And enamoured, do wish so they might
But enjoy such a sight;

That they still were to run by her side,

Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light

All that Love's world compriseth!

Do but look on her hair, it is bright
As Love's star when it riseth!

Do but mark her forehead's smoother

Than words that soothe her!

And from her arched brows, such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,

As alone there triumphs to the life

All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow

Before rude hands have touched it? Ha' you marked but the fall o' the snow Before the soil hath smutched it? Ha' you felt the wool of beaver?

Or swan's down ever?

Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier?

Or the nard in the fire?

Or have tasted the bag of the bee?

O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!

LVIII.

THE DEDICATION OF THE KING'S NEW CELLAR TO BACCHUS.

INCE, Bacchus, thou art father

Of wines, to thee the rather

We dedicate this cellar,

Where new, thou art made dweller ;

And seal thee thy commission:

But 'tis with a condition,

That thou remain here taster

Of all to the great master.

And look unto their faces,

Their qualities and races,
That both their odour take him,

And relish merry make him.

For, Bacchus, thou art freer

Of cares, and overseer

Of feast and merry meeting,
And still begin'st the greeting:
See then thou dost attend him,
Lyæus, and defend him,
By all the arts of gladness
From any thought like sadness.

So may'st thou still be younger

Than Phoebus, and much stronger,
To give mankind their eases,
And cure the world's diseases:

So may the Muses follow
Thee still, and leave Apollo
And think thy stream more quicker

Than Hippocrene's liquor:

And thou make many a poet
Before his brain do know it;
So may there never quarrel
Have issue from the barrel;
But Venus and the Graces
Pursue thee in all places,

And not a song be other
Than Cupid and his mother.

That when King James above here
Shall feast it, thou may'st love there
The causes and the guests too,
And have thy tales and jests too,

Thy circuits and thy rounds free,
As shall the feast's fair grounds be.

Be it he hold communion

In great Saint George's union;
Or gratulates the passage
Of some well-wrought embassage :
Whereby he may knit sure up

The wished peace of Europe:

Or else a health advances,
To put his Court in dances,
And set us all on skipping,
When with his royal shipping
The narrow seas are shady,

And Charles brings home the lady.

Accessit fervor capiti, numerusque lucernis.

LIX.

S it fell upon a day,

RICHARD BARNFIELD, 1574-1627.

In the merry month of May,

Sitting in a pleasant shade,

Which a grove of myrtles made.

Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,

Trees did grow, and plants did spring :
Every thing did banish moan,

Save the nightingale alone.

She poor bird, as all forlorn,

Leaned her breast against a thorn,

And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity.

Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry

Teru, teru, by and by.

That to hear her so complain,

Scarce I could from tears refrain.

For her griefs so lively shown,
Made me think upon mine own.
Ah! thought I, thou mourn'st in vain,
None takes pity on thy pain.

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee,

Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee.