And what a shame it were to live, This is that rest this vain world lends, DABRIDGECOURT BELCHIER. 15- 1621. [THE author of Hans Beer-Pot's Invisible Comedy was a Northamptonshire gentleman, who, after completing his education at Cambridge and Oxford, settled at Utrecht, where he died in 1621. In his dedication to Sir John Ogle, governor of the town and garrison of Utrecht, he describes the play as being neither comedy nor tragedy, but a plain dialogue, or conference, between certain persons, consisting of three acts and no more. No division into acts, however, appears in the only edition of this curious piece that is known to exist. The title-page informs us that it was acted in the Low Countries by an honest company of health-drinkers,' and was printed in London in 1618. Coxeter speaks of it as a translation [by inference from the Dutch]; but it is distinctly described in the dedication as an original production, that cost the author 'not above sixteen days' labour.' It is written with considerable humour, and displays such ease and mastery of versification as to occasion regret that he who possessed so quaint and fluent a vein should not have given his powers more ample employment.] HANS BEER-POT, HIS INVISIBLE COMEDY OF SEE ME AND SEE ME NOT. 1618. THE CONFESSION. WALKING in a shady grove, Near silver streams fair gliding, Where trees in ranks did grace the banks, And nymphs had their abiding; Here as I stayed I saw a maid, A beauteous lovely creature, With angel's face and goddess grace, Her looks did so astonish me, Like stag that gazed was I amazed, And in a stranger taking. Yet roused myself to see this elf, And lo a tree did hide me; Where I unseen beheld this queen Awhile, ere she espied me. Her voice was sweet melodiously, She sung in perfect measure; And thus she said with trickling tears; 'Alas, my joy, my treasure, I'll be thy wife, or lose my life, There's no man else shall have me; If God so, I will say no, Although a thousand crave me. 'Oh! stay not long, but come, my dear, And knit our marriage knot; Each hour a day, each month a year, 'Thou art my choice, I constant am, With thee I'll live, for thee I love, That seeks with shame to offend it.' With that she rose like nimble roe, I thought to move this dame of love, Wherefore I pray that those that stay SHAKESPEARE. 1564-1616. TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA. SILVIA. WHO is Silvia? What is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she, The heavens such grace did lend her, * Or like a nymph with long dishevelled hair SHAKESPEARE.-Venus and Adonis. As falcon to the lure, away she flies; The grass stoops not, she treads on it so light.-Ibid. A foot more light, a step more true, Ne'er from the heath-flower dashed the dew; E'en the slight harebell raised its head, Elastic from her airy tread. THE DRAMATISTS. SCOTT.-Lady of the Lake. 6 Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness: To help him of his blindness; Then to Silvia let us sing, LOVE'S LABOUR LOST. WHITE AND RED. F she be made of white and red, IF Her faults will ne'er be known; By this you shall not know; IF THE STUDENT FORSAKES HIS BOOKS FOR LOVE. F love make me forsworn, how shall I swear to love? Ah, never faith could hold, if not to beauty vowed! Though to myself forsworn, to thee I'll faithful prove; These thoughts to me were oaks, to thee like osiers bowed. Study his bias leaves, and makes his book thine eyes, Where all those pleasures live that art would com prehend; * Own-possess. If knowledge be the mark, to know thee shall suffice; Well learned is that tongue that will ever thee commend: All ignorant that soul that sees thee without wonder; (Which is to me some praise, that I thy parts admire ;) Thine eye Jove's lightning bears, thy voice his dreadful thunder, Which, not to anger bent, is music, and sweet fire. Celestial as thou art, oh pardon, love, this wrong, That sings heaven's praise with such an earthly tongue! BEAUTY THROUGH TEARS. So sweet a kiss the golden sun gives not To those fresh morning drops upon the rose, As thine eye-beams, when their fresh rays have smote The night of dew that on my cheeks down flows: Nor shines the silver moon one half so bright Through the transparent bosom of the deep, As doth thy face through tears of mine give light: Thou shinest in every tear that I do weep; No drop but as a coach doth carry thee, So ridest thou triumphing in my woe: Do but behold the tears that swell in me, And they thy glory through my grief will show: But do not love thyself; then thou wilt keep My tears for glasses, and still make me weep. O queen of queens, how far dost thou excel! No thought can think, nor tongue of mortal tell. THE DEFENCE OF PERJURY. DID not the heavenly rhetoric of thine eye ('Gainst whom the world cannot hold argument,) Persuade my heart to this false perjury? Vows for thee broke deserve not punishment. A woman I forswore; but, I will prove, |