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SONGE.

ULYSSES.

CIRCE.

ECCHIO.

was newly slipte away, and whilst they were Let wise Ulysses judge. Some I confesse, at a stand, wond'ringe what was become of him, That tow'rds this isle not long since did addresse the woodman stepte forth and sunge this Their stretched oares, no sooner landed were,

But (carelesse of themselves) they here and there

Fed on strange fruits, invenominge their bloods, Grillus is gone, belyke he hath hearde

And now like monsters range about the woods. The dayrie-maid knocke at the trough in the If those thy mates were, yet is Circe free, yearde:

For their misfortunes have not birth from me. Through thicke and thinne he wallowes, Who in the apothecarie's shop hath ta'ne And weighes nor depths nor shallowes.

(Whilst he is wantinge) that which breeds his bane, Harke! how he whynes,

Should never blame the man who there had plac'd it, Run all e're he dines,

But his owne folly urging him to taste it.
Then serve him a tricke

For beinge so quicke,
And lette him for all his paines

Æva's queene, and great Hyperion's pride,
Behold you turne cleage of

Pardon misdoubtes, and we are satisfide.

His troughe, And spill all bis wash : and his graines.

Swifter the lightninge comes got from above,

Than do our grants born on the wings of love; With this the triplex of their tune was plaid twice And since what's past doth not Ulysses please,

or thrice over, and by turnes brought them Call to a dance the fair Nereides, from the stage; when the woodman sung this with other nymphes, which doe in every creeke, other staffe of the last songe, and then ran after In woods, on plaines, on mountaines symples seeke them.

For powerfull Circe, and let in a songe And now 'tis wish'd that all such as hee,

Ecchos be aydinge, that they may prolonge Were rooting with him at the tronghe or the tree.

My nuw command to each place where they be, Fly, fly, from our pure fountaines,

To bringe them hither all more speedilye. To the darke vales or the mountaines, Presently in the wood was heard a full musicke of Liste, some one whines

lutes, which descending to the stage, had to With voyce like a swine's,

them sung this followinge songe, the Ecchos beAs angry that none

ing plac'd in several parts of the passage. With Grillus is gone,

SONGE.
Or that he is lefte behinde.

Circe bids you come awaye.
O let there be no staye
In his waye,

Come awaye, come awaye.

From the rivers, from the sea. To hinder the boare from his kinde.

ECCHO. From the sea, from the sea. CIRCE.

From the greene woods every one. How likes Ulysses this !

ECCHO. Every one, every one.

Of her maides be missinge none.
ULYSSES.

ECCHO. Missinge none, missinge nope.
Much like to one

No longer stay, except it be to bringe Who in a shipwracke being cast upon

A med'cine for love's stinge. The froathy shores, and safe beholdes his mates

That would excuse you, and be held more deare, Equally cross'd by Neptune and the Fates.

Than wit or magicke, for both they are here. You might as well have ask'd how I would like

Eccho. They are here, they are here. A straine whose equall Orpheus could not strike, Upon a barpe whose stringes none other be, The Eccho had no sooner answered to the last line Than of the heart of chaste Penclope.

of the songe, They are here, but the second O let it be enough that thou in these,

Antimasque came in, being seven nymphs, and Hast made most wretched Laertjades:

were thus attir'd: Let yet the sad chance of distressed Greekes, With other teares than sorrowe's dewe your checkes!

Foure in white taffita robes, long trèsses, and Most ahject basenesse hath enthral'd that breste

chaplets of flowers, herbs, and weels on their Which laughs at men by misery oppreste.

heads, with little wicker baskets in their bandes,

neatly painted. These were supposed to be maides CIRCE.

attending upon Circe, and used in gatheringe Jo this, as lylljes, or the new-falne snove,

simples for their mistress's inchantments. Is Circe spotlesse yet: what though the bowe

(Pausanias in prioribus Eliacis.) Which Iris bendes, appeareth to each sight

Three in sea greene robes, greenish haire hangIn various hewes and colours infinite :

ing loose“, with leaves of corall and shells interThe learned knowe that in itselfe is free,

mixt upon it. These are by Ovid affirmed to And light and shade make that varietye.

helpe the nymphs of Circe in their collections". Things farre off seen seem not the same they are, Fame is not ever truth's discoverer ;

* Florac. lib. 3. carmin. For still where envy meetcth a reporte,

Nereides nymphæque simul quis vellera motis Ill she makes worse, and what is good come shorte.

Nulla trahunt digitos, nec fila sequentia ducunt, In whatso'ere this land hath passine beene,

Gramina disponunt; sparsosque sine ordine fores Or she that here 'ore other raigneth queene,

Secernunt Calathis, variisque coloribus herbas.

