Now little fish on tender stone

Begin to cast their bellies,

And sluggish snails, that erst were mewed,
Do creep out of their shellies;
The rumbling rivers now do warm,
For little boys to paddle;

The sturdy steed now goes to grass,
And up they hang his saddle;
The heavy hart, the blowing buck,
The rascal, and the pricket,
Are now among the yeoman's pease,
And leave the fearful thicket;
And be like them, oh, you, I say,
Of this same noble town,
And lift aloft your velvet heads,
And slipping off your gown,
With bells on legs, and napkins clean

Unto your shoulders tied,

With scarfs and garters as you please,
And 'Hey for our town!' cried,
March out, and shew your willing minds,
By twenty and by twenty,
To Hogsdon, or to Newington,

Where ale and cakes are plenty;
And let it ne'er be said for shame,
That we the youths of London
Lay thrumming of our caps at home,
And left our custom undone.
Up then, I say, both young and old,
Both man and maid a-maying,
With drums and guns that bounce aloud,
And merry tabor playing!

Which to prolong, God save our king,

And send his country peace,

And root out treason from the land!

And so, my friends, I cease.

THE MAID IN THE MILL.*

LET THE MILL GO ROUND.

OW having leisure, and a happy wind,

Now

Thou mayst at pleasure cause the stones to grind;

Sails spread, and grist have ready to be ground;

Fy, stand not idly, but let the mill go round!

How long shall I pine for love?
How long shall I sue in vain?
How long like the turtle-dove,

Shall I heavily thus complain?
Shall the sails of my love stand still?
Shall the grist of my hopes be unground?

Oh fy, oh fy, oh fy!

Let the mill, let the mill go round!

WOMEN PLEASED.

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

fair sweet face! oh, eyes celestial bright, Twin stars in heaven, that now adorn the night! Oh, fruitful lips, where cherries ever grow,

And damask cheeks, where all sweet beauties blow!
Oh thou, from head to foot divinely fair!
Cupid's most cunning net's made of that hair;
And, as he weaves himself for curious eyes,
'Oh me, oh me, I'm caught myself!' he cries:
Sweet rest about thee, sweet and golden sleep,
Soft peaceful thoughts your hourly watches keep,
Whilst I in wonder sing this sacrifice,
To beauty sacred, and those angel eyes!

WHAT WOMEN MOST DESIRE.

Question. TELL

ELL me what is that only thing
For which all women long;

Yet having what they most desire,
To have it does them wrong?

*The joint production of Fletcher and W. Rowley,

Answer. 'Tis not to be chaste, nor fair,
(Such gifts malice may impair,)
Richly trimmed, to walk or ride,
Or to wanton unespied;

To preserve an honest name,
And so to give it up to fame;
These are toys. In good or ill
They desire to have their will:
Yet, when they have it, they abuse it,
For they know not how to use it.*

CUPID'S REVENGE.

SACRIFICE TO CUPID.

COME, my children, let your feet

In an even measure meet,

And your cheerful voices rise,
To present this sacrifice

To great Cupid, in whose name,
I his priest begin the same.

Young men, take your loves and kiss;
Thus our Cupid honored is;

Kiss again, and in your kissing
Let no promises be missing;
Nor let any maiden here
Dare to turn away her ear

Unto the whisper of her love,

But give bracelet, ring, or glove,
As a token to her sweeting,
Of an after secret meeting.

Now, boy, sing, to stick our hearts
Fuller of great Cupid's darts.

This solution of the question is to be found in the Wife of Bath's Tale, and, doubtless, was a common saw from time immemorial. But Chaucer spares the ladies the ungallant commentary with which the song closes.

THE DRAMATISTS.

11

LOVERS REJOICE!

LOVERS, rejoice! your pains shall be rewarded, The god of love himself grieves at your crying; No more shall frozen honor be regarded,

Nor the coy faces of a maid denying.

No more shall virgins sigh, and say 'We dare not,
'For men are false, and what they do they care not.'
All shall be well again; then do not grieve;
Men shall be true, and women shall believe.

Lovers, rejoice! what you shall say henceforth,
When you have caught your sweethearts in your arms,
It shall be accounted oracle and worth;

No more faint-hearted girls shall dream of harms,
And cry 'They are too young'; the god hath said,
Fifteen shall make a mother of a maid:

Then, wise men, pull your roses yet unblown;
Love hates the too-ripe fruit that falls alone.

PRAYER TO CUPID.

YUPID, pardon what is past,

And forgive our sins at last!

Then we will be coy no more,
But thy deity adore;

Troths at fifteen we will plight,
And will tread a dance each night,
In the fields, or by the fire,

With the youths that have desire.
Given ear-rings we will wear,

Bracelets of our lovers' hair,

Which they on our arms shall twist,

With their names carved, on our wrist;

All the money that we owe*

We in tokens will bestow;

* Own-possess.

And learn to write that, when 'tis sent,
Only our loves know what is meant.
Oh, then pardon what is past,
And forgive our sins at last!

THE TWO NOBLE KINSMEN.*

A BRIDAL SONG.

ROSES, their sharp spines being gone,

Not royal in their smells alone,
But in their hue;
Maiden-pinks, of odour faint,
Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true;

Primrose, first-born child of Ver,
Merry spring-time's harbinger,
With her bells dim;

Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
Lark-heels trim.

All, dear Nature's children sweet,
Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet,
Blessing their sense!

Not an angel of the air,

Bird melodious, or bird fair,

Be absent hence!

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough hoar,t

* Stated in the first 4to edition, 1634, to be the joint production of Fletcher and Shakespeare.

In the old editions, this line runs

'The boding raven, nor clough he;'

Mr. Seward altered it as above, to respond to the rhyme and the sense. There is some difficulty in accepting the original reading. Clough means a break or valley in the side of a hill, and the poet is