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The Prioress of Cheston's charge to fair Millisent.
Jesus' daughter, Mary's child,

Holy matron, woman mild,

For thee a mass shall still be said,

Every Sister drop a bead;

And those again succeeding them

For you shall sing a requiem.

To her Father. May your happy soul be blythe, That so truly pay your

tithe :

He, who many children gave,

'Tis fit that He one child should have. To Millisent. Then, fair virgin, hear my spell, For I must your duty tell.

First, a-mornings take your book,

The glass wherein yourself must look ;
Your young thoughts, so proud and jolly,
Must be turned to motions holy;

For your busk, attires, and toys,
Have your thoughts on heavenly joys;
And for all your follies past

You must do penance, pray and fast.
You shall ring the sacring bell,
Keep your hours, and toll your knell,
Rise at midnight to your matins,
Read your Psalter, sing your Latins,
And when your blood shall kindle pleasure
Scourge yourself in plenteous measure.
You must read the morning's mass,
You must creep unto the cross,
Put cold ashes on your head,
Have a hair cloth for your bed.
Bid your beads, and tell

your needs,

Your holy aves, and your creeds; Holy maid, this must be done, you mean to live a nun.

If

RAM ALLEY, A COMEDY:
BY LODOWICK BARRY, 1611.

In the Prologue the poet protests the innocence of his play, and gives a promise of better things.

HOME-BRED mirth our Muse doth sing,
The satyr's tooth and waspish sting,
Which most do hurt when least suspected,
By this play are not affected;

But if conceit, with quick-turn'd scenes,
Observing all those ancient streams,
Which from the Horse-foot front do flow,
As time, place, person, and to show
Things never done, with that true life,
That thoughts and wits shall stand at strife,
Whether the things now shown be true,
Or whether we ourselves now do
The things we but present: if these,
Free from the loathsome stage-disease,
(So overworn, so tired and stale,
Not satirising but to rail,)
May win your favours, and inherit
But calm acceptance for his merit:
He vows by paper, pen, and ink,
And by the learned Sisters' drink,
To spend his time, his lamps, his oil,
And never cease his brain to toil,
Till from the silent hours of night,
He doth produce for your delight,
Conceits so new, so harmless free,
That Puritans themselves may see
A play, yet not in public preach,
That players such lewd doctrine teach,
That their pure joints do quake and tremble,
When they do see a man resemble

[graphic][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed][subsumed]

Reduced facsimile of the title-page of The Civil Wars,' with portrait of Samuel Daniel.

The picture of a villain.-This,
As he a friend to Muses is,
To you by me he gives his word,
Is all his play doth now afford.

TETHYS' FESTIVAL:

BY SAMUEL DANIEL, 1610.

Song at a Court Masque. ARE they shadows that we see? And can shadows pleasure give ?Pleasures only shadows be Cast by bodies we conceive, And are made the things we deem, In those figures which they seem.--But these pleasures vanish fast, Which by shadows are exprest, Pleasures are not, if they last, In their passing, is their best. Glory is most bright and gay In a flash, and so away. Feed apace then, greedy eyes, On the wonder you behold; Take it sudden as it flies,

Though you take it not to hold :

When your eyes have done their part, Thought must length it in the heart.

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