite.
 
 284 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCXVI 
 
 VANITAS VANITATUM 
 
 ALL the flowers of the spring 
 Meet to perfume our burying ; 
 These have but their growing prime, 
 And man does flourish but his time : 
 Survey our progress from our birth 
 We are set, we grow, we turn to earth. 
 Courts adieu, and all delights, 
 All bewitching appetites ! 
 Sweetest breath and clearest eye 
 Like perfumes go out and die ; 
 And consequently this is done 
 As shadows wait upon the sun. 
 Vain the ambition of kings 
 Who seek by trophies and dead things 
 To leave a living name behind, 
 And weave but nets to catch the wind. 
 
 /. Webster. 
 
 CCCXVII 
 
 IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY 
 
 MORTALITY, behold and fear ! 
 What a change of flesh is here ! 
 Think how many royal bones 
 Sleep beneath this heap of stones !
 
 DEATH'S EMISSARIES 285 
 
 Here they lie had realms and lands, 
 
 Who now want strength to stir their hands : 
 
 Here from their pulpits seal'd with dust 
 
 They preach, ' In greatness is no trust.' 
 
 Here is an acre sown indeed 
 
 With the richest, royalPst 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, 
 
 Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings ; 
 
 Here 's a world of pomp and state, 
 
 Buried in dust, once dead by fate. 
 
 Francis Beaumont. 
 
 CCCXVIII 
 
 DEATH'S EMISSARIES 
 
 VICTORIOUS men of earth, no more 
 
 Proclaim how wide your empires are ; 
 
 Though you bind on every shore 
 And your triumphs reach as far 
 
 As night or day, 
 Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey 
 
 And mingle with forgotten ashes, when 
 
 Death calls ye to the crowd of common men.
 
 286 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, 
 
 Each able to undo mankind, 
 
 Death's servile emissaries are ; 
 
 Nor to these alone confined, 
 
 He hath at will 
 
 More quaint and subtle ways to kill ; 
 A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, 
 Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
 CCCXIX 
 
 DEATH THE LEVELLER 
 
 THE glories of our blood and state 
 
 Are shadows, not substantial things ; 
 There is no armour against Fate ; 
 Death lays his icy hand on kings : 
 Sceptre and Crown 
 Must tumble down, 
 And in the dust be equal made 
 With the poor crooked scythe and spade. 
 
 Some men with swords may reap the field, 
 And plant fresh laurels where they kill : 
 But their strong nerves at last must yield ; 
 They tame but one another still : 
 Early or late 
 They stoop to fate, 
 
 And must give up their murmuring breath 
 When they, pale captives, creep to death.
 
 THE WIDOW 287 
 
 The garlands wither on your brow ; 
 
 Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; 
 Upon Death's purple altar now 
 See where the victor-victim bleeds. 
 Your heads must come 
 To the cold tomb : 
 Only the actions of the just 
 Smell sweet and blossom in the dust. 
 
 James Shirley. 
 
 cccxx 
 THE WIDOW 
 
 How near me came the hand of Death, 
 When at my side he struck my Dear, 
 And took away the precious breath 
 What quicken'd my beloved peer J ! 
 
 How helpless am I thereby made ! 
 
 By day how grieved, by night how sad ! 
 And now my life's delight is gone, 
 Alas ! how I am left alone ! 
 
 The voice which I did more esteem 
 
 Than music in her sweetest key, 
 
 Those eyes which unto me did seem 
 
 More comfortable than the day ; 
 
 Those now by me, as they have been 
 Shall never more be heard or seen ; 
 
 But what I once enjoy'd in them 
 
 Shall seem hereafter as a dream. 
 
 1 Companion.
 
 288 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Lord ! keep me faithful to the trust 
 Which my dear spouse reposed in me : 
 To him now dead preserve me just 
 In all that should performed be ! 
 
 For though our being man and wife 
 
 Extendeth only to this life, 
 Yet neither life nor death shall end 
 The being of a faithful friend. 
 
 Geo. Wither. 
 
 CCCXXI 
 
 THE MOURNING DOVE 
 
 LIKE as the Culver 1 on the bared bough 
 Sits mourning for the absence of her mate ; 
 
 And in her song sends many a wishful vow 
 For his return that seems to linger late. 
 
 So I alone now left disconsolate 
 
 Mourn to myself the absence of my love : 
 
 And wand'ring here and there all desolate 
 
 Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove 
 
 Ne joy of aught that under heaven doth hove 
 Can comfort me, but her own joyous sight 
 
 Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move 
 In her unspotted pleasance to delight. 
 
 Dark is my day whiles her fair light I miss, 
 And dead my life that wants such lively bliss. 
 
 Spenser.
 
 THE PHCENIX AND THE TURTLE 289 
 
 CCCXXII 
 
 THE PHOENIX AND THE TURTLE 
 
 LET the bird of loudest lay 
 
 On the sole Arabian tree, 
 
 Herald sad and trumpet be 
 To whose sound chaste wings obey. 
 
 But thou shrieking harbinger, 
 
 Foul precurrer of the fiend, 
 
 Augur of the fever's end, 
 To this troop come thou not near. 
 
 From this session interdict 
 Every fowl of tyrant wing 
 Save the eagle, feathered king : 
 
 Keep the obsequy so strict. 
 
 Let the priest in sm-plice white 
 
 That defunctive music can, 1 
 
 Be the death divining swan, 
 Lest the requiem lack his right. 
 
 And thou, treble-dated crow, 
 That thy sable gender mak'st 
 With the breath thou giv'st and tak'st, 
 
 'Mongst our mourners shalt thou go. 
 
 1 Knows. 
 T
 
 290 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Here the anthem doth commence :- 
 Love and constancy is dead ; 
 Phoenix and the turtle fled 
 
 In a mutual flame from hence. 
 
 So they loved, as love in twain 
 Had the essence but in one ; 
 Two distincts, division none ; 
 
 Number there in love was slain. 
 
 Hearts remote, yet not asunder ; 
 Distance, and no space was seen 
 'Twixt the turtle and his queen : 
 
 But in them it were a wonder. 
 
 So beween them love did shine, 
 That the turtle saw his right 
 Flaming in the phoenix sight ; 
 
 Either was the other's mine. 
 
 Property was thus appall'd, 
 
 That the self was not the same ; 
 Single nature's double name 
 
 Neither two nor one was call'd. 
 
 Reason, in itself confounded, 
 Saw division grow together ; 
 To themselves yet either neither, 
 
 Simple were so well compounded.
 
 THE PH(ENIX AND THE TURTLE 291 
 
 That it cried., ' How true a twain 
 Seemeth this concordant one ! 
 Love hath reason, reason none 
 
 If what parts can so remain.' 
 
 Whereupon it made this threne 
 
 To the phoenix and the dove, 
 
 Co-supremes and stars of love 
 As chorus to their tragic scene. 
 
 THRENOS 
 
 BEAUTY, truth, and rarity, 
 Grace in all simplicity, 
 Here enclosed in cinders lie. 
 
 Death is now the phoenix' nest ; 
 And the turtle's loyal breast 
 To eternity doth rest. 
 
 Leaving no posterity : 
 'Twas not their infirmity, 
 It was married chastity. 
 
 Truth may seem, but cannot be ; 
 Beauty brag, but 'tis not she ; 
 Truth and beauty buried be. 
 
 To this urn let those repair 
 That are either true or fair ; 
 For these dead birds sigh a prayer. 
 
 Shakespeare.
 
 292 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCXXIII 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY 
 
 GIVE pardon, blessed soul, to my bold cries, 
 If they, importunate, interrupt the song 
 Which now, with joyful notes, thou sing'st among 
 The angel-choristers of heavenly skies. 
 
 Give pardon eke, sweet soul, to my slow eyes, 
 That since I saw thee now it is so long, 
 And yet the tears that unto thee belong 
 To thee as yet they did not sacrifice. 
 
 I did not know that thou wert dead before ; 
 I did not feel the grief I did sustain ; 
 The greater stroke astonisheth the more ; 
 Astonishment takes from us sense of pain ; 
 
 I stood amazed when others' tears begun, 
 And now begin to weep when they have done. 
 
 H. Constable. 
 
 UPON THE DEATH OF SIR ALBERTUS 
 MORTON'S WIFE 
 
 HE first deceased ; she for a little tried 
 To live without him, liked it not, and died. 
 
 Sir H. Wotton.
 
 ON SALATHIEL PAVY 293 
 
 cccxxv 
 IN OBITUM M S, X MALI, 1614 
 
 MAY ! Be thou never graced with birds that sing, 
 
 Nor Flora's pride ! 
 In thee all flowers and roses spring, 
 
 Mine only died. 
 
 Wm. Browne. 
 
 CCCXXVI 
 
 AN EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS DOWAGER 
 OF PEMBROKE 
 
 UNDERNEATH this sable herse 
 Lies the subject of all verse : 
 Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother : 
 Death, ere thou hast slain another 
 Fair and learn' d and good as she, 
 Time shall throw a dart at thee. 
 
 B. Jonson or Wm. Browne. 
 
 cccxxvn 
 ON SALATHIEL PAVY 
 
 A CHILD OF QUEEN ELIZABETH'S CHAPEL 
 
 WEEP with me, all you that read 
 
 This little story ; 
 And know, for whom a tear you shed 
 
 Death's self is sorry.
 
 294 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 'Twas a child that so did thrive 
 
 In grace and feature, 
 As Heaven and Nature seem'd to strive 
 
 Which own'd the creature. 
 Years he number'd scarce thirteen 
 
 When Fates turn'd cruel, 
 Yet three fill'd zodiacs had he been 
 
 The stage's jewel ; 
 And did act (what now we moan) 
 
 Old men so duly, 
 As sooth the Parcae thought him one, 
 
 He played so truly. 
 So, by error, to his fate 
 
 They all consented ; 
 But, viewing him since, alas, too late ! 
 
 They have repented ; 
 And have sought, to give new birth, 
 
 In baths to steep him ; 
 But, being so much too good for earth, 
 
 Heaven vows to keep him. 
 
 B. Jonson. 
 
 CCCXXVIII 
 
 ON THE LADY MARY VILLIERS 
 
 THE Lady Mary Villiers lies 
 Under this stone ; with weeping eyes 
 The parents that first gave her birth, 
 And their sad friends, laid her in earth.
 
 EPITAPHS 295 
 
 If any of them, Reader, were 
 
 Known unto thee, shed a tear ; 
 
 Or if thyself possess a gem 
 
 As dear to thee, as this to them, 
 
 Though a stranger to this place, 
 
 Bewail in theirs thine own hard case : 
 For thou perhaps at thy return 
 May'st find thy Darling in an urn. 
 
 T. Carew. 
 
 cccxxix 
 UPON A CHILD THAT DIED 
 
 HERE she lies, a pretty bud, 
 Lately made of flesh and blood : 
 Who as soon fell fast asleep 
 As her little eyes did peep. 
 Give her strewings, but not stir 
 The earth that lightly covers her. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 cccxxx 
 ANOTHER 
 
 HERE a pretty baby lies 
 Sung asleep with lullabies : 
 Pray be silent and not stir 
 Th' easy earth that covers her. 
 
 Herrick.
 
 296 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCXXXI 
 
 THE BURNING BABE 
 
 As I in hoary winter's night 
 
 Stood shivering in the snow, 
 Surprised was I with sudden heat 
 
 Which made my heart to glow ; 
 And lifting up a fearful eye 
 
 To view what fire was near, 
 A pretty babe all burning bright 
 
 Did in the air appear ; 
 Who, scorched with excessive heat, 
 
 Such floods of tears did shed 
 As though His floods should quench His 
 flames, 
 
 Which with His tears were fed : 
 ' Alas ! ' quoth He, ' but newly born 
 
 In fiery heats I fry, 
 Yet none approach to warm their hearts 
 
 Or feel my fire but I ! 
 
 ' My faultless breast the furnace is ; 
 
 The fuel, wounding thorns ; 
 Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke ; 
 
 The ashes, shames and scorns ; 
 The fuel Justice layeth on, 
 
 And Mercy blows the coals, 
 The metal in this furnace wrought 
 
 Are men's defiled souls :
 
 A HYMN ON THE NATIVITY OF MY SAVIOUR 297 
 
 For which, as now on fire I am 
 
 To work them to their good, 
 So will I melt into a bath, 
 
 To wash them in my blood.' 
 With this He vanish'd out of sight 
 
 And swiftly shrunk away, 
 And straight I called unto mind 
 
 That it was Christmas Day. 
 
 R. Southwell. 
 
 cccxxxn 
 
 A HYMN ON THE NATIVITY OF MY 
 SAVIOUR 
 
 I SING the Birth was born to-night, 
 The Author both of life and light ; 
 
 The angels so did sound it, 
 And like the ravish'd shepherds said, 
 Who saw the light, and were afraid, 
 
 Yet search' d, and true they found it. 
 
 The Son of God, th' eternal King, 
 That did us all salvation bring, 
 
 And freed the soul from danger ; 
 He whom the whole world could not take, 
 The Word, which heaven and earth did make, 
 
 Was now laid in a manger.
 
 298 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 The Father's wisdom will'd it so, 
 The Son's obedience knew no No, 
 
 Both wills were in one stature ; 
 And as that wisdom hath decreed, 
 The Word was now made flesh indeed, 
 
 And took on him our nature. 
 
 What comfort by him do we win, 
 Who made himself the price of sin, 
 
 To make us heirs of glory ! 
 To see this Babe, all innocence ; 
 A martyr born in our defence ; 
 
 Can man forget this story ? 
 
 R. Jonson. 
 
 CCCXXXIII 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 WHAT sweeter music can we bring 
 Than a carol for to sing 
 The birth of this our Heavenly King ? 
 Awake the voice ! awake the string ! 
 Heart, ear, and eye, and everything 
 Awake ! the while the active finger 
 Runs division with the singer. 
 
 From the Flourish they came to the Song. 
 
 1. Dark and dull night fly hence away ! 
 And give the honour to this day 
 That sees December turn'd to May.
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 299 
 
 2. If we may ask the reason, say 
 
 The why and wherefore all things here 
 Seem like the spring-time of the year. 
 
 3. Why does the chilling winter's morn 
 Smile like a field beset with corn ? 
 Or smell like to a mead new shorn, 
 Thus on a sudden ? 
 
 4. Come and see 
 
 The cause why things thus fragrant be : 
 'Tis He is born, whose quick' ning birth 
 Gives life and lustre, public mirth, 
 To heaven and the under-earth. 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 We see Him come, and know him ours, 
 Who with his sunshine and his showers 
 Turns all the patient ground to flowers. 
 
 1 . The darling of the world is come, 
 And fit it is we find a room 
 
 To welcome Him. 
 
 2. The nobler part 
 
 Of all the house here is the heart, 
 
 CHORUS 
 
 Which we will give Him ; and bequeath 
 This holly and this ivy wreath 
 To do Him honour, who's our King 
 And Lord of all this revelling. 
 
 Herrick.
 
 300 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCXXXIV 
 
 VERSES FROM THE SHEPHERDS' HYMN 
 
 WE saw Thee in Thy balmy nest, 
 Young dawn of our eternal day ; 
 
 We saw Thine eyes break from the East, 
 And chase the trembling shades away : 
 
 We saw Thee, and we blest the sight, 
 
 We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light. 
 
 Poor world, said I, what wilt thou do 
 To entertain this starry stranger ? 
 
 Is this the best thou canst bestow 
 A cold and not too cleanly manger ? 
 
 Contend, the powers of heaven and earth, 
 
 To fit a bed for this huge birth. 
 
 Proud world, said I, cease your contest, 
 And let the mighty babe alone, 
 
 The phoenix builds the phoenix' nest, 
 Love's architecture is His own. 
 
 The babe, whose birth embraves this morn, 
 
 Made His own bed ere He was born. 
 
 I saw the curl'd drops, soft and slow, 
 Come hovering o'er the place's head, 
 
 Off'ring their whitest sheets of snow, 
 To furnish the fair infant's bed. 
 
 Forbear, said I, be not too bold, 
 
 Your fleece is white, but 'tis too cold.
 
 VERSES FROM THE SHEPHERDS' HYMN 301 
 
 I saw th' obsequious seraphim 
 
 Their rosy fleece of fire bestow, 
 For well they now can spare their wings, 
 
 Since Heaven itself lies here below. 
 Well done, said I ; but are you sure 
 Your down, so warm, will pass for pure ? 
 
 No, no, your King's not yet to seek 
 Where to repose His royal head ; 
 
 See, see how soon His new-bloom'd cheek 
 'Twixt mother's breasts is gone to bed. 
 
 Sweet choice, said we, no way but so, 
 
 Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow ! 
 
 She sings Thy tears asleep, and dips 
 
 Her kisses in Thy weeping eye ; 
 She spreads the red leaves of Thy lips, 
 
 That in their buds yet blushing lie. 
 She 'gainst those mother diamonds tries 
 The points of her young eagle's eyes. 
 
 Welcome tho' not to those gay flies, 
 Gilded i' th' beams of earthly beings, 
 
 Slippery souls in smiling eyes 
 
 But to poor shepherds, homespun things, 
 
 Whose wealth's their flocks, whose wit's to be 
 
 Well read in their simplicity. 
 
 Yet, when young April's husband show'rs 
 Shall bless the fruitful Maia's bed, 
 
 We'll bring the first-born of her flowers, 
 To kiss Thy feet and crown Thy head.
 
 302 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 To Thee, dread Lamb ! whose love must keep 
 The shepherds while they feed their sheep. 
 
 To Thee, meek Majesty, soft King 
 Of simple graces and sweet loves ! 
 
 Each of us his lamb will bring, 
 Each his pair of silver doves ! 
 
 At last, in fire of Thy fair eyes, 
 
 Ourselves become our own best sacrifice ! 
 
 .R. Crashaw. 
 
 cccxxxv 
 
 TO HIS SAVIOUR, A CHILD: A PRESENT 
 BY A CHILD 
 
 Go, pretty child, and bear this flower 
 Unto thy little Saviour ; 
 And tell Him, by that bud now blown, 
 He is the Rose of Sharon known. 
 When thou hast said so, stick it there 
 Upon His bib or stomacher ; 
 And tell Him for good handsel, 1 too, 
 That thou hast brought a whistle new, 
 Made of a clean straight oaten reed, 
 To charm His cries at time of need. 
 Tell Him, for coral, thou hast none, 
 But if thou hadst, He should have one ; 
 And poor thou art, and known to be 
 Even as moneyless as He. 
 
 1 Earnest money.
 
 A CHILD'S GRACE 303 
 
 Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss 
 From those mellifluous lips of His ; 
 Then never take a second one, 
 To spoil the first impression. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 cccxxxvi 
 THE NEW YEAR'S GIFT 
 
 LET others look for pearl and gold, 
 
 Tissues or tabbies l manifold : 
 
 One only lock of that sweet hay 
 
 Whereon the blessed baby lay, 
 
 Or one poor swaddling-clout, shall be 
 
 The richest New Year's gift for me. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 cccxxxvn 
 A CHILD'S GRACE 
 
 HERE a little child I stand 
 
 Heaving up my either hand ; 
 
 Cold as paddocks 2 though they be, 
 
 Yet I lift them up to Thee, 
 
 For a benison to fall 
 
 On our meat and on us all. Amen. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 J Shot silks. a Frogs.
 
