Who is the same, which at my window peeps?
Or whose is that fair face that shines so bright?

Is it not Cynthia, she that never sleeps,

But walks about high heaven all the night?

O! fairest goddess, do thou not envý

My Love with me to spy:

For thou likewise didst love, though now unthought,

And for a fleece of wool, which privily

The Latmian Shepherd once unto thee brought,

His pleasures with thee wrought.

Therefore to us be favourable now;

And sith of women's labours thou hast charge,
And generation goodly dost enlarge,

Incline thy will t' effect our wishful vow,
And the chaste womb inform with timely seed,
That may our comfort breed:

Till which we cease our hopeful hap to sing,
Ne let the woods us answer, nor our echo ring.

And thou great Juno! which with awful might
The laws of wedlock still dost patronise;
And the religion of the faith first plight
With sacred rites has taught to solemnise;
And eke for comfort often called art
Of women in their smart;

Eternally bind thou this lovely band,
And all thy blessings unto us impart.

And thou, glad Genius! in whose gentle hand
The bridal bow'r and genial bed remain,

Without blemish of stain;

And the sweet pleasures of their love's delight
With secret aid dost succour and supply,
Till they bring forth the fruitful progeny;
Send us the timely fruit of this same night.
And thou fair Hebe! and thou, Hymen free!
Grant that it may so be.

Till which we cease your further praise to sing;
Ne any woods shall answer, nor your echo ring.

And ye high heavens, the temple of the gods,
In which a thousand torches flaming bright
Do burn, that to us wretched earthly clods
In dreadful darkness lend desirèd light;
And all ye powers which in the same remain,
More than we men can feign;

Pour out your blessing on us plenteously,

And happy influence upon us rain,

That we may raise a large posterity,

Which from the earth which they may long possess
With lasting happiness,

Up to your haughty palaces may mount;
And, for the guerdon of their glorious merit,
May heavenly tabernacles there inherit,

O blessed Saints for to increase the count.
So let us rest, sweet Love, in hope of this,
And cease till then our timely joys to sing:
The woods no more us answer, nor our echo ring!

Song! made in lieu of many ornaments,

With which my Love should duly have been decked,
Which cutting off through hasty accidents,

Ye would not stay your due time to expect,

But promised both to recompense ;

Be unto her a goodly ornament,

And for short time an endless monument.

THE AFFECTED GULL AND THE BRAGGART.

BY BEN JONSON.

(From "Every Man in his Humour.")

[BENJAMIN JONSON was born at Westminster about 1573, and received his early education at the Westminster School under William Camden. Becoming disgusted with the trade of bricklayer, to which his stepfather had trained him, he left home and served as a soldier in Flanders. Returning, by or before 1597 he became a player and playwright to "The Admiral's Men." 'Every Man in his Humour" was successfully produced at the Globe in 1598, Shakespeare himself being in the cast, and Jonson thenceforth ranked with the foremost dramatists of the period. His first success was followed by "Cynthia's Revels," "The Poetaster," 99 66 Sejanus,' ," "Volpone, or the Fox," "Epicone, or the Silent Woman," "The Alchemist," "Catiline," "Bartholomew Fair," and "The Devil is an Ass." He wrote also masques and entertainments for James I. and Charles I., and received pensions from both. Palsy, dropsy, and perhaps Charles's embarrassments, cut off his resources, and he died poor in 1637. He was buried in Westminster Abbey, in the Poets' Corner, where a tablet bears the inscription,

"O rare Ben Jonson."]

Well-bred-What strange piece of silence is this? the sign of the Dumb Man?

Edward Kno'well Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may make your music the fuller, an he please; he has his humor, sir.

Well-bred -Oh, what is't, what is't?

E. Kno'well-Nay, I'll neither do your judgment nor his folly that wrong, as to prepare your apprehension: I'll leave him to the mercy o' your search; if you can take him, so!

Well-bred - Well, Captain Bobadill, Master Matthew, 'pray you know this gentleman here; he is a friend of mine, and one that will deserve your affection. [To STEPHEN.] I know not your name, sir, but I shall be glad of any occasion to render me more familiar to you.

Stephen My name is Master Stephen, sir; I am this gentleman's own cousin, sir; his father is mine uncle, sir: I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me, sir, in whatsoever is incident to a gentleman.

Bobadill― Sir, I must tell you this, I am no general man ; but for Master Well-bred's sake (you may embrace it at what height of favor you please), I do communicate with you, and conceive you to be a gentleman of some parts; I love few words.

E. Kno'well- - And I fewer, sir; I have scarce enow to thank you.

Matthew But are you, indeed, sir, so given to it?
Stephen-Ah, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melan-

choly.

