Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul, Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down, Hey derry derry down-a-down! Troll the bowl, the nut-brown bowl, And here kind, &c. (as often as there be men to drink). At last, when all have drunk, this verse. 0, Cold's the wind, and wet 's the rain, THE MERRY MONTH OF MAY. THE month of May, the merry month of May, So frolic, so gay, and so green, so green, so green! O, and then did I unto my true love say, Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer's queen. Now the nightingale, the pretty nightingale, Entreats thee, sweet Peggy, to hear thy true love's tale; But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo; O, the month of May, the merry month of May, Sweet Peg, thou shalt be my summer's queen. CONTENT. ART thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? O sweet Content! Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? Dost laugh to see how fools are vexed Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Then hey noney, noney; hey noney, noney. Canst drink the waters of the crispèd spring? Swim'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? Then he that patiently Want's burden bears O sweet Content, O sweet, O sweet Content! Work apace, apace, &c. - LULLABY. OLDEN slumbers kiss your eyes, GOL Smiles awake you when you rise. Rock them, rock them, lullaby. Care is heavy, therefore sleep you. You are care, and care must keep you. Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, And I will sing a lullaby, Rock them, rock them, lullaby. THE GIFTS OF FORTUNE AND CUPID. Fortune. E a merchant, I will freight thee BE With all store that time is bought for. Cupid. Be a lover, I will wait thee With success in life most sought for. Fortune. Be enamoured on bright honour, And thy greatness shall shine glorious. Cupid. Chastity, if thou smile on her, Shall grow servile, thou victorious. Fortune. Be a warrior, conquest ever Shall triumphantly renown thee. Cupid. Be a courtier, beauty never Shall but with her duty crown thee. I'm thy slave, thy power hath bound me. Both. ROBERT DEVEREUX, EARL OF ESSEX. (1567-1601.) "A PASSION OF MY LORD OF ESSEX.” From Ashm. MS. 781. In Grosart's edition of Essex in vol. iv. of the Miscellanies of the Fuller Worthies' Library. It is said to have been inclosed in a letter to the queen from Ireland, in 1599. APPY were he could finish forth his fate HAPP In some unhaunted desert, most obscure From all societies, from love and hate Of worldly folk; then might he sleep secure; Then wake again, and ever give God praise, Content with hips and haws and bramble-berry; In contemplation spending all his days, And change of holy thoughts to make him merry; Where, when he dies, his tomb may be a bush, Where harmless robin dwells with gentle thrush. JOHN DONNE. From Poems, 1633. Although not published till after the author's death, almost all of Donne's poetry was written in his youth, before 1600. The Ode to Absence appeared in Davison's Poetical Rhapsody, 1602. Donne's poems are reprinted in Chalmer's Poets; in Grosart s edition, two vols., 1872; and in the Muses' Library, edited by Mr. E. K. Chambers, two vols., 1895. The Sonnet to Death was written before 1607, and the Hymn to God the Father in 1627. A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING. S virtuous men pass mildly away, As And whisper to their souls to go, Whilst some of their sad friends do say, "Now his breath goes", and some say “No”; So let us melt and make no noise, No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move, 'T were profanation of our joys, To tell the laity our love. Moving of th' earth brings harm and fears, But trepidation of the spheres, Dull sublunary lovers' love, Whose soul is sense, cannot admit Those things which elemented it. But we by a love so far refined, Careless eyes, lips, and hands, to miss; Our two souls therefore, which are one, Like gold to airy thinness beat. If they be two, they are two so And though it in the centre sit, Yet when the other far doth roam, It leans and hearkens after it, And grows erect as that comes home. Such wilt thou be to me, who must, Thy firmness makes my circle just, WHOEVER THE FUNERAL. HOEVER comes to shroud me, do not harm That subtle wreath of hair about mine arm; The mystery, the sign, you must not touch, Viceroy to that which, unto heaven being gone, And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution. |