 304 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCXXXVIII 
 
 THY KING COMETH 
 
 YET if His Majesty, our sovereign lord, 
 
 Should of his own accord 
 
 Friendly himself invite, 
 
 And say ' I '11 be your guest to-morrow night/ 
 
 How should we stir ourselves, call and command 
 
 All hands to work ! ' Let no man idle stand. 
 
 Set me fine Spanish tables in the hall ; 
 
 See they be fitted all ; 
 
 Let there be room to eat 
 
 And order taken that there want no meat. 
 
 See every sconce and candlestick made bright, 
 
 That without tapers they may give a light. 
 
 Look to the presence : are the carpets spread, 
 
 The dazie o'er the head, 
 
 The cushions in the chairs, 
 
 And all the candles lighted on the stairs ? 
 
 Perfume the chambers, and, in any case, 
 
 Let each man give attendance in his place ! ' 
 
 Thus if a king were coming would we do ; 
 
 And 'twere good reason too ; 
 
 For 'tis a duteous thing 
 
 To show all honour to an earthly king, 
 
 And after all our travail and our cost, 
 
 So he be pleased, to think no labour lost.
 
 CEREMONIES FOR CHRISTMAS 305 
 
 But at the coming of the King of Heaven 
 
 All 's set at six and seven ; 
 
 We wallow in our sin, 
 
 Christ cannot find a chamber in the inn. 
 
 We entertain Him always like a stranger, 
 
 And, as at first, still lodge Him in a manger. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 cccxxxix 
 CEREMONIES FOR CHRISTMAS 
 
 COME, bring with a noise, 
 
 My merry, merry boys, 
 The Christmas log to the firing ; 
 
 While my good dame, she 
 
 Bids ye all be free 
 And drink to your heart's desiring. 
 
 With the last year's brand 
 
 Light the new block, and 
 For good success in his spending 
 
 On your psaltries play, 
 
 That sweet luck may 
 Come while the log is a-teending. 1 
 
 Drink now the strong beer, 
 Cut the white loaf here ; 
 The while the meat is a-shredding 
 For the rare mince-pie, 
 And the plumes stand by 
 To fill the paste that 's a-kneading. 
 
 Herrick. 
 1 Kindling. 
 u
 
 306 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCXL 
 
 WINTER 
 
 WHEN icicles hang by the wall, 
 
 And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, 
 
 And Tom bears logs into the hall, 
 And milk comes frozen home in pail, 
 
 When blood is nipped, and ways be foul, 
 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl, 
 To-whit ; 
 
 To-who, a merry note, 
 
 While greasy Joan doth keel l the pot. 
 
 When all around the wind doth blow, 
 And coughing drowns the parson's saw, 
 
 And birds sit brooding in the snow, 
 And Marian's nose looks red and raw, 
 
 When roasted crabs hiss in the bowl, 
 
 Then nightly sings the staring owl 
 To-whit ; 
 
 To-who, a merry note, 
 
 While greasy Joan doth keel the pot. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 CCCXLI 
 
 WINTER'S GAIETY 
 
 Now winter nights enlarge 
 The number of their hours, 
 And clouds their storms discharge 
 Upon the airy towers. 
 
 1 Skim.
 
 TO HIS DELAYING SOUL 307 
 
 Let now the chimneys blaze 
 
 And cups o'erflow with wine ; 
 
 Let well-tuned words amaze 
 
 With harmony divine. 
 
 Now yellow waxen lights 
 
 Shall wait on honey love, 
 
 While youthful revels, masques, and courtly 
 
 sights 
 Sleep's leaden spells remove. 
 
 This time doth well dispense 
 
 With lovers' long discourse ; 
 
 Much speech hath some defence 
 
 Though beauty no remorse. 
 
 All do not all things well ; 
 
 Some measures comely tread, 
 
 Some knotted riddles tell, 
 
 Some poems smoothly read. 
 
 The summer hath his joys, 
 
 And winter his delights ; 
 
 Though love and all his pleasures are but 
 
 toys, 
 They shorten tedious nights. 
 
 T. Campion. 
 
 CCCXLII 
 TO HIS DELAYING SOUL 
 
 NEW doth the sun appear, 
 
 The mountain snows decay, 
 
 Crown'd with frail flowers forth comes the baby year. 
 
 My soul, time posts away ;
 
 308 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 And thou yet in that frost 
 Which flower and fruit hath lost, 
 As if all here immortal were, dost stay. 
 For shame ! thy powers awake, 
 Look to that Heaven which never night makes black, 
 And there at that immortal sun's bright rays, 
 Deck thee with flowers which fear not rage of days. 
 Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 
 CCCXLIII 
 THE FLOWER 
 
 How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean 
 Are thy returns ! Ev'n as the flowers in Spring, 
 
 To which, besides their own demean, 1 
 The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring ; 
 Grief melts away 
 Like snow in May, 
 As if there were no such cold thing. 
 
 Who would have thought my shrivell'd heart 
 Could have recover' d greenness ? It was gone 
 
 Quite under ground ; as flowers depart 
 To see their mother-root, when they have blown, 
 Where they together 
 All the hard weather, 
 Dead to the world, keep house unknown. 
 
 1 Demesne, domain; "which, as coming after a season of 
 frost, have a pleasantness over and above their own proper 
 charm."
 
 THE FLOWER 309 
 
 These are Thy wonders, Lord of power, 
 Killing and quick' ning, bringing down to Hell 
 
 And up to Heaven in an hour ; 
 Making a chiming of a passing bell. 
 We say amiss 
 This or that is ; 
 Thy word is all, if we could spell. 1 
 
 that I once past changing were, 
 
 Fast in thy Paradise where no flower can wither ! 
 
 Many a Spring I shoot up fair, 
 Off 'ring at Heaven, growing and groaning thither; 
 Nor doth my flower 
 Want a Spring shower, 
 My sins and I joining together. 
 
 But while I grow in a straight line, 
 Still upwards bent, as if Heaven were mine own, 
 
 Thy anger comes, and I decline ; 
 What frost to that ? What pole is not the zone 
 Where all things burn, 
 When Thou dost turn, 
 And the least frown of Thine is shown ? 
 
 And now in age I bud again, 
 After so many deaths I live and write ; 
 
 1 once more smell the dew and rain, 
 And relish versing : O my only Light ! 
 
 It cannot be 
 That I am he 
 On whom Thy tempests fell all night. 
 
 1 Interpret.
 
 310 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 These are thy wonders, Lord of love, 
 To make us see we are but flowers that glide ; 
 
 Which when we once can find and prove, 
 Thou hast a garden for us where to bide. 
 Who would be more, 
 Swelling through store, 
 Forfeit their Paradise by their pride. 
 
 Geo. Herbert. 
 
 CCCXLIV 
 SELF-TRIAL 
 
 LET not the sluggish sleep 
 
 Close up thy waking eye, 
 Until with j udgment deep 
 
 Thy daily deeds thou try : 
 He that one sin in conscience keeps 
 
 When he to quiet goes, 
 More vent'rous is than he that sleeps 
 
 With twenty mortal foes. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 CCCXLV 
 
 THE BOOK 
 
 OF this fair volume which we World do name 
 If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care, 
 Of Him who it corrects and did it frame 
 We clear might read the art and wisdom rare :
 
 O COME QUICKLY ! 311 
 
 Find out His power which wildest powers doth tame, 
 His providence extending everywhere, 
 His justice which proud rebels doth not spare, 
 In every page, no period of the same. 
 
 But silly we, like foolish children, rest 
 Well pleased with colour'd vellum, leaves of gold, 
 Fair dangling ribands, leaving what is best, 
 On the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold ; 
 
 Or, if by chance we stay our minds on aught, 
 It is some picture on the margin wrought. 
 
 Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 
 CCCXLVI 
 O COME QUICKLY ! 
 
 NEVER weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore, 
 Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more, 
 Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my 
 
 troubled breast : 
 O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul 
 
 to rest ! 
 
 Ever blooming are the joys of heaven's high Paradise, 
 Cold age deafs not there our ears nor vapour dims 
 
 our eyes : 
 Glory there the sun outshines ; whose beams the 
 
 Blessed only see : 
 O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my sprite 
 
 to Thee ! 
 
 T. Campion.
 
 312 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCXLVII 
 
 TO HIS EVER-LOVING GOD 
 
 CAN I not come to Thee, my God, for these 
 
 So very-many-meeting hindrances, 
 
 That slack my pace, but yet not make me stay ? 
 
 Who slowly goes, rids, in the end, his way. 
 
 Clear Thou my paths, or shorten Thou my miles, 
 
 Remove the bars, or lift me o'er the stiles ; 
 
 Since rough the way is, help me when I call, 
 
 And take me up ; or else prevent the fall. 
 
 I ken my home, and it affords some ease 
 
 To see far off the smoking villages. 
 
 Fain would I rest, yet covet not to die 
 
 For fear of future biting penury : 
 
 No, no, my God, Thou know'st my wishes be 
 
 To leave this life not loving it, but Thee. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 CCCXLVIII 
 THE PULLEY 
 
 WHEN God at first made Man, 
 Having a glass of blessings standing by, 
 Let us (said He) pour on him all we can; 
 Let the world's riches which dispersed lie 
 
 Contract into a span.
 
 THE COLLAR 313 
 
 So strength first made a way, 
 
 Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure : 
 When almost all was out, God made a stay, 
 Perceiving that, alone of all his treasure, 
 
 Rest in the bottom lay. 
 
 For if I should (said He) 
 Bestow this jewel also on My creature, 
 He would adore My gifts instead of Me, 
 And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature : 
 
 So both should losers be. 
 
 Yet let him keep the rest, 
 But keep them with repining restlessness ; 
 Let him be rich and weary, that at least, 
 If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 
 
 May toss him to My breast. 
 
 Geo. Herbert. 
 
 cccxux 
 THE COLLAR 
 
 I STRUCK the board and cried, No more ; 
 
 I will abroad. 
 
 What, shall I ever sigh and pine ? 
 My lines and life are free, free as the road, 
 Loose as the wind, as large as store.
 
 314 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Shall I be still in suit ? 
 Have I no harvest but a thorn 
 To let me blood, and not restore 
 What I have lost with cordial fruit ? 
 
 Sure there was wine 
 
 Before my sighs did dry it ; there was corn 
 Before my tears did drown it. 
 Is the year only lost to me ? 
 Have I no bays to crown it ? 
 No flowers, no garlands gay ? All blasted ? 
 
 All wasted ? 
 Not so, my heart ; but there is fruit, 
 
 And thou hast hands. 
 Recover all thy sigh-blown age 
 On double pleasure : leave thy cold dispute 
 Of what is fit and not ; forsake thy cage, 
 
 Thy rope of sands 
 
 Which petty thoughts have made, and made to thee 
 Good cable to enforce and draw 
 
 And be thy law, 
 While thou dost wink and would' st not see. 
 
 Away : take heed, 
 
 I will abroad. 
 Call in thy death's-head there : tie up thy fears. 
 
 He that forbears 
 
 To suit and serve his need 
 
 Deserves his load. 
 But as I raved and grew more fierce and wild 
 
 At every word, 
 Methought I heard one calling ' Child ! ' 
 
 And I replied ' My Lord.' 
 
 Geo. Herbert.
 
 THE WHITE ISLAND 315 
 
 CCCL 
 
 THE WHITE ISLAND 
 
 IN this world, the Isle of Dreams, 
 While we sit by sorrow's streams, 
 Tears and terror are our themes 
 Reciting : 
 
 But when once from hence we fly, 
 More and more approaching nigh 
 Unto young Eternity 
 
 Uniting : 
 
 In that whiter island, where 
 Things are evermore sincere ; 
 Candour here, and lustre there 
 Delighting : 
 
 There no monstrous fancies shall 
 Out of Hell an horror call, 
 To create (or cause at all) 
 Affrighting. 
 
 There in calm and cooling sleep 
 We our eyes shall never steep ; 
 But eternal watch shall keep 
 Attending
 
 316 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Pleasures such as shall pursue 
 Me immortalised., and you ; 
 And fresh joys, as never too 
 Have ending. 
 
 Herrick. 
 
 GOOD FRIDAY 
 
 MOST glorious Lord of Life, that on this day 
 Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin, 
 And having harrow' d hell, didst bring away 
 Captivity thence captive, us to win : 
 
 This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin, 
 And grant that we, for whom thou diddest die, 
 Being with Thy dear blood clean wash'd from sin, 
 May live for ever in felicity : 
 
 And that Thy love we weighing worthily, 
 May likewise love Thee for the same again ; 
 And for Thy sake, that all like dear didst buy, 
 With love may one another entertain. 
 
 So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought, 
 Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. 
 
 Spenser.
 
 THE WEEPER 317 
 
 CCCLII 
 
 THE WEEPER 
 
 MARY MAGDALENE 
 
 THE dew no more will weep 
 
 The primrose's pale cheek to deck : 
 
 The dew no more will sleep 
 Nuzzled in the lily's neck : 
 
 Much rather would it tremble here 
 
 And leave them both to be thy tear. 
 
 Not the soft gold which 
 
 Steals from the amber-weeping tree, 
 Makes Sorrow half so rich 
 
 As the drops distill' d from thee : 
 Sorrow's best jewels lie in these 
 Caskets of which Heaven keeps the keys. 
 
 When Sorrow would be seen 
 
 In her brightest majesty, 
 For she is a Queen 
 
 Then is she drest by none but thee : 
 Then, and only then, she wears 
 Her richest pearls I mean thy tears. 
 
 Not in the evening's eyes, 
 
 When they red with weeping are 
 
 For the sun that dies, 
 
 Sits Sorrow with a face so fair : 
 
 Nowhere but here doth meet 
 
 Sweetness so sad, sadness so sweet.
 
 318 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 When some new bright guest 
 
 Takes up among the stars a room, 
 
 And Heaven will make a feast, 
 Angels with their bottles come, 
 
 And draw from these full eyes of thine 
 
 Their Master's water, their own wine. 
 
 Does the night arise ? 
 
 Still thy tears do fall and fall. 
 Does night lose her eyes ? 
 
 Still the fountain weeps for all. 
 Let night or day do what they will, 
 Thou hast thy task, thou weepest still. 
 
 R. Crashaw. 
 
 CCCLI1I 
 
 DISCIPLINE 
 
 THROW away Thy rod, 
 Throw away Thy wrath 
 
 my God, 
 Take the gentle path. 
 
 For my heart's desire 
 Unto Thine is bent : 
 
 1 aspire 
 To a full consent. 
 
 Not a word or look 
 I affect to own, 
 
 But by book 
 And Thy book alone.
 
 SAINT JOHN BAPTIST 319 
 
 Though I fail, I weep ; 
 Though I halt in pace, 
 
 Yet I creep 
 To the throne of grace. 
 
 Then let wrath remove ; 
 Love will do the deed ; 
 
 For with love 
 Stony hearts will bleed. 
 
 Love is swift of foot ; 
 Love 's a man of war, 
 And can shoot, 
 And can hit from far. 
 
 Who can 'scape his bow ? 
 That which wrought on Thee, 
 
 Brought Thee low, 
 Needs must work on me. 
 
 Throw away Thy rod ; 
 Though man frailties hath, 
 
 Thou art God : 
 Throw away Thy wrath. 
 
 Geo. Herbert. 
 
 CCCLIV 
 
 SAINT JOHN BAPTIST 
 
 THE last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King, 
 Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, 
 Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, 
 Which he than man more harmless found and mild.
 
 320 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 His food was locusts, and what young doth spring 
 With honey that from virgin hives distill'd ; 
 Parch' d body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing, 
 Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. 
 
 Then burst he forth : ' All ye, whose hopes rely 
 On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn ; 
 Repent, repent, and from old errors turn ! ' 
 Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry ? 
 
 Only the echoes, which he made relent, 
 Rung from their flinty l caves ' Repent ! Repent ! ' 
 Drummond of Hawthornden. 
 
 CCCLV 
 
 LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT 
 
 IN the hour of my distress, 
 When temptations me oppress, 
 And when I my sins confess, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When I lie within my bed, 
 Sick in heart and sick in head, 
 And with doubts discomforted, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the house doth sigh and weep, 
 And the world is drown' d in sleep, 
 Yet mine eyes the watch do keep, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 1 v. /. ' marble. '
 
 LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT 321 
 
 When the passing bell doth toll, 
 And the furies in a shoal 
 Come to fright a parting soul, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the tapers now burn blue, 
 And the comforters are few, 
 And that number more than true, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the priest his last hath pray'd, 
 And I nod to what is said, 
 'Cause my speech is now decay'd, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When, God knows, I 'm toss'd about 
 Either with despair or doubt ; 
 Yet before the glass be out, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the tempter me pursu'th 
 With the sins of all my youth, 
 And half-damns me with untruth, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the flames and hellish cries 
 Fright mine ears and fright mine eyes, 
 And all terrors me surprise, 
 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 When the judgment is reveal'd, 
 And that open'd which was seal'd, 
 When to Thee I have appeal'd, 
 Sweet Spirit, comfort me ! 
 
 Herrick. 
 X
 
 322 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCLVI 
 
 A LITANY 
 
 DROP, drop, slow tears, 
 
 And bathe those beauteous feet 
 Which brought from Heaven 
 
 The news and Prince of Peace : 
 Cease not, wet eyes, 
 
 His mercy to entreat : 
 To cry for vengeance 
 
 Sin doth never cease. 
 In your deep floods 
 
 Drown all my faults and fears ; 
 Nor let His eye 
 
 See sin, but through my tears. 
 
 Phineas Fletcher. 
 
 CCCLVII 
 
 EASTER SONG 
 
 I GOT me flowers to strew Thy way, 
 I got me boughs off many a tree ; 
 
 But Thou wast up by break of day, 
 
 And brought'st Thy sweets along with Thee. 
 
 The sun arising in the East, 
 
 Though he give light and th' East perfume, 
 If they should offer to contest 
 
 With Thy arising, they presume.
 
 A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER 323 
 
 Can there be any day but this, 
 
 Though many suns to shine endeavour ? 
 
 We count three hundred, but we miss : 
 There is but one, and that one ever. 
 
 Geo. Herbert. 
 
 CCCLVIII 
 
 A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER 
 
 WILT Thou forgive that sin, where I begun, 
 Which was my sin, though it were done before ? 
 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run, 
 And do run still, though still I do deplore ? 
 
 When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done ; 
 For I have more. 
 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won 
 Others to sin, and made my sins their door ? 
 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun 
 A year or two, but wallow'd in a score ? 
 
 When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done ; 
 For I have more. 
 
 I have a sin of fear, that when I 've spun 
 
 My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ; 
 But swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son 
 Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore : 
 And having done that, Thou hast done ; 
 I fear no more. 
 
 J. Donne.
 
 324 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCLIX 
 
 LOVE 
 
 LOVE bade me welcome ; yet my soul drew back, 
 
 Guilty of dust and sin. 
 But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack 
 
 From my first entrance in, 
 Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning 
 
 If I lack'd anything. 
 
