From SAMUEL DANIEL'S Tethys'
Festival, 1610.

EIDOLA.

ARE they shadows that we see?

And can shadows pleasure give?
Pleasures only shadows be,
Cast by bodies we conceive,
And are made the things we deem
In those figures which they seem.

But these pleasures vanish fast
Which by shadows are exprest.
Pleasures are not if they last;
In their passage is their best :
Glory is most bright and gay
In a flash, and so away.

Feed apace then, greedy eyes,
On the wonder you behold:
Take it sudden as it flies,

Though you take it not to hold :

When your eyes have done their part,

Thought must length it in the heart.

From SAMUEL DANIEL'S Hymen's
Triumph, 1615.

NOW WHAT IS LOVE?

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 enjoyed, 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?

More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries,
Heigh ho!

EYES, HIDE MY LOVE.

EYES, hide my love, and do not show

To any but to her my notes,

Who only doth that cipher know

Wherewith we pass our secret thoughts:

Belie your looks in others' sight,

And wrong yourselves to do her right.

From THOMAS DEKKER'S The
Shoemaker's Holiday, or the
Gentle Craft, 1600.

THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY.

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 quire,
Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love's tale:
Lo, yonder she sitteth, her breast against a brier.

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;
And then did I unto my true love say,

Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my Summer's Queen

G

COLD'S

TROLL THE BOWL!

"OLD'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, kind mate, to thee !

Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul,
And down it merrily.

Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down,
Hey derry derry down-a-down!
Ho! well done, to me let come,
Ring compass, gentle joy!

Troll the bowl, the nut-brown bowl,

And here kind, &c. (as often as there be men to drink).

At last, when all have drunk, this verse.

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.

From THOMAS DEKKER'S The Pleasant Comedy of Old Fortunatus, 1600.

FORTUNE SMILES.

ORTUNE smiles, cry holyday!

Dimples on her cheeks do dwell.
Fortune frowns, cry well-a-day!
Her love is heaven, her hate is hell.
Since heaven and hell obey her power,
Tremble when her eyes do lower :
Since heaven and hell her power obey,
When she smiles cry holyday!

Holyday with joy we cry,

And bend, and bend, and merrily
Sing hymns to Fortune's deity,
Sing hymns to Fortune's deity.

All. Let us sing merrily, merrily, merrily!
With our song let heaven resound,
Fortune's hands our heads have crowned:
Let us sing merrily, merrily, merrily!