WOMEN ARE BUT MEN'S SHADOWS.

BEN JONSON.

Follow a shadow, it still flies you,
Seem to fly it, it will pursue:
So court a mistress, she denies you;
Let her alone, she will court you.
Say are not women truly, then,
Styl'd but the shadows of us men?

At morn and even shades are longest;
At noon they are or short, or none :
So men at weakest, they are strongest,
But grant us perfect, they're not known.
Say are not women truly, then,
Styl'd but the shadows of us men.

WHAT JUST EXCUSE.

BEN JONSON.

What just excuse had aged Time,

His
weary

limbs now to have eased,

And sate him down without his crime,

While every thought was so much pleased!

But he so greedy to devour

His own, and all that he brings forth,
Is eating every piece of hour,

Some object of the rarest worth-
Yet this is rescued by his rage,

As not to die by time, or age:

For beauty hath a living name,

And will to heaven, from whence it came.

[Sung after the last Masque Dance in " Love freed from Ignorance and Folly."]

OH DO NOT WANTON.

BEN JONSON.

Oh do not wanton with those eyes,
Lest I be sick with seeing;

Nor cast them down, but let them rise,
Lest shame destroy their being.

O be not angry with those fires,
For then their threats will kill me;
Nor look too kind on my desires,
For then my hopes will spill me.

O do not steep them in thy tears,
For so will sorrow slay me;
Nor spread them as distract with fears;

Mine own enough betray me.

[Mr. Gifford writes-" With respect to the present song, if it be not the most beautiful in the language, I freely confess, for my own part, that I know not where it is to be found." Gifford's Ben Jonson, vol. 8, p. 319.]

DANCING SONG.

BEN JONSON.

Come on, come on! and where you go,
So interweave the curious knot,
As ev'n the observer scarce may know
Which lines are Pleasure's, and which not.

First figure out the doubtful way,

At which a while all youth should stay,
Where she and Virtue did contend

Which should have Hercules to friend.

Then as all actions of mankind
Are but a labyrinth or maze:
So let your dances be entwined,
Yet not perplex men unto gaze :

But measur'd, and so numerous too,
As men may read each act they do ;

And when they
Admire the wisdom of your feet.

see the graces meet

For dancing is an exercise,

Not only shows the mover's wit,
But maketh the beholder wise,
As he hath power to rise to it.

[Sung by "Daedalus the wise," before the first dance in the Masque

of " Pleasure reconciled to Virtue."]

ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW.

From Oberon, in fairye land,

The king of ghosts and shadowes there,
Mad Robin I, at his command,

Am sent to viewe the night-sports here.
What revell rout

Is kept about,

In every corner where I go,

I will o'ersee,

And merry bee,

And make good sport, with ho, ho, ho!

More swift than lightning can I flye

About this aery welkin soone,

And, in a minutes space, descrye

Each thing that's done belowe the moone,

There's not a hag

Or ghost shall wag,

Or cry, ware Goblins! where I go;

But Robin I

Their feats will spy,

And send them home, with ho, ho, ho!

Whene'er such wanderers I meete,

As from their night-sports they trudge home,

With counterfeiting voice I greete

And call them on, with me to roame

Thro' woods, thro' lakes,

Thro' bogs, thro' brakes;

Or else, unseene with them I go,

All in the nicke

To play some tricke

And frolicke it, with ho, ho, ho!

Sometimes I meete them like a man ;
Sometimes an ox, sometimes a hound;
And to a horse I turn me can;

To trip and trot about them round,
But if to ride

My backe they stride,

More swift than wind away I go,
Ore hedge and lands,

Thro' pools and ponds

I whirry, laughing, ho, ho, ho!

When lads and lasses merry be,
With possets and with juncates fine;
Unseene of all the company,

I eat their cakes and sip their wine;
And to make sport,

I —

and snort;

And out the candles I do blow.

The maides I kiss.

They shrieke-who's this!

I answer nought, but ho, ho, ho!

Yet now and then, the maids to please,
At midnight I card up their wooll;
And while they sleepe, and take their ease,
With wheel to threads their flax I pull.
I grind at mill

Their malt up still;