 ' A guest/ I answer'd, ' worthy to be here ' : 
 
 Love said, ' You shall be he.' 
 ' I, the unkind, ungrateful ? Ah, my dear, 
 
 I cannot look on Thee.' 
 Love took my hand and smiling did reply, 
 
 ' Who made the eyes but I ? ' 
 
 'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my 
 shame 
 
 Go where it doth deserve.' 
 
 ' And know you not,' says Love, ' Who bore the 
 blame ? ' 
 
 ' My dear, then I will serve.' 
 
 ' You must sit down,' says Love, ' and taste my 
 meat.' 
 
 So I did sit and eat. 
 
 Geo. Herbert.
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH'S PILGRIMAGE 325 
 
 SIR WALTER RALEIGH'S PILGRIMAGE 
 
 GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet, 
 My staff' of faith to walk upon, 
 
 My scrip of joy, immortal diet, 
 My bottle of salvation, 
 
 My gown of glory, hope's true gage ; 
 
 And thus I '11 take my pilgrimage. 
 
 Blood must be my body's balmer ; 
 
 No other balm will there be given ; 
 Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer, 
 
 Travelleth towards the land of heaven ; 
 Over the silver mountains, 
 Where spring the nectar fountains : 
 There will I kiss 
 The bowl of bliss ; 
 And drink mine everlasting fill 
 Upon every milken hill. 
 My soul will be a-dry before ; 
 But after it will thirst no more. 
 
 Sir W. Raleigh.
 
 326 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCLXI 
 
 THE CONCLUSION 
 
 EVEN such is Time, that takes in trust 
 Our youth, our joys, our all we have, 
 
 And pays us but with earth and dust ; 
 Who in the dark and silent grave, 
 
 When we have wander'd all our ways, 
 
 Shuts up the story of our days ; 
 
 But from this earth, this grave, this dust, 
 
 My God shall raise me up, I trust. 
 
 Sir W, Raleigh.
 
 NOTES 
 
 Page i, line i 'Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings. 
 Compare with the opening line Lyly's verse on p. 44 : 
 
 ' Who is 't now we hear? 
 None but the lark so shrill and clear ; 
 Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings, 
 The morn not waking till she sings.' 
 
 and Davenant's 
 
 ' The lark now leaves his watery nest 
 And climbing shakes his dewy wings ..." 
 
 Page 3, line i ' Phoebus, arise ! ' The text (except in the three 
 concluding lines) is that of the Maitland Club reprint (1832) of the 
 1616 edition, the last published during Drummond's lifetime. The 
 ending there given, however, 
 
 ' The clouds bespangle with bright gold their blue : 
 Here is the pleasant place, 
 And everything, save her, who all should grace.' 
 
 seems comparatively weak. 
 
 Page 3, line 4 Memnon's mother is Aurora. 
 
 Page 4, line 9 by Pendus' streams. It was by Peneus, in the 
 vale of Tempe, that Phoebus met and loved Daphne, daughter of 
 the river-god. Ovid's Metaph. , Lib. i. 
 
 Page 4, line 12 When two thou did to Rome appear. Cf. Livy, 
 xxviii. ii (of the second Punic War, B.C. 206) : ' In civitate tanto 
 discrimine belli sollicita . . . multa prodigia nuntiabantur . . . 
 et Albae duos soles visos referebant. ' A like phenomenon is men- 
 tioned again in xxxix. 14 (B.C. 204). 
 
 Cf. also Pliny, Natural History, ii. 31. Thus translated by 
 Philemon Holland : ' Over and besides, many Sunnes are seen 
 at once, neither above nor beneath the bodie of the true Sunne 
 indeed, but crosswise and overthwart : never neere, nor directly 
 against the earthe, neither in the night season, but when the Sunne 
 either riseth or setteth. Once they are reported to have been seene 
 
 327
 
 328 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 at noone day in Bosphorus, and continued from morne to even. ' 
 (This is from Aristotle, Meteor, iii. 2, 6.) 'Three Sunnes together 
 our Auncitors in old time have often beheld, as namely, when 
 Sp. Posthumius with Q. Mutius, Q. Martius with M. Porcius, 
 M. Antonius with P. Dolabella, and Mar. Lepidus with L. Plancus 
 were consuls. Yea, and we in our daies have scene the like, in 
 the time of Cl. Caesar of famous memorie, his consulship, together 
 with Cornelius Orsitus his colleague. More than three we never to 
 this day find to have been scene together. ' 
 
 Drummond's reference is perhaps to the famous instance itali- 
 cised. 
 
 Page 4, line 19 These purple ports of death. Elsewhere 
 Drummond speaks of the lips as 'those coral ports of bliss.' 
 ' Lips, double port of love.' Ports = gates. 
 
 Page 4, line 24 Night like a drunkard reels. Professor 
 Masson compares Romeo and Juliet, Act ii. Sc. iii. 1. 4 : 
 
 ' And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels 
 From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels.' 
 
 Page 5 ' Corydon, arise, my Corydon.' This artless and 
 beautiful song is from England's Helicon, where it is signed 
 Ignoto. Like most pieces thus subscribed it has been attributed 
 to Sir Walter Raleigh, but with no good reason. 
 
 Page 7 ' Get up, get up for shame ! The blooming morn ' : 
 line 2, the god unshorn : Imberbis Apollo. For a full account 
 of the May-day customs alluded to in this glowing pastoral, con- 
 sult Brand's Popular Antiquities, vol. i. pp. 212 sqq. 
 
 Page 10 ' Is not thilke the merry month of May.' From 
 The Shepherd's Calendar : May. This is one of the few instances 
 in which I have ventured to make a short extract from a long 
 poem and present it as a separate lyric. 
 
 Page ii 'See where my Love a-maying goes.' From Francis 
 Pilkington's First Set of Madrigals, 1614. 
 
 xv 
 
 Page 15 'Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.' The advice 
 is of course a commonplace of the poets ; but Herrick's opening 
 lines seem to be taken direct from Ausonius, 361, 11. 49 50 : 
 
 ' Collige, virgo, rosas, dum flos novus et nova pubes, 
 Et memor esto aevum sic properare tuum."
 
 NOTES 329 
 
 and again 
 
 ' Quam longa una dies, aetas tarn longa rosarum. 
 which in turn reminds us of 
 
 ' Et Rose, elle a vecu ce que vivent les roses 
 L'espace d'un matin.' 
 
 Compare this number with xvii., ' Love in thy youth, fair maid, 
 be wise ..." and the sonnets of Shakespeare and Daniel that 
 follow (xxi.-xxiv. ), where the same note is sounded with deeper 
 thought and feeling. 
 
 Page 15 'Shun delays, they breed remorse. 1 Southwell added 
 four stanzas to the three here given : they convey the same advice 
 in a variety of forms, and conclude 
 
 ' Happy man, that soon doth knock 
 Babel's babes against the rock ! ' 
 
 Page 18 'Come, my Celia, let us prove.' Imitated from 
 Catullus' 
 
 ' Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque aniemus.' 
 
 For auother rendering of the same see the first song in Campion 
 and Rosseter's first Book of Airs, the verses being undoubtedly 
 Campion's : 
 
 1 My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love ; 
 And though the sager sort our deeds reprove, 
 Let us not weigh them : heaven's great lamps do dive 
 Into the west, and straight again revive: 
 But soon as once is set our little light, 
 Then must we sleep in ever-during night. 
 
 If all would lead their lives in love like me, 
 Then bloody swords and armour should not be ; 
 No drum or trumpet peaceful sleeps should move, 
 Unless alarm came from the camp of Love : 
 But fools do live, and waste their little light, 
 And seek with pain their ever-during night. 
 
 When timely death my life and fortune ends, 
 Let not my heart be vext with mourning friends ; 
 But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come 
 And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb : 
 And, Lesbia, close thou up my little light, 
 And crown with love my ever-during night.' 
 
 Page 23 ' The ousel-cock, so black of hue ' : line 6, The plain- 
 song cuckoo gray : In ' plain-song ' the descant rested with the 
 will of the singer ; in ' prick-song,' on the other hand, the harmony,
 
 330 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 being more elaborate, was pricked or written down. Thus the 
 rich and involved music of the nightingale is often called ' prick- 
 song.' E.%. : 
 
 ' What bird so sings, yet so does wail ? 
 O, 'tis the ravish'd nightingale. 
 Jug; jug, jug, jug, tereu ! she cries, 
 And still her woes at midnight rise. 
 Brave prick-song ! . . .' 
 
 Lyly. 
 XXVIII 
 
 Page 23 ' Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant 
 king.' Nashe's Summer's Last Will and Testament, from which 
 this is taken, was acted in the autumn of 1593, while London 
 was being devastated by the plague. It is pathetic to contrast 
 these gay spring lines with numbers CCLXXVU. and CCLXXVIII., 
 extracts from the same play. 
 
 ' Autumn hath all the summer's fruitful treasure ; 
 Gone is our sport, fled is our Croydon's pleasure ! 
 Short days, sharp days, long nights come on apace : 
 Ah, who shall hide us from the winter's face? 
 Cold doth increase, the sickness will not cease, 
 And here we lie, God knows, with little ease. 
 
 From winter, plague, and pestilence, good Lord deliver us ! ' 
 
 Page 25 This rapturous little catch we owe to Mr. A. H. Bullen, 
 who disinterred it from the collection of early MS. music-books pre- 
 served in the library of Christ Church, Oxford. In the MS. the lines 
 are subscribed 'Mr. Gyles.' Nathaniel Giles was a chorister at 
 Magdalen, and successively organist and master of the choristers at 
 St. George's, Windsor, and master of the Children of the Chapel 
 Royal. He died January 24th, 1633, and was buried at Windsor. 
 
 Page 25 From Thomas Morley's Madrigals to Four Voices, 
 1600. 
 
 Page 27, line i The Golden Pomp is come is Ovid's 'Aurea 
 pompa venit,' and Now reigns the rose Martial's ' nunc regnat 
 rosa.' 'My retorted hairs' seems to be Martial again, vi. 39, 6, 
 ' retorto crine Maurus. ' ' My uncontrolled brow ' may be ' soluta, 
 libera, explicita frons. 1 But Herrick used his classics so freely that 
 it would be a mistake to seek to identify all that looks like direct 
 translation. 
 
 Page 30 ' Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright ' is from 
 The Temple: Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, 1632-33.
 
 NOTES 331 
 
 But it is hard now to dissociate it from its exquisite context in 
 the Compleat Angler : 
 
 Piscator. 'And now, scholar, my direction for fly-fishing is 
 ended with this shower, for it has done raining ; and now look 
 about you, and see how pleasantly that meadow looks ; nay, and 
 the earth smells as sweetly too. Come, let me tell you what holy 
 Mr. Herbert says of such days and flowers as these ; and then 
 we will thank God that we enjoy them, and walk to the river and 
 sit down quietly and try to catch the other brace of trouts. ..." 
 
 Here follow the verses. 
 
 Venator. ' I thank you, good master, for your good direction 
 for fly-fishing, and for the sweet enjoyment of the pleasant day, 
 which is so far spent without offence to God or man : and I thank 
 you for the sweet close of your discourse with Mr. Herbert's verses, 
 who, I have heard, loved angling ; and I do the rather believe it, 
 because he had a spirit suitable to anglers, and to those primitive 
 Christians that you love and have so much commended. ' 
 
 Compare also Walton's Life of Herbert : ' The Sunday before 
 his death he rose suddenly from his bed or couch, called for one 
 of his instruments, took it into his hand, and said 
 
 ' My God, my God, 
 My musick shall find Thee 
 
 And every string 
 Shall have his attribute to sing ' ; 
 
 and having tuned it, he played and sung : 
 
 ' The Sundaies of man's life 
 Thredded together on Time's string, 
 Make bracelets to adorn the wife 
 Of the eternall glorious King : 
 On Sunday, Heaven's dore stands ope, 
 Blessings are plentiful and rife, 
 More plentiful then hope.' 
 
 Thus he sang on earth such hymns and anthems as the angels 
 and he and Mr. Farrar [Nicholas Ferrar of Little Gidding] now 
 sing in heaven.' 
 
 XXXIX 
 
 Page 33 In the merry month of May.' This song of Breton's 
 first appeared, under the title of 'The ploughman's Song,' in 
 The Honourable Entertainment given to the Queen's Majesty at 
 Elvetham in Hampshire, by the Right Honourable the Earl of 
 Hertford; printed in 1591. It was set to music in Michael Este's 
 Madrigals, 1604, and again in Henry Youll's Canzonets, 1608 ; 
 and is included in England's Helicon. 
 
 Page 38 ' Hark, all you ladies that do sleep ! ' From Campion 
 and Rosseter's A Book of Airs, 1601.
 
 332 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 XLVIII, XLIX 
 
 Pages 40, 41 'Come live with me and be my love.' Mar- 
 lowe's song (minus the fourth and sixth verses and without the 
 author's name) was first published in The Passionate Pilgrim, 
 1599, followed by the first verse of the ' Reply. 1 The next year it 
 was printed complete, with Marlowe's name attached, in England's 
 Helicon. 
 
 The ' Reply ' in England! s Helicon is signed ' Ignoto ' ; and 
 the evidence that Raleigh wrote it is confined to a famous passage 
 in the Compleat Angler: 'As I left this place, and entered into 
 the next field, a second pleasure entertained me. 'Twas a hand- 
 some milkmaid, that had not yet attained so much age and 
 wisdom as to load her mind with any fears of many things that 
 will never be, as too many men too often do : but she cast away 
 all care, and sung like a nightingale : her voice was good, and the 
 ditty fitted for it : it was that smooth song which was made by 
 Kit Marlowe, now at least fifty years ago : and the milkmaid's 
 mother sung an answer to it, which was made by Sir Walter 
 Raleigh in his younger days.' 
 
 In the second edition of the Angler Walton inserted pro- 
 bably from a broad-sheet an extra penultimate stanza in both 
 Song and Reply : 
 
 Marlowe. ' Thy silver dishes for thy meat, 
 As precious as the gods do eat, 
 Shall on an ivory table be 
 Prepared each day for thee and me.' 
 
 Raleigh. 'What should we talk of dainties, then, 
 Of better meat thau's fit for men? 
 These are but vain : that 's only good 
 Which God hath blest, and sent for food.' 
 
 We may conclude with a modest conjecture of the late Professor 
 Henry Morley's. 'Sharing,' he says, 'the spell upon the mind 
 that is in every familiar word of this old song, I feel like a dunce 
 when suggesting that there may be two original misprints in it, 
 of " cup " for " cap," and of " fair-lined " for " fur-lined." ' Eng- 
 lish Writers, vol. x. p. 135, note. 
 
 Page 44 ' What bird so sings, yet so does wail.' For 'prick- 
 song' see note on No. xxvu. 
 
 Page 44 ' This day Dame Nature seem'd in love ' : Reliquia 
 Wottoniana. Quoted in Walton's Angler: 'And I do easily 
 believe, that peace and patience and a calm content did cohabit 
 in the cheerful heart of Sir Henry Wotton ; because I know 
 that when he was beyond seventy years of age, he made this 
 description of a part of the present pleasure that possessed him,
 
 NOTES 333 
 
 as he sat quietly, in a summer's evening, on a bank a-fishing. 
 It is a description of the spring ; which because it glided as soft 
 and sweetly from his pen, as that river does at this time, by which 
 it was then made, I shall repeat unto you. 1 
 
 Page 48 'Quivering fears, heart-tearing cares': Rel. Wotton. 
 with the signature 'Ignoto.' Also described in Walton's Angler 
 as ' a copy printed among some of Sir Henry Wotton's, and 
 doubtless made either by him or by a lover of angling.' It has 
 been claimed (vide note on No. v.) for Sir Walter Raleigh, but 
 on no evidence. 
 
 Page 53 'The damask meadows and the crawling streams." 
 From 'A Country Life: To his brother, Mr. Tho. Herrick." 
 Hesperides, 106. The poem is usually attributed to Bishop 
 Corbet (1582-1635), but every line seems to claim Herrick for 
 its author. 
 
 It is based on Horace, Ep. i. 10, and is full of classical reminis- 
 cences. E.g. , ' With holy meal and crackling salt ' is Horace's 
 ' farre pio et saliente mica.' 
 
 The Thomas Herrick, to whom it is dedicated, was an elder 
 brother of the poet's, born May 7, 1588, and apprenticed by his 
 uncle, Sir William Herrick, to a London merchant, Mr. Mas- 
 sam. In 1610, however, Thomas quitted London and returned 
 to the country, where he cultivated a small farm. 
 
 LX 
 
 Page 53 ' Heigho ! chill go to plough no more.' From John 
 Mundy's Songs and Psalms, 1594. 
 
 Page 54 'My Love is neither hot nor cold.' From Robert 
 Jones's Second Book of Songs and Airs, 1601. 
 
 Page 55 ' Diaphenia like the daffadowndilly. 1 Signed ' H. C.' 
 in England's Helicon. It is set to music in Francis Pilkington's 
 First Book of Songs or Airs, 1605. 
 
 Henry Constable was born about 1555, of a staunch Roman 
 Catholic family : was educated at St. John's College, Cambridge, 
 where he took his degree in 1579. In 1595 falling (as a Roman 
 Catholic) under suspicion of treasonable correspondence with 
 France, he had to fly the country. About 1601 he ventured to 
 return ; but was detected and committed to the Tower, where he 
 languished until the close of 1604. The exact date of his death 
 is uncertain, but it happened before 1616.
 
 334 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Page 56 ' Like to Diana in her summer weed.' From Greene's 
 romance of Menaphon, 1589. ' What manner of woman is she ? ' 
 quoth Melicertus. ' As well as I can, answered Doron, ' I will 
 make description of her : 
 
 Like to Diana, etc.' 
 
 'Thou hast,' quoth Melicertus, 'made such a description as if 
 Priamus' young boy should paint out the perfection of his Greekish 
 paramour. ' 
 
 Page 57 ' See where she sits upon the grassy green. ' An 
 extract from The Shepherd? s Calendar: April. The same being 
 ' purposely intended to the honour and prayse of our most 
 gratious soveraigne, queene Elizabeth . . . whom abruptly he 
 termeth Eliza.' The original ditty extends to fourteen stanzas. 
 The opulence of Spenser's muse will always be the despair of the 
 anthologist, and I commend my extracts to the reader with much 
 diffidence. But it was a question between curtailment and omit- 
 ting altogether. 
 
 Page 66 ' It fell upon a holy eve.' From The Shepherd's 
 Calendar: August. 
 
 Page 66 'Tell me, thou skilful shepherd swain.' From 
 Drayton's Pastorals : The Ninth Eclogue. It is included, under 
 the title here given, in England's Helicon. 
 
 Page 67 ' Fair and fair and twice so fair. 1 From Peele's 
 Arraignment of Paris, 1584. For light-hearted melody I 
 believe this little duet can hardly be matched in the whole range 
 of our poetry. Its charm is impossible to analyse as that of 
 Shakespeare's ' It was a lover and his lass ' mere spontaneous 
 gaiety and the perfection of writing. 
 
