Simb. Marrv. fic: 3 the Pitty-wary, the Park-ward. revery way; old Windsor way, and every way but the town way.

Eva. I most fehemently desire you, you will allo look that way..

Sim. I will, lir. So,

Eva. 'Pless my soul! how full of cholers I am, and trempling of mind! - Thall be glad, if he have deceiv'd me: how melancholies I am -I will knog his urinals about his knäve's costard; when I have good opportunities for the 'ork::_pless my soul!

[Sings. + By shallow rivers; to whose falls Melodious birds fing madrigals ; There will we make our peds of roles, And a thousand vragrant posies.

By shallow

"Mercy

8 t he Pisty-wary, - ] The old editions read, the Pittieward, the modern editors the Pitty-wary. There is now.no place that answers to either name, at Windsor. The author might pofa fibly have written the City-war.d, i.e. towards London. Pettye ward might, however, fignify some small district in the town which is now forgotten. STEEVENS.

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

The Pasionaté Shepherd to his Love.
Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
: That hills and vallies, dale and field,

And all the eraggy mountains yield.
There will we lit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, by whose falls
Melodious birds fing madrigals :
There will I make thee beds of roses
With a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Imbroider?d all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown

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

Melodious birds fing madrigals ;-
When as I sat in Babylon
And a thousand vragrant pofies.
By shallow

Simp.
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined flippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;
A belt of straw, and ivy buds,
With coral clasps, and amber studs :
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 shepherd swains shall dance and fing,
For thy delight each May morning :
If these 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 shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures 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 spring, but sorrow's fall.
Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw, and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs ;

All \ The conclusion of this and the following poem, seem to have furnilhed Milo ton with the hint for the last lines both of his Allegro and Perferoso.

STIEVINS,

* Simp. Yonder he is coming, this way, fir Hugh. Eva. He's welcome :

By shallow rivers, to whole falls
Heaven prosper the right!-What weapons is he?

· Simp. No weapons, dir; There comes niy master, master Shallow, and another gentleman from Frogmore, over the stilė, this way in 165 !

. .. Eva.

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 mear than's fit for men ?
These are but vain :, that's only good
Which God hath bless'd, and sent for food.
But could youth laft, and love ftill breed, ."
Had joys no date, and age no need;
Then these delights my mind might move

To live with thee, and be thy love. These two poems, which Dr. Warburton gives to Shakespeare, are, by writers nearer, that time, disposed of, onę to Marlow, the other to Raleigh. They are read in different copies with great variations, Johnson. ::

In England's Helicon, a collection of love-verses printed in Shakespeare's life-time, -viz, in 1600, the first of them is given to Marlow, the second to a person unknown; and Dr. Percy, in the first volume of his Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, observes, that there is good reason to believe that. (not Shakespeare, but) Christopher Marlow wrote the song, and fir Walter Raleigh the Nympb's Reply: for so we are positively assured: by Isaac Walton, a writer of some credit, who has inserted them both in his Compleat Angler, under the character of “ That finooth song which was made by Kit Marlow, now at least fifty years ago ; and an ansiver 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 sonnets, printed by Jaggard, 1599, this poem is attributed to Shakespeare. Mr. Malone, however, observes, that “ What seems to ascertain 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 1993, as he died in that year.” ..

" Thou in those groves, by Dis above,

". Shalt live with me, and be my love." STEVENS. Vol. I.

The

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

Enter Page, Shallow, and Slender. Skal. How now, master parson? Good-morrow, good sir Hugh. Keep a gamester from the dice, and a good student from his book, and it is wonderful.

Slen. Ah sweet Anne Page!
Page. Save you, good fir Hugh! .
Eva. ’Pless you from his mercy fake, all of you !

Shal. What! the sword and the word ! do you study them both, master parson?

lur Hugue from hoe Page Hugh

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

all

the crag - gymoun - tains yield.

Sir J. HAWKINS,

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

Eva. There is reasons and causes 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 most reverend gentleman, who belike, having receiv'd wrong by some person, is at most odds with his own gravity and patience, that ever you saw.

Skal. I have liv'd fourscore years, and upward ; I never heard a man of his place, gravity, and learning, so wide of his own respect.

Eva. What is he?

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

Eva. Gor's will, and his passion o'my heart! I had as lief you would tell me of a mess of porridge.

Page. Why?

Eva. He has no more knowledge in Hibocrates and Galen,—and he is a knave besides; a cowardly knave, as you would desires to be acquainted withal.

Page. I warrant you, he's the man fhould fight with him. Slen. O, sweet Anne Page !

Enter Hoft, Caius, and Rugby. Shal. It appears fo, by his weapons :-Keep them asunder ;-here comes doctor Caius.

Page. Nay, good master parfon, keep in your weapon.

Shal. So do you, good master doctor.

Hoft. Disarm them, and let them question ; 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, use your patience : In good time.