Ipsa quod hæ faciunt opus exigit; &c. : Ovid. Metam. lib. 1*

Osid. lib, 14. Metam.

SONGL.

ULYSSES.

These havinge danced a most curious measure to a softer tune than the first Antimasque, as most

Shake off sleepe, ye worthy knights, fitting, returned as they came; the Nereides

Though ye dreame of all delights; towardes the cliffes, and the other maides of

Show that Venus doth resorte Circe to the woods and plaines. After which

To the campe as well as courte. Ulysses, thus :

By some well timed measure,

And on your gestures and your paces, Fame addes not to thy joyes, I see in this,

Let the well-composed graces, Rut like a high and stately Pyramis

Lookinge like, and parte with pleasure. Growes least at farthest: now faire Circe grante, Although the faire-hair'd Greeks do never vaunte,

By this the knights being all risen from their That they in measur'd paces aught have done,

seates, were, by Ulysses (the loud musicke sound But where the god of batteles led them on;

inge) brought to the stage; and then to the violins Give leave that (freed from sleepe) the small

danced their first measure; after which this remaine

songe brought them to the second. Of my companions, on the under plaine,

SONGE May in a dance strive how to pleasure thee,

On and imitate the Sun, Eyther with skill or with varietye.

Stay not to breathe till you have done:

Earth doth thinke as other where
CIRCE.

Do some woemen she doth beare.
Circe is pleas'd: Ulysses take my wand,

Those wifes whose husbands only threaten, And from their eyes each child of sleepe command,

Are not lov'd like those are beaten: Whilst my choice maides with their harmonious

Then with your feete to suffringe move her, voyces

For whilst you beate earth thus, you love her.
(Whereat each byrd and dancinge springe rejoyces) Here they danc'd their second measure, and theri
Harminge the windes when they contrary mecte, this songe was sunge, during which time they
Shall make their spirits as nimble as their feete. take out the ladyes.

SONGE.
CHOOSE now amonge this fairest number,

Upon whose brestes love would for ever slumber:
THE THIRD SCENE'S DESCRIPTIOx,

Choose not ainisse, since you may where you wille, Circe, with this speech, deliveringe her wande Then do not leave, though oft the musicke closes,

Or blame yourselves for choosinge ille. to Ulysses, rests on the lower parte of the hill, u bile he going up the hill, and striking the Till lillyes in their cheekes be turned to roses. trees with his wande, suddenly two greate gates flew open, makinge, as it were, a large glade

And if it lay in Circe's power, through the wood, and along the glade a faire

Your blisse might so persever, walke; two seeming bricke walles on either That those you choose but for an hower, side, over which the trees wantonly hunge; a

You should enjoy for ever. great light (as the Sun's sudden unmaskinge) | The knights, with their ladyes, dance here the old being seene upon this discovery. At the furthe rend was described an arbour, very curiously

measures, galliards, corantoes, the branles, &c.

and then (havinge led them againe to their done, havinge one entrance under an archi

places) danced their last measure; after which treave, borne up by two pillers, with their

this songe called them awaye. chapters and bascs guilte; the top of the entrance beantifide with postures of Satyres, W'oodnymphs, and other anticke worke; as also the

Wro but Time so hasty were, sides and corners: the coveringe archaise inter

To fly away and leave you here. wove with boughes, the backe of it girt round

Here where delight with a rine, and artificially done up in knottes

Might well allure towardes the toppe: beyond it was a wood

A very stoicke, from this night scene in perspective, the fore part of it opening

To turne an epicure. at Ulysses's approach, the maskers were dis- But since he calles away; and Time will soone re. covered in severall seates, leaninge as asleepe.

pent,

[spente.

He staid not longer here, but ran to be more idly Doublets of greene taffita, cut like oaken leaves,

as upon cloth of silver; their skirtes and winges cut into leaves, deepe round hose of the same,

AN ELEGIE, both lind with sprigge lace spangled; long white sylke stockings; greene pumps, and roses done over with sylver leavis; hattes of the same stuffe, and cut narrowe-brimmed, and

HENRY, PRINCE OF Wales'. risinge smaller compasse at the crowne ; white What time the world, clat in a mourning robe, reathe hatbandes; white plumes; egrettes with

A stage made, for a woefull tragedie, a greene fall; ruffe bands and cuffes.

When showres of teares from the celestial globe, Ulysses severally came and toucht every one of Bewail'd the fate of sea-lov'd Brittanie; them with the wand, while this was sunge.

. This copy is transcribed from a manuseript ia

CHORUS.

SONE.

THEIR ATTIRE.

