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WILLIAM BURTON.

THE ABSTRACT OF MELANCHOLY.

Prefixed to the Anatomy of Melancholy.
WHEN I go musing all alone,

Thinking of divers things foreknown,
When I build castles in the air,
Void of sorrow, and voio of care,
Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,
Methinks the time runs very fleet;

All my joys to this are folly,

Nought so sweet as melancholy. When I go walking, all alone, Recounting what I have ill done, My thoughts on me then tyrannize, Fear and sorrow me surprise ; Whether I tarry still, or go, Methinks the time moves very slow.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

Nought so sad as melancholy.
When to myself I act, and smile,
With pleasing thoughts the time beguile;
By a brook-side, or wood so green,
Unheard, unsought for, and unseen,
A thousand pleasures do me bless,
And crown my soul with happiness.

All my joys besides are folly,

None so sweet as melancholy.
When I lie, sit, or walk alone,
I sigh, I grieve, making great moan,
In a dark grove, or irksome den,
With discontents and furies, then
A thousand miseries at once
Mine heavy heart and foul ensconce.

All my griefs to this are jolly,
None so sour as melancholy,

Methinks I hear, methinks I see,
Sweet music, wondrous melody,
Towns, palaces, and cities fine,
Here now, then there, the world is mine ;
Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine,
Whate'er is lovely or divine.

All other joys to this are folly,
None so sweet as melancholy.

Methinks I hear, methinks I see
Ghosts, goblins, fiends, my phantasie
Presents a thousand ugly shapes,
Headless bears, black men, and apes,
Doleful outcries, fearful sights,
My sad and dismal soul affrights.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

None so damn'd as melancholy. Methinks I court, methinks I kiss, Methinks I now embrace my miss ; O blessed days, O sweet content, In paradise my time is spent ! Such thought may still my fancy move, So may I ever be in love!

All my joys to this are folly,

Nought so sweet as melancholy.
When I recount love's many frights,
My sighs and tears, my waking nights,
My jealous fits; O mine hard fate
I now repent, but 'tis too late.
No torment is so had as love,
So bitter to my soul can prove.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

Nought so harsh as melancholy. Friends and companions, get you gone : "Tis my desire to be alone. Ne'er well, but when my thoughts and I Do domineer in privacy.

No gem, no treasure like to this,
'Tis my delight, my crown, my bliss.

All my joys to this are folly,
Nought so sweet as melancholy.

'Tis my sole plague to be alone,
I am a beast, a monster grown,
I will no light nor company,
I find it now my misery.
The scene is turn'd, my joys are gone,
Fear, discontent, and sorrows come.

All my griefs to this are jolly,

Nought so fierce as melancholy. I'll not change life with any king, I ravish'd am ! can the world bring More joy, than still to laugh and smile, In pleasant toys time to beguile? Do not, o do not trouble me, So sweet content I feel and see.

All my joys to this are folly,

None so divine as melancholy.
I'll change iny state with any wretch
Thou canst from jail or dunghill fetch.
My pain's past cure; another hell ;
I cannot in this torment dwell;
Now, desperate, I hate my life :
Lend me a halter or a knife.

All my griefs to this are jolly,
Nought so damn'd as melancholy.

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Dr. CORBET.

THE FAIRIES FAREWELL. FAREWELL, rewards and Fairies!

Good housewives now may say ; For now foule sluts in dairies

Doe fare as well as they ; And though they sweepe their hearths no less

Than mayds were wont to doe, Yet who of late for cleaneliness

Finds six-pence in her shoe?

Lament, lament, old Abbies,

The fairies lost command !
They did but change priests babies,

But some have chang'd your land:
And all your children stoln from thence

Are now growne Puritanes,
Who live as changelings ever since,

For love of your demaines.

At morning and at evening both

You merry were and glad,
So little care of sleepe and sloth

These prettie ladies had.
When Tom came home from labour,

Or Ciss to milking rose,
Then merrily went their tabour,

And nimbly went their toes.

Witness those rings and roundelayes

Of theirs, which yet remaine; Were footed in queen Maries dayes

On many a grassy playne.
But since of late Elizabeth

And later James came in;
They never danc'd on any heath,

As when the time had been.

By which wee note the fairies

Were of the old profession : Their songs were Ave Maries,

Their dances were procession. But now, alas! they all are dead,

Or gone beyond the seas, Or farther for religion fied,

Or else they take their ease. A tell-tale in their company

They never could endure; And whoso kept not secretly

Their mirth, was punish'd sure:
It was a just and christian deed

To pinch such blacke and blue :
O how the common-welth doth need

Such justices as you !

Now they have left our quarters;

A Register they have,
Who can preserve their charters;

A man both wise and grave.
An hundred of their merry pranks

By one that I could name
Are kept in store; con twenty thanks

To William for the 'same.

To William Churne of Staffordshire

Give laud and praises due, Who every meale can mend your cheare

With tales both old and true; To William all give audience,

And pray yee for his noddle; For all the fairies evidence

Were lost, if it were addle.

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