 Page 68 'Like the Idalian queen.' Paramours = sing. paramour 
 (of course without the offensive modern connotation). Compare 
 Chaucer, Troilus and Criseyde, v. 157 : 
 
 ' I lovede never womman herebiforn 
 As paramours, ne never shall no mo.'
 
 NOTES 835 
 
 Page 68, line 6 Which of her blood were born. See Bion's first 
 Idyll ; also the Pervigilium Veneris, 1. 23 ; and compare Drum- 
 mond's little poem, ' The Rose ': 
 
 ' Flower, which of Aden's blood 
 Sprang, when of that clear flood 
 Which Venus wept another white was born. . . .' 
 
 Which is a translation of Tasso : 
 
 ' O del sangue d' Adone 
 Nata fior, quando un altro del' acque 
 Lacrimose di Venere ne nacque.' 
 
 Bion's story was that the red rose sprang from the blood of 
 Adonis, and the anemone from the tears shed by Venus over 
 him. But there is a variant, that the rose sprang from the blood 
 of Venus herself as she passed barefoot through the briars in her 
 grief at Adonis's death. 
 
 Page 69 ' Beauty sat bathing by a spring.' From England's 
 Helicon where, with six other pieces, it is signed 'Shepherd 
 Tony.' It is also found in Antony Munday's Primaleon, 
 1619; and though Antony Munday ('our best plotter 1 ac- 
 cording to Meres, and elsewhere, less reverently, ' the Grub Street 
 Patriarch") could write poorly enough as a rule, the evidence is 
 sufficient that he was the 'Shepherd Tony' and author of this 
 graceful lyric. Others have identified the shepherd with one 
 Antony Copley, author of A Fig for Fortune, 1596, and Wits, 
 Fits, and Fancies, 1614. 
 
 Page 70 ' Open the door ! ' From Martin Peerson's Private 
 Music, 1620 : Bodleian Library, Douce Collection. 
 
 Page 70 'On a time the amorous Silvy.' From John Attye's 
 First Book of Airs, 1622. Mr. Bullen points out that this is a 
 graceful rendering from the French of Pierre Guedron : 
 
 ' Un jour 1'amoureuse Silvie 
 Disoit, baise moy, je te prie, 
 Au berger qui seul est sa vie 
 
 Et son amour ; 
 
 Baise moy, pasteur, je te prie, 
 Et te leve, car il est jour.' . . . 
 
 LXXVI 
 
 Page 73 'Art thou gone in haste? 1 From The Thracian 
 Wonder, which was published by Francis Kirkman in 1661 
 and assigned on the title-page to Webster and Rowley. It is
 
 336 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 as certain as can be that Webster took no hand in it. William 
 Rowley, ' once a rare Schollar of learned Pembroke Hall of 
 Cambridge," colaborated with Middleton in The Spanish Gipsy 
 (published in 1652, though written quite thirty years earlier), and 
 probably also in More Dissemblers besides Women written at 
 least as early as 1623 and published in 1657). The dates of his 
 birth and death are alike uncertain. 
 
 Page 76 'Shepherd, what's Love, I pray thee tell.' Origin- 
 ally subscribed ' S. W. R.' in England's Helicon, 1600 ; but 
 in extant copies this has been obliterated by a label on which is 
 printed 'Ignoto.' Signed 'S. W. Rawly ,' in Davison's list, Harl. 
 MS. 280, fol. 99, but anonymous in The Phoenix Nest, 1593, 
 and Davison's Poetical Rhapsody, 1602, where it is headed ' The 
 Anatomy of Love." In the two last the first line runs ' Now what 
 is Love, I pray thee tell ? ' There is an early MS. copy in Harl. MS. 
 6910, and an imperfect copy of the first and last stanzas form the 
 ' third song ' in T. Hey wood's The Rape of Lucrece, 1608. The 
 song was also set to music in Robert Jones's Second Book of Songs 
 and Airs, 1601. 
 
 Page 79 'Hey, down a down ! did Dian sing.' From England's 
 Helicon. The signature again is ' Ignoto.' 
 
 Page 80 ' Never love unless you can.' From Thomas 
 Campion's Third Book of Airs, not dated, but certainly not 
 earlier than 1617. 
 
 Page 81 'Thus saith my Chloris bright.' From John 
 Wilbye's Madrigals, 1598 : a rendering of an Italian madrigal by 
 Luca Marenzio. Another version is found in Musica Transalpina. 
 The Second Book of Madrigals, 1597 : 
 
 ' So saith my fair and beautiful Lycoris, 
 When now and then she talketh 
 With me of love : 
 " Love is a spirit that walketh, 
 That soars and flies, 
 And none alive can hold him, 
 Nor touch him, nor behold him." 
 Yet when her eye she turneth, 
 I spy where he sojourneth: 
 In her eyes there he flies, 
 But none can catch him 
 Till from her lips he fetch him.'
 
 NOTES 337 
 
 Page 81 'Come hither, shepherd's swain.' Found entire 
 in Deloney's Garland of Goodwill (whence Percy obtained the 
 version in his Reliques] and in Breton's Bower of Delights, 1597. 
 A shorter copy is found in Puttenham's Art of Poesy, 1589, 
 where it is attributed to ' Edward, Earl of Oxford, a most noble 
 and learned gentleman.' 
 
 Edward Vere, seventeenth earl of Oxford, was born not earlier 
 than 1540 : travelled in Italy in early youth, and returned with 
 very foppish manners and a pair of gloves which so pleased Eliza- 
 beth, to whom he presented them, that she was drawn with them 
 on her hands. In 1585 he took part in the Earl of Leicester's 
 expedition for the relief of the states of Holland and Zealand. In 
 the following year he sat as Lord Great Chamberlain of England 
 at the trial of Mary, Queen of Scots. In 1588 he fitted out ships 
 at his own charges against the Spanish Armada. In 1589 he 
 helped to try Philip Howard, Earl of Arundel ; and in 1601, the 
 Earls of Essex and Southampton. In private life he appears to 
 have been something of a ruffian. He died in the summer of 
 1604. 
 
 Page 81, line 6 Prime of May : v.l, ' pride of May.' 
 
 Page 82, line 2 Unfeigned lovers' tears: v.l. ' unsavoury lovers' 
 tears.' 
 
 Page 82, line 20 A thousand times a day: v.l. 'ten thousand 
 times a day. ' 
 
 Page 83 ' The sea hath many thousand sands.' From 
 Robert Jones's The Miises Garden of Delights, 1610 a book 
 which (says Mr. Bullen) ' I have sought early and late without 
 success. In 1812 a copy was in the library of the Marquis of 
 Stafford ; and in that year Beloe printed six songs from it in the 
 sixth volume of his Anecdotes' the song under notice is one of 
 that half-dozen. ' These six songs . . . are so delightful that I 
 am consumed with a desire to see the rest of the contents of the 
 song-book.' 
 
 Page 83 ' If thou long'st so much to learn,' etc. This 
 and the following song, so similar in subject and treatment, are 
 both from Campion's Third Book of Songs and Airs (circ. 1617). 
 
 Page 86 ' Love guards the roses of thy lips." From Lodge's 
 Phillis. The old editions have ' Love guides the roses ' 
 'evidently (says Mr. Bullen), a misprint for "guildes."' But 
 the reading here adopted seems even more obvious.
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Page 87 ' Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory. 
 From John Wilbye's Madrigals, 1598. 
 
 Page 87 'Cupid and my Campaspe played.' This little 
 poem, so easy and yet inimitable, so artless apparently and yet 
 unapproachable, is from Lyly's Alexander and Campaspe, pro- 
 bably acted at Court in the year 1581. Lyly's songs, however, were 
 not included in the early editions of his plays, but appear for the 
 first time in the collected edition of 1597. 
 
 Page 89 'Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton.' From the 
 second book of Two Books of Airs. The first containing Divine 
 and Moral Songs: the second, Light Conceits of Lovers' (circ. 
 1613), where a third stanza is given : 
 
 ' Would it were dumb midnight now, 
 
 When all the world lies sleeping ! 
 Would this place some desert were, 
 
 Which no man hath in keeping ! 
 My desires should then be safe, 
 
 And when you cried, then would I laugh : 
 But if aught might breed offence, 
 
 Love only should be blamed : 
 I would live your servant still, 
 
 And you my saint unnamed.' 
 
 XCVI 
 
 Page 90 ' Turn back, you wanton flyer. ' From Campion 
 and Rosseter's A Book of Airs, 1601. 
 
 Page 91, line 8 ' times' or seasons' swerving,' Old ed. 'chang- 
 ing.' 'Swerving' is Mr. Bullen's correction. 
 
 Page 91, lines 10, n The original reads : 
 
 ' Then what we sow with our lips, 
 Let us reap, love's gains dividing.' 
 
 And it is so printed in Mr. Bullen's edition of Campion (1889). 
 The arrangement in the text, however, gives us two even stanzas, 
 and has the further advantage of making sense. 
 
 91 ' Steer, hither steer your winged pines." The 
 opening song of The Inner Temple Masque, ' presented by the 
 gentlemen there,' in January 1614, but not printed until 1772, 
 when Thomas Davies included it in his edition of Browne, his 
 authority being a MS. in the library of Emmanuel College, Cam- 
 bridge.
 
 NOTES 339 
 
 XCVIII 
 
 Page 92 'Come, worthy Greek! Ulysses, come.' Homer, 
 Odyssey xii. 184. 
 
 AciTp' ay" lav jroXvoui/ 'OSutrev, fie'ya KuSos 'Ax<uui . . . 
 
 It is to be observed particularly with what ease this song of 
 ' well-languaged Daniel ' runs upon the tongue. Such ease would 
 be remarkable in a lyric of mere emotion or ecstasy : it is wonder- 
 ful in lines that discuss a question of high morality. E.g. : 
 
 ' But natures of the noblest frame 
 
 These toils and dangers please ; 
 And they take comfort in the same 
 
 As much as you in ease ; 
 And with the thought of actions past 
 
 Are recreated still : 
 When Pleasure leaves a touch at last 
 
 To show that it was ill.' 
 
 CIII 
 
 Page 104 'The Nightingale, as soon as April bringeth.' 
 From the poems appended to Sidney's Arcadia, ed. 1598. Also 
 in England's Helicon. 
 
 Philomela. The legends differ, making now Philomela, now 
 Procne (the swallow), to suffer Tereus' violence. 
 
 Page 105 ' As it fell upon a day.' For an extended and 
 weaker form of this little poem see the Sonnets to Sundry Notes 
 of Music, appended to The Passionate Pilgrim, 1599, ' by 
 W. Shakespeare. At London : Printed for W. Jaggard, and are 
 to be sold by W. Leake, at the Greyhound in Paule's Churchyard.' 
 But in this little book of thirty leaves, i6mo, even Marlowe's 
 1 Come live with me and be my love ' is audaciously claimed for 
 Shakespeare. In the third edition of The Passionate Pilgrim, 
 Shakespeare's name was cut out of the title-page, possibly at his 
 own request. 
 
 The present poem was 'conveyed' out of Poems in divers 
 Humours, appended to The Encomion of Lady Pecunia : or the 
 praise of Money, the last book of verses written by R. Barnefield, 
 or Barnfield, who was born in 1574, the eldest son of a Shropshire 
 country gentleman ; was educated at B. N. C., Oxford ; and died 
 at Dorlestone, Staffordshire, in 1627. On leaving Oxford he came 
 to London, consorted with the poets there, and himself published 
 at least one immortal lyric ; but his Muse was silent after his 
 twenty-fifth year, when he went back to live the life of a country 
 gentleman and no doubt to remember Clements Inn and ' the 
 chimes at midnight,' in his Staffordshire home. ' As it fell upon 
 a day ' was also included in England's Helicon.
 
 340 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Page 105, line 14 Tereu, Tereu / For the meaning of this cry 
 see the poem preceding. Partition was Philomela's father. 
 
 Page 106 'While that the sun with his beams hot.' The 
 author of these delicate and simple-hearted lines cannot be 
 discovered. They appeared first in Songs of Sundry Natures, 
 1589, where they were set to music by William Byrd, a gentleman 
 of the Chapel Royal, previously (1563-69) organist of Lincoln 
 Cathedral, and one of the earliest of Elizabethan composers. It 
 was copied ' Out of M. Bird's Set Songs ' into England's Helicon. 
 
 Page 108 'The earth, late choked with showers.' From 
 Scyllds Metamorphosis, 1589. Imitated from a poem of Philippe 
 Desportes : 
 
 ' La terre naguere glacee 
 Est ores de vert tapissee, 
 Son sein est embelli de fleurs, 
 L'air est encore amoureux d'elle, 
 Le ciel rit de la voir si belle, 
 Et moi j'en augmente mes pleurs. 
 
 Les bois sont couverts de feuillage, 
 De vert se pare le bocage, 
 Ses rameaux sont tous verdissants; 
 Et moi, las ! privd de ma gloire, 
 Je m'habille de couleur noire, 
 Signe des ennuis que je sens. 
 
 Des oiseaux la troupe legere 
 Chantant d'une voix ramagere 
 S'egaye aux bois a qui mieux mieux : 
 Et moi tout rempli de furie 
 Je sanglotte, soupire et crie 
 Par les plus solitaires lieux. 
 
 Les oiseaux cherchent la verdure : 
 Moi, je cherche une sepulture, 
 Pour voir mpn malheur limitc. 
 Vers le ciel ils ont leur voice : 
 Et mon ame trop desolee 
 N'aime rien que 1'obscuritc.' 
 
 Lodge was an admirer and imitator of Desportes, of whose 
 poems he speaks, in 1589, as ' being for the most part Englished 
 and ordinarily in every man's hands.' Cf. note on number CCXX., 
 ' First shall the heavens want starry light.' 
 
 cix 
 Page 109 'Little think'st thou, poor flower.' Having omitted
 
 NOTES 341 
 
 the three concluding stanzas of Donne's poem, I now repent 
 and add them in the notes : 
 
 ' But thou, which lov'st to be 
 
 Subtle to plague thyself, wilt say 
 "Alas ! if you must go, what's that to me? 
 
 Here lies my business, and here will I stay : 
 You go to friends, whose love and means present 
 
 Various content 
 
 To your eyes, ears, and taste, and every part : 
 If then your body go, what need your heart?" 
 
 Well, then, stay here : but know 
 
 When thou hast said and done thy most, 
 A naked thinking heart, that makes no show, 
 
 Is to a woman but a kind of ghost ; 
 How shall she know my heart ? Or, having none, 
 
 Know thee for one? 
 
 Practice may make her know some other part, 
 But take my word, she doth not know a heart. 
 
 Meet me in London, then, 
 
 Twenty days hence, and thou shall see 
 Me fresher and more fat, by being with men, 
 
 Than if I had stay'd still with her and thee. 
 For God's sake, if you can, be you so too : 
 
 I will give you 
 
 There to another friend, whom you shall find 
 As glad to have my body as my mind. 
 
 Page 113 'Clear had the day been from the dawn. 1 From 
 The Muses' Elysium, Nymphal vi. 
 
 Page 114 ' Like to the clear in highest sphere.' Written 
 by Lodge on a voyage 'to the islands of Terceras and the 
 Canaries.' This little poem the gorgeous imagery of the Song 
 of Songs set in finest Renaissance work may be taken as a 
 beautiful and striking illustration of the influence of Italian art 
 upon English literature : an influence which began with Surrey 
 and Wyatt, and was not finally superseded by French models 
 until the Restoration of King Charles II. 
 
 Page 114, line i the clear. The extreme, surrounding crystalline 
 nether of the old cosmography. 
 
 CXVIII 
 
 Page 117 'One day I wrote her name upon the strand.' 
 The lady of this sonnet the Elizabeth whom Spenser married in 
 Ireland on St. Barnabas' Day, 1594, and for whom he wrote his 
 magnificent Epithalamion was almost certainly Elizabeth Boyle, 
 of Kilcoran by the Bay of Youghal, a kinswoman of the Great
 
 342 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Earl of Cork. Dr. Grosart (Complete Works in Verse and Prose 
 of Edmund Spenser, vol. i.) has discovered a grant, made in 1606 
 by Sir Richard Boyle to Elizabeth Boyle, alias Seckerstone, widow, 
 of her house at Kilcoran for half-a-crown a year. Now it is 
 known that Spenser's widow married one Roger Seckerstone in 
 1603 ; and it is, to say the least, unlikely that there were two 
 Elizabeth Seckerstones (unusual name !) in the neighbourhood at 
 the same time. 
 
 Page 117, line i upon the Strand. The strand of Kilcoran 
 three miles long is famous. 
 
 Page 119 'There is none, O, none but you.' From Light 
 Conceits of Lovers : being the second part of Campion's Two 
 Books of Airs (circ. 1613). But the lines are given by Dr. Hannah 
 to Robert, Earl of Essex (Elizabeth's luckless favourite, and writer 
 of CCCIII.), on the testimony of Aubrey's MSS., whence they were 
 printed by Dr. Bliss, editor of Wood's ' Fasti.' 
 
 CXXII 
 
 Page 120 ' Give place, you ladies, and begone ! ' appears among 
 poems by ' Uncertain Authors ' in Tottel's Miscellany, 1557 
 the first English Anthology, where it bears the title given 
 in our text. Ascribed to John Heywood (with title ' A Descrip- 
 tion of a Most Noble Lady') in a copy in the Had. MSS., 
 where two execrable stanzas are tagged on to adapt the poem 
 to Queen Mary. 
 
 Page 122 'You meaner beauties of the night. 1 From Rel. 
 Wotton. Written upon the 'Queen of Hearts,' Elizabeth, 
 daughter of James I. and wife of the Elector Palatine, who was 
 unhappily chosen King of Bohemia, Sept. I9th, 1619. Sir Henry 
 Wotton in that and the following year was employed on several 
 embassies in Germany on behalf of this unhappy lady, whose 
 reign in Prague lasted but one winter. 
 
 The poem first appeared (with music), in 1624, in Michael Este's 
 Sixt Set of Bookes, etc.: was afterwards printed in Wits Recrea- 
 tions, 1640, in Wit's Interpreter, 1671, and in Songs and Fancies 
 to Severall Musicall parts, both, apt for Voices and Viols, Aber- 
 deen, 1682. It also found its way, with variations, among 
 Montrose's Poems ; and Robert Chambers (ignorant of Wotton's 
 claim to the authorship) printed it in his Scottish Songs as ' written 
 by Darnley in praise of the beauty of Queen Mary before their 
 marriage.' 
 
 It has been a favourite mark for the second-rate imitator ; and 
 ' additional verses' are common,
 
 NOTES 343 
 
 Page 123 'There is a Lady sweet and kind.' From Thomas 
 Ford's Music of Sundry Kinds, 1607, three stanzas being 
 omitted. 
 
 Page 129 'There is a garden in her face.' From Cam- 
 pion's Fourth Book of Airs, (circ. 1617) ; but the poem occurs in 
 Alison's Hour's Recreation, 1606, and Robert Jones's Ultimum 
 Vale, 1608. 
 
 CXXXIII 
 
 Page 130 'My Love in her attire doth show her wit." From 
 Davison's Poetical Rhapsody, 1602. 
 
