So seemed Amyntas and his nymph to think-but to

proceed :

"If it were a transgression,

“The ministers it would reprove;
"But they, the elders and session,
"Can do it as weel as the lave*.

"It's lang since it cam into fashion,
"I'm sure it will never be done;
"As lang as there is in the nation,
“A lad, or a lass, wife, or loon."

CCCLXI.

Soon as the hungry lion seeks his prey,
In solitary range of pathless mountains ;
Soon as the passenger sets on his way,

Soon as the beasts resort unto the fountains,
So soon mine eyes their office are discharging,
And I my griefs with greater griefs enlarging.

CCCLXII.

O stay, sweet love! see here the place of sporting:
The gentle flow'rs smile sweetly to invite us,
And chirping birds are hitherward resorting,
Warbling their notes full sweetly to delight us.
Then stay, dear love! for tho' thou run from me,
Run ne'er so fast, yet I will follow thee.

*This fact is confirmed by a snatch of another ancient ditty :
"The minister kiss'd the fiddler's wife,

"And could na sleep for thinking o't."

I thought, my love, that I should overtake you;
Sweetheart, sit down under this shady tree;
And I will promise never to forsake you,

If you your constant love will grant to me.
The nymph then smil'd, and said to me again,
I am not cruel to my shepherd swain.

In one of Wilbye's Madrigals mention is made of “a "pretty grace in saying nay." Here we have yea expressed with a prettier grace than any heroine of a modern novel ever gave utterance to.

CCCLXIII.

Thirsis, thine absence grieves my wounded heart;
Yet I rejoice to be in thy esteem:

Ah! woe is me that now I must depart,

And my fond hopes must vanish like a dream.

But if on earth I may not see thy face,

I'll fly to Heav'n to seek thee in that place.

THOMAS FORD

Was a musician in the suite of Prince Henry, son of James I., and in 1607 published "Music of sundry kinds "set forth in two books." Never having seen the work I can say no more of it. He is now chiefly known as the composer of the music to the following Madrigals.

CCCLXIV.

Since first I saw your face, I resolv'd

To honour and renown you:

If now I be disdain'd, I wish

My heart had never known you. What? I that lov'd, and you that lik'd, Shall we begin to wrangle? No, no, no, no, my heart is fast,

And cannot disentangle.

The sun, whose beams most glorious are,

Rejecteth no beholder;

And your sweet beauty, past compare,
Made my poor eyes the bolder.
Where beauty moves, and wit delights,
And signs of kindness bind me;

There, O there, where'er I go
I'll leave my heart behind me.

JOHN MUNDY

Was a composer chiefly of sacred music, but he published one miscellaneous work, entitled "Songs and Psalms com"posed into three, four, and five parts, for the use of all "such as either love or learn music," wherein he is styled, "Bachiler of Music, and one of the Organists of Her "Majesty's Free Chapel of Windsor, A.D. 1594." It contains thirty pieces, and is dedicated to "the Right Ho"nourable Robert Devoreux, Earl of Essex and Ewe, "Viscount of Hereford, Lord Ferrer of Chartley, Borcher, "and Lovaine," &c.

CCCLXVI.

Hey ho! chil go to plough no more,
Sit down and take thy rest:
Of golden groats I have good store,

To flaunt it with the best.

But I do love, and whom, think you?

The finest lass that e'er you knew:
Which makes me sing, when I should cry
Heigh ho! for love I die.

CCCLXVII.

Were I a king, I might command content;
Were I obscure, unknown should be my cares:

And were I dead, no thoughts should me torment,

Nor words, nor wrongs, nor loves, nor hopes, nor fears.

A doubtful choice of three things, one to crave;

A kingdom, or a cottage, or a grave.

THOMAS TOMKINS

Was a pupil of the celebrated William Byrd, and a Church Musician of some notoriety. He published a set of twentyeight songs of three, four, five, and six parts, dedicated to "the Earl of Pembroke." He is therein styled "Organist "of his Majesty's Chapel Royal in Ordinary." He also contributed a Madrigal to the Triumphs of Oriana. I find but one specimen in the above set worthy of transcribing.

CCCLXVIII.

Weep no more, thou sorry boy;

Love's pleas'd and anger'd with a toy.
Love a thousand passions brings,

Laughs and weeps, and sighs and sings;
If she smiles, he dancing goes,

And thinks not on his future woes:

If she chide with angry eye,

Sits down and sighs-ah me! I die.

Yet again, as soon reviv'd,

Joys as much as late he griev'd.
Change there is of joy and sadness,
Sorrow much, but more of gladness.
Then weep no more, thou sorry boy,
Turn thy tears to weeping joy.
Sigh no more,-ah me! I die;
But dance, and sing, and cry ti-hy*.

* Vide No. LXX.