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Whole choirs of singers to her every morn,
With all her amorous fires, can heat thy blood
As I can with one kiss.

Ray. The rose-lipp'd dawning

Is not so melting, so delicious:
Turn me into a bird, that I may sit

Still singing in such boughs.
Hum. What bird?

Fol. A ring-tail.

Hum. Thou shalt be turn'd to nothing but to mine, My mine of pleasures, which no hand shall rifle But this, which in warm nectar bathes the palm. Invent some other tires! Music!-stay,-none! Fol. Heyday!

Hum. New gowns, fresh fashions! I'm not brave enough

To make thee wonder at me.

Ray. Not the moon,

Riding at midnight in her crystal chariot,
With all her courtiers in their robes of stars,
Is half so glorious.

Hum. This feather was a bird of Paradise;
Shall it be yours?

Ray. No kingdom buys it from me.

Fol. Being in fool's paradise he must not lose his bauble.

Ray. I am rapt above man's being, in being sphered

In such a globe of rarities; but say, lady,
What these are that attend you?

Hum. All my attendants

Shall be to thee sworn servants.

Fol. Folly is sworn to him already never to leave him.

Ray. He?

Fol. A French gentleman, that trails a Spanish pike;1 a tailor.

1 Spanish pike,] i. e. a needle. Our best sword-blades, scissors, needles, &c. were, in the poet's days, imported from Spain.-GIFFORD.

Ray. Shall I be brave, then?

Hum. Golden as the Sun.

Ray. What's he that looks so smickly?1

Fol. One that loves mutton so well, he always carries capers about him; his brains lie in his legs, and his legs serve him to no other use than to do tricks, as if he had bought them of a juggler.-He's an Italian dancer.

Ray. This now?

Fol. A most sweet Spaniard, a comfit-maker, of Toledo, that can teach sugar to slip down your throat a million of ways.

Ray. My palate pleased too! What's this last? Sold. I am a gun that can roar, two stilettoes in one sheath; I can fight and bounce too. My lady, by me, presents this sword and belt to you.

Ray. Incomparable mistress!

Hum. Put them on.

Sold. I'll drill you how to give the lie, and stab in the punto; if you dare not fight, then how to vamp2 a rotten quarrel without ado.

Ray. How? dare not fight! there's in me the Sun's fire.

Hum. No more of this: [dances.]-awake the music! oyez ! Music!

Ray. No more of this;-this sword arms me for battle.

Hum. Come then, let thou and I rise up in arms; The field, embraces; kisses, our alarms.

[Music.-A dance.

Re-enter SPRING, HEALTH, YOUTH, Delight.

Spring. Oh, thou enticing strumpet! how durst

thou

Throw thy voluptuous spells about a temple
That's consecrate to me?

Hum. Poor Spring, goody herb-wife!

1 i. e. so finically, so effeminately.

2 i. e. to patch up a quarrel.

How durst thou cast a glance on this rich jewel,
I have bought for my own wearing?

Spring. Bought! art thou sold then?

Ray. Yes, with her gifts; she buys me with her

graces.

Health. Graces? a witch!

Spring. What can she give thee?
Ray. All things.

Spring. My Raybright, hear me; I regard not these.

Ray. What dowry can you bring me?
Spring. Dowry? ha!

Is 't come to this? am I held poor and base!

A girdle make whose buckles, stretch'd to the length,

Shall reach from th' arctic to th' antarctic pole;
What ground soe'er thou canst with that enclose
I'll give thee freely: not a lark, that calls1
The morning up, shall build on any turf,
But she shall be thy tenant, call thee lord,
And for her rent, pay thee in change of songs.
Ray. I must turn bird-catcher.

Fol. Do you think to have him for a song?
Hum. Live with me st, and all the measures,
Play'd to by the spheres, I'll teach thee;
Let's but thus dally, all the pleasures

The moon beholds, her man shall reach thee.

1 Not a lark, &c.] I attribute, without scruple, all these incidental glimpses of rural nature to Decker. Ford rarely, if ever, indulges in them. The lark is justly a great favourite with our old poets; and I should imagine, from my own observations, that a greater number of descriptive passages might be found respecting him than of the nightingale. A judicious collection of both would furnish not a few pages of surpassing taste and beauty. While I am writing this, the following simple and pretty address occurs to me. It is that of young Fitzwalter to his mistress, whom he meets at daybreak.

"So early! then I see love's the best larke:
For the corne-builder has not warbled yet

His morning's caroll to the rising sun."-The Palsg.

GIFFORD.

[graphic]

Kiss ladies, revel out the nights in dancing,
The day in manly pastimes; snatch from Time
His glass, and let the golden sands run forth
As thou shalt jog them; riot it, go brave,
Spend half a world, my queen shall bear thee out:
Yet all this while, though thou climb hills of years,
Shall not one wrinkle sit upon thy brow,

Nor any sickness shake thee: Youth and Health,
As slaves, shall lackey by thy chariot-wheels:
And who, for two such jewels, would not sell

Th' East and West Indies? both are thine, so that― Ray. What?

Fol. All lies! gallop over the world, and not grow old, nor be sick? a lie. One gallant went but into France last day, and was never his own man since; another stepped but into the Low Countries, and was drunk dead under the table; another did but peep into England, and it cost him more in good-morrows blown up to him under his window, by drums and trumpets, than his whole voyage; besides he ran mad upon 't.1

Hum. Here's my last farewell: ride along with me,

I'll raise by art out of base earth a palace,2
Whither thyself

Shalt call together the most glorious spirits
Of all the kings that have been in the world;
And they shall come, only to feast with thee.
Ray. Rare!

Hum. At one end of this palace shall be heard
That music which gives motion to the heaven;
And in the midst Orpheus shall sit and weep,

1 The streets of London appear to have been grievously infested at this time with noises (i. e. little knots) of fiddlers, who pressed into ail companies, and pestered every new-comer with their salutations.— GIFFORD.

2 The original copy appears, from some mutilated remains of it, to have contained a description of the palace itself, and also its garden: it was thought useless, however, to excite the reader's regret by inserting the mere fragments.

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