ON THE BEWAILED DEATH OF

THE TRULY BELOVED AND MOST VERTUOUS

When sighes as frequent were as various sights, That any one, which lov'd him, hated me,
When Hope lay bed-rid, and all pleasures dying, Might dearly love me, for lamenting him;
When Envie wept,

Alas, my plaint,
And Comfort slept,

In such constraint,
When Cruelty itselfe sat almost crying ;

Breakes forth in rage, that thoughe my passions Nought being heard but what the minde affrights:

swimme, When Autumn had disrob’d the Sumıner's pride, Yet are they drowned ere they landed be.

Then England's honour, Europe's wonder dide. Imperfect lines : oh happy were I hurl'd O saddest straine that ere the Muses sung!,

And cut from life, as England from the world. A text of woe for griefe to comment on;

O! happier had we beene, if we had beene
Teares, sighs and sobs, give passage to my tongue, Never made happie by enjoying thee,
Or I shal spend you till the last is gone.

Where hath the glorious eye of Heaven seene
And then my hart, in flames of burning love, A spectacle of greater miserie ?
Wanting his moisture, shall to cinders turne, Time, turn thy course! and bring againe the
But first by me,

spring! Bequeathed be,

Breake Nature's lawes! search the records of old ! To strew the place, wherein bis sacred urne

If aught e're fell Shall be enclos'd. This inight in many more

Might paralel The lıke effect: (who would not doe it) when Sad Albion's case : then note when I unfold No grave befits him, but the harts of men. Wbat seas of sorrow she is plunged in :

Where stormes of woe so mainly have beset her, The man whose masse of sorrowes have been such,

She hath no place for worse, nor hope for better.
That, by their weight laid on each severall part,
His fountaines are so drie, he but as much Brittaine was whilome knowne (by more than fame)
As one poore drop hath left, to ease his hart: To be one of the Islands Fortunate:
Why should he keepe it? since the time doth call What franticke man would give her now that name,
That he n'ere better can bestow it in?

Lying so ruefull and disconsolate?
If so he feares,

Hath not her watrie zone in murmuring,
That other teares

Fild every shoare with ecchoes of her crie?
In greater number greatest prizes winne,

Yes, Thetis raves,
Know, none gives more than he who giveth all :

And bids her waves
Then he which bath but one poore teare in store, Bring all the nimphes within her emperie,
Oh let him spend that drop and weepe no more! To be assistant in her sorrowing.

See where they sadly sit on Isis' shore,
Why flowres not Helicon beyond her strands?

And rend their haires as they would joy no more. Is Henrie dead, and doe the Muses sleepe? Alas! I see each one amazed stands, Shallow foords mutter, silent are the deepe: Faine would they tell their griefes, but know not

THIRSIS'S PRAISE TO HIS MISTRES3.
where,
All are so full, nought can augment their store.

BY W. BROWNE.
Then how should they
Their griefes displey

FROM A COLLECTION OF POEMS, CALLED ENGLAND'S To men so cloide they faine would heare no more,

HELICON; OR, THE MUSES HARMONY. Though blaming those whose plaints they cannot heare?

On a bill that grac'd the plaine
And with this wish their passions I allow,

Thirsis sate, a comely swaine,
May that Muse never speake that's silent now! Comelier swaine nere grac'd a hill:

Whilst his flock, that wandred nie,
Is Henrie dead ? alas! and doe I live

Cropt the greene grasse busilie;
To sing a scrich-owle's note that be is dead ?

Thus he tuu'd his oaten quill :
If any one a fitter theame can give,
Come, give it now, or never to be read:

Ver hath made the plesant field
But let bim see it doe of horrour taste,

Many several odours yeeld,
Anguish, destruction; could it rend in sunder,

Odours aromatical:
With fearefull grones,

From faire Astra's cherrie lip,
'The sence!esse stones, :

Sweeter smells for ever skip, Yet should we hardly be inforc'd to wonder,

They in pleasing passen all. Our former griefes would so exceed their last :

Leavie groves now mainely rừng, Time cannot make our sorrowes aught com

With each sweet bird's sopnetting, pleater,

Notes that make the ecchocs long: Nor add one griefe to make our mourning greater.

But when Astra tunes her voice, England stood ne’re engirt with waves till now,

All the mirthful birds rejoice, Till now it held part with the continent,

And are list'ning to her song, Aye me! some one, in pittie show me how

Fairely spreads the damaske rose, I might in dolefull numbers so lament,

Whese rare mixture doth disclose

Beauties, penrills cannot faine. the Bodleian library, and is inserted here on ac

Yet, if Astra passe the bush, count of the variations from that printed in the first

Roses have been seen to blush. book of Britannia's Pastorals.

