THE QUEEN OF CORINTH.* A 'SAD SONG.' WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow calls no time that's gone: Violets plucked, the sweetest rain THE KNIGHT OF THE BURNING PESTLE. THE HEALTHINESS OF MIRTH. 'TIS mirth that fills the veins with blood, Let each man keep his heart at ease; He that would his body keep But contented lives for aye; The more he laughs, the more he may. *Ascribed to Fletcher. This most exquisite passage is thus embodied by Bishop Percy in his ballad of The Friar of Orders Grey: 'Weep no more, lady, weep no more; Thy sorrow is in vain : For violets plucked the sweetest showers Will ne'er make grow again.', DIRGE FOR THE FAITHFUL LOVER. COME, you whose loves are dead, And, whiles I sing, Weep, and wring Every hand, and every head Come with heavy moaning, Let him have Sacrifice of sighs and groaning; I LIVE WELL AND BE IDLE. WOULD not be a serving-man Nor would I be a falconer The greedy hawks to fill; But I would be in a good house, And have a good master too; But I would eat and drink of the best, And no work would I do. JILLIAN OF BERRY. FOR Jillian of Berry, she dwells on a hill, And she hath good beer and ale to sell, And of good fellows she thinks no ill, And when you have made a little stay, THE SONG OF MAY-DAY. LONDON, to thee I do present Let each true subject be content I will both tell my name to you, Yet far inferior to the flock Of gracious grocery; And by the common counsel of Rejoice, oh, city, town, and country, For now the fragrant flowers do spring The little birds do sit and sing, The lambs do make fine sport; The lords and ladies now abroad, Now little fish on tender stone Begin to cast their bellies, And sluggish snails, that erst were mewed, The sturdy steed now goes to grass, With scarfs and garters as you please, Where ale and cakes are plenty; Up then, I say, both young and old, Both man and maid a-maying, With drums and guns that bounce aloud, And merry tabor playing! Which to prolong, God save our king, And send his country peace, And root out treason from the land! THE MAID IN THE MILL.* LET THE MILL GO ROUND. NOW having leisure, and a happy wind, Thou mayst at pleasure cause the stones to grind; Sails spread, and grist have ready to be ground; Fy, stand not idly, but let the mill How long shall I pine for love? How long shall I sue in vain? How long like the turtle-dove, go round! Shall I heavily thus complain? Oh fy, oh fy, oh fy! Let the mill, let the mill go round! WOMEN PLEASED. THE SLEEPING BEAUTY. OH, fair sweet face! oh, eyes celestial bright, Twin stars in heaven, that now adorn the night! Oh, fruitful lips, where cherries ever grow, And damask cheeks, where all sweet beauties blow! Oh thou, from head to foot divinely fair! Cupid's most cunning net's made of that hair; And, as he weaves himself for curious eyes, Oh me, oh me, I'm caught myself!' he cries: Sweet rest about thee, sweet and golden sleep, Soft peaceful thoughts your hourly watches keep, Whilst I in wonder sing this sacrifice, To beauty sacred, and those angel eyes! WHAT WOMEN MOST DESIRE. ELL me what is that only thing Question. TELL For which all women long; Yet having what they most desire, *The joint production of Fletcher and W. Rowley. |