FINALE.

PhoenixThe Phœnix (emblematical of the Restoration) is adapted from Spenser’s Works, 1611.

The Phœnix (emblematical of the Restoration) is adapted from Spenser’s Works, 1611.

[The Songs and Poemspeculiar to the first edition, 1661 (having been afterwards omitted), are here distinguished by being printed in Roman type. They are all containedin the present volume. Those that were added, in the later editions only, have no number attached to them in our first column of pages, viz. for 1661. The third edition, in 1691, was no more than a re-issue of the 1670 edition, with a fresh title-page to disguise it, in pretence of novelty (see p. 345,ante). The outside column refers to our Reprint of the “Drolleries;” but where the middle column is blank, as shewing the song was not repeated in 1670 and 1691, our Reprint-page belongs to thepresent volume. The “Reserved Pieces,” given only in Supplement, bear the letter “R” (for the extra sheet, signed R*).—Ed.]

Here the Editor closes his willing toil, (after having added aTable of First Lines, and aFinale,) and offers a completed work to the friendly acceptance of Readers. They are no vague abstractions to him, but a crowd of well-distinguished faces, many among them being renowned scholars and genial critics. To approach them at all might be deemed temerity, were it not that such men are the least to be feared by an honest worker. On the other hand, it were easy for ill-natured persons to insinuate accusations against any one who meddles with Re-prints ofFacetiæ. Blots and stains are upon such old books, which he has made no attempt to disguise or palliate. Let them bear their own blame. There are dullards and bigots in the world, nevertheless, who decry all antiquarian and historical research. A defence is unnecessary: “Let them rave!”

Fama di loro il mondo esser non lassa,Misericordia e giustizia gli sdegna,Non ragioniam di lor, ma guarda e passa.

Fama di loro il mondo esser non lassa,

Misericordia e giustizia gli sdegna,

Non ragioniam di lor, ma guarda e passa.

He thanks those who heartily welcomed the earlier Volumes, and trusts that no unworthy successor is tobe found in the present Conclusion, which holds many rare verses. Hereafter may ensue another meeting. Our olden Dramatists and Poets open their cellars, full of such vintage as Dan Phœbus had warmed. Leaving these “Drolleries of the Restoration” behind him, as a Nest-Egg, the Editor bids his Readers cheerfully

FAREWELL!

“Laudator temporis acti” cantat:—1.Closed now the book, untrimmed the lamp,Flung wide the lattice-shutter;The night-breeze strikes in, chill and damp,The fir-trees moan and mutter:Lo, dawn is near! pale Student, thouNo count of time hast reckon’d;Go, seek a rest for weary browFrom dreams of Charles the Second.2.Sad grows the world: those hours are pastWhen, jovially convivial,Choice Spirits met, and round them castSuch glow as made cares trivial;When nights prolonged through following daysFound night still closing o’er us,While Youth and Age exchanged their lays,Or intertwined in chorus.3.Our gravest Pundits of the Bench,Most reverend Sirs of Pulpit,Smiled at the praise of some coy wench,Or—if too warm—could gulp it.Loyal to King, faithful to Church,And firm to Constitution,No friend, no foe they left in lurch,Or sneaked to Revolution.4.There, many a sage Physician toldFresh facts of healing knowledge;There, the dazed Bookworm could grow bold,And speak of pranks at College:There, weary Pamphleteers forgotFaction, debates, and readers,But helped to drain the clinking-potWith punning Special-pleaders.5.How oft some warrior, famed abroadFor valour in campaigning,Exchanged the thrust with foes he awedFor hob-a-nob Champaigning!While some Old Salt, an AdmiralAnd Circumnavigator,Joined in the revel at our call,Nor sheer’d-off three days later.6.Who lives to thrill with jest and song,Like those whose memories haunt us?—Who never knew a night too long,Or head-ache that could daunt us.The weaklings of a later dayWin neither Mirth nor Thinking;They mix, and spoil, both work and play:They’ve lost the art of Drinking!7.For me, I lonely grow, and shy,No one seems worth my courting;Though girls have still a laughing eye,And tempt to May-day sporting:For sillier youth, or richer Lord,Or some staid prig, and colder,“Neat-handed Phillis” spreads the board,And Chloe bares her shoulder.8.In days gone by, light grew the task,For holidays were glorious;It was thetalksublimed the flask,That now is deemed uproarious.We’ve so much Methodistic cant,Abstainers’ Total drivel,And, worse, Utilitarian rant—One scarcely can keep civil.9.Our politics are insincere,For Statesmen cog and shuffle;They hit not from the shoulder clear,But dodge, and spar with muffle.How Bench and Bar sink steeped in mire,Avails not here recording:While Prelates cannot now look higherThan to mere self-rewarding.10.Friends of old days, ’tis well you diedBefore, like me, you sickenedAmid the rottenness and prideThat in this world have quickened:You passed, ere yet your hopes grew dim,While Love and Friendship warmed you:I look but to th’ horizon’s rim,For all that erst had charmed you.11.Not here, amid a lower crew,I seek to fill your places;For men no more have hearts as true,Nor maids,—though fair their faces.My thoughts flit back to earlier days,Where Pleasure’s finger beckon’d,Cheered with the Beauty, Love, and LaysThat warmed our Charles the Second.J. W. E.Biblioth. Ashmol., Cantium, 1876.

