SIMPLICITY.

Still to be neat, still to be dress'd
As you were going to a feast,

Still to be powder'd, still perfumed,-
Lady! it is to be presumed,

Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face
That makes simplicity a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free!
Such sweet neglect more taketh me
Than all the adulteries of art:

They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

SONG OF SATYRS.

A CATCH.

Buzz! quoth the Blue-Fly,
Hum! quoth the Bee
Buzz and hum! they cry,
And so do we.

In his ear! in his nose!

Thus,-do you see?

(They tickle him)

He ate the Dormouse

Else it was he!

TO CELIA.

Drink to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine!
Or leave a kiss but in the cup,
And I'll not look for wine!

The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;

But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

I would not change from thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there

If might not wither'd be :

But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells (I swear)
Not of itself but thee.

THOMAS DEKKER.

1575?-1640?

CONTENT.

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers:
O sweet Content!

Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed :
O punishment!

Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers golden numbers?
O sweet Content! O sweet, O sweet Content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace!

Honest Labour bears a lovely face :
Then hey, nonny, nonny! hey, nonny, nonny!

Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring,
O sweet Content!

Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears:
O punishment!

Then he that patiently Want's burden bears
No burden bears, but is a king, a king:
O sweet Content! O sweet, O sweet Content!
Work apace, apace, apace, apace!
Honest Labour bears a lovely face :
Then hey nonny, nonny! hey nonny, nonny!

JOHN WEBSTER.

1570 ?-1640 ?

DIRGE.

Hark! now every thing is still,

The screech-owl and the whistler shrill
Call upon our Dame aloud,

And bid her quickly don her shroud.
Much you had of land and rent,—
Your length in clay's now competent;
A long war disturb'd your mind,-
Here your perfect peace is sign'd.

Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,

Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet;
Don clean linen; bathe your feet;
And (the foul fiend more to check)

A crucifix let bless your neck!

'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day :
End your groan and come away!

DIRGE.

Call for the robin red-breast and the wren,

Since o'er shady groves they hover
And with leaves and flowers do cover

The friendless bodies of unburied men!

Call unto his funeral dole

The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole,

To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm,

And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm! But keep the wolf far thence that's foe to men!

For with his nails he'll dig them up again.

WILLIAM ROWLEY.

SONG.

Art thou gone in haste,
I'll not forsake thee;
Runnest thou ne'er so fast,
I'll overtake thee:

O'er the dales, o'er the downs,

Through the green meadows,
From the fields, through the towns,
To the dim shadows;

All along the plain,

To the low fountains,

Up and down again

From the high mountains :

Echo then shall again

Tell her I follow,

And the floods to the woods
Carry my holla, holla !

FRANCIS DAVISON.

1575 ?-1619.

WALTER DAVISON.

1581-1602-6.

UPON HER PROTESTING

THAT SHE LOVED HIM.

Lady! you are with beauties so enriched,

Of body and of mind,

As I can hardly find

Which of them all hath most my heart bewitched.

Whether your skin so white, so smooth, so tender, Or face so lovely fair,

Or heart-ensnaring hair,

Or dainty hand, or leg and foot so slender.

Or whether your sharp wit and lively spirit,
Where pride can find no place,

Or your most pleasing grace,

Or speech, which doth true eloquence inherit.

Most lovely all, and each of them doth move me More than words can express;

But yet I must confess

I love you most because you please to love me.

ONLY SHE PLEASES HIM.

Passion may my judgment blear,
Therefore sure I will not swear
That others are not pleasing:

But (I speak it to my pain

And my life shall it maintain)

None else yields my heart easing.

Ladies I do think there be,

Other some as fair as she,

Though none have fairer features;

But my turtle-like affection,

Since of her I made election,

Scorns other fairest creatures.

Surely I will not deny

But some others reach as high

With their sweet warbling voices;
But, since her notes charm'd mine ear,
Even the sweetest tunes I hear

To me seem rude harsh noises.

A COMPARISON.

Some there are as fair to see too,
But by art and not by nature;
Some as tall, and goodly be too,

But want beauty to their stature ;