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The prince who kept the world in awe,
And that (as yet ne'er harbour'd here)
For different tastes please different vermin."
AYE AND NO.
IN Fable all things hold discourse,
Then words, no doubt, must talk of course,
Let Ayes seem Nos, end Nos seem Ayes;
Thus Aye propos'd-and, for reply,
1 Taken from the Miscellanies published by Dr. Swift and Mr. Pope.
DUKE UPON DUKE':
AN EXCELLENT NEW BALLAD.
TO THE TUNE OF, CHEVY - CHACE.
To lordlings proud I tune my lay,
Who feast in bower or hall:
Now that this same it is right sooth,
Full plainly doth appear,
From what befel John duke of Guise2,
When Richard Coeur-de-Lion reign'd,
A word and blow was then enough:
Look in their face, they tweak'd your nose,
Come near, they trod upon your toes;
Of these the duke of Lancastere
Stood paramount in pride;
He kick'd and cuff'd, and tweak'd and trod His foes, and friends beside.
Firm on his front his beaver sate;
So broad, it bid his chin;
For why? he deem'd no man his mate,
With Spanish wool he dy'd his cheek,
Nor could so scratch and tear.
Right tall he made himself to show,
Yet courteous, blithe, and debonnair,
How could they disagree?
Oh, thus it was: he lov'd him dear,
"This eve at whist ourself will play,
"Ah no! ah no!" the guileless Guise Demurely did reply;
I cannot go, nor yet can stand,
So sore the gout have I.
The duke in wrath call'd for his steeds,
And fiercely drove them on;
Lord lord! how rattled then thy stones, O kingly Kensington *!
All in a trice he rush'd on Guise,
Thrust out his lady dear;
He tweak'd his nose, trod on his toes,
But mark, how midst of victory
Fate plays her old dog-trick!
Up leap'd duke John, and knock'd him down, And so down fell duke Nic.
Alas, oh Nic! oh Nic, alas!
Right did thy gossip call thee: As who should say, alas the day
When John of Guise shall maul thee! For on thee did he clap his chair,
And on that chair did sit;
And look'd as if he meant therein what was not fit.
Up didst thou look, oh, woeful duke!
Thy mouth yet durst not ope, Certes for fear of finding there
A t-d instead of trope.
"Lie there, thou caitiff vile!" quoth Guise,
"If thou hast aught to speak, speak out,"
"Knows't thou not me, nor yet thyself? Who thou, and who am I?
"Know'st thou not me, who (God be prais'd) Have brawl'd and quarrel'd more,
Than all the line of Lancastere,
That battled heretofore?
"In senates fam'd for many a speech,
And (what some awe must give ye, Though laid thus low beneath thy breach)
Still of the council privy;
"Still of the dutchy chancellor :
Durante life I have it; And turn, as now thou dost on me, Mine a-e on them that gaye it." But now the servants they rush'd in; And duke Nic, up leap'd he: "I will not cope against such odds, But, Guise! I'll fight with thee: "To morrow with thee will I fight Under the green-wood tree." "No, not to morrow, but to night," (Quoth Guise) "I'll fight with thee."
And now the Sun declining low
Bestreak'd with blood the skies; When, with his sword at saddle-bow, Rode forth the valiant Guise.
Long brandish'd he the blade in air,
Long look'd the field all o'er:
All in that dreadful hour so calm
As if he meant to take the air,
Or only take a fee:
And so he did-for to New Court
His rolling wheels did run:
Not that he shunn'd the doubtful strife;
Back in the dark, by Brompton-park,
Mean-while duke Guise did fret and fume,
Benumb'd beneath the evening dew
Under the green-wood tree.
Then, wet and weary, home he far'd,
"The day I meet him, Nic shall rue
"Mean time on every pissing-post
Now God preserve our gracious king,
May learn this lesson from duke Nic,
A PASTORAL TRAGEDY.
Sunt numina amanti,
Sævit et injustâ lege relicta Venus.
Evander under the name of Lycidas Cleanthes.
Dione under the name of Alexis.
ACT I. SCENE I.
A plain, at the foot of a steep craggy mountain
Lord Lechmere lived at Camden-house, near Way dost thou fly me? Stay, unhappy fair, Kensington. N.
Seek not these horrid caverns of despair;
trace thy steps, the midnight air I bore, ad the brown desert, and unshelter'd moor: ree times the lark has sung his matin lay, 1 rose on dewy wing to meet the day, ce first. I found thee, stretch'd in pensive mood, ere laurels border Ladon's silver flood.
let my soul with grateful thanks o'erflow! to thy hand my daily life I owe.
e the weak lamb, you rais'd me from the plain, > faint to bear bleak winds and beating rain; ch day I share thy bowl and clean repast, ch night thy roof defends the chilly blast. t vain is all thy friendship, vain thy care; get a wretch abandon'd to despair.
spair will fly thee, when thou shalt impart e fatal secret that torments thy heart; close thy sorrows to my faithful ear, truct these eyes to give thee tear for tear. ve, love's the cause; our forests speak thy flame, e rocks have learnt to sigh Evander's name. aultering shame thy bashful tongue restrain, hou hast look'd, and blush'd, and sigh'd in vain; 7, in what grove thy lovely shepherd strays, Il me what mountains warble with his lays; ither I'll speed me, and with moving art aw soft confessions from his melting heart.
y generous care has touch'd my secret woe. ve bids these scalding tears incessant flow. -fated love! O say, ye sylvan maids, ao range wide forests and sequester'd shades, y where Evander bled, point out the ground at yet is purple with the savage wound. nder he lies; I hear the bird of prey; gh o'er those cliffs the raven wings his way; irk how he croaks! he scents the murder near. may no greedy beak his visage tear! ield him, ye Cupids; strip the Paphian grove, id strow unfading myrtle o'er my love! wn, heaving heart.
-The mournful tale disclose.
t not my tears intrude on thy repose.
I speak, though sorrow rend my labouring breast.
hene'er Evander past, my smitten heart eav'd frequent sighs, and felt unusual smart. h! hadst thou seen with what sweet grace he mov'd!
et why that wish? for Laura then had lov'd.
istrust me not; thy secret wrongs impart.
orgive the sallies of a breaking heart. vander's sighs his mutual flame coufest, The growing passion labour'd in his breast;
Yet sure some turtle's love has equal'd mine,
When my fond father saw my faded eye,
1 scorn his honours, and his wealth detest.
How vain is force! Love ne'er can be compell'd.
Though bound my duty, yet my heart rebell'd. One night, when sleep had hush'd all busy spies, And the pale Moon had journey'd half the skies, Softly I rose and dress'd; with silent tread, Unbarr'd the gates, and to these mountains fled.
-If pity move Your generous bosom, pity those who love. There late arriv'd among our sylvan race A stranger shepherd, who with lonely pace Visits those mountain-pines at dawn of day, Where oft Parthenia takes her early way To rouze the chase; mad with his amorous pain, He stops and raves; then sullen walks again. Parthenia's name is borne by passing gales, And talking hills repeat it to the dales. Come, let us from this vale of sorrow go, Nor let the mournful scene prolong thy woe.
[Exeunt. Shepherds and Shepherdesses (crowned with garlands of cypress and yew) bearing the body of Menalcas.
Here gently rest the corse-With faultering breath
How could my stubborn heart relentless prove? Ah, poor Menalcas-all thy fault was love!"
When pitying lions o'er a carcase groan,
When famish'd panthers seek their morning food, And monsters roar along the desert wood;
When hissing vipers rustle through the brake,
What shepherd does not mourn Menalcas slain!
With every grace Menalcas was endow'd,
Why was Parthenia form'd of softest mould?
As fade the flowers which on the grave I cast;
What woman ever counts the fleeting years,
I come to clear a virgin's injur'd name.
This and the following scene are formed upon What heart is proof against that face divine?
the novel of Marcella in Don Quixote.
Love is not in our power.
Why will intruding man my peace destroy?
Now all the n lancholy rites are paid,
Oh! where are honour, faith, and justice, flown? Perjur'd Evander !
-Death has laid him low. Touch not the mournful string that wakes thy woe.
That amorous swain, whom Lycidas you name,
Let not thy frantic words confess despair.
What, know I not his voice, his mien, his air?
-Suspend thy grief, And let my friendly counsel bring relief