“Laudator temporis acti” cantat:—

1.Closed now the book, untrimmed the lamp,Flung wide the lattice-shutter;The night-breeze strikes in, chill and damp,The fir-trees moan and mutter:Lo, dawn is near! pale Student, thouNo count of time hast reckon’d;Go, seek a rest for weary browFrom dreams of Charles the Second.

Closed now the book, untrimmed the lamp,

Flung wide the lattice-shutter;

The night-breeze strikes in, chill and damp,

The fir-trees moan and mutter:

Lo, dawn is near! pale Student, thou

No count of time hast reckon’d;

Go, seek a rest for weary brow

From dreams of Charles the Second.

2.Sad grows the world: those hours are pastWhen, jovially convivial,Choice Spirits met, and round them castSuch glow as made cares trivial;When nights prolonged through following daysFound night still closing o’er us,While Youth and Age exchanged their lays,Or intertwined in chorus.

Sad grows the world: those hours are past

When, jovially convivial,

Choice Spirits met, and round them cast

Such glow as made cares trivial;

When nights prolonged through following days

Found night still closing o’er us,

While Youth and Age exchanged their lays,

Or intertwined in chorus.

3.Our gravest Pundits of the Bench,Most reverend Sirs of Pulpit,Smiled at the praise of some coy wench,Or—if too warm—could gulp it.Loyal to King, faithful to Church,And firm to Constitution,No friend, no foe they left in lurch,Or sneaked to Revolution.

Our gravest Pundits of the Bench,

Most reverend Sirs of Pulpit,

Smiled at the praise of some coy wench,

Or—if too warm—could gulp it.

Loyal to King, faithful to Church,

And firm to Constitution,

No friend, no foe they left in lurch,

Or sneaked to Revolution.

4.There, many a sage Physician toldFresh facts of healing knowledge;There, the dazed Bookworm could grow bold,And speak of pranks at College:There, weary Pamphleteers forgotFaction, debates, and readers,But helped to drain the clinking-potWith punning Special-pleaders.

There, many a sage Physician told

Fresh facts of healing knowledge;

There, the dazed Bookworm could grow bold,

And speak of pranks at College:

There, weary Pamphleteers forgot

Faction, debates, and readers,

But helped to drain the clinking-pot

With punning Special-pleaders.

5.How oft some warrior, famed abroadFor valour in campaigning,Exchanged the thrust with foes he awedFor hob-a-nob Champaigning!While some Old Salt, an AdmiralAnd Circumnavigator,Joined in the revel at our call,Nor sheer’d-off three days later.

How oft some warrior, famed abroad

For valour in campaigning,

Exchanged the thrust with foes he awed

For hob-a-nob Champaigning!