 Page 130 'Still to be neat, still to be drest.' Imitated from 
 the Basia of Johannes Bonefonius. See note on CXLVJI. : this num- 
 ber should be compared with the three following, all by Herrick. 
 
 Page 133 ' For her gait, if she be walking.' First printed 
 in Mr. Gordon Goodwin's edition of Browne's Poems in ' The 
 Muses Library ' (London : Lawrence & Bullen, 1894), from the 
 MS. in the library of Salisbury Cathedral. 
 
 Page 133 ' Love not me for comely grace.' From John 
 Wilbye's Second Set of Madrigals, 1609. 
 
 Page 136 ' Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting." From 
 John Wilbye's Madrigals, 1598. It is paraphrased from an 
 Italian madrigal 
 
 ' Quand' io miro le rose 
 Ch' in voi natura pose 
 E quelle che v'ha 1'arte 
 Nel vago seno sparte 
 Non so conoscer poi 
 Se voi le rose, o sian le rose in voi.' 
 
 Page 136 ' Rose-cheek'd Laura, come.' From Campion's 
 ' Observations in the Art of English Poesie. Wherein it is 
 demonstratively prooued, and by example confirmed, that the 
 English toong will receiue eight seuerall kinds of numbers, proper 
 to it selfe, which are all in this booke set forth, and were neuer
 
 344 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 before this time by any man attempted,' 1602. These verses to 
 Laura are given as an example of one of these new kinds of 
 numbers a lyrical variation on the Sapphic. 
 
 Page 137 ' I saw fair Chloris walk alone.' Ashmole MS. 38, 
 Art. ii. It is given in Wit's Recreations, 1645, and Wit's 
 Interpreter, 1655, 1671. Purcell set it to music (Henry Playford's 
 Theater of Mustek, Pt. 3, 1686). 
 
 Page 138 'Drink to me only with thine eyes.' It is one of 
 Ben Jonson's distinctions among English poets that he contrives 
 to be most spontaneous when most imitative. This immortally 
 careless rapture is meticulously pieced together from scraps of the 
 Love Letters of Philostratus, a Greek rhetorician of the second cen- 
 tury A. D. Cf. Herrick, Hesp. 144, Upon a Virgin Kissing a Rose : 
 
 ' 'Twas but a single rose 
 
 Til} you on it did breathe ; 
 But since, methinks, it shows 
 Not so much rose as wreath.' 
 
 Page 139 'Sweet Love, mine only treasure.' One of the 
 ' A. W. 1 poems in Davison's Poetical Rhapsody. Also found in 
 Robert Jones's Ultimum Vale, 1608. Nobody knows who was 
 A. W. 1 
 
 Page 140 'So sweet is thy discourse to me.' From Cam- 
 pion's Fourth Book of Airs (circ. 1617). 
 
 Page 141 'Fain would I change that note.' This is one of 
 the many lovely lyrics restored to their right place in English 
 poetry by the labours and taste of Mr. A. . H. Bullen. It was 
 found in a certain Captain Tobias Hume's First Part of Airs, 
 French, Polish, and others together, 1605. 
 
 Page 142 'O Love, sweet Love, O high and heavenly 
 Love ! ' From the once famous ' Mirror of Knighthood,' a trans- 
 lation of the Spanish romance ' Espeio de Principes y Cavalleros.' 
 The translation appeared in nine volumes between 1583 and 1601. 
 The two stanzas here given as a complete lyric are taken from 
 a poem of eight stanzas, to be found in Mr. Bullen's Poems from 
 F.lizabethan Romances. (Nimmo: 1890.)
 
 NOTES 345 
 
 Page 145 'Though others may her brow adore.' These two 
 stanzas are taken from one of J. Danyel's Songs for the Lute, 
 Viol, and Voice, 1606. 
 
 CLX 
 
 Page 147 'Maid, will you love me, yea or no?' From A 
 Handful of Pleasant Delights, a miscellany edited by one Cle- 
 ment Robinson in 1584. The full title of the ditty is ' A Proper 
 Wooing-Song, intituled " Maid, will ye love me, yea or no?" To 
 the tune of " The Merchant's Daughter went over the field.'" I 
 I have omitted four stanzas which conclude the original. 
 
 CLXI 
 
 Page 148 'Ask me why I send you here.' Printed as No. 582 
 in Herrick's Hesperides, 1648, and generally believed to be 
 Herrick's. But the Song was included in the 1640 edition of 
 Carew. I have given Carew's text, which appears to me superior 
 at almost every point. In the Hesperides the first stanza runs : 
 
 ' Ask me why I send you here 
 This sweet Infanta of the year? 
 Ask me why I send to you 
 This primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew? 
 I will whisper to your ears 
 The sweets of love are mixed with tears.' 
 
 CLXIV 
 
 Page 150 ' Fain would I have a pretty thing.' This again 
 (cf. CLX.) is 'a proper song, 1 from A Handful of Pleasant 
 Delights, 1584, where it is directed to be sung ' To the tune of 
 " Lusty Gallant." ' A couple of stanzas are here omitted. 
 
 CLXV 
 
 Page 152 ' Happy ye leaves whenas those lily hands.' The 
 opening sonnet of the Amoretti, 1595. The line 'Of Helicon 
 whence she derived is," was obscure until Dr. Grosart suggested 
 that it might be an allusion to the name of Mistress Elizabeth 
 Boyle, Spenser's wife (see note on No. cxvin.). In the twenty- 
 fourth sonnet, given by me on p. 198, we have a similar allusion : 
 
 ' Yet hope I well, that when this storm is past, 
 My Helice, the lodestar of my life, 
 Will shine again, and look on me at last, 
 With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief.' 
 
 Helice = Elis(? 
 
 CLXX 
 
 Page 155 ' O Night, O jealous Night, repugnant to my 
 measures ! ' From The Phasnix Nest, a miscellany edited in 1593 
 by ' R. S. of the Inner Temple, gentleman.'
 
 346 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Mr. Bullen has pointed out that the first verse of this poem is 
 clearly taken from Desportes' : 
 
 ' O Nuit, jalouse Nuit, centre moi conjuree, 
 
 ui renflammes le clel ae nouvelle clairte", 
 F ai-je done aujourd'hui tant de fois desire"e 
 Pour etre si contraire a ma felicite" ? ' 
 
 Page 156 ' Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not me.' 
 From Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). 
 
 Page 158 'Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes." 
 William Cartwright's The Siege, or Love's Convert, published in 
 1651, contains an echo of this beautiful invocation : 
 
 ' Seal up her eyes, O Sleep, but flow 
 Mild as her manners, to and fro ; 
 Slide soft into her, that yet she 
 May receive no wound from thee. 
 And ye present her thoughts, O dreams, 
 With hushing -winds and furling streams, 
 Whiles hovering silence sits without, 
 Careful to keep disturbance out. 
 Thus seize her, Sleep, thus her again resign ; 
 So what was Heaven's gift we'll reckon thine.' 
 
 Page 158 'Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night.' 
 1 Bartholomew Griffin, gent,' in his Fidessa, more chaste than kind, 
 published in 1596, has a sonnet reminiscent of this and of the two 
 preceding numbers : the opening is worth quotation : 
 
 Page 160 'Good Muse, rock me asleep.' From England's 
 Helicon. 
 
 Page 164 'Weep you no more, sad fountains.' From John 
 Dowland's Third and Last Book of Songs or Airs, 1603. 
 
 CLXXXIV 
 Page 1 66 ' I saw my Lady weep.' From the same.
 
 NOTES 347 
 
 Page 169 'Thou art not fair, for all thy red and white.' 
 From Campion and Rosseter's A Book of Airs, 1601. It has been 
 attributed to Donne and to Joshua Sylvester. 
 
 Page 170 ' Fire that must flame is with apt fuel fed.' From 
 Campion's Third Book of Airs (circ. 1617). 
 
 Page 171 'When first mine eyes did view and mark.' From 
 The Paradise of Dainty Devices (first ed. , 1576). William Hun- 
 nis was a gentleman of the Chapel Royal under Edward vi. , 
 and afterwards master of the singing-boys in Queen Elizabeth's 
 Chapel. But Tottefs Miscellany, 1557, had already given a version 
 as written by Wyatt. 
 
 CXCIII 
 
 Page 173 'When thou must home to shades of underground." 
 Another number from Campion and Rosseter's A Book of Airs, 
 1601. Mr. Bullen notes that the mention of ' white lope ' must 
 have been suggested by Propertius (ii. 28) : 
 
 ' Sunt apud inferos tot mil Ha formosarum ; 
 Pulchra sit in superis, si licet, una locis. 
 Vobiscum est lope, vobiscum Candida Tyro, 
 Vobiscum Europe, nee proba Pasiphae.' 
 
 Page 175 ' Love wing'd my Hopes and taught me how 
 to fly.' From Robert Jones's Second Book of Songs and Airs, 
 1601. 
 
 Page 176 ' Arise, my Thoughts, and mount you with the sun ! ' 
 From the same, where the song has three stanzas. I have omitted 
 the middle one, but restore it here : 
 
 'Arise, my Thoughts, no more, if you return 
 
 Denied of grace which only you desire, 
 But let the sun your wings to ashes burn 
 
 And melt your passions in his quenchless fire ; 
 Yet, if you move fair Maia's heart to pity, 
 Let smiles and love and kisses be your ditty.' 
 
 Page 177 ' My Thoughts are wing'd with Hopes, my Hopes 
 with Love.' The first of three stanzas of a song in John Dowland's 
 First Book of Songs or Airs, 1597 ; also given in England's 
 Helicon.
 
 348 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Page 177 ' Follow your Saint, follow with accents sweet ! ' 
 From Campion and Rosseter's Book of Airs, 1601. 
 
 Page 178 ' Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow ! ' From 
 the same. 
 
 Page 179 ' Kind are her answers.' From Campion's Third 
 Book of Airs (circ. 1617). 
 
 CCIV 
 
 Page 180 ' Shall I, wasting in despair.' A well-known imita- 
 tion of this song is attributed, but on next to no evidence, to Sir 
 Walter Raleigh. It begins : 
 
 ' Shall I like a hermit dwell 
 On a rock or in a cell? 
 Calling home the smallest part 
 That is missing of my heart, 
 To bestow it where I may 
 Meet a rival every day? 
 
 If she undervalue me, 
 
 What care I how fair she be?' 
 
 Page 183 'Can a maid that is well bred.' From Martin 
 Peerson's Private Music, 1620. 
 
 Page 184 'What conscience, say, is it in thee.' Compare 
 with the following verse, very popular in commonplace books of 
 the period : 
 
 ' When first I saw thee, thou did'st sweetly play 
 The gentle Thief, and stolest my heart away. 
 Render me mine again, or leave thine own, 
 Two are too much for thee, since I have none. 
 And if thou wilt not, I will swear thou art 
 A sweet-faced creature with a double heart.' 
 
 Page 184 'My true love hath my heart, and I have his.' 
 Printed, as here given, in Puttenham's Art of English Poesy, 1589, 
 as an example of a ' linking verse.' The Greeks ' called such link- 
 ing verse Epimone, the Latins versus intercalaris, and we may 
 term him the Love-burden, following the original, or, if it please
 
 NOTES 349 
 
 you, the long repeat.' A longer version appears in the Arcadia 
 (1590). The additional lines are vastly inferior : 
 
 ' His heart his wound received from my sight ; 
 
 My heart was wounded with his wounded heart : 
 For as from me on him his heart did light, 
 
 So still methought in me his hurt did smart. 
 Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss : 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have his.' 
 
 Page 186 'Calling to mind, my eyes went long about. 1 
 The text is that taken by Hannah from Oldys 1 Life of Raleigh, 
 after ' the copy of a celebrated lady, Lady Isabella Thynne, who 
 probably had it out of the family.' Puttenham gave it (1589) as 
 'a most excellent ditty, written by Sir Walter Raleigh.' In The 
 Phoenix' Nest, 1593, it is anonymous. The versions differ con- 
 siderably. 
 
 CCXI 
 
 Page 187 'As ye came from the holy land.' The shrine 
 of the Blessed Virgin at Walsingham in Norfolk was famous 
 throughout Europe : and in Norfolk the Milky Way, being sup- 
 posed to point the pilgrim to this shrine, was called die ' Walsing- 
 ham way,' just as it was called ' St. Jago's way ' in Italy, and 
 ' Jacobstrasse ' in Germany, as pointing to Compostella. In 1538, 
 at the dissolution of the monasteries, the great image of the Virgin 
 was carried off to Chelsea, and there burnt. It had been perhaps 
 a more famous shrine of pilgrimage than even the tomb of St. 
 Thomas of Canterbury. Cf. Erasmus. Colloq. Peregrinatio re- 
 ligionis ergo. Ascham, visiting Cologne in 1550, says : ' The 
 Three Kings be not so rich, I believe, as was the Lady of Wal- 
 singham ' : the wealth of the shrine at Cologne being then valued 
 at about six millions of francs (240,000). 
 
 A copy of this song was given by Shenstone to Bishop Percy 
 ' as corrected by him from an ancient copy, and supplied with a 
 concluding stanza.' Shenstone 's 'corrections' are not improve- 
 ments ; but the concluding stanza is fine, of its kind : 
 
 ' But true love is a lasting fire 
 
 Which viewless vestals tend, 
 That burns for ever in the soul, 
 And knows nor change nor end.' 
 
 A copy in the Bodleian is signed ' W. R.' ; and on the strength 
 of this it has been claimed for Raleigh. 
 
 Page 190 'At her fair hands how have I grace entreated.' 
 From Davison's Poetical Rhapsody, 1602 ; also Robert Jones's 
 Ultimum Vale, 1608.
 
 350 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Page 192 'When Love on time and measure makes his 
 ground. 1 From Robert Jones's First Book of Songs and Airs, 
 1601. 
 
 CCXVII 
 
 Page 194 'Dear, if you change, I'll never choose again.' 
 From John Dowland's First Book of Songs or Airs, 1597. 
 
 Page 194 ' First shall the heavens want starry light.' Imitated 
 from a sonnet of Philippe Desportes : 
 
 ' On verra defaillir tous les astres aux cieux, 
 Les poissons a la mer, le sable a son rivage,' etc. 
 
 Page 195 'Turn I .my looks unto the skies.' Also from 
 Desportes : 
 
 ' Si je me siez a 1'ombre, aussi soudainement 
 Amour, laissant son arc, s'assied et se repose ; 
 Si je pense a des vers, je le voy qui compose ; 
 Si je plains mes douleurs, il se plaint hautement. 
 
 Si je me plains au mal, il accroist mpn tourment ; 
 Si je respans des pleurs, son visage il arrose ; 
 Si je monstre mon playe en ma poitrine enclose, 
 II defait son bandeau, 1'essuyant doucement. 
 
 Si je vais par les bois, aux bois il m'accompagne ; 
 Si je me suis cruel, dans mon sang il se bagne ; 
 Si je vais a la guerre, il devient mon soldart. 
 
 Si je passe la mer, il conduit ma nacelle ; 
 Bref, jamais 1'importun de moy ne se depart, 
 Pour rendre mon desir et ma peine eternelle. 
 
 Lodge gave also a literal rendering of this sonnet in Scylla's 
 Metamorphosis, 1589. 
 
 CCXXI 
 
 Page 196 'Were I as base as is the lowly plain.' With the 
 third quatrain compare Plato's lovely conceit : 
 
 ' aore'pas eitraOpets, aa"ri)p e^os. ai#e yeixn'ju.af 
 oupai/os, <os TroAAois 6jUjtA<x<7<.i' eis <re /SAeVto. 
 
 Page 198 ' Like as a ship that through the Ocean wide.' For 
 the allusion to Helice, see note on No. CLXV. For the simile 
 cf. Carew: 
 
 'You're the bright Pole-star, which in the dark 
 Of this long absence, guides my wandering bark,' etc.
 
 NOTES 351 
 
 Page 198 'Though I be scorn'd, yet will I not disdain.' From 
 The Mirror of Knighthood, Partvi., 1598. 
 
 Page 199 ' Fine knacks for ladies. ..." From John Dowland's 
 Second Book of Songs or Airs, 1600. 
 
 Page 203 ' Sweet, come again ! ' From Campion and Rosseter's 
 Book of Airs, 1601. 
 
 CCXXXII 
 
 Page 204 'Absence, hear thou my protestation.' The cir- 
 cumstances of Donne's life give these verses a peculiar interest. 
 Being secretary to the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere, he ' passionately 
 fell in love with, and privately married, a niece of the Lady 
 Elsemere's, the daughter of Sir George Moor, Chancellor of the 
 Garter and Lieutenant of the Tower ; which so much enraged Sir 
 George, that he not only procured Mr. Donne's dismission from 
 his employment under the Lord Chancellor, but never rested till 
 he had caused him likewise to be imprisoned. Though it was not 
 long before he was enlarged from his confinement, yet his troubles 
 still encreased upon him ; for his Wife being detained from him, 
 he was constrained to claim her by a troublesome and expensive 
 lawsuit, which, together with travel, books, and a too liberal 
 disposition, contributed to reduce his fortune to a very narrow 
 compass. 
 
 ' Adversity has its peculiar Virtues to exercise and work upon, as 
 well as the most flourishing condition of life ; and Mr. Donne had 
 now an opportunity of showing his patience and submission, which, 
 together with the general approbation he everywhere met with of 
 Mr. Dojine's good qualities, with an irresistible kind of persuasion 
 so won upon Sir George, that he began now not wholly to dis- 
 approve of his daughter's choice ; and was at length so far recon- 
 ciled as not to deny them his blessing.' The death of his wife 
 broke Donne's heart. 
 
 With these verses of his compare Carew's To his Mistress in 
 Absence. 
 
 Page 208 ' As virtuous men pass mildly away.' For the con- 
 cluding image of the compasses compare Ben Jonson's Epistle 
 to Master John Selden : 
 
 ' You that have been 
 
 Ever at home, yet have all countries seen ; 
 And like a compass, keeping one foot still 
 Upon your centre, do your circle fill 
 Of general knowledge.'
 
 352 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Dr. Grosart notes that the impresa of John Haywood, Donne's 
 maternal grandfather, was a compass with a sound foot in centre 
 and the other broken : the motto, ' Deest quod ducerit orbem.' 
 This may well have suggested the image, which was a favourite 
 one with Donne. 
 
 ccxxxvn 
 
 Page 210 ' As careful merchants do expecting stand.' Compare 
 this song of Browne's with the sonnet (Amoretti, xv. ) of his 
 master, Spenser, which begins : 
 
 ' Ye tradeful Merchants that with weary toil, 
 Do seek most precious things to make your gain 
 And both the Indias of their treasures spoil ; 
 What needeth you to seek so far in vain ? 
 For lo ! my love doth in herself contain 
 All this world's riches. . . .' 
 
 Page 212 'See the Chariot at hand here of Love.' This 
 magnificent song is taken for the ' Celebration of Chans ' in 
 Underwoods ; but two stanzas were inserted by Jonson in his The 
 Devil is an Ass, ii. 6, acted in 1616. 
 