She doth all their beauties staine.

Phoebus shining bright in skie,
Gilds the floods, heates mountaines hie

With his beames' all quick’ning fire:
Astra's eyes (most sparkling ones)
Strikcs a heat in hearts of stones,

And enflames them with desire.
Fields are blest with flowrie wreath,
Ayre is blest when she doth breath;

Birds make happy ev'ry grove,
She each bird when she doth sing;
Phoebus' heate to Earth doth bring,

She makes marble fall in love.
Those blessinges of the Earth we swaines do call,
Astra can blesse those blessings, Earth and all.

A POEM,

ATTRIBUTED BY PRINCE, IN HIS WORTHIES OF DEVON,

TO WILLIAM BROWNE.

I oft bave heard of Lydford law,
How, in the morn, they hang and draw,

And sit in judgment after.
At first I wonder'd at it much,
But since I and the reason's such,

As it deserves no laughter.
They have a castle on a hill,
I took it for an old wind-mill,

The vanes blown down by weather: To lye therein one night, 'lis guess'd, 'Twere better to be ston'd and press'd,

Or hang'd, now choose you whether. Ten men less room within this cave, Than five mice in a lanthorn have,

The keepers they are sly ones ;
If any could devise by art,
To get it up into a cart,

'Twere fit to carry lyons.
When I beheld it, Lord! thought I,
What justice and what clemency

Hath Lydford! When I saw all, I know none gladly there would stay, But rather hang out of the way,

Than tarry for a tryal. The prince an hundred pounds hath sent *To mend the leads, and planchens rent,

Within this living tomb,
Some forty-five pounds more had paid
The debts of all that shall be laid

There till the day of doom.
One lyes there for a seam of malt,
Another for a peck of salt,

Two sureties for a noble.
If this be true, or else false news,
You may go ask of master Crews',

John Vaughan, or John Doble?.
More, to these men that lye in lurch,
Here is a bridge, there is a church;

Seven ashes, and one oak;
Three houses standing, and ten down.
They say the parson hath a gowne,

But I saw ne'er a cloak.

Whereby you may consider well,
That plain simplicity doth dwell

At Lydford, without bravery.
And in the town both young and grave,
Do love the naked truth to have,

No cloak to hide their knavery.
The people all within this clime,
Are frozen in the winter time,

For sure I do not fain;
And when the summer is begun,
They lye like silk-worms in the sun,

And come to life again.
One told me in king Cæsar's time,
The town was built with stone and lime,

But sure the walls were clay,
And they are fal’n, for augbt I see,
And since the houses are got free,

The town is run away.
Oh! Cæsar, if thou there didst reign,
While one house stands come there again ;

Come quickly while there is one.
If thou stay but a little fit,
But five years more, they will commit

The whole town to a prison.
'To see it thus much griev'd was I,
The proverb saith, “Sorrows be dry,"

So was I at the matter.
Now by good luck, I know not how,
There thither came a strange stray cow,

And we had milk and water.
To nine good stomachs, with our wigg.
At last we got a roasting pigg,

This dyet was our bounds,
And this was just as if 'twere known,
A pound of butter had been thrown,

Among a pack of hounds.
One glass of drink I got by chance,
'Twas claret when it was in France,

But now from it much wider;
I think a man might make as good
With green crabs boyl'd, and Brazil wood,

And half a pint of cyder.
I kiss'd the mayor's hand of the town,
Who, though he weare no scarlet gown,

Honours the rose and thistle.
A piece of coral to the mace,
Which there I saw to serve in place,

Would make a good child's whistle.
At sick o'clock I came away,
And pray'd for those that were to stay

Within a place so arrant.
Wide and ope the winds so roure,
By God's grace l'll come there no more

Unless by some Tynn warrant.

PREFIXED TO

RICHARD THE THIRD, HIS CHARACTER, LEGEND, AND TRAGEDY, A POEM, 4to.

1614. [AMONGST OTHER VERSES BY CHASMAN, BEK

JOHNSON, &c.] TO HIS WORTHY AND INGENIOUS FRIEND THE AUTHOR. So farre as can a swayne (who than a rounde

Un oaten-pipe no further boasts his skill) I dare to censure the shrill trumpets' sound,

Or other music of the sacred hil:

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OF THE EVIL TIME.

