Simp. Marry, fir, 3 the Pitty-wary, the Park-ward, every way; old Windfor way, and every way but the

town way.

Eva. I moft fehemently defire you, you will allo look that way.

Sim. I will, fir.

Eva. 'Plefs my foul! how full of cholers I am, and trempling of mind!-I fhall be glad, if he have deceiv'd me: how melancholies I am!-I will knog his urinals about his knave's coftard, when I have good opportunities for the 'ork:-'pless my foul!

+ By fhallow rivers, to whofe falls
Melodious birds fing madrigals;
There will we make our peds of rofes,
And a thousand vragrant poftes.

[Sings.

By fhallow

"Mercy

the Pitty-wary, -] The old editions read, the Pittieward, the modern editors the Pitty-ary. There is now no place that answers to either name, at Windfor. The author might poffibly have written the City-award, i. e. towards London. Pettyward might, however, fignify fome small diftrict in the town which is now forgotten. STEEVENS.

4 By fhallow rivers, &c.] This is part of a beautiful little poem of the author's; which poem, and the answer to it, the reader will not be difpleafed to find here.

The Palonate Shepherd to his Love.

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleafures prove
That hills and vallies, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we fit upon the rocks,
And fee the fhepherds feed their flocks,
By fhallow rivers, by whofe falls
Melodious birds fing madrigals:
There will I make thee beds of rofes
With a thousand fragrant pofies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Imbroider'd all with leaves of myrtle;
V 4

A gown

'Mercy on me! I have a great difpofitions to cry.

Melodious birds fing madrigals; —
When as I fat in Babylon-
And a thousand vragrant pofies.
By fhallow-

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined flippers for the cold,
With buckles of the pureft gold;
A belt of straw, and ivy buds,
With coral clafps, and amber ftuds:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.
Thy filver dishes for thy meat,
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be

Prepar'd each day for thee and me.
The fhepherd fwains fhall dance and fing,
For thy delight each May morning:
If thefe delights thy mind may move *,
Then live with me, and be my love.

The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd.
If that the world and love were young,
And truth in every fhepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleafures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.
But time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb,
And all complain of cares to come :
The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's fpring, but forrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy fhoes, thy beds of rofes,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy pofies,
Soon break, foon wither, foon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reafon rotten.

Simp.

Thy belt of ftraw, and ivy buds,

Thy coral clafps, and amber ftuds ;

All

The conclufion of this and the following poem, feem to have furnished Milton with the hint for the laft lines both of his Allegro and Penferofe.

STEEVENS.

Simp. Yonder he is coming, this way, fir Hugh.

Eva. He's welcome:

By fhallow rivers, to whofe falls

Heaven profper the right!-What weapons is he? Simp. No weapons, fir; There comes my mafter, mafter Shallow, and another gentleman from Frogmore, over the ftile, this way he

All these in me no means can move
To come to thee, and be thy love.
What should we talk of dainties then,
Of better meat than's fit for men?
These are but vain :, that's only good
Which God hath blefs'd, and fent for food.
But could youth laft, and love ftill breed,
Had joys no date, and age no need;
Then thefe delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Eva.

These two poems, which Dr. Warburton gives to Shakespeare, are, by writers nearer that time, difpofed of, one to Marlow, the other to Raleigh. They are read in different copies with great variations. JOHNSON.

In England's Helicon, a collection of love-verfes printed in Shakespeare's life-time, viz. in 1600, the first of them is given to Marlow, the fecond to a perfon unknown; and Dr. Percy, in the first volume of his Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, obferves, that there is good reason to believe that. (not Shakespeare, but) Chriftopher Marlow wrote the fong, and fir Walter Raleigh the Nymph's Reply for fo we are pofitively affured by Ifaac Walton, a writer of fome credit, who has inferted them both in his Compleat Angler, under the character of "That finooth fong which was made by Kit Marlow, now at least fifty years ago; and an answer to it, which was made by fir Walter Raleigh in his younger days... Old fashioned poetry, but choicely good." See the Reliques, &c. vol. I. p. 218, 221, third edit.

In Shakespeare's fonnets, printed by Jaggard, 1599, this poem is attributed to Shakespeare. Mr. Malone, however, observes, that "What feems to afcertain it to be Marlowe's, is, that one of the lines is found (and not as a quotation) in a play of his—The Few of Malta; which, though not printed till 1633, must have been written before 1593, as he died in that year."

Thou in thofe groves, by Dis above,

"Shalt live with me, and be my love." STEEVENS. VOL. I.

The

Eva. Pray you, give me my gown; or else keep it in your arms.

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender.

Shal. How now, mafter parfon? Good-morrow, good fir Hugh. Keep a gamefter from the dice, and a good ftudent from his book, and it is wonderful. Slen. Ah fweet Anne Page!

Page. Save you, good fir Hugh!

Eva. 'Plefs you from his mercy fake, all of you! Shal. What! the fword and the word! do you ftudy them both, master parfon?

The tune to which the former was fung, I have lately discovered in a MS. as old as Shakespeare's time, and it is as follows:

Page. And youthful ftill, in your doublet and hose, this raw rheumatick day?

Eva. There is reafons and caufes for it.

Page. We are come to you, to do a good office, mafter parfon.

Eva. Fery well: What is it?

Page. Yonder is a moft reverend gentleman, who belike, having receiv'd wrong by fome perfon, is at moft odds with his own gravity and patience, that ever you faw.

Shal. I have liv'd fourfcore years, and upward; I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, fo wide of his own respect.

Eva. What is he?

Page. I think you know him; mafter doctor Caius, the renowned French physician.

Eva. Got's will, and his paffion o my heart! I had as lief you would tell me of a mefs of porridge. Page. Why?

Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen, and he is a knave befides; a cowardly knave, as you would defires to be acquainted withal. Page. I warrant you, he's the man fhould fight with him.

Slen. O, fweet Anne Page!

Enter Hoft, Caius, and Rugby.

Shal. It appears fo, by his weapons :-Keep them afunder ;-here comes doctor Caius.

Page. Nay, good mafter parfon, keep in your

weapon.

Shal. So do you, good master doctor.

Hoft. Difarm them, and let them queftion; let them keep their limbs whole, and hack our English. Caius. I pray you, let-a me speak a word vit your ear: Verefore vill you not meet-a me?

Eva. Pray you, ufe your patience: In good time.