COME TO THE PEDLAR.

WILL

you buy any tape,

Or lace for your cape,

My dainty duck, my dear-a?

Any silk, any thread,

Any toys for your head,

Of the new'st and finest, finest wear-a?

Come to the pedlar ;

Money's a medler,

That doth utter all men's ware-a.

From The Tempest.

COME UNTO THESE YELLOW SANDS.

'OME unto these yellow sands,

COME

then take hands:

Courtsied when you have and kissed

The wild waves whist,

Foot it featly here and there;

And, sweet sprites, the burden bear.

Hark, hark!

Bow-wow.

The watch-dogs bark :

Bow-wow.

Hark, hark! I hear

The strain of strutting chanticleer
Cry, Cock-a-didle-dow.

F

A DIRGE.

ULL 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 :

Hark! now I hear them,—ding-dong, bell.

SHAKE OFF SLUMBER, AND BEWARE.

WHILE you

here do snoring lie,

Open-eyed Conspiracy

His time doth take;

If of life you keep a care,

Shake off slumber, and beware:

Awake! awake!

WHERE THE BEE SUCKS, THERE SUCK I.

WHERE the bee sucks, there suck I;

WHE

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.

From BEN JONSON'S Cynthia's
Revels, 1601.

SLOW, SLOW, FRESH FOUNT.

LOW, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt

SLOW,

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.

THE KISS.

THAT joy so soon should waste!
Or so sweet a bliss

As a kiss

Might not for ever last!

So sugared, so melting, so soft, so delicious,
The dew that lies on roses,

When the morn herself discloses,

Is not so precious.

O rather than I would it smother,

Were I to taste such another;
It should be my wishing
That I might die kissing.

ΤΗ

THE GLOVE.

HOU more than most sweet glove,
Unto my more sweet love,

Suffer me to store with kisses
This empty lodging that now misses
The pure rosy hand that ware thee,
Whiter than the kid that bare thee.

Q

Thou art soft, but that was softer ;
Cupid's self hath kissed it ofter
Than e'er he did his mother's doves,
Supposing her the queen of loves,
That was thy mistress, best of gloves.

HYMN TO DIANA.

UEEN 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.

From BEN JONSON'S The Poetaster, 1601.

HIS SUPPOSED MISTRESS.

F I freely may discover

IF

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 barred.

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, Nor her peevishness annoy me.