Lapas attēli
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My tender, first, and simple years
Thou didst abuse, and then betray;
Since stirr❜dst up jealousies and fears,
When all the causes were away.

Then in a soil hast planted me,

Where breathe the basest of thy fools; Where envious arts professed be,

And pride and ignorance the schools: Where nothing is examin'd, weigh'd, But as 'tis rumour'd, so believed; Where every freedom is betray'd,

And every goodness tax'd or grieved.
But what we're born for, we must bear :
Our frail condition it is such,
That what to all may happen here,

If't chance to me, I must not grutch.
Else I my state should much mistake,
To harbour a divided thought
From all my kind; that for my sake,
There should a miracle be wrought.

No, I do know that I was born

To age, misfortune, sickness, grief: But I will bear these with that scorn, As shall not need thy false relief.

Nor for my peace will I

go far,

As wanderers do, that still do roam; But make my strengths, such as they are, Here in my bosom, and at home.

V.

SONG.

TO CELIA.

OME, my Celia, let us prove,1
While we may, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours for ever:
He at length our good will sever.
Spend not then his gifts in vain.
Suns that set, may rise again;
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumour are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor houshold spies;
Or his easier ears beguile,
So removed by our wile?
'Tis no sin love's fruit to steal,

But the sweet theft to reveal:

To be taken, to be seen,

These have crimes accounted been.

VI.

TO THE SAME.

ISS me, sweet: the wary lover
Can your favours keep, and cover,
When the common courting jay
All
your bounties will betray.

Kiss again no creature comes.

Kiss, and score up wealthy sums

Come, my Celia, &c.] This beautiful song is to be found in

On my lips thus hardly sundred,
While you breathe. First give a hundred,
Then a thousand, then another
Hundred, then unto the other
Add a thousand, and so more :
Till you equal with the store,
All the grass that Rumney yields,
Or the sands in Chelsea fields,
Or the drops in silver Thames,
Or the stars that gild his streams,
In the silent Summer-nights,
When youths ply their stolen delights ;
That the curious may not know
How to tell 'em as they flow,

And the envious, when they find
What their number is, be pined.

VII.

SONG.

THAT WOMEN ARE BUT MEN'S SHADOWS.

SOLLOW a shadow, it still flies you,
Seem to fly it, it will pursue :
So court a mistress, she denies you;
Let her alone, she will court you.

Say are not women truly, then,
Styl'd but the shadows of us men?

At morn and even shades are longest ;
At noon they are or short, or none:
So men at weakest, they are strongest,

But grant us perfect, they're not known.

the Fox. See vol. iii. p. 247. Whalley says, "this, and the following are translations from Catullus." Translations, they certainly are not; but very elegant and happy imitations of particular passages in that poet.

Say are not women truly, then,
Styl'd but the shadows of us men?

VIII.

SONG.

TO SICKNESS.

HY, Disease, dost thou molest
Ladies, and of them the best?
Do not men enow of rites

To thy altars, by their nights
Spent in surfeits; and their days,
And nights too, in worser ways?
Take heed, Sickness, what you do,
I shall fear you'll surfeit too.
Live not we, as all thy stalls,
Spittles, pest-house, hospitals,
Scarce will take our present store?
And this age will build no more.
'Pray thee, feed contented then,
Sickness, only on us men;

Or if it needs thy lust will taste
Woman-kind; devour the waste
Livers, round about the town.

But, forgive me,—with thy crown
They maintain the truest trade,
And have more diseases made.

What should yet thy palate please? Daintiness, and softer ease, Sleeked limbs, and finest blood? If thy leanness love such food, There are those, that for thy sake, Do enough; and who would take Any pains; yea, think it price, To become thy sacrifice.

That distill their husband's land
In decoctions; and are mann'd
With ten emp'rics, in their chamber,
Lying for the spirit of amber.
That for the oil of talc dare spend
More than citizens dare lend5
Them, and all their officers.
That to make all pleasure theirs,
Will by coach, and water go,
Every stew in town to know;
Dare entail their loves on any,
Bald or blind, or ne'er so many :
And for thee at common game,
Play away health, wealth, and fame.
These, Disease, will thee deserve;
And will long, ere thou should'st starve,
On their beds, most prostitute,

Move it, as their humblest suit,

In thy justice to molest

None but them, and leave the rest.

IX.

SONG.

TO CELIA.®

RINK 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:

5 That for the oil of talc dare spend

More than citizens dare lend.] See vol. iv. p. 90. Whalley has strangely confounded this cosmetic with a nauseous unction for the tick in sheep.

6 No part of Jonson has been so frequently quoted as this song,

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