 I am not aware if any critic has noted how constantly and 
 curiously Jonson, especially in the Underwoods, seems to anticipate 
 the best, and something more than the best, manner of Browning. 
 The difficult rapture of Chans' Triumph, here, is a striking in- 
 stance. Of the lines 
 
 ' Do but mark, her forehead 's smoother 
 
 Than words that soothe her ; 
 And from her arched brows such a grace 
 
 Sheds itself through the face, 
 As alone there triumphs to the life 
 All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife.' 
 
 it may fairly be said that England has taken two and a half 
 centuries to produce another poet who could conceivably have 
 written them. 
 Suckling wrote a weak imitation of the last stanza, beginning 
 
 ' Hast thou seen the down in the air, 
 When wanton blasts have toss'd it?' 
 
 And T. Carew 
 
 ' Would you know what 's soft? I dare 
 Not bring to you the down, or air ; 
 
 Nor ; to please your sense bring forth 
 Bruised nard, or what's more worth ..." 
 
 Page 213 'Roses, their sharp spines being gone.' From 
 The Two Noble Kinsmen. On the title-page of the first edition
 
 NOTES 353 
 
 of this play (1634) Shakespeare is claimed as part-author of it, 
 along with Fletcher; and if internal evidence be worth any- 
 thing, this bridal-song, with which the play opens, must go to 
 Shakespeare's credit. Such lines as 
 
 ' Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint ' 
 or 
 
 ' Oxlips in their cradles growing' 
 or 
 
 ' Not an angel of the air 
 Bird melodious, or bird fair ' 
 
 have Shakespeare's note rather than Fletcher's. The opening 
 lines of the second stanza have generally been printed thus : 
 
 ' Primrose, firstborn child of Ver, 
 Merry springtime's harbinger, 
 With her bells dim . . .' 
 
 and many have wondered how Shakespeare or Fletcher came to 
 write of the ' bells ' of a primrose. Mr. W. J. Linton proposed 
 ' With harebell slim ' : although if we must read ' harebell ' or 
 'harebells,' 'dim' would be a pretty and proper word for the 
 colour of that flower. The conjecture takes some little plausibility 
 from the circumstance that elsewhere Shakespeare links primrose 
 and harebell together : 
 
 ' Thou shall not lack 
 
 The flower that 's like thy face, pale primrose, nor 
 
 The azured harebell, like thy veins. . . .' 
 
 Cymbeline, iv. 2. 
 
 I have always suspected, however, that there should be a semicolon 
 after 'Ver,' and that ' merry springtime's harbinger, with her bells 
 dim ' referred to a totally different flower the snowdrop, to wit. 
 And I now learn from Dr. Grosart, who has carefully examined 
 the 1634, and only early edition, that the text actually gives a 
 semicolon. The snowdrop may very well come after the primrose 
 in this song, which altogether ignores the process of the seasons. 
 
 Page 214 ' Now hath Flora robb'd her bowers.' From 
 a Masque presented at Whitehall, on Twelfth Night, 1607, 'in 
 honour of the Lord Hayes and his Bride, daughter and heir to the 
 Honourable the Lord Dennye. ' 
 
 Page 215 'What is it all that men possess . . .' From 
 Campion's Third Book of Airs, circ. 1617. 
 
 Page 216 ' Upon my lap my sovereign sits.' From Martin 
 Peerson's Private Music, 1620.
 
 354 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Page 219 'Come little babe, come silly soul.' From ' Tke 
 Arbour of Amorous Devices, by N. B. , Gent., 1593-4.' The 
 famous Lady Anne Both-well' s Lament (' Balow, my babe, lye still 
 and sleipe ! ' vide Percy's Reliques] is almost certainly an imitation 
 of this beautiful song. 
 
 CCXLVI 
 
 Page 221 'O waly waly up the bank.' 'Arthur Seat' is 
 of course the hill by Edinburgh, near the foot of which is St. 
 Anthony's Well. 
 
 There is some doubt about the date of this lament. Some 
 believe it to be a portion of the ballad Lord Jamie Douglas, and 
 therefore at least as recent as 1670. But Professor Aytoun and 
 others believe that the verses Waly Waly were stolen for this 
 ballad, like the famous brooms, ready-made; and that they belong 
 to the sixteenth century. 
 
 A traditional west-country song, ' Deep in Love,' obtained by 
 the Rev. S. Baring-Gould and published in his Songs of the West 
 (Methuen : 1892), has two stanzas : 
 
 1 1 leaned my back against an oak, 
 But first it bent and then it broke ; 
 Untrusty as I found that tree, 
 So did my love prove false to me. 
 
 I wish I wish but 'tis in vain, 
 I wish I had my heart again ! 
 With silver chain and diamond locks 
 I 'd fasten it in a golden box.' 
 
 Page 226 'Take, O take those lips away.' This song occurs 
 also in Fletcher's The Bloody Brother (first ed., 1639) with an 
 inferior stanza added : 
 
 ' Hide, O hide those hills of snow, 
 
 Which thy frozen bosom bears, 
 On whose tops the pinks that grow 
 
 Are of those that April wears ; 
 But first set my poor heart free, 
 Bound in those icy chains by thee.' 
 
 Page 226 ' Harden now thy tired heart ..." From Campion's 
 Second Book of Airs, containing Light Conceits of Lovers (circ. 
 1613). 
 
 CCLIX 
 Page 231 'Whoever comes to shroud me; do not harm.'
 
 NOTES 355 
 
 Compare with this Donne's equally subtle and even more vivid 
 piece, The Relique, beginning 
 
 ' When my grave is broke up again 
 Some second guest to entertain, 
 (For graves have learn'd that womanhead, 
 To be to more than one a bed) 
 
 And he, that digs it, spies 
 A bracelet of bright hair about the bone, 
 
 Will he not let us alone, 
 And think that there a loving couple lies, 
 Who thought that this device might be some way 
 To make their souls at the last busy day, 
 Meet at this grave, and make a little stay? 
 
 See note on ccxxxii. for the loss that broke Donne's heart. 
 
 CCLX 
 
 Page 232 'How happy was I when I saw her lead.' The 
 beauty of these stanzas as they stand is my only excuse for having 
 torn them violently from their context in Spenser's lovely lament 
 
 CCLXi 
 
 Page 234 'When thou from earth didst pass.' Here also I 
 have but torn out the heart of a beautiful lament beginning 
 
 ' Sad Damon being come 
 To that for ever lamentable tomb ..." 
 
 Page 238 'Marina's gone, and now sit I.' The opening 
 of a song in Britannia s Pastorals, book iii. 1. 45. With ' So 
 shuts the marigold ..." compare Shakespeare's 
 
 ' The marigold that goes to bed wi' the sun, 
 And with him rises weeping.' 
 
 Winter's Tale, iv. 3. 
 
 Page 240 'Glide soft, ye silver floods.' The friend that 
 William Browne (Willy) here laments was William Ferrar, son 
 of Nicholas Ferrar, a London merchant and adventurer ; and 
 brother of the famous Nicholas Ferrar of Little Gidding. He 
 entered the Middle Temple in the spring of 1610; and died 
 young, at sea. 
 
 ' Let no bird sing." It hardly needs pointing out to what 
 splendid use Keats (an admirer, and, in a sense, an imitator of 
 Browne) turned this line in his Belle Dame sans Merci. 
 
 CCLXIX 
 
 Page 242 'High-spirited friend.' From Underwoods. The 
 name of the high-spirited friend, to whom Jonson addressed
 
 366 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 these high-spirited lines, is unknown. It is just possible that ' this 
 same* in stanza 2, should be 'this fame,' the long 'f ' having 
 crept in by mistake for ' f ' in the early editions. 
 
 Page 246 ' My prime of youth is but a frost of cares.' 
 From Reliquiae Wottonianae, where the verses are said to have 
 been written ' by Chidiock Tychborne, being young and then in 
 the Tower, the night before his execution.' Young Chidiock 
 Tichborne, of Southampton, suffered in 1586 for his share in 
 Babington's Conspiracy. A beautiful letter to his wife, written 
 just before his execution, is preserved. I have given these lines 
 to Tichborne, though verses supposed to have been written on 
 such occasions are always open to suspicion. It were worth a 
 man's while, for instance, to count the poems written by Raleigh 
 on the night before his death. The truth probably is that they 
 were written by outsiders and attributed, as appropriate, to the 
 dead ; having in fact about as much authenticity as the ' last 
 dying speech and confession ' hawked around after the death 
 of any famous highwayman in the last century. The lines here 
 given were set to music in John Mundy's Songs and Psalms, 1594 ; 
 Richard Alison's Hour's Recreation, 1606 ; and Michael Este's 
 Madrigals of three, four, and Jive Parts, 1604. A reply to them 
 will be found in Hannah's Courtly Poets, p. 115. 
 
 CCLXXV1I, CCLXXVIII 
 
 Page 249 ' Fair summer droops . . .' ' Adieu, farewell earth's 
 bliss.' From Nashe's Summer's Last Will and Testament. Cf. 
 note on No. xxvin. 
 
 CCLXXX 
 
 Page 252 'His golden locks hath time to silver turn'd.' 
 From George Peele's Polyhymnia, 1590. The reader may remem- 
 ber the beautiful application of this poem, or rather the first half 
 of it, in Thackeray's The Newcomes. 
 
 Page 257 'The Indian weed withered quite.' Kindly sent to 
 me by Dr. Grosart, from a MS. in Trinity College, Dublin. 
 Wisdome was a Protestant fugitive in Mary's reign : afterwards 
 Rector of Systed in Essex and of Settrington in Yorkshire. He 
 died in 1568. 
 
 Ralph Erskine's 'Tobacco Spiritualised,' beginning 
 
 ' Tobacco is an Indian weed . . .* 
 
 is clearly but a copy of this old ditty of Wisdome's. Erskine died 
 in 1752.
 
 NOTES 357 
 
 Page 258 ' In going to my naked bed. . . .' From The Para- 
 dise of Dainty Devices, 1576, where Edwards is named as 'some- 
 time Master of the singing-boys at the Chapel Royal.' He was 
 dead some ten years before The Paradise appeared. 
 
 Page 261 'Say, crimson Rose and dainty Daffodil.' From 
 The Flower of Fidelitie, ' displaying in a continuate historic the 
 various adventures of Three Foreyn Princes. By John Reynolds.' 
 Published in 1650. 
 
 CCXCIII 
 
 Page 263 ' Alas ! my love, you do me wrong.' These words 
 of the famous song ' Greensleeves ' were composed before 1580. I 
 have included them partly for their own artless charm, partly for 
 their connection with one of the most taking of English tunes. 
 
 ccxciv 
 
 Page 264 'Though beauty be the mark of praise.' In this 
 lovely ' elegy,' and in the succeeding verses by Lord Herbert of 
 Cherbury, we have anticipations of the much discussed stanza 
 used by Tennyson for his In Memoriam. Yet Tennyson (it is said) 
 for a long while believed himself the inventor of this stanza. 
 
 Page 266 ' Ye buds of Brutus' land . . .' i.e. scions of 
 England, held of (mythical) descent from Brutus. The verses 
 come from A Posie of Gilloflowers, ' eche differing from other in 
 colour and odour, yet all sweete. By Humfrey Gifford, Gent.,' 
 1580. 
 
 CCXCVII 
 
 Page 269 'O wearisome condition of humanity!' From the 
 tragedy of Mustafha, first printed in 1609. 
 
 CCXCIX 
 
 Page 270 'The World's a bubble, and the life of Man.' For 
 the evidence that Bacon was the author of these lines, cf. Hannah's 
 Poems by Raleigh, Wotton, and others, p. 117, footnote (edition 
 of 1891). They are paraphrased, at any rate, from the famous 
 epigram of Posidippus, beginning : 
 
 TlaivTOiriv jStdroio rofiois Tpifitav etv ayoprj /mey 
 KvSea. Ka.1 Trtj/VTai 7rp>;f its, K.r.A. 
 
 The epigram has been translated over and over again by the
 
 358 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Elizabethans : notably by Sir John Beaumont, whose translation 
 closes : 
 
 ' Who would not one of these two offers choose : 
 Not to be born, or breath with speed to loose ? ' 
 
 Drummond closes : 
 
 ' Who would not of these two offers try, 
 Not to be born, or, being born, to die ? ' 
 
 and Bishop King : 
 
 ' At least with that Greek sage still make us cry 
 Not to be born, or, being born, to die.' 
 
 Bacon's paraphrase has been overrated ; but it was well worth 
 writing, if it persuade a hesitating soul here and there that his 
 lordship was not Shakespeare. 
 
 Page 273 ' Corpse, clad with carefulness." ' Newe Sonets, and 
 pretie Pamphlets written by Thomas Howell, Gentleman. Newely 
 augmented, corrected and amended ' (1567). Reproduced among 
 the poems of Thomas Howell in Dr. Grosart's Unique and Rare 
 Books, 1879. 
 
 CCCIV 
 
 Page 274 'How happy is he born and taught.' These lines 
 were printed by Percy from the Reliquias Wottonianes : believed 
 to have been first printed in 1614. Ben Jonson admired and had 
 them by heart, and in 1619 quoted them to Drummond as 
 Wotton's. They are also said to be almost identical with a 
 German poem of the same age (Hannah, p. 90, and Notes and 
 Queries, vol. ix. p. 420). Wotton may have seen the original 
 in one of his several embassies to Germany on behalf of Elizabeth 
 of Bohemia. 
 
 Page 275 'My mind to me a kingdom is.' Alluded to by 
 Jonson in Every Man out of his Humour (first acted in 1599), 
 Act i. scene i. For Sir Edward Dyer and the authorship, see 
 Hannah, pp. 149 and 243. Hannah's text is here taken. 
 
 CCCVI 
 
 Page 277 ' It is not growing like a tree.' A strophe from the 
 Ode To the immortal memory and friendship of that noble pair, Sir 
 Lucius Gary and Sir H. Morison ; which may have been written 
 in 1629, the date of Sir Henry Morison's death, but was first 
 published in the Underwoods in 1640. Sir Lucius Gary is of 
 course the Lord Falkland who fell at Newbury. The conclusion 
 of Clarendon's famous account of him reads like a commentary
 
 NOTES 359 
 
 on Jonson's verse : ' In the morning before the battle, as always 
 upon action, he was very cheerful, and put himself in the first 
 rank of the Lord Byron's regiment, then advancing upon the 
 enemy, who had lined the hedges on both sides with musketeers, 
 from whence he was shot with a musket in the lower part of the 
 belly, and in the instant falling from his horse, his body was not 
 found till the next morning ; till when, there was some hope he 
 might have been a prisoner ; though his nearest friends, who knew 
 his temper, received small comfort from that imagination. Thus 
 fell that incomparable young man, in the four-and-thirtieth year of 
 his age, having so much dispatched the true business of life, that the 
 eldest rarely attain to that immense knowledge, and the youngest 
 enter not into the world with more innocency: whosoever leads 
 such a life needs be the less anxious upon how short warning it is 
 taken from him.' History of the Rebellion, book vii. Cf. also 
 Matthew Arnold's essay on him. 
 
 cccvn 
 
 Page 277 'Wise men pity never want.' From one of the 
 1 Divine and Moral Songs' in Campion's Two Books of Airs, circ. 
 1613. 
 
 cccvm 
 
 Page 278 ' The man of life upright.' From Campion and 
 Rosseter's A Book of Airs, 1601. The same poem with variations 
 occurs with the preceding numbers in the Two Books of Airs. 
 Hannah gives the lines to Bacon. 
 
 Page 279 ' The chief use then in Man of that he knows.' A 
 stanza from A Treatie of Humane Learning. Lord Brooke was 
 murdered in September 1628 by a serving-man in his London 
 house in Holborn : the Treatie was not printed until five years 
 later. 
 
 Page 279 ' All I care.' From a song in Robert Jones's Ulti- 
 mum Vale, or Third Book of Airs, 1608. Mr. Bullen points out 
 that the last line is from Seneca's Thyestes : 
 
 ' qui, notus nimis omnibus, 
 Ignotus moritur sibi.' 
 
 CCCI 
 
 Page 279 ' Come thou, who art the wine and wit.' The allu- 
 sion in 'no Court for our Request,' is to the Court of Requests, 
 established in the reign of Richard II. as a subsidiary Court of 
 Equity for the hearing of poor men's suits, and abolished (with 
 the Star Chamber) in 1641.
 
 360 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCXII, CCCXIII 
 
 Pages 281, 282 ' Full fathom five thy father lies.' ' Call for the 
 robin-redbreast and the wren.' Lamb's famous comparison of these 
 two pieces must be quoted again. Speaking of the second he 
 says, ' I never saw anything like the funeral dirge in this play (The 
 White Devil) for the death of Marcello, except the ditty which 
 reminds Ferdinand of his drowned father in The Tempest. As 
 that is of the water, watery, so this is of the earth, earthy. Both 
 have that intenseness of feeling, which seems to resolve itself into 
 the element which it contemplates.' In a footnote he adds, 
 ' Webster was parish clerk at St. Andrew's, Holborn. The anxious 
 recurrence to church matters, sacrilege, tomb-stones, with the 
 frequent introduction of dirges, in this and his other tragedies, 
 may be traced to his professional sympathies.' 
 
 Page 283 ' Urns and odours bring away ! ' From The Two 
 Noble Kinsmen. Cf. note on CCXL. 
 
 Page 284 ' Mortality, behold and fear ! ' Mr. Henley (Lyra 
 Heroica) aptly compares Shirley's succeeding numbers and Ral- 
 eigh's great apostrophe in the History of the World: ' O Eloquent, 
 Just, and Mighty Death ! Whom none could advise, thou hast 
 persuaded ; what none hath dared, thou hast done ; and whom 
 all the World hath flattered, thou only hast cast out of the World 
 and despised : thou hast drawn together all the far-stretched 
 Greatness, all the Pride, Cruelty, and Ambition of Man, and 
 covered it all over with these two narrow words, Hie Jacet. ' 
 
 Page 287 'How near me came the hand of Death.' From 
 Hallelujah, or Britain's Second Remembrancer, Hymn xxvii. 
 ' For a Widower, or a Widow deprived of a loving Yoke-fellow.' 
 There are six stanzas in the original. 
 
 I find on correcting the pages for press that Crashaw's noble 
 epitaph, which should have followed this hymn of Wither's, has 
 unaccountably slipped out of the text, and I here add it : 
 
 AN EPITAPH UPON HUSBAND AND WIFE, 
 Who died and were buried together. 
 
 ' To those whom death again did wed 
 This grave 's the second marriage-bed. 
 For though the hand of Fate could force 
 'Twixt soul and body a divorce,
 
 NOTES 361 
 
 It could not sever man and wife, 
 Because they both lived but one life. 
 Peace, good reader, do not weep ; 
 Peace, the lovers are asleep. 
 They, sweet turtles, folded lie 
 In the last knot that love could tie. 
 Let them sleep, let them sleep on, 
 Till the stormy night be gone, 
 And the eternal morrow dawn ; 
 Then the curtains will be drawn, 
 And they wake into a light 
 Whose day shall never die in night.' 
 
 cccxxv 
 
 Page 293 'May! be thou never graced. . . .' In the title 
 ' M. S." probably stands for ' Maritae Suse.' Browne was twice 
 married. His first wife is the subject of this epitaph. 
 
