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But, if the house be swept,
And from uncleanness kept,
We praise the household maid,

And duely she is paid :
For we use before we goe
To drop a tester in her shoe.

Upon a mushroomes head
Our table cloth we spread ;
A grain of rye, or wheat,

Is manchet, which we eat ;
Pearly drops of dew we drink
In acorn cups fill'd to the brink.

The brains of nightingales,
With unctuous fat of snailes,
Between two cockles stew'd,

Is meat that's easily chew'd;
Tailes of wormes, and marrow of mice
Do make a dish that's wonderous nice.

The grasshopper, gnat, and fly,
Serve for our minstrelsie ;
Grace said, we dance awhile,

And so the time beguile :
And if the moon doth hide her head,
The glow-worm lights us home to bed.

On tops of dewy grass
So nimbly do we pass,
The young and tender stalk

Ne'er bends when we do walk :
Yet in the morning may be seen
Where we the night before have been.

[Printed from Percy's text. Its author has been well acquainted with the "Robin Goodfellow" in the page before.]

CLOUDS AWAY, AND WELCOME DAY.

THOMAS HEYWOOD.

Born about 1580.

Pack clouds away, and welcome day,

With night we banish sorrow; . Sweet air blow soft, mount larks 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 both I'll borrow.

Wake from thy nest, Robin-red-breast,

Sing birds in every furrow;
And from each hill, let music shrill,

Give my fair love good morrow.
Black bird, and thrush, in every bush,

Stare, linnet and cock-sparrow!
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves,

Sing my fair love good-morrow.
To give my love good-morrow,
Sing birds in every furrow.

[From “ Pleasant Dialogues and Dramas, &c." 1607.)

TELL ME DEAREST.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

Born 1586—Died 1615. Born 1576—Died 1625.

P. M.

Both.

Tell me dearest what is love?
'Tis a lightning from above;

'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,
'Tis a boy they call Desire

'Tis a grave

Gapes to have
Those poor

fools that long to prove.
Tell me more are women true?
Yes, some are, and some as you.

Some are willing, some are strange,
Since you men first taught to change

And till troth

Be in both,
All shall love, to love anew.

P.

Both.

P. M.

Tell me more yet, can they grieve?
Yes, and sicken sore, but live!

And be wise, and delay
When you men are wise as they

Then I see,

Faith will be,
Never till they both believe.

Both.

(From the Comedy of " The Captain," Act 2, Scene 2.

Part of it is

found in the “ Knight of the Burning Pestle," Act 3, Scene 2, standing thus :

Jasp. Tell me dearest what is love?
Luce. 'Tis a lightning from above ;

'Tis an arrow, 'tis a fire,
"Tis a boy they call Desire.

'Tis a smile

Doth beguile
The poor hearts of men that prove.

Jasp.

Luce.
Jasp.
Luce.
Jasp.
Luce.

Tell me more are women true ?
Some love change and so do you.

Are they fair and never kind?
Yes, when men turn with the wind.

Are they froward

Ever toward
Those that love, to love anew.

It is a very common question with our old poets, " What is love." See Greene's Works, vol. 2, p. 276. Drummond of Hawthornden's Poems, Ed. 1833, p. 250, and Raleigh's Poems, by Brydges, p. 20.]

DRINKING SONG.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

use

Drink to day and drown all sorrow,
You shall perhaps not do it to-morrow.
Best while you have it

se your breath;
There is no drinking after death.
Wine wakes the heart up, wakes the wit,
There is no cure 'gainst age but it.
It helps the head-ache, cough and ptisic,
And is for all diseases physic.

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(From the "Bloody Brother, or Rollo, Duke of Normandy," Act 2,

Scene 2.)

TO LOVE

JOHN FLETCHER.

Merciless love, whom Nature hath denied
The use of eyes, lest thou shouldst take a pride,
And glory in thy murders, why am I,
That never yet transgress'd thy deity,
Never broke vow, from whose eyes never flow
Disdainful dart, whose hard heart never slow,
Thus ill-rewarded? Thou art young and fair,
Thy mother soft and gentle as the air,
Thy holy fire still burning, blown with prayer :
Then everlasting Love, restrain thy will ;
'Tis godlike to have power but not to kill.

[From "The Chances," Act 2, Scene 2.)

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