THE MAD LOVER.*

THE LOVER'S LEGACY TO HIS CRUEL MISTRESS.

Go, happy heart! for thou shalt lie

Intombed in her for whom I die,

Example of her cruelty.

Tell her, if she chance to chide
Me for slowness, in her pride,
That it was for her I died.

If a tear escape her eye,
"Tis not for my memory,
But thy rites of obsequy.
The altar was my loving breast,
My heart the sacrificed beast,
And I was myself the priest.

Your body was the sacred shrine,
Your cruel mind the power divine,

Pleased with the hearts of men, not kine.

THE WARNING OF ORPHEUS.

RPHEUS I am, come from the deeps below,

ORPE

To thee, fond man, the plagues of love to show. To the fair fields where loves eternal dwell

There's none that come, but first they pass through hell :
Hark, and beware! unless thou hast loved, ever
Beloved again, thou shalt see those joys never.

Hark! how they groan that died despairing!
Oh, take heed, then!

Hark, how they howl for over-daring!

All these were men.

They that be fools, and die for fame,

They lose their name;

And they that bleed
Hark how they speed.

*Ascribed to Fletcher.

Now in cold frosts, now scorching fires

They sit, and curse their lost desires;

Nor shall these souls be free from pains and fears, "Till women waft them over in their tears.

TO VENUS.

OH, fair sweet goddess, queen of loves,

Soft and gentle as thy doves,
Humble-eyed, and ever rueing

These poor hearts, their loves pursuing!
Oh, thou mother of delights,
Crowner of all happy nights,

Star of dear content and pleasure,
Of mutual loves the endless treasure!

Accept this sacrifice we bring,

Thou continual youth and spring;

Grant this lady her desires,

And every hour we'll crown thy fires.

THE BATTLE OF PELUSIUM.

ARM, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in;

Keep your ranks close, and now your honours win. Behold from yonder hill the foe appears; Bows, bills, glaves, arrows, shields, and spears! Like a dark wood* he comes, or tempest pouring; Oh, view the wings of horse the meadows scouring. The van-guard marches bravely. Hark, the drums! Dub, dub.

They meet, they meet, and now the battle comes:

* One of the commentators proposes to read cloud for wood. These emendations are very provoking, because they are supported by a certain show of reason. But the writers of this hurricane song were not thinking of the literal reason of the matter, but of the suggestiveness of the image. And they have succeeded better than their critic. The coming of the dark wood is grander than the cloud. The rout and uproar of battle are admirably depicted. There are few specimens of this kind in these Dramatic Songs. The most animated and picturesque is a Sea-fight by Dryden.

See how the arrows fly,
That darken all the sky!
Hark how the trumpets sound,
Hark how the hills rebound,

Tara, tara, tara, tara, tara!

Hark how the horses charge! in, boys, boys, in!
The battle totters; now the wounds begin:
Oh, how they cry!

Oh, how they die!

Room for the valiant Memnon, armed with thunder!
See how he breaks the ranks asunder!
They fly! they fly! Eumenes has the chase,
And brave Polybius makes good his place.
To the plains, to the woods,

To the rocks, to the floods,
Follow, follow, follow!
Hey, hey!

They fly for succour.

Hark how the soldiers hollow!

Brave Diocles is dead,
And all his soldiers fled;
The battle's won, and lost,
That many a life hath cost.

THE LOYAL SUBJECT.*

THE BROOM-MAN'S SONG.

BROOM, broom, the bonny broom!
Come, buy my birchen broom:

In the wars we have no more room,
Buy all my bonny broom!

For a kiss take two;

If those will not do,

For a little, little pleasure,
Take all my whole treasure:
If all these will not do't,
Take the broom-man to boot.

Broom, broom, the bonny broom!
* By Fletcher.

THE FALSE ON E.

TO CESAR AND CLEOPATRA ON THE NILE.

Isis. ISIS, the goddess of this land,

Bids thee, great Cæsar, understand
And mark our customs: and first know,
With greedy eyes these watch the glow
Of plenteous Nilus; when he comes,
With songs, with dances, timbrels, drums,
They entertain him; cut his way,

And give his proud heads leave to play;
Nilus himself shall rise, and shew
His matchless wealth in overflow.

Labourers. Come, let us help the reverend Nile;
He's very old; alas, the while!
Let us dig him easy ways,
And prepare a thousand plays:
To delight his streams, let's sing
A loud welcome to our spring;
This way let his curling heads
Fall into our new-made beds;
This way let his wanton spawns
Frisk, and glide it o'er the lawns.
This way profit comes, and gain:
How he tumbles here amain!
How his waters haste to fall
Into our channels! Labour, all,
And let him in; let Nilus flow,
And perpetual plenty shew.

With incense let us bless the brim,
And, as the wanton fishes swim,
Let us gums and garlands fling,
And loud our timbrels ring.

Come, old father, come away!
Our labour is our holiday.

Enter Nilus.

Isis. Here comes the agèd river now,
With garlands of great pearl his brow
Begirt and rounded. In his flow

All things take life, and all things grow:
A thousand wealthy treasures still,
To do him service at his will,
Follow his rising flood, and pour
Perpetual blessings on our store.
Hear him; and next there will advance
His sacred heads to tread a dance,
In honour of my royal guest:

Mark them too; and you have a feast. Nilus. Make room for my rich waters' fall, And bless my flood;

Nilus comes flowing to you all
Encrease and good.

Now the plants and flowers shall spring,
And the merry ploughman sing:
In my hidden waves I bring
Bread, and wine, and everything.
Let the damsels sing me in,
Sing aloud, that I may rise:
Your holy feasts and hours begin,
And each hand bring a sacrifice.
Now my wanton pearls I shew,
That to ladies' fair necks grow;
Now my gold,

And treasures that can ne'er be told,
Shall bless this land, by my rich flow;
And after this, to crown your eyes,
My hidden holy heads arise.

THE DRAMATISTS.

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