 CCCXXVI 
 
 Page 293 ' Underneath this sable herse.' These lines are gener- 
 ally given to Jonson ; but the evidence that Browne wrote them, 
 as it is marshalled by Mr. Gordon Goodwin in the latest edition 
 of Browne's poems ( The Muses' Library. London : Lawrence 
 and Bullen, 1894), is certainly very strong. Briefly, it comes to 
 this : ( i ) They were first printed in Osborn's Traditional Memoirs 
 on the Reign of King James, 1658, and next in the Poems of the 
 Countess's son, William, Earl of Pembroke, and Sir Benjamin Rud- 
 yerd in 1660 ; but in neither volume are they signed. (2) Writing 
 about the same time, Aubrey, in his Natural History of Wiltshire, 
 gives the lines to Browne. (3) They are signed ' William Browne' 
 in a middle seventeenth century MS. in the library of Trinity 
 College, Dublin. (4) They do not appear in the 1640 edition of 
 Jonson, nor indeed in any edition, until in 1756 Peter Whalley 
 included them on the ground that they were ' universally assigned 
 to Jonson.' (5) Browne seems to refer to this very epitaph in his 
 Elegy on Charles, Lord Herbert of Cardiff and Shurland (written, 
 too, in the same metre) : 
 
 ' And since my weak and saddest verse 
 
 Was worthy thought thy granddam's herse ; 
 
 Accept of this ! ' 
 
 Page 294 ' The Lady Mary Villiers lies.' Carew penned two 
 other epitaphs upon her little ladyship, of which one deserves to 
 be quoted : 
 
 ' This little vault, this narrow room, 
 Of Love and Beauty is the tomb ; 
 The dawning beam, that 'gan to clear 
 Our clouded sky, lies darken'd here, 
 For ever set us us ; by Death 
 Sent to inflame the world beneath.
 
 362 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 'Twas but a bud, yet did contain 
 More sweetness than shall spring again ; 
 A budding Star, that might have grown 
 Into a sun when it had blown. 
 This hopeful Beauty did create 
 New life in Love's declining state ; 
 But now his empire ends, and we 
 From fire and wounding darts are free ; 
 
 His brand, his bow, let no man fear ; 
 
 The flames, the arrows, all lie here. 
 
 With this and the following epitaphs compare Beaumont's 
 
 1 'Tis not a life ; 
 'Tis but a piece of childhood thrown away.' 
 
 Page 295 'Here a pretty baby lies.' I cannot forbear from 
 adding here in the notes another of Herrick's epitaphs upon 
 children : 
 
 UPON A CHILD 
 
 ' But born, and like a short delight, 
 I glided by my parents' sight. 
 That done, the harder fates denied 
 My longer stay, and so I died. 
 If, pitying my sad parents' tears, 
 You'll spill a tear or two with theirs, 
 And with some flowers my grave bestrew, 
 Love and they'll thank you for "t, Adieu.' 
 
 CCCXXXI 
 
 Page 296 'As I in hoary winter's night.' Ben Jonson (it is 
 worth remarking) told Drummond of Hawthornden that he had 
 been content to destroy many of his own writings to have written 
 ' The Burning Babe.' 
 
 Page 299 ' I sing the birth was born to-night.' With stanza 2, 
 lines 4-6, compare Giles Fletcher's lines 
 
 ' A Child He was, and had not learn'd to speak 
 That with His word the world before did make ; 
 His mother's arms Him bore, He was so weak 
 That with one hand the vaults of heav'n could shake 
 See, how small room my infant Lord doth take, 
 
 Whom all the world is not enough to hold ! 
 
 Who of His years, or of His age hath told? 
 Never such age so young, never a child so old.' 
 
 CCCXXXVIII 
 
 Page 304 ' Yet if His Majesty, our sovereign lord.' From Mr. 
 Bullen's More Lyrics from the Elixabethan Song-books. Mr.
 
 NOTES 363 
 
 Bullen discovered this fine poem a fragment, apparently, but 
 flawless in itself among a collection of early MS. music in the 
 library of Christ Church, Oxford (where he also found that ' odd 
 little snatch,' printed as No. xxi. ). He writes, 'The detailed 
 description of the preparations made by a loyal subject for the 
 coming of his "earthly king" is singularly impressive. Few could 
 have dealt with common household objects tables and chairs and 
 candles and the rest in so dignified a spirit.' 
 
 CCCXLI 
 
 Page 306 'Now winter nights enlarge.' From Campion's 
 Third Book of Airs, circ. 1617. 
 
 CCCXLIU 
 
 Page 308 ' Let not the sluggish sleep. From William Byrd's 
 Psalms, Songs, and Sonnets, 1611. 
 
 Page 310 ' Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to 
 shore.' From Divine and Moral Songs, circ. 1613. 
 
 Page 320 ' In the hour of my distress.' Barren Field, who 
 reviewed Dr. Nott's edition of Herrick in the Quarterly, August 
 1810, gives an account of a visit he paid to Dean Prior in the 
 summer of 1809, for the purpose of making some inquiries con- 
 cerning the poet. He says, 'The person, however, who knows 
 more of Herrick than all the rest of the neighbourhood, we found 
 to be an old woman in the ninety-ninth year of her age, named 
 Dorothy King. She repeated to us, with great exactness, five of 
 his Noble Numbers, among which was the beautiful Litany. . . . 
 These she had learnt from her mother, who was apprenticed to 
 Herrick's successor in the vicarage. She called them her prayers, 
 which, she said, she was in the habit of putting up in bed, when- 
 ever she could not sleep : and she therefore began the Litany at 
 the second stanza 
 
 1 When I lie within my hed,' etc. 
 Another of her midnight orisons was the poem beginning 
 
 ' Every night thou dost me fright 
 And keep mine eyes from sleeping,' etc. 
 
 She had no idea that these poems had ever been printed, and 
 could not have read them if she had seen them.'
 
 364 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 CCCLIX, CCCLX 
 
 Pages 324, 325 ' Give me my scallop-shell of quiet.' ' Even such 
 is Time, that takes in trust." Of each of these poems it is asserted, 
 probably upon inference, that Raleigh wrote them in the Tower on 
 the night before his death. But, if Raleigh neither wrote them 
 then nor at any time, that they should have been attributed to him 
 as appropriate is evidence in favour of a character that has been 
 judged so variously.
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 A Rose as fair as ever saw the North 
 
 A sweet disorder in her dress 
 
 Absence, hear thou my protestation 
 
 Adieu, farewell earth's bliss . 
 
 Ah, were she pitiful as she is fair . 
 
 Ah, what is Love ! It is a pretty thing . 
 
 Alas ! my love, you do me wrong . 
 
 All I care 
 
 All the flowers of the Spring . 
 
 All ye that lovely lovers be . 
 
 And wilt thou leave me thus ? 
 
 And yet I cannot reprehend the flight . 
 
 Arise, my Thoughts, and mount you 
 with the sun ! 
 
 Art thou gone in haste W 
 
 Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden 
 slumbers ? 
 
 As careful merchants do expecting stand 
 
 As I in hoary winter's night . 
 
 As it fell upon a day .... 
 
 As virtuous men pass mildly away 
 
 As ye came from the holy hand 
 
 Ask me no more where Jove bestows 
 
 Ask me why I send you here . Carew 
 
 At her fair hands how have I grace en- 
 treated Davison 
 
 365 
 
 Browne 
 
 PAGE 
 
 112 
 
 Herrick 
 
 132 
 
 Donne 
 
 2O4 
 
 Nashe 
 
 249 
 
 Greene 
 
 I7O 
 
 Greene 
 
 51 
 
 Anon. 
 
 263 
 
 Anon. 
 
 279 
 
 Webster 
 
 284 
 
 Peele 
 
 39 
 
 Wyat 
 
 228 
 
 Daniel 
 
 175 
 
 Anon. 
 
 176 
 
 Vm. Rowley 
 
 73 
 
 Dekker 
 
 48 
 
 Browne 
 
 210 
 
 Southwell 
 
 296 
 
 Barnefield 
 
 105 
 
 Donne 
 
 208 
 
 Raleigh 
 
 I8 7 
 
 Carew 
 
 128 
 
 or Herrick 
 
 148 
 
 190
 
 366 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Away delights ! go seek some other 
 
 dwelling /. Fletcher 227 
 
 Beauty clear and fair . . . . /. Fletcher 125 
 
 Beauty sat bathing by a spring . . Munday 69 
 Beauty, sweet Love is like the morning 
 
 dew Daniel 20 
 
 Being your slave, what should I do but 
 
 tend ..... Shakespeare 206 
 
 Bid me to live, and I will live . . Herrick 197 
 
 Blow, blow, thou winter wind . Shakespeare 43 
 
 Born was I to be old .... Herrick 256 
 
 Call for the robin-redbreast and the wren Webster 282 
 
 Calling to mind, my eyes went long about Raleigh 186 
 
 Can a maid that is well bred . . . Anon. 183 
 Can I not come to Thee, my God, for 
 
 these Herrick 312 
 
 Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable 
 
 Night Daniel 158 
 
 Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all 
 
 woes Fletcher 158 
 
 Charm me asleep and melt me so . . Herrick 162 
 
 Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry . . Herrick 129 
 
 Clear had the day been from the dawn . Drayton 113 
 
 Cold 's the wind, and wet 's the rain . Dekker 257 
 
 Come away, come away, death . Shakespeare 173 
 
 Come, bring with a noise . . . Herrick 305 
 
 Come hither, shepherd's swain ! . Earl of Oxford 81 
 
 Come little babe, come silly soul . . Breton 219 
 
 Come live with me and be my love . Marlowe 40 
 
 Come, my Celia, let us prove . . Jonson 18 
 Come, Sleep, O Sleep ! the certain knot 
 
 of peace Sidney 157 
 
 Come, thou monarch of the vine . Shakespeare 255
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 367 
 
 Come thou, who art the wine and wit . Herrick 279 
 
 Come unto these yellow sands . Shakespeare 37 
 
 Come, worthy Greek ! Ulysses come . Daniel 92 
 
 Come, you pretty false-eyed wanton . Campion 89 
 
 Corpse, clad with carefulness . . Howell 273 
 
 Corydon, arise, my Corydon ! . . Anon. 5 
 
 Crabbed Age and Youth . , Shakespeare 17 
 
 Cupid and my Campaspe play'd . . Lyly 87 
 
 Dear, if you change, I '11 never choose 
 
 again Anon. 194 
 
 Dew sat on Julia's hair .... Herrick 1 1 
 
 Diaphenia like the daffadowndilly . . Constable 55 
 Did not the heavenly rhetoric of thine 
 
 eye Shakespeare 149 
 
 Drink to me only with thine eyes . . Jonson 138 
 
 Droop, droop no more, or hang the head Herrick 152 
 
 Drop, drop, slow tears . . Phineas Fletcher 322 
 
 E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks Quarks 211 
 
 Even such is Time, that takes in trust . Raleigh 326 
 
 Fain would I change that note . . Anon. 141 
 
 Fain would I have a pretty thing . . Anon. 1 50 
 
 Fair and fair, and twice so fair . . Peele 67 
 
 Fair daffodils, we weep to see . . Herrick 109 
 
 Fair is my Love, and cruel as she is fair Daniel 168 
 
 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree . . Herrick 1 10 
 Fair summer droops, droop men and 
 
 beasts therefore .... Nashe 249 
 Farewell ! thou art too dear for my 
 
 possessing .... Shakespeare 229 
 
 Fear no more the heat o' the sun . Shakespeare 237 
 Fine knacks for ladies ! cheap, choice, 
 
 brave, and new .... Anon. 199 
 
 Fire that must flame is with apt fuel fed Campion 170
 
 368 
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 First shall the heavens want starry light Lodge 194 
 
 Follow a shadow, it still flies you . . Jonson 179 
 
 Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow . Campion 178 
 Follow your saint, follow with accents 
 
 sweet Campion 177 
 
 For her gait, if she be walking . . Browne 133 
 
 Forget not yet the tried intent . . Wyat 189 
 Fresh Spring, the herald of Love's mighty 
 
 king Spenser 2 
 
 From you have I been absent in the 
 
 Spring Shakespeare 202 
 
 Full fathom five thy father lies . Shakespeare 281 
 Full many a glorious morning have I 
 
 seen ..... Shakespeare 107 
 
 Gather ye rosebuds while ye may . . Herrick 15 
 Get up, get up for shame ! The bloom- 
 ing morn Herrick 7 
 
 Give me my scallop-shell of quiet . . Raleigh 325 
 Give pardon, blessed soul, to my loud 
 
 cries Constable 292 
 
 Give place, you ladies, and begone ! John Hey wood 120 
 
 Glide soft, ye silver floods . . . Browne 240 
 
 Go, pretty child, and bear this flower . Herrick 302 
 
 God Lyaeus, ever young . . . Fletcher 256 
 
 Good-morrow to the day so fair . . Herrick 223 
 
 Good Muse, rock me asleep . . . Breton 160 
 
 Happy were lie could finish forth his fate Essex 273 
 
 Happy ye leaves whenas those lily hands Spenser 152 
 Harden now thy tired heart with more 
 
 than flinty rage .... Campion 226 
 
 Hark, all you ladies that do sleep . . Campion 38 
 Hark, hark ! the lark at heaven's gate 
 
 sings ..... Shakespeare i
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 369 
 
 Hark how the birds do sing . . . Herbert 
 
 Hark ! Now everything is still . . Webster 
 
 He that loves a rosy cheek . . . Carew 
 
 Heigho ! chill go to plough no more ! . Anon. 
 
 Hence, all you vain delights . . . Fletcher 
 
 Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee . Herrick 
 
 He first deceased ; she for a little tried . Wotton 
 
 Here a little child I stand . . . Herrick 
 
 Here a pretty baby lies .... Herrick 
 
 Here she lies a pretty bud . . . Herrick 
 
 Hey, down a down ! did Dian sing . Anon. 
 
 Hey, nonny no ! Anon. 
 
 High-spirited friend .... Jonson 
 Highway, since you my chief Parnassus 
 
 be ...... Sidney 142 
 
 His golden locks time hath to silver 
 
 turned 
 
 How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean 
 How happy is he born and taught . 
 How happy was I when I saw her lead . 
 How like a winter hath my absence 
 
 been Shakespeare 
 
 How near me came the hand of Death . Wither 
 How should I your true love know Shakespeare 
 
 29 
 
 282 
 
 145 
 
 53 
 
 167 
 
 154 
 292 
 
 303 
 
 295 
 
 295 
 
 79 
 
 25 
 242 
 
 20 1 
 287 
 
 222 
 
 I dare not ask a kiss .... Herrick 90 
 
 I do confess thou 'rt smooth and fair . Ayton 182 
 
 I got me flowers to strew Thy way . Herbert 322 
 I must not grieve my Love, whose eyes 
 
 would read Daniel 21 
 
 I saw fair Chloris walk alone . . Anon. 137 
 
 I saw my Lady weep .... Anon. 166 
 
 I sing the Birth was born to-night . Jonson 297 
 
 I struck the board and cried, No more . Herbert 313 
 
 IjWithwhosecoloursMyradress'dherhead Brooke 260
 
 370 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 If all the world and love were young . Raleigh 41 
 
 If I freely may discover . . . Jonson 124 
 If love make me forsworn, how shall I 
 
 swear to love? . . . Shakespeare 148 
 If thou long'st so much to learn, sweet 
 
 boy, what 'tis to love . . . Campion 83 
 If thou sit here to view this pleasant gar- 
 den-place Gascoigne 244 
 
 If thou survive my well-contented day Shakespeare 118 
 In going to my naked bed as one that 
 
 would have slept .... Anon. 258 
 
 In the hour of my distress . . . Herrick 320 
 
 In the merry month of May . . . Breton 33 
 
 In this world, the Isle of Dreams . . Herrick 315 
 
 In time of yore when shepherds dwelt . Breton 73 
 
 Is not thilke the merry month of May . Spenser 10 
 
 It fell upon a holy eve .... Spenser 64 
 
 It is not growing like a tree . . . Jonson 277 
 
 It was a lover and his lass . . Shakespeare 14 
 
 Jog on, jog on, the footpath way . Shakespeare 255 
 
 Lady, when I behold the roses sprouting Anon. 136 
 
 Laugh ! laugh ! laugh ! laugh ! . . /. Fletcher 255 
 
 Lay a garland on my hearse . Shakespeare 223 
 Let me not to the marriage of true 
 
 minds Shakespeare 193 
 
 Let not the sluggish sleep . . . Anon. 310 
 
 Let others look for pearl and gold . Herrick 303 
 
 Let others sing of knights and Paladines Daniel 1 16 
 
 Let the bird of loudest lay . . Shakespeare 289 
 
 Let 's now take our time . . . Herrick 17 
 Like as a ship, that through the ocean 
 
 wide Spenser 198 
 
 Like as the culver on the bared bough . Spenser 289
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 371 
 
 Like to Diana iu her summer weed . Greene 57 
 
 Like to the clear in highest sphere . Lodge 114 
 
 Like to the falling of a star . . . King 270 
 
 Like the Idalian queen . . . Drummond 68 
 
 Little think'st thou, poor flower . . Donne 109 
 Love bade me welcome ; yet my soul 
 
 drew back ..... Herbert 324 
 
 Love guards the roses of thy lips . . Lodge 86 
 
 Love in my bosom, like a bee . . Lodge 75 
 
 Love is a sickness full of woes . . Daniel 78 
 
 Love not me for comely grace . . Anon. 133 
 Love wing'd my hopes and taught them 
 
 how to fly . . . . . Anon. 175 
 
 Madam, withouten many words . . Wyat 146 
 
 Maid, will ye love me, yea or no? . . Anon. 147 
 
 Marina 's gone, and now sit I . . Browne 238 
 Mark when she smiles with amiable 
 
 cheer ...... Spenser 126 
 
 May ! be thou not never graced with birds 
 
 that sing ..... Browne 
 
 Me so oft my fancy drew ... Wither 
 
 Mortality, behold and fear . . F. Beaumont 
 Most glorious Lord of Life, that on this 
 
 day 
 
 Spenser 
 Anon. 
 Anon. 
 
