some degree confirmed by an allusion of his own to 'the time of his residence at Cambridge.' The following curious notice of Heywood, in which an allusion is made to the poverty under which he suffered at one period of his life, if not throughout his whole career of labour and struggle, is extracted from a poem on the Times' Poets, published by Mr. Halliwell amongst the miscellaneous papers of the Shakespeare Society. It occurs in a very scarce volume, bearing the date of 1656, and entitled Choyce Drollery, Songs, and Sonnets, being a collection of divers excellent pieces of poetry of several eminent authors, never before printed: The squibbling Middleton, and Heywood sage, The apologetic Atlas of the stage; Well of the Golden Age he could entreat, Threescore sweet babes he fashioned from the lump, For he was christened in Parnassus' pump, The Muses gossip to Aurora's bed, And ever since that time his face was red.] THE RAPE OF LUCRECE. NOW WHAT IS LOVE? OW what is love I will thee tell, Where pleasure and repentance dwell: It is perhaps the sansing bell,* That rings all in to heaven or hell, And this is love, and this is love, as I hear tell. Now what is love I will you show: A thing that creeps and cannot go; And this is love, and this is love, sweet friend, I trow. * Sanctus bell, or Saint's bell, that called to prayers. TAVERN SIGNS. THE gentry to the King's Head, The nobles to the Crown, The knights unto the Golden Fleece, The gardener hies him to the Rose, To the Feathers, ladies, you; the Globe The usurer to the Devil, and The townsman to the Horn. The huntsman to the White Hart, The banquerout to the World's End, The fiddler to the Pie. The punk unto the Cockatrice, The beggar to the Bush, then meet, THE DEATH BELL. COME, list and hark, the bell doth toll For some but now departing soul. And was not that some ominous fowl, The bat, the night-crow, or screech-owl? To these I hear the wild wolf howl, In this black night that seems to scowl. All these my black-book death enroll, For hark, still, still, the bell doth toll For some but now departing soul. LOVE'S MISTRESS; OR, THE QUEEN'S MASQUE. THE PRAISES OF PAN. HOU that art called the bright Hyperion, Wert thou more strong than Spanish Geryon That had three heads upon one man, Compare not with our great god Pan. They call thee son of bright Latona, What cares he for the great god Neptune, Then thou that art the heavens' bright eye, Or burn, or scorch, or broil, or fry, Be thou a god, or be thou man, They call thee Phoebus, god of day, Years, months, weeks, hours, of March and May; Bring up thy army in the van, We'll meet thee with our pudding Pan. Thyself in thy bright chariot settle, Thou hast thy beams thy brows to deck, FIRST PART OF KING EDWARD IV. AGINCOURT. AGINCOURT, Agincourt! know ye not Agincourt? English slew and hurt All the French foemen? With our guns and bills brown, W THE SILVER AGE. HARVEST-HOME. ITH fair Ceres, Queen of Grain, The reaped fields we roam, roam, roam: Echo, double all our lays, Make the champaigns sound, sound, sound, To the Queen of Harvest's praise, That sows and reaps our ground, ground, ground. Ceres, Queen of Plenty, hallows Growing fields, as well as fallows. THE FAIR MAID OF THE EXCHANGE. YE GO, PRETTY BIRDS. E little birds that sit and sing And see how Phillis sweetly walks, Go, pretty birds, about her bower; Go, tell her, through your chirping bills, As you by me are bidden, To her is only known my love, Which from the world is hidden. Go, tune your voices' harmony, Strain loud and sweet, that every note Oh, fly! make haste! see, see, she falls Sing round about her rosy bed, That waking, she may wonder. A CHALLENGE FOR BEAUTY. THE THE NATIONS. HE Spaniard loves his ancient slop; And some like breechless women go, The thrifty Frenchman wears small waist, And for each fashion coasteth. |