GEORGE WITHER. [1588–1667.

THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION.

[Partly from Percy's Reliques.]

Shall I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman's fair?

Or my cheeks make pale with care
'Cause another's rosy are?

Be she fairer than the day
Or the flowery meads in May:
If she be not so to me

What care I how fair she be?
Shall my foolish heart be pined
'Cause I see a woman's kind? »
Or a well-dispos-ed nature
Joined with a lovely feature?
Be she kind or meeker than
Turtle-dove or pelican,

If she be not so to me,

What care I how kind she be ?

Shall a woman's virtues make
Me to perish for her sake?
Or her merit's value known
Make me quite forget my own?
Be she with that goodness blest,
That may merit name of Best,
If she be not so to me,

What care I how good she be?
'Cause her fortunes seem too high
Shall I play the fool and die?
He that bears a noble mind,
If not outward help he find,
Think what with them he would do
That without them dares to 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, then believe—
I will die ere she shall grieve;
If she slight me when I woo,
I can slight and let her go;
If she be not fit for me

What care I for whom she be?

SATYRS B. II., S. 3.

I may liken learning to a shield
With a strong armour, lying in a field,
Ready for any man that hath the wit
To take it up, and arm himself with it.
Now if he be a man of strength and might,
That happens on that furniture to light,
He may do wonders.

MY MUSE.

From the Shepherd's Hunting.

She doth tell me where to borrow
Comfort in the midst of sorrow,
Makes the desolatest place
To her presence be a grace.
And the blackest discontents
Be her fairest ornaments.
Her divine skill taught me this,
That from everything I saw
I could some invention draw.

Poesy, thou sweet'st content

That e'er Heaven to mortals lent;
Though they as a trifle leave thee,

Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee;

Though thou be to them a scorn

That to nought but earth are born,—
Let my life no longer be

Than I am in love with thee.

Though our wise ones call it madness,
Let me never taste of gladness,
If I love not thy maddest fits
Above all their greatest wits;

And though some, too, seeming holy,
Do account thy raptures folly,

Thou dost teach me to contemn
What makes knaves and fools of them.

HYMN FOR A POET.

Therefore since I reputed am

Among these few on whom the times
Impos-ed have a poet's name,

Lord! give me grace to shun their crimes.
My precious gift let me employ,

Not as imprudent poets use,

That grace and virtue to destroy Which I should strengthen by my muse; But help to free them of the wrongs Sustained by unseemly rhymes and songs.

Author Unknown [About 1603-25

CHEVY-CHACE.

The Ancient Ballad Modernized.

[From Percy's Reliques.]

God prosper long our noble king,
Our lives and safeties all,

A woful hunting once there did
In Chevy-Chace befall;

To drive the deer with hound and horn,
Earl Percy took his way;

The child may rue that is unborn
The hunting of that day.

The stout Earl of Northumberland
A vow to God did make,

His pleasure in the Scottish woods,
Three summers' days to take;

The chiefest harts in Chevy-Chace,
To kill and bear away.

These tidings to Earl Douglas came,
In Scotland where he lay;

Who sent Earl Percy present word,
He would prevent his sport.
The English earl, not fearing this,
Did to the woods resort,

With fifteen hundred bow-men bold,
All chosen men of might,
Who knew full well in time of need,
To aim their shafts aright.

The gallant greyhounds swiftly ran,
To chase the fallow deer ;
On Monday they began to hunt,
Ere daylight did appear ;

And long before high noon, they had
A hundred fat bucks slain ;

Then having dined, the drovers went

To rouse the deer again.

The hounds ran swiftly through the woods
The nimble deer to take,

That with their cries the hills and dales
An echo shrill did make.

Lord Percy to the quarry went,

To view the slaughtered deer, Quoth he, Earl Douglas promis-ed This day to meet me here.

But if I thought he would not come,
No longer would I stay.

With that, a brave young gentleman
Thus to the earl did say :

Lo yonder doth Earl Douglas come,
His men in armour bright;
Full twenty hundred Scottish spears,
All marching in our sight:

All men of pleasant Tivydale,
Fast by the river Tweed.
O cease your sport, Earl Percy said,
And take your bows with speed;

And now with me, my countrymen,
Your courage forth advance;
For there was never champion yet
In Scotland or in France,

That ever did on horseback come,
But if my hap it were,

I durst encounter man for man,
With him to break a spear.

Earl Douglas on his milk-white steed,
Most like a baron bold,
Rode foremost of his company,

Whose armour shone like gold.

Show me, said he, whose men you be, That hunt so boldly here,

That, without my consent, do chase And kill my fallow deer?