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النشر الإلكتروني

'See, see the flowers, that below
Now as fresh as morning blow;
And of all, the virgin Rose,
That as bright AURORA Shows;
How they all unleavèd die,
Losing their virginity:

Like unto a summer shade;
But now born, and now they fade!
Every thing doth pass away!
There is danger in delay!
Come, come, gather then the Rose!
Gather it; or it you lose!

'All the sand of Tagus' shore,
Into my bosom casts his ore!
All the valleys' swimming corn,
To my house is yearly borne !
Every grape of every vine

Is gladly bruised, to make me wine!
While ten thousand Kings, as proud
To carry up my train, have bowed;
And a world of Ladies send me,
In my chambers, to attend me!

'All the stars in heaven that shine,
And ten thousand more, are mine!
'Only bend thy knee to me;
Thy Wooing shall thy Winning be!'

Thus sought the dire Enchantress, in his mind
Her guileful bait to have embossomèd :
But He, her charms dispersed into wind;
And, her of insolence admonished!
And all her optic glasses shattered!
So, with her Sire, to Hell she took her flight
(The starting air flew from the damnèd sprite!);
Where deeply both, aggrieved, plungèd themselves in
night.

But to their LORD, now musing in his thought,
A heavenly volley of light Angels flew;
And from his Father, him a banquet brought
Through the fine Element: for well they knew,
After his Lenten Fast, he hungry grew.
And as he fed, the holy Quires combine
To sing a Hymn of the celestial Trine:

All thought to pass; and each was, past all thought, divine.

The birds' sweet notes, to sonnet out their joys,
Attempered to the Lays Angelical!

And to the birds, the winds attune their noise!
And to the winds, the waters hoarsely call!
And ECHO, back again revoiced all!
That the whole valley rang with Victory!
But now our LORD, to rest doth homeward fly.
See, how the Night comes stealing from the mountains
high!

YE little birds, that sit and sing
Amidst the shady valleys,

And see how PHILLIS sweetly walks
Within her garden alleys,

Go, pretty birds, about her bower!
Sing, pretty birds, she may not lower!
Ah! me! methinks, I see her frown!
Ye pretty wantons, warble!

Go, tell her, through your chirping bills, As you by me are bidden,

To her is only known my love;

Which from the World is hidden. Go, pretty birds, and tell her so! See that your notes strain not too low! For still, methinks, I see her frown! Ye pretty wantons, warble!

Go, tune your voices' harmony;
And sing, I am her Lover!
Strain loud and sweet, that every note
With sweet content may move her!
And she that hath the sweetest voice,
Tell her, I will not change my choice!
Yet still, methinks, I see her frown!
Ye pretty wantons, warble!

O, fly! Make haste! See, see, she falls Into a pretty slumber!

Sing round about her rosy bed,

That, waking, she may wonder! Say to her, 'Tis her Lover true, That sendeth love to you! to you! And when you hear her kind reply; Return with pleasant warblings!

[LONDON TAVERNS.]

THE Gentry to the King's Head,
The Nobles to the Crown,
The Knights unto the Golden Fleece,
And to the Plough, the Clown.

The Churchman to the Mitre,
The Shepherd to the Star,
The Gardener hies him to the Rose,
To the Drum, the man of war.

To the Feathers, Ladies you! The Globe,
The Seaman doth not scorn!
The Usurer to the Devil; and
The Townsman to the Horn.

The Huntsman to the White Ha

To the Ship, the Merchant goes:
But you that do the Muses love,
The Swan, called river Po.

The Bankrupt to the World's End,
The Fool to the Fortune hie;
Unto the Mouth, the Oyster Wife;
The Fidler to the Pie....

PACK, clouds, away; and welcome, day!
With night, we banish sorrow!

Sweet air, blow soft! Mount, Lark, aloft;
To give my Love 'Good morrow!'
Wings from the wind, to please her mind;
Notes from the Lark, I'll borrow!
Bird, prune thy wing! Nightingale, sing!
To give my Love 'Good morrow!'

To give my Love 'Good morrow!
Notes from them all, I'll borrow!

Wake from thy nest, Robin Redbreast!
Sing, birds, in every furrow!
And from each bill, let music shrill

Give my fair Love 'Good morrow!' Blackbird and Thrush, in every bush,

Stare, Linnet, and Cock Sparrow; You pretty Elves, among yourselves, Sing my fair Love Good morrow!' To give my Love Good morrow!' Sing, birds, in every furrow!

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