TELL ME DEAREST. P. M. Both. P. M. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. Born 1586-Died 1615. Born 1576-Died 1625. Both. P. M. Tell me dearest what is love? Both. '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, you men first taught to change And till troth Since Be in both, All shall love, to love anew. Tell me more yet, can they grieve? 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 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. Drink to day and drown all sorrow, Wine wakes the heart up, wakes the wit, Then let us swill, boys, for our health; Falls with the leaf, still in October. From the "Bloody Brother, or Rollo, Duke of Normandy," Act 2, Scene 2.1 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 2.1 LAY A GARLAND. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. Lay a garland on my hearse Maidens willow branches bear- My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth, [Sung by Aspatia in "The Maid's Tragedy."] A SONG TO THE LUTE. JOHN FLETCHER. Dearest, do not you delay me, Since, thou know'st, I must be gone; Oh, then speak, thou fairest fair, Kill not him that vows to serve thee; But perfume this neighbouring air [From the "Spanish Curate," Act 2, Scene 4.] MIRTH FILLS THE VEINS WITH BLOOD. BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER. 'Tis mirth that fills the veins with blood, But contented lives for aye; The more he laughs the more he may. [Sung by Merrythought in "The Knight of the Burning Pestle," Act 2, Scene v.] TO HIS MISTRESS. FRANCIS BEAUMONT. Let fools great Cupid's yoke disdain, |