The popular applause hath not so fell

He getteth up unlike to rise at all, (Like Nile's lowd cataract) possest mine cars He slips to ground as much unlike to fall; But others' songs I can distinguish well

Which doth inforce me partly to prefer And chant their praise, despised vertue rears: The opinion of that mad philosopher, Nor shall thy buskin's Muse be heard alone Who taught, that those all-framing powers above, In stately pallaces; the shady woods

(As 'tis suppos’d) made man not out of love By ine shall learn't, and ecchoes one by one To him at all, but only as a thing,

Teach it the bils, and they the silver floods. To make them sport with, which the use to bring, Our learned shepheards that have us'd to fore As men do monkies, puppets, and such tools

Their hasty gifts.in notes that wooe the plaines, Of laughter: so men are but the gods' fools. By rural ditties will be known no more ;

Such are by titles lifted to the sky, But reach at fame by such as are thy straines. As wherefore no man knows, God scarcely why; And I would gladly (if the sisters spring

The virtuous man depressed like a stone Had me inabled) beare a part with thee,

Por that dull sot to raise himself upon; And for sweet groves, of brave' heroes sing, He who ne'er thing yet worthy man durst do, But since it fits not my weake melodie,

Never durst look upon his country's foe,
It shall suffice that thou such means do'st give, Nor durst attempt that action which might get
That my harsh lines among the best may live. Him fame with men: or higher might him set
W. BROWNE, Int. Temp.

Than the base beggar (rightly if coinpar'd);
This drone yet never brave attempt that dar'd,
Yet dares be knighted, and from thence dares

grow MR. WILLIAM DRAYTON, TO HIS NOBLE FRIEND

To any title empire can bestow;

For this believe, that impudence is now
MR. WILLIAM BROWNE;

A cardinal vertue, and men it allow
Reverence, nay more, inen study and invent

New ways, nay glory to be impudent.
Dear friend, be silent and with patience see,

Into the clouds the Devil lately got, What this mad time's catastrophe will be;

And by the moisture doubting much the rot, The world's first wisernen certainly mistook A medicine took to make him purge and cast; T'hemselves, and spoke things quite beside the Which in a short time began to work so fast, book,

That he fell to't, and from bis backside flew And that which they have said of God, untrue, A rout of rascal a rude ribald crew Or else expect strange judgment to ensue.

Of base plebeians, which no sooner light This isle is a mere Bedlam, and therein, Upon the Earth, but with a sudden flight We all lie raving mad in every sin,

They spread this isle; and as Deucalion once And him the wisest most men use to call,

Over his shoulder back, by throwing stones Who doth (alone) the maddest thing of all; They became men, even so these beasts became He whom the master of all wisdom found,

Owners of titles from an obscure name. For a mark'd fool, and so did him propound, He that by riot, of a mighty rent, The time we live in, to that pass is brought,

Hath his late goodly patrimony spent, That only he a censor now is thought;

And into base and wilful begg'ry run,
And that base villain, (not an age yet gone) This man as he some glorious act had done,
Which a good man would not have look'd upon, With some great pension, or rich gift reliev'd,
Now like a god with divine worship follow'd, When he that bath by industry achier'd
And all bis actions are accounted hallow'd. Some noble thing, contemned and disgrac'd,

This world of ours, thus runneth upon wheels, In the forlorn hope of times is plac'd.
Set on the head, bolt upright with her heels; As though that God had carelessly left all
Which makes me think of what the Ethnics told That being hath on this terrestrial ball,
Th' opinion, the Pythagorists uphold,

To Fortune's guiding, nor would have to do
That the immortal soul doth transmigrate;

With man, nor aught that doth belong him to, Then I suppose by the strong power of fate,

Or at the least God having given more That those which at confused Babel were,

Power to the Devil, than he did of yore, And since that time now many a lingering year,

Over this world: the fiend as he doth hate Through fools, and beasts, and lunatics have The virtuous man; maligning bis estate, past,

All noble things, and would have by his will, Are here imbodied in this age at last,

To be damn'd with him, using all his skill,
And though so long we from that time be gone, By his black hellish ministers to vex
Yet taste we still of that confusion.

All worthy men, and strangly to perplex
For certainly there's scarce one found that now Their constancy, thereby them so to fright,
Knows what t'approve, or what to disallow, That they should veeld them wholly to his might.
All arsey-versey, nothing is it's own,

But of these things I vainly do but tell, But to our proverb, all turn'd upside down ; Where Hell is Heaven, and Hear'n is now turn'd To do in time, is to do out of season,

Hell; And that speeds best, that's done the farthest Where that which lately blasphemy hath been, from reason,

Now godliness, much less accounted sin;
He's high’st ihat's low'st, he's surest in that's out, and a long while I greatly marvel'd why
He hits the next way that goes farth’st about, Buffoons and bawds should hourly multiply,

Till that of late I constru'd it, that they
Quere? braver!

To present tbrift had got the perfect way,

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