Matthew-Oh, it's your only fine humor, sir! your true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir. I am melancholy myself, divers times, sir, and then do I no more but take pen and paper presently, and overflow you half a score or a dozen of sonnets at a sitting.

E. Kno'well [Aside] - Sure he utters them then by the

gross.

ure.

Stephen-Truly, sir, and I love such things, out of meas

E. Kno'well-I'faith, better than in measure, I'll undertake.

Matthew-Why, I pray you, sir, make use of my study, it's at your service.

Stephen-I thank you, sir, I shall be bold, I warrant you: have you a stool there to be melancholy upon?

Matthew That I have, sir, and some papers there of mine own doing, at idle hours, that you'll say there's some sparks of wit in 'hem, when you see them.

Well-bred [Aside] - Would the sparks would kindle once, and become a fire amongst 'hem! I might see self-love burnt for her heresy.

Stephen-Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy enough?
E. Kno'well- Oh ay, excellent.

Well-bred-Captain Bobadill: why muse you so?

E. Kno'well-He is melancholy too.

Bobadill-Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honorable piece of service, was performed to-morrow, being St. Mark's day, shall be some ten years now.

E. Kno'well-In what place, captain?

Bobadill-Why at the beleaguering of Strigonium [Gran], where, in less than two hours, seven hundred resolute gentlemen as any were in Europe, lost their lives upon the breach. I'll tell you, gentlemen, it was the first, but the best leaguer that ever I beheld with these eyes, except the taking in ofwhat do you call it, last year, by the Genoways [Genoese]; but that, of all others, was the most fatal and dangerous exploit that ever I was ranged in, since I first bore arms before the face of the enemy, as I am a gentleman and soldier.

Stephen-'So! I had as lief as an angel [coin] I could swear as well as that gentleman!

E. Kno'well- Then you were a servitor at both, it seems; at Strigonium? and "What-do-you-call't"?

Bobadill-O Lord, sir! by St. George, I was the first man that entered the breach; and had I not effected it with resolution, I had been slain, if I had had a million of lives.

E. Kno'well-'Twas pity you had not ten: [Aside] a cat's and your own, i'faith. But, was it possible?

Matthew [Aside to STEPHEN]—'Pray you mark this discourse, sir.

Stephen [To him] - So I do.

Bobadill-I assure you, upon my reputation, 'tis true, and yourself shall confess.

E. Kno'well [Aside] - You must bring me to the rack, first.

Bobadill Observe me, judicially, sweet sir; they had planted me three demi-culverins just in the mouth of the breach; now, sir, as we were to give on, their master-gunner

(a man of no mean skill and mark, you must think) confronts me with his linstock, ready to give fire; I, spying his intendment, discharged my petronel in his bosom, and with these single arms, my poor rapier, ran violently upon the Moors that guarded the ordnance, and put 'hem pell-mell to the sword.

did

Well-bred-To the sword! to the rapier, captain.

-

E. Kno'well-Oh, it was a good figure observed, sir: — but you all this, captain, without hurting your blade? Bobadill-Without any impeach o' the earth: you shall perceive, sir. [Shows his rapier.] It is the most fortunate weapon that ever rid on poor gentleman's thigh. Shall I tell you, sir? You talk of Morglay, Excalibur, Durindana or so; tut! I lend no credit to that is fabled of 'hem: I know the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare the boldlier maintain it.

Stephen-I mar'le whether it be a Toledo or no.

Bobadill-A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir.
Stephen-I have a countryman of his, here.
Matthew-'Pray you, let's see, sir; yes, faith, it is.
Bobadill―This a Toledo ! Pish!

Stephen-Why do you pish, captain?

Bobadill-A Fleming, by Heaven! I'll buy them for a guilder apiece, an I would have a thousand of them.

E. Kno'well-How say you, cousin? I told you thus much. Well-bred-Where bought you it, Master Stephen?

Stephen Of a scurvy rogue soldier- a hundred of lice go - he swore it was a Toledo.

with him

ter.

Bobadill-A poor provant rapier, no better.

Matthew-Mass, I think it be indeed, now I look on't bet

E. Kno'well-Nay, the longer you look on't, the worse. Put it up, put it up.

Stephen- Well, I will put it up! but by - [To himself.] I have forgot the captain's oath, I thought to have sworn by it an e'er I meet him

Well-bred -O, it is past help now, sir; you must have patience.

Stephen-Whoreson, coney-catching rascal! I could eat the very hilts for anger.

E. Knowell—A sign of good digestion ! you have an ostrich. stomach, cousin.