was published with his name attached to it, in "The Passionate Pilgrime, and Sonnets to sundry Notes of Musicke, by Mr. William Shakespeare, London, Printed for W. Jaggard, 1599." In the Poetical Miscellany published in 1600, called "England's Helicon," it is given with Marlowe's name-and Isaak Walton in his Angler attributes it to him. Shakspeare makes Parson Evans sing some of the lines when he is waiting to fight Doctor Caius. Marlowe in his "Jew of Malta," 1591, quotes a verse of it. At the end of the volume will be found numerous variations as given in England's Helicon, the versions of Percy, Ritson, and Ellis, with that of Isaak Walton in his Angier. The reader will select the most poetical.]

THE NYMPH'S REPLY.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

Born 1552-Beheaded 1618.

If all the world and love were young,
And truth on every Shepherd's tongue,
These pleasures might my passion move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But fading flowers in every field,
To winter floods their treasures yield;
A honey'd tongue, a heart of gall,
Is Fancy's spring, but Sorrow's fall.

Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Are all soon wither'd, broke, forgotten,
In Folly ripe, in Reason rotten.
Thy belt of straw, and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs,
Can me with no enticements move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But could Youth last, could Love still breed;
Had joys no date, had Age no need;

Then those delights my mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

[Written, Isaak Walton informs us by Raleigh, "in his younger days," and adds, alluding also to Marlowe's song, that it is "old fashioned poetry but choicely good." This copy is given from Sir Egerton Brydges' Edition of Raleigh's Poems-the earliest copy I believe known to exist is that in "England's Helicon," which the reader will find at the end of this volume. The signature "Ignoto," found often in that curious and valuable miscellany, is supposed to be Raleigh's.]

THE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.

[ANOTHER OF THE SAME NATURE MADE SINCE.]

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

Come live with me, and be my dear,
And we will revel all the year,

In plains and groves, on hills and dales,
Where fragrant air breeds sweetest gales.

There shall you have the beauteous pine,
The cedar and the spreading vine;
And all the woods to be a screen,
Lest Phoebus kiss my Summer's Queen,

The seat for your disport shall be,
Over some river in a tree;

Where silver sand, and pebbles sing
Eternal ditties with the spring.

There shall you see the nymphs at play;
And how the satyrs spend the day;
The fishes gliding on the sands,
Offering their bellies to your hands.

The birds with heavenly tuned throats,
Possess woods echoes with sweet notes;
Which to your senses will impart
A music to enflame the heart.

Upon the bare and leafless oak
The ring-doves wooings will provoke
A colder blood than you possess,
To play with me and do no less.

In bowers of laurel trimly dight,
We will outwear the silent night;
While Flora busy is to spread

Her richest treasure on our bed.

Ten thousand glow-worms shall attend,
And all their sparkling lights shall spend,

All to adorn and beautify

Your lodging with most majesty.

Then in mine arms will I enclose,

Lilies' fair mixture with the rose ;*
Whose nice perfections in love's play
Shall tune me to the highest key.

The reader will remember almost the same sentiment, but still

Thus as we pass the welcome night
In sportful pleasures and delight,
The nimble fairies on the grounds,
Shall dance and sing melodious sounds.

If these may serve for to entice
Your presence to love's paradise,
Then come with me and be my dear,
And we will straight begin the year.

[From England's Helicon, where it is printed with the signature Ignoto. There have been many imitators of Marlowe's song, and several parodies grossly indecent.]

HIS LOVE ADMITS NO RIVAL.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

Shall I, like a hermit dwell,
On a rock, or in a cell,
Calling home the smallest part
That is missing of my heart,
To bestow it, where I may
Meet a rival every day?

If she undervalue me,

What care I how fair she be?

more beautifully expressed in the ballad of "Fair Rosamond" given

by Percy:--

The blood within her crystal cheekes.

Did such a colour drive,

As though the lillye and the rose

For mastership did strive.

PERCY'S RELIQUES, vol. 2, p. 161, Ed. 1811.

Were her tresses angel-gold,*

If a stranger may be bold,
Unrebuked, unafraid,.

To convert them to a braid;
And with little more ado
Work them into bracelets, too!

If the mine be grown so free,
What care I how rich it be?

Were her hands as rich a prize
As her hairs or precious eyes;
If she lay them out to take
Kisses, for good-manners sake;
And let every lover skip
From her hand unto her lip;

No;

If she seem not chaste to me
What care I how chaste she be?

she must be perfect snow,
In effect as well as show,

Warming but as snow-balls do
Not like fire, by burning too;
But when she by change hath got
To her heart a second lot;

Then, if others share with me,
Farewell her, whate'er she be !

[Sir Egerton Brydges has admitted this piece into his edition of Raleigh's poems, but says he has strong doubts whether it should be attributed to Sir Walter's pen. It looks certainly more like one of George Wither's conceits.]

* Gold coined into Angels was so termed, being of a finer kind than crown gold. PARK.