THE SHEPHERD TO HIS MISTRESS.

MARLOWE.

COME live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valley, grove, and hill, and field,
Woods or steepy mountains yield.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kyrtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle :

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold:

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps, and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

THE STEADFAST SHEPHERD.

WITHER.

HENCE, away, thou Syren, leave me !
Do unclasp these wanton arms !
Sugar'd words can ne'er deceive me,
Though thou prove a thousand charms.
Fie, fie, forbear!

No common snare

Can ever my affection chain :
Thy painted baits,

And poor deceits,

Are all bestow'd on me in vain.

I'm no slave to such as you be,
Nor shall that soft snowy breast,
Rolling eye, and lip of ruby,
Ever rob me of my rest.
Go, go, display

Thy beauty's ray

To some more soon-enamour'd swain :

Those forced wiles

Of sighs and smiles

Are all bestow'd on me in vain.

I have elsewhere vow'd a duty;
Turn away thy tempting eye!
Shew me not thy painted beauty;
These impostures I defy.
My spirit loathes

Where gaudy clothes

And feigned oaths may love obtain:
I love her so

Whose looks swear no,

That all thy labour will be vain.

Can he prize the tainted posies
Which on other's breast are worn,
That may pluck the virgin roses
From the never touched thorn?
I can go rest

On her sweet breast

That is the pride of Cynthia's train:
Then stay thy tongue,
Thy mermaid song

Is all bestow'd on me in vain.

He's a fool that basely dallies

Where each peasant mates with him; Shall I haunt the thronged valleys, Whilst I've noble hills to climb ? No, no ;-though clowns

Are scar'd with frowns,

I know the best can but disdain:
And those I'll prove,

So will thy love

Be all bestow'd on me in vain.

Leave me then, thou Syren, leave me!
Seek no more to work me harms :
Crafty wiles cannot deceive me;
I am proof against your charms.
You labour may

To lead astray

The heart that constant shall remain ;
And I the while

Will sit and smile

To see you spend your time in vain.

ALLANBERG AND HIS HAWK.

ANONYMOUS.

IN Persia's domain there once held his reign
A prince of illustrious fame,

Respect most profound fill'd his subjects around,
At the mention of Allanberg's name;

Till, source of dire woes, in his bosom arose
Fell pride, which, disdaining controul,

Dash'd the joys of his life, and, engendering strife,
With fury fill'd his soul.

But trifles at times, amid ruinous crimes,

A glorious reform may begin,

And paint to the sight, in their own hideous light, The demons of passion and sin.

Such the chance that befell (as old chronicles tell) This Persian monarch so vain :

No pastime had place in his mind but the chase, O'er mountain, or valley, or plain.

Yet the hound and the horn he regarded with

scorn,

Nor the hound nor the horn would employ ; But ever would talk of his favourite Hawk, Which still was his master's joy.

When Allanberg's eye the game might descry,
The signal he made to Zimfrang,

Like the lightning of heaven, when the signal was given,

As nimbly his favourite sprang.

With his courtiers abroad the monarch once rode, When a deer started up on his way;

The Hawk at command flew forth from his hand, And faithfully seiz'd on the prey.

The King sought the place with precipitate pace; His courtiers he left far behind :

Now with anxious look, some meandering brook He search'd all around him to find:

Faint with thirst and with toil, o'er the parching

soil

He wander'd, but wander'd in vain ;By a mountain's side at last he descried A gleam of relief from his pain:

From a rock that was near, some spring-water clear

Trickled down, drop by drop, on the wold; To his quiver he flew, and a little cup he drew, For these gems seem'd more precious than gold.

The blest draught to sip, he applies to his lip
The cup he had patiently fill'd;

When the Hawk at his side flapp'd his pinions wide,

And the stream in a moment spill'd.

Then a second limpid draught he eagerly caught, Which the Bird again dispers'd;

The King with fury shook, and the trembling Hawk he took

"Thou shalt die, thou Fiend accurst!"

Then to finish the strife, he dash'd out the life
Of his favourite Bird on the ground.—
And now from the chase, with an anxious pace,
A servant his master found.