 My Love in her attire doth show her wit 
 My Love is neither young nor old . 
 My love is strengthen'd, though more P 
 
 weak in seeming . . . Shakespeare 
 My lute, be as thou wast when thou 
 
 didst grow .... Drummond 
 My mind to me a kingdom is . . Dyer 
 
 My prime of youth is but a frost of cares Tichborne 
 My spotless love hovers with purest 
 
 wings ...... Daniel 
 
 293 
 99 
 285 
 
 316 
 
 130 
 
 54 
 
 201 
 
 236 
 
 275 
 246 
 
 174
 
 372 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 My Thoughts are wing'd with Hopes, my 
 
 Hopes with Love .... Anon. 177 
 
 My thoughts hold mortal strife . Drummond 272 
 My true love hath my heart, and I have 
 
 his Sidney 185 
 
 Near to the silver Trent . . . Drayton 59 
 
 Never love unless you can . . . Campion 80 
 Never weather-beaten sail more willing 
 
 bent to shore Campion 311 
 
 New doth the sun appear . . Drummond 307 
 No longer mourn for me when I am 
 
 dead Shakespeare 231 
 
 Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic 
 
 soul Shakespeare 118 
 
 Now each creature joys the other . . Daniel 102 
 
 Now hath Flora robb'd her bowers . Campion 214 
 
 Now is the time for mirth . . . Herrick 26 
 
 Now that the spring hath filled our veins Browne 25 
 
 Now the hungry lion roars . . Shakespeare 36 
 
 Now the lusty spring is seen . /. Fletcher 12 
 
 Now winter nights enlarge . . . Campion 307 
 
 O Cupid ! monarch over kings . . Lyly 88 
 
 O gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed . Peele 1 72 
 
 O goodly hand ! Wyat 135 
 
 O happy dames, that may embrace . Surrey 206 
 O Love, sweet Love, O high and heavenly 
 
 Love ! Anon. 142 
 
 O Mistress mine, where are you 
 
 roaming? .... Shakespeare 12 
 
 O no, beloved ! I am most sure Herbert of Cherbury 265 
 
 O never say that I was false of heart Shakespeare 190 
 O Night, O jealous Night, repugnant to 
 
 my measures Anon. 155
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 373 
 
 O that joy so soon should waste . . Jonson 88 
 O the month of May, the merry month 
 
 of May Dekker II 
 
 O waly, waly, up the bank . . . Anon. 221 
 
 O wearisome condition of humanity . Brooke 269 
 Of this fair volume, which we World do 
 
 name ..... Drummond 310 
 
 On a day alack the day ! . . Shakespeare 34 
 
 On a fair morning as I came by the way Anon. 25 
 
 On a time the amorous Silvy . . . Anon. 70 
 
 One day I wrote her name upon the strand Spenser 117 
 
 Open the door ! Who 's there within ?. Anon. 70 
 
 Orpheus with his lute made trees . Shakespeare 162 
 
 Over hill, over dale . . . Shakespeare 34 
 
 Pack clouds away, and welcome day ! . Heywood r 
 Passions are liken'd best to floods and 
 
 streams Raleigh 199 
 
 Phoebus, arise ! Drummond 3 
 
 Pretty twinkling starry eyes . . . Breton 137 
 
 Queen and huntress, chaste and fair . Jonson 72 
 
 Quivering fears, heart-tearing cares . Anon. 48 
 
 Roses, their sharp spines being gone Shakespeare 213 
 
 Say, crimson Rose and dainty Daffodil . Reynolds 261 
 
 See the Chariot at hand here of Love . Jonson 212 
 
 See where my Love a-maying goes . . Anon. n 
 
 See where she sits upon the grassy green Spenser 57 
 
 Send home my long-strained eyes to me Donne 185 
 
 Shake off your heavy trance . . F. Beaumont 24 
 Shall I compare thee to a summer's 
 
 day? Shakespeare 127
 
 374 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Shall I, wasting in despair . . . Wither 180 
 
 Shepherd, what 's Love, I pray thee tell Raleigh 76 
 
 Shun delays, they breed remorse . . Southwell 1 5 
 
 Shut not so soon ; the dull-eyed night . Herrick r 53 
 
 Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more Shakespeare 225 
 Silly boy, 'tis full moon yet, thy night as 
 
 day shines clearly .... Campion 85 
 Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor 
 
 boundless sea .... Shakespeare 19 
 Since first I saw your face I resolved to 
 
 honour and renown ye . . . Anon. 191 
 Since there 's no help, come let us kiss 
 
 and part Drayton 229 
 
 Sing his praises that doth keep . . J. Fletcher 71 
 
 Sing lullaby, as women do . Gascoigne 243 
 Sleep, angry beauty, sleep and fear not 
 
 me ....... Campion 156 
 
 Sleep, Silence Ychild, sweet jfather of soft 
 
 rest ..... Drummond 159 
 Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with 
 
 my salt tears ..... Jonson 165 
 
 So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not Shakespeare 165 
 
 So sweet is thy discourse to me . . Campion 141 
 Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's 
 
 pleasant king Nashe 23 
 
 Steer, hither steer your winged pines . Browne 91 
 
 Still to be neat, still to be drest . . Jonson 130 
 Sweet are the thoughts that savour of 
 
 content ...... Greene 47 
 
 Sweet, be not proud of those two eyes . Herrick 137 
 
 Sweet, come again ! Campion 203 
 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright . Herbert 30 
 Sweet Love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's 
 
 glory Anon. 87 
 
 Sweet Love, mine only treasure . . A. W. 139
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 375 
 
 Sweet Love, renew thy force ; be it not 
 
 said Shakespeare 205 
 
 Sweet Spring, thou turn'st with all thy 
 
 goodly train .... Drummond 235 
 
 Sweet western wind, whose luck it is . Herrick 32 
 Sweetest of sweets, I thank you : when 
 
 displeasure ..... Herbert 163 
 
 Take, O take those lips away . Shakespeare 226 
 
 Tell me, thou skilful shepherd swain . Drayton 66 
 
 Tell me where is fancy bred . . Shakespeare 78 
 That time of year thou may'st in me 
 
 behold . . . . Shakespeare 251 
 The chief use then in Man of that he 
 
 knows Brooke 279 
 
 The damask meadows and the crawling 
 
 streams Herrick 53 
 
 The dew no more will weep . . . Crashaw 317 
 
 The earth, late choked with showers . Lodge 108 
 
 The forward violet thus did I chide Shakespeare 202 
 
 The glories of our blood and state . Shirley 286 
 
 The Indian weed withered quite . . Wisdome 257 
 
 The ivory, coral, gold . . . Drummond 160 
 
 The Lady Mary Villiers lies . . . Carew 295 
 The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's 
 
 King ..... Drummond 319 
 
 The lopped tree in time may grow again Southwell 254 
 
 The Nightingale as soon as April bringeth Sidney 104 
 
 The man of life upright . . . Campion 278 
 
 The ousel cock so black of hue . Shakespeare 23 
 
 The Rose was sick and smiling died . Herrick 1 12 
 
 The sea hath many thousand sands . Anon. 83 
 The soote season that bud and bloom 
 
 forth brings Surrey 103 
 
 The world 's a bubble, and the life of Man Bacon 270
 
 376 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Then hate me when thou wilt ; if ever, now Shakespeare 230 
 
 There is a garden in her face . . Campion 129 
 
 There is a Lady sweet and kind . . Anon. 123 
 
 There is none, O none but you . . Campion 119 
 
 There 's her hair with which Love angles Wither 135 
 They flee from me that sometime did me 
 
 seek Wyat 245 
 
 This day Dame Nature seem'd in love . Wotton 44 
 
 This life, which seems so fair . Drummond 272 
 Thou art not fair for all thy red and 
 
 white Campion 169 
 
 Though beauty by the mark of praise . Jonson 264 
 
 Though I be scorn'd, yet will I not disdain Anon. 198 
 
 Though others may her brow adorn . Anon. 145 
 
 Throw away thy rod .... Herbert 3 1 8 
 
 Thus saith my Chloris bright . . Anon. 81 
 
 Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts Shakespeare 144 
 
 To me, fair friend, you never can be old Shakespeare 247 
 
 Turn back, you wanton flier . . . Campion 90 
 
 Turn I my looks unto the skies . . Lodge 195 
 
 Under the greenwood tree . . Shakespeare 42 
 
 Underneath this sable herse . Browne or Jonson 293 
 
 Upon my lap my sovereign sits . . Anon. 216 
 
 Urns and odours bring away ! Shakespeare or Fletcher 283 
 
 Victorious men of earth, no more . . Shirley 285 
 
 We saw thee in thy balmy nest . . Crashaw 300 
 
 Weep no more, nor sigh nor groan . J. Fletcher 238 
 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my 
 
 knee Greene 217 
 
 Weep you no more, sad fountains . Anon. 164 
 
 Weep with me, all you that read . . Jonson 293 
 
 Welcome, maids of honour . . . Herrick in
 
 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 377 
 
 Welcome, Welcome ! do I sing . . Browne 54 
 
 Were I as base as is the lowly plain . Sylvester 196 
 
 What bird so sings, yet so does Avail ? . Lyly 44 
 
 What conscience, say, is it in thee . Herrick 184 
 What is it all that men possess, among 
 
 themselves conversing ? . . . Campion 215 
 
 What needs complaints .... Herrick 298 
 
 What sweeter music can we bring . Herrick 239 
 
 Whenas in silks my Julia goes . . Herrick 132 
 
 When as the rye reach'd to the chin . Peele 13 
 
 When daffodils begin to peer . Shakespeare 21 
 
 When daises pied and violets blue Shakespeare 22 
 
 When first mine eyes did view and mark Hunnist 171 
 
 When God at first made man . . Herbert 312 
 
 When I behold a forest spread . . Herrick 131 
 When I do count the clock that tells the 
 
 time ..... Shakespeare 246 
 When I have seen by Time's fell hand 
 
 defaced Shakespeare 19 
 
 When icicles hang by the wall . Shakespeare 306 
 When in disgrace with fortune and men's 
 
 eyes Shakespeare 143 
 
 When in her face mine eyes I fix . . Stirling 139 
 
 When in the chronicle of wasted time Shakespeare 116 
 When love on time and measure makes 
 
 his ground Anon. 192 
 
 When that I was, and a little tiny boy Shakespeare 253 
 
 When thou from earth didst pass . Drummond 234 
 When thou must home to shades of 
 
 underground .... Campion 173 
 When to the sessions of sweet silent 
 
 thought .... Shakespeare 144 
 
 Where the bee sucks, there suck I Shakespeare 37 
 
 While that the sun with his beams hot Anon. 106 
 
 Who can live in heart so glad . . Breton 45
 
 378 
 
 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 Who is Sylvia ? what is she . 
 Whoe'er she be ..... 
 Whoever comes to shroud me, do not 
 
 harm ...... 
 
 Why I tie about thy wrist 
 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin, where I 
 
 begun ...... 
 
 With how sad steps, O moon, thou 
 
 climb'st the skies . 
 Wise men patience never want . . 
 
 Donne 
 Herrick 
 
 Sidney 
 Campion 
 
 Ye have been fresh and green . . Herrick 
 Ye little birds that sit and sing . T. Heywood 
 Yet if His Majesty, our sovereign lord . . Anon 
 You meaner beauties of the night . . Wotton 
 You spotted snakes with double tongue Shakespeare 
 
 125 
 95 
 
 231 
 153 
 
 Donne 323 
 
 167 
 
 277 
 
 248 
 31 
 304 
 
 122 
 
 35
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 ANONYMOUS, v, ix, xvii, xxxi, xxxii, Ivii, Ix, Ixi, Ixxii, 
 Ixxiii, Ixxxii, Ixxxiv, Ixxxvi, xc, cv, cxxiv, cxxxiii, 
 cxxxix, cxlii, cxliv, cli, clii, clvii, clx, clxiv, clxx, 
 clxxxi, clxxxiv, cxcvii, cxcviii, cxcix, ccvi, ccxv, 
 ccxvi, ccxviii, ccxxiv, ccxxv, ccxliii, ccxlvi, ccxc, 
 ccxciiij cccx, cccxxxviii, cccxliv. 
 
 A.W., cxlix. 
 
 AYTON, SIR ROBERT (15701638), ccv. 
 
 BACON, FRANCIS, Lord Verulam, Viscount St. Albans 
 
 (1561-1626), ccxcix. 
 BARNEFIELD, RICHARD (1574-1627), civ. 
 BEAUMONT, FRANCIS (1586-1616), xxx, cccxvii. 
 BRETON, NICHOLAS (1542-3-1626), xxxix, liv, Ixxvii, cxlv, 
 
 clxxvii, ccxlv. 
 BROOKE, FULKE GREVILLE, LORD (1554-1628), ccxci, ccxcvii, 
 
 cccix. 
 BROWNE, WILLIAM (1590-1645), xxxiii, Ixii, xcvii, cxii, 
 
 cxxxviii, ccxxxvii, cclxviii, cccxxv, cccxxvi. 
 
 CAMPION, THOMAS (d. 1620), xlvi, Ixxxiii, Ixxxvii, Ixxxviii, 
 xciv, xcvi, cxxi, cxxxii, cxliii, cl, clxxi, clxxxviii, 
 cxc, cxciii, cc, cci, cciii, ccxxxi, ccxli, ccxlii, cclii, 
 cccvii, cccviii, cccxli, cccxlvi. 
 
 CAREW, THOMAS (1598-1638), cxxx, clviii, clxi, cccxxviii. 
 
 CONSTABLE, HENRY (1562-1613), Ixiii, cccxxiii. 
 
 CRASHAW, RICHARD (i6l6?-i65o), xcix, cccxxxiv, ccclii. 
 
 379
 
 380 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 DANIEL, SAMUEL (1562-1619), xxiii, xxiv, Ixxxi, xcviii, ci, 
 
 cxvii, clxxiv, clxxxvii, cxcv, cxcvi. 
 DAVISON, F. or W. (circ. 1602), ccxiv. 
 DEKKER, THOMAS, (1575-1641 ?) viii, Ivi, ccclxxxviii. 
 DONNE, JOHN (1573-1631), cix, ccix, ccxxxii, ccxxxvi, 
 
 cclix, ccclvii. 
 
 DRAYTON, MICHAEL (1563-1631), Ixvi, Ixviii, cxiv, cclvi. 
 DRUMMOND, WILLIAM, OP HAWTHORNDEN (1585-1649), iv, 
 
 Ixx, clxxv, clxxvi, cclxi-cclxiii, ccc, ccci, cccxlii, 
 
 cccxlv, cccliv. 
 DYER, SIR EDWARD (circ. 1540-1607), cccv. 
 
 FLETCHER, JOHN (1576-1625), xii, Ixxiv, cxxvii, clxxiii, 
 clxxxv, ccxl, ccxlviii, ccliii, cclxv, cclxxxiv, 
 cclxxxvi, cccxv. 
 
 FLETCHER, PHINEAS (i584?-l65o), cclvi. 
 
 GASCOIGXE, GEORGE (1535 ?-i577)j cclxx, cclxxi. 
 
 GlFFORD, HUMFREY ( ? ), CCXCvi. 
 
 GREENE, ROBERT (1560-1592), Iv, Iviii, Ixiv, clxxxix, 
 ccxliv. 
 
 HERBERT, EDWARD, LORD HERBERT OF CHERBURY (1583- 
 1648), ccxcv, cccliii. 
 
 HERBERT, GEORGE (1593-1632), xxxv, xxxvi, clxxx, 
 cccxliii, cccxlviii, cccxlix, ccclvii, ccclix. 
 
 HERRICK, ROBERT ( 1 59 1 - 1 674), vi, x, xv, xix, xxxiv, xxxviii , 
 lix, xcv, cviii, ex, cxi, cxiii, cxxxi, cxxxv-cxxxvii, 
 cxlvi, clxi, clxvi-clxix, clxxxix, ccvii, ccxxii, ccxlix, 
 cclxvii, cclxxvi, cclxxxvii, cccxi, cccxxix, cccxxx, 
 cccxxxiii, cccxxxv-cccxxxvii, cccxxxix, cccxlvii, 
 cccl, ccclv. 
 
 HEYWOOD, JOHN (1497-1575), cxxii. 
 
 HEYWOOD, THOMAS ( 1641), ii, xxxvii.
 
 INDEX OF WRITERS 381 
 
 HOWELL, THOMAS (fl. 1568-1581), cccii. 
 HUNNIS, WILLIAM (d. 1568), cxci. 
 
 JONSON, BEN (1573-1637), xx, Ixxv, xciii, cxxv, cxxxiv, 
 cxlvii, clxxxii, ccii, ccxxxix, cclxix, ^ccxciv, cccvi, 
 cccxxvi, cccxxvii, cccxxxii. 
 
 KING, HENRY (1591-1669), ccxcviiL 
 
 LODGE, THOMAS (l556?-i625), Ixxviii, Ixxxix, cvii, cxv, 
 
 ccxix, ccxx. 
 LYLY, JOHN (1553-1606), lii, xci, xcii. 
 
 MARLOWE, CHRISTOPHER (1562-1593), xlviii. 
 MUNDAY, ANTHONY (1553-1633), Ixxi. 
 
 NASHE, THOMAS (1567-1601), xxviii, cclxxvii, cclxxviii. 
 OXFORD, EDWARD VERB, EARL OF (1534-1604), Ixxxv. 
 PEELE, GEORGE (i 558 ?-l 598), xiii, xlvii, Ixix, cxcii, cclxxx. 
 QUARLES, FRANCIS (1592-1644), ccxxxviii. 
 
 RALEIGH, SIR WALTER (1552-1618), xlix, Ixxix, ccx, 
 
 ccxi, ccxxvii, ccclx, ccclxi. 
 REYNOLDS, JOHN (?), ccxcii. 
 ROWLEY, WILLIAM (fl. ?), Ixxvi. 
 
 SHAKESPEARE, WILLIAM (1564-1616), i, xi, xiv, xviii, xxi, 
 xxii, xxv-xxvii, xl, xli-xlv, 1, li, Ixxx, cvi, cxvi, 
 cxix, cxx, cxxvi, cxxix, cliv-clvi, clxii, clxiii, 
 clxxviii, clxxxiii, cxciv, ccxiii, ccxvii, ccxxvii, 
 ccxxviii-ccxxx, ccxxxiii, ccxxxiv, ccxi, ccxlvii, ccl, 
 ccli, cclv, cclvii, cclviii, cclxiv, cclxxiv, cclxxv, 
 cclxxix, cclxxxi, cclxxxiii, cclxxxv, cccxii, cccxv, 
 cccxxii, cccxl. 
 
 SHIRLEY, JAMES (1596-1666), xxix, cccxviii, cccxix.
 
 382 THE GOLDEN POMP 
 
 SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP (1554-1586), ciii, cliii, clxxii, clxxxvi, 
 
 ccviii. 
 
 SOUTHWELL, ROBERT (1562-1594-5), xvi, cclxxxii, cccxxxi. 
 SPENSER, EDMUND (1553-1598), iii, vii, Ixv, Ixvii, cxviii, 
 
 cxxviii, clxv, cclx, cccxxi, cccli. 
 STIRLING, WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF (1580-1640), 
 
 cxlviii. 
 SURREY, HENRY HOWARD, EARL OP (1518-1546-7), cii, 
 
 ccxxxv. 
 SYLVESTER, JOSHUA (1563-1618), ccxxi. 
 
 TICHBORNE, CHIDIOCK (d. 1586), cclxxiii. 
 
 WEBSTER, JOHN (?), cccxiii, cccxiv, cccxvi. 
 
 WISDOME, ROBERT (d. 1568), cclxxxix. 
 
 WITHER, GEORGE (1588-1667), c, cxli, cciv, cccxx. 
 
 WOTTON, SIR HENRY (1568-1639), liii, cxxiii, ccciv, 
 
 cccxxiv. 
 WYAT, SIR THOMAS (1503-1542), cxl, clix, ccxii, ccliv, 
 
 cclxxii. 
 
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 at the Edinburgh University Press
 
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