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"

And lift aloft your velvet heads,
And slipping off your gown,
With bells on legs, and napkins clean
Unto your shoulders tied,

With scarfs and garters as you please,
And "Hey for our town!" 2 cried,
March out, and show your willing minds,
By twenty and by twenty,

2

To Hogsdon, or to Newington,

Where ale and cakes are plenty;
And let it ne'er be said for shame,
That we the youths of London
Lay thrumming of our caps at home,
And left our custom undone.
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!

And so, my friends, I cease.

1 With bells," &c.—the trappings of the morris-dancers.

2 See Notes at the end of the volume.

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COME,

In an even measure meet,

And your cheerful voices rise,
To present this sacrifice

To great Cupid, in whose name,
I his priest begin the same.

Young men, take your loves and kiss;

Thus our Cupid honoured is;

Kiss again, and in your kissing

Let no promises be missing;
Nor let any maiden here

Dare to turn away her ear

Unto the whisper of her love,

But give bracelet, ring, or glove,

As a token to her sweeting,

Of an after secret meeting.

Now, boy, sing, to stick our hearts
Fuller of great Cupid's darts.

1 Performed on the Sunday following New Year's night, 1611-12.

THE SONG.

LOVERS, rejoice! your pains shall be rewarded,

The god of love himself grieves at your crying;

No more shall frozen honour be regarded,
Nor the coy faces of a maid denying.

No more shall virgins sigh, and say "We dare not,
For men are false, and what they do they care not."

All shall be well again; then do not grieve;
Men shall be true, and women shall believe.

Lovers, rejoice! what you shall say henceforth,

When you have caught your sweethearts in your arms, It shall be accounted oracle and worth;

No more faint-hearted girls shall dream of harms, And cry "They are too young"; the god hath said, Fifteen shall make a mother of a maid:

Then, wise men, pull your roses yet unblown:

Love hates the too-ripe fruit that falls alone.

CUPID, PARDON WHAT IS PAST.

UPID, pardon what is past,

CU

And forgive our sins at last!
Then we will be coy no more,
But thy deity adore;

Troths at fifteen we will plight,
And will tread a dance each night,
In the fields, or by the fire,

With the youths that have desire.
Given ear-rings we will wear,

Bracelets of our lovers' hair,

Which they on our arms shall twist,

With their names carved, on our wrist;

All the money that we owe1

We in tokens will bestow;

And learn to write that, when 'tis sent, Only our loves know what is meant.

Oh, then pardon what is past,

And forgive our sins at last!

1 Own.

H

From BEAUMONT and FLET-
CHER'S The Maid's Tragedy,

1619.1

BRIDAL SONGS.

FIRST SONG, during which Proteus and other sea-deities enter.

CYNTHIA, to thy power and thee

We obey.

Joy to this great company!

And no day

Come to steal this night away,

Till the rites of love are ended,

And the lusty bridegroom say,

Welcome, light, of all befriended!

Pace out, you watery powers below;

Let your feet,

Like the galleys when they row,

Even beat;

Let your unknown measures, set
To the still winds, tell to all
That gods are come, immortal, great,
To honour this great nuptial.

' Produced not later than 1611.

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