30

40

“Her eyes were once his dart.”
From so ungrateful fancy,

GEORGE PEELE (1658?-1697?)
From such a female franzie,
From them that use men thus,

CUPID'S CURSE
Good Lord, deliver us!

ENONE. Fair and fair, and twice so fair, Alas, I lie: rage hath this error bred;

As fair as any may be;
Love is not dead;

The fairest shepherd on our
Love is not dead, but sleepeth

green, In her unmatchèd mind,

A love for any lady.
Where she his counsel keepeth, 35 | PARIS. Fair and fair, and twice so fair,5
Till due deserts she find.

As fair as any may be;
Therefore from so vile fancy,

Thy love is fair for thee alone,
To call such wit a franzie,

And for no other lady. Who Love can temper thus,

En. My love is fair, my love is gay, Good Lord, deliver us!

As fresh as binthe flowers in

May,

And of my love my roundelay,
JOHN LYLY (1664?-1606)

My merry, merry roundelay,

Concludes with Cupid's curse, -
CUPID AND CAMPASPE

“They that do change old love for

new, Cupid and my Campaspe played

Pray gods they change for worse!” 15 At cards for kisses; Cupid paid.

AMBO SIMUL.3 They that do change, etc. He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,

En. Fair and fair, etc. His mother's doves and team of sparrows; PAR. Fair and fair, etc. Loses them too; then down he throws 5

Thy love is fair, etc. The coral of his lip, the rose

En. My love can pipe, my love can Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);

sing, With these the crystal of his brow,

My love can* many a pretty thing, And then the dimple, of his chin;

And of his lovely praises ring All these did my Campaspe win.

My merry, merry roundelays, At last he set' her both his eyes;

Amen to Cupid's curse, She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

“They that do change,” etc. 25 O Love, has she done this to thee?

PAR. They that do change, etc. What shall, alas! become of me?

AMBO. Fair and fair, etc.

20

10

SPRING'S WELCOME

ROBERT GREENE (1560?–1692)

SWEET ARE THE THOUGHTS

What bird so sings, yet so does wail?
O'tis the ravished nightingale.
“Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu,” she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear? 5
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note; 10
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing,
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring;
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring!

Sweet are the thoughts that savor of con

tent; 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.

is.

The homely house that harbors quiet rest;
The cottage that affords no pride nor THOMAS LODGE (1668?-1625)

care;
The mean that 'grees with country music ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL
best;

Love in my bosom like a bee The sweet consort of mirth and music's

Doth suck his sweet; fare;

Now with his wings he plays with me, Obscurè life sets down a type of bliss:

Now with his feet.
A mind content both crown and kingdom

Within mine eyes he makes his nest, 5
His bed amidst my tender breast;
My kisses are his daily feast,

And yet he robs me of my rest.
SEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD

Ah, wanton, will ye?
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, And if I sleep, then percheth he,
When thou art old there's grief enough for With pretty flight,
thee.

And makes his pillow of my knee,
Mother's wag, pretty boy,

The livelong night.
Father's sorrow, father's joy; Strike I my lute, he tunes the string;
When thy father first did see

5
| He music plays if so I sing;

15
Such a boy by him and me, He lends me every lovely thing;
He was glad, I was woe;

Yet cruel he my heart doth sting.
Fortune changed made him so, Whist, wanton, still ye!
When he left his pretty boy,
Last his sorrow, first his joy. 10

Else I with roses every day
Will whip you hence,

20 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,

And bind you, when you long to play, When thou art old there's grief enough for

For your offence.

I'll shut my eyes to keep you in,
Streaming tears that never stint,

I'll make you fast it for your sin,
Like pearl drops from a flint,

I'll count your power not worth a pin. 25
Fell by course from his eyes, 15

Alas! what hereby shall I win
That one another's place supplies;

If he gainsay me?
Thus he grieved in every part, What if I beat the wanton boy
Tears of blood fell from his heart, I With many a rod?
When he left his pretty boy, He will repay me with annoy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy. 20 Because a god.

Then sit thou safely on my knee,
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,

And let thy bower my bosom be; When thou art old there's grief enough for Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee. thee.

O Cupid, so thou pity me,
The wanton smiled, father wept,

Spare not, but play thee!
Mother cried, baby leapt;
More he crowed, more he cried, 25
Nature could not sorrow hide:

CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE
He must go, he must kiss

(1564-1693) Child and mother, baby bless,

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO For he left his pretty boy,

HIS LOVE Father's sorrow, father's joy. 30 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my Come live with me and be my love, knee,

And we will all the pleasures prove, When thou art old there's grief enough for That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, thee.

Woods, or steepy mountains, yields.

thee.

30

35

25

30

I'll take them first,

When we have wandered all our ways, 5 To quench their thirst

Shuts up the story of our days: And taste of nectar suckets!

But from this earth, this grave, this dust, At those clear wells

My God shall raise me up, I trust.
Where sweetness dwells,
Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL (16617-1696)
And when our bottles and all we
Are filled with immortality,

THE BURNING BABE Then the blessèd paths we'll travel, Strowed with rubies thick as gravel; As I in hoary winter's night stood shiverCeilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,

ing in the snow, High walls of coral, and pearly bowers. Surprised I was with sudden heat which

made my heart to glow; From thence to Heaven's bribeless hall, And lifting up a fearful eye to view what Where no corrupted voices brawl; 36 | fire was near, No conscience molten into gold;

A pretty babe, all burning bright, did in No forged accuser bought or sold;

the air appear, No cause deferred, no vain-spent jour Who, scorched with excessive heat, such ney,

floods of tears did shed, For there Christ is the King's Attorney, 40 As though his floods should quench his Who pleads for all, without degrees,

flames which with his tears were fed; And he hath angels but no fees.

“Alas!" quoth he, “but newly born in And when the grand twelve million jury fiery heats I fry, Of our sins, with direful fury,

Yet none approach to warm their hearts or Against our souls black verdicts give, 45 feel my fire but I! Christ pleads his death; and then we live. My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel,

wounding thorns; Be Thou my speaker, taintless Pleader! | Love is the fire and sighs the smoke, the Unblotted Lawyer! true Proceeder!

ashes, shame and scorns; Thou giv'st salvation, even for alms, The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy Not with a bribèd lawyer's palms. 50 blows the coals;

The metal in this furnace wrought are And this is mine eternal plea

men's defiled souls; To Him that made heaven and earth and For which, as now on fire I am to work sea:

them to their good, That, since my flesh must die so soon, So will I melt into a bath to wash them in And want a head to dine next noon,

my blood.” Just at the stroke, when my veins start With this he vanished out of sight, and and spread, 55 I swiftly shrunk away,

15 Set on my soul an everlasting head! And straight I called unto mind that it

was Christmas-day. Then am I ready, like a palmer fit, To tread those blest paths, which before I writ.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616)

10

SONGS FROM THE PLAYS THE CONCLUSION

From Love's LABOR's Lost Even such is time, that takes in trust

Our youth, our joys, our all we have, When icicles hang by the wall, And pays us but with earth and dust; And Dick the shepherd blows his nail, Who in the dark and silent grave, And Tom bears logs into the hall,

And milk comes frozen home in pail,

I sweets.