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BEAUMONT-FLETCHER.

103

With a waiting-gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat,
Who, when her lady has dined, lets the servants not eat.

Like a young courtier, &c.
With new titles of honour bought with his father's old gold,
For which sundry of his ancestor's old manors are sold;
And this is the course most of our new gallants hold,
Which makes that good house-keeping is now grown so cold,
Among the young courtiers of the king, Or the

king's young courtiers.

XLVIII. FRANCIS BEAUMONT,

AND
XLIX. JOHN FLETCHER.

1. ADDRESS TO MARS !
Thou mighty one, that with thy power hast turn'd
Green Neptune into purple, whose approach
Comets pre-warn, whose havoc in vast field
Unearthéd skulls proclaim, whose breath blows down
The teeming Ceres foison, who dost pluck,
With hand armipotent, from forth blue clouds,
The mason'd turrets: that both mak’st and break'st
The stony girths of cities, me, thy pupil,
Youngest follower of thy drum, instruct this day,
With military skill; that to thy praise
I
may
advance

my streamer, and by thee
Be styled the lord of the day. Give me, great Mars,
Some token of thy pleasure.
Oh! great corrector of enormous times,
Shaker of o'er-rank states, and thou grand decider
Of dusty and old titles, that heal'st with blood
The earth, when it is sick, and curest the world
Of the plurisy of the people, I do take
Thy signs auspiciously, and in thy name
To my design march boldly ; let us go.

2. THE PRINCE'S DESCRIPTION OF HIS PAGE.
I found him sitting by a fountain's side,
Of which he borrowed some to quench his thirst,
And paid the nymph as much again in tears.
A garland laid him by, made by himself,

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Of many several flowers bred in the bay,
Stuck in that mystic order, that the rareness
Delighted me: but, ever when he turned
His tender eyes upon them, he would weep,
As if he meant to make 'em grow again.

Seeing such pretty helpless innocence
Dwell in his face, I asked him all his story.
He told me that his parents gentle died
Leaving him to the mercy of the fields,
Which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs,
Which did not stop their courses ; and the sun,
Which still, he thanked him, yielded him his light.
Then took he up his garland, and did show
What every flower, as country people hold,
Did signify; and how all, ordered thus,
Expressed his grief; and, to my thoughts, did read
The prettiest lecture of his country art
That could be wished; so that methought I could
Have studied it. I gladly entertained him,
Who was as glad to follow ; and have got
The trustiest, lovingest, and the gentlest boy
That ever master kept.

3. FOLDING THE FLOCKS.
Shepherds all, and maidens fair,
Fold the flocks up; for the air
'Gins to thicken, and the sun
Already his great race hath run.
See the dew drops how they kiss
Every little flower that is ;
Hanging on their velvet heads,
Like a string of crystal beads.
See the heavy clouds low falling,
And bright Hesperus down calling
The dead night from under ground;
At whose rising, mists unsound,
Damps and vapours, fly apace,
And hover o'er the smiling face
Of these pastures where they come,
Striking dead both bud and bloom :

BEAUMONT-FLETCIIER.

105

a

or kid

Therefore from such danger lock
Every one his lovèd flock;
And let your dogs lie loose withont,
Lest the wolf come as a scout
From the mountain, and ere day,
Bear lamb

away;
Or the crafty, thievish fox,
Break

upon your simple flocks;
To secure yourself from these
Be not too secure in ease;
So shall you good shepherds prove,
And deserve

your

master's love.
Now, good night! may sweetest slumbers
And soft silence fall in numbers
On your eyelids : so farewell :
Thus I end my evening knell.

4. UNFOLDING THE FLOCKS.
Shepherds, rise and shake off sleep-
See the blushing morn doth peep
Through your windows while the sun
To the mountain-tops has run,
Gilding all the vales below
With his rising flames which grow
Brighter with his climbing still-
Up! ye lazy swains ! and fill
Bag and bottle for the field;
Clasp your cloaks fast, lest they yield
To the bitter north-east wind;
Call the maidens up, and find
Who lie longest, that she may
Be chidden for untimed delay.
Feed your faithful dogs and pray,
Heaven to keep you from decay;
So unfold and then away.

L. PHINEAS FLETCHER.

THE HAPPINESS OF A COUNTRY LIFE. Thrice, oh, thrice happy. shepherd's life and state! When courts are happiness' unhappy pawns :

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His cottage low, and safely humble gate, Shuts out proud Fortune with her scorns and fawns ;

No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep:

Singing all day, his flock he learns to keep: Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep.

No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread Draw out their silken lives :-nor silken pride;

His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need, Not in that proud Sidonian tincture dyed :

No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright;

Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite; But sweet content exiles both misery and spite.

Instead of music and base flattering tongues, Which wait to first salute my lord's uprise;

The cheerful lark wakes him with early songs, And birds' sweet whistling notes unlock his eyes.

In country plays is all the strife he uses,

Or song, or dance, unto the rural Muses, And but in music's sports all difference refuses.

His certain life, that never can deceive him, Is full of thousand sweets and rich content:

The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him With coolest shades, till noontide's rage is spent;

His life is neither tost in boisterous seas

Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease : Pleased and full blest he lives, when he his God can please.

His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps, While by his side his faithful spouse hath place;

His little son into his bosom creeps, The lively picture of his father's face :

Never his humble house or state torment him :

Loss he could like, if less his God had sent him; And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy tomb, content

[him. LI. GILES FLETCHER.

1. THE SPRING. The engladdened spring, forgetful now to weep, Began to emblazon from her leafy bed :

FLETCHER—MASSINGER.

207

The waking swallow broke her half-year's sleep,
And every bush lay deeply purpuréd
With violets, the woodos late wintry head

Wide flaming primroses set all on fire,

And his bald trees put on their green attire, Among whose infant leaves the joyous birds conspire.

Say, Earth, why hast thou got thee new attire, And stick'st thy habit full of daisies red ?

Seems that thou dost to some high thoughts aspire, And some new-found-out bridegroom mean’st to wed: Tell me, ye trees, so fresh apparelléd,

So never let the spiteful canker waste you,

So never let the heavens with lightnings blast you, Why go you now so trimly drest, or whither haste you?

2. THE DYING STAG. Low in a grassy dingle he was laid,

With wild wood-primroses befreckled; Over his head the wanton shadows played

Of a young olive, that her boughs so spread,

As with her leaves she seemed to crown his head,
And here he came pierced with a fatal blow,

As in a wood he walked securely feeding,
And Seling death swim in his endless bleeding,

His heavy head his fainting strength exceeding,
Bade farewell to the woods that round him wave,
While tears from drooping flowers bedew his turfy grave.

LII. PHILIP MASSINGER.
1. THE SOLDIER'S CLAIM.

To

you, my lord, I will
Address my speech, and, with a soldier's freedom
In my reproof, return the bitter scoff
You threw upon my poverty: you contemn'd
My coarser outside, and from that concluded,
(As by your groom you made me understand)
I was unworthy to sit at your table,
Among these tissues and embroideries,
Unless I changed my habit; I have done it,
And show myself in that which I have worn--

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