While some Old Salt, an Admiral

And Circumnavigator,

Joined in the revel at our call,

Nor sheer’d-off three days later.

6.Who lives to thrill with jest and song,Like those whose memories haunt us?—Who never knew a night too long,Or head-ache that could daunt us.The weaklings of a later dayWin neither Mirth nor Thinking;They mix, and spoil, both work and play:They’ve lost the art of Drinking!

Who lives to thrill with jest and song,

Like those whose memories haunt us?—

Who never knew a night too long,

Or head-ache that could daunt us.

The weaklings of a later day

Win neither Mirth nor Thinking;

They mix, and spoil, both work and play:

They’ve lost the art of Drinking!

7.For me, I lonely grow, and shy,No one seems worth my courting;Though girls have still a laughing eye,And tempt to May-day sporting:For sillier youth, or richer Lord,Or some staid prig, and colder,“Neat-handed Phillis” spreads the board,And Chloe bares her shoulder.

For me, I lonely grow, and shy,

No one seems worth my courting;

Though girls have still a laughing eye,

And tempt to May-day sporting:

For sillier youth, or richer Lord,

Or some staid prig, and colder,

“Neat-handed Phillis” spreads the board,

And Chloe bares her shoulder.

8.In days gone by, light grew the task,For holidays were glorious;It was thetalksublimed the flask,That now is deemed uproarious.We’ve so much Methodistic cant,Abstainers’ Total drivel,And, worse, Utilitarian rant—One scarcely can keep civil.

In days gone by, light grew the task,

For holidays were glorious;

It was thetalksublimed the flask,

That now is deemed uproarious.

We’ve so much Methodistic cant,

Abstainers’ Total drivel,

And, worse, Utilitarian rant—

One scarcely can keep civil.

9.Our politics are insincere,For Statesmen cog and shuffle;They hit not from the shoulder clear,But dodge, and spar with muffle.How Bench and Bar sink steeped in mire,Avails not here recording:While Prelates cannot now look higherThan to mere self-rewarding.

Our politics are insincere,

For Statesmen cog and shuffle;

They hit not from the shoulder clear,

But dodge, and spar with muffle.

How Bench and Bar sink steeped in mire,

Avails not here recording:

While Prelates cannot now look higher

Than to mere self-rewarding.

10.Friends of old days, ’tis well you diedBefore, like me, you sickenedAmid the rottenness and prideThat in this world have quickened:You passed, ere yet your hopes grew dim,While Love and Friendship warmed you:I look but to th’ horizon’s rim,For all that erst had charmed you.

10.

Friends of old days, ’tis well you died

Before, like me, you sickened

Amid the rottenness and pride

That in this world have quickened:

You passed, ere yet your hopes grew dim,

While Love and Friendship warmed you:

I look but to th’ horizon’s rim,

For all that erst had charmed you.

11.Not here, amid a lower crew,I seek to fill your places;For men no more have hearts as true,Nor maids,—though fair their faces.My thoughts flit back to earlier days,Where Pleasure’s finger beckon’d,Cheered with the Beauty, Love, and LaysThat warmed our Charles the Second.

11.

Not here, amid a lower crew,

I seek to fill your places;

For men no more have hearts as true,

Nor maids,—though fair their faces.

My thoughts flit back to earlier days,

Where Pleasure’s finger beckon’d,

Cheered with the Beauty, Love, and Lays

That warmed our Charles the Second.

J. W. E.

Biblioth. Ashmol., Cantium, 1876.

[End of “The ‘Drolleries’ of the Restoration.”]

Uniform with “Choice Drollery.”

Published at 10s. 6d. to Subscribers,now raisedto 21s; large paper, published at £1 1s,now raisedto £2 2s.

A RE-PRINTOF THEWestminster Drollery,1671, 1672.

To those who are already acquainted with the two parts of theWestminster Drollery, published in 1671 and 1672, it must have appeared strange that no attempt has hitherto been made to bring these delightful volumes within reach of the students of our early literature. The originals are of extreme rarity, a perfect copy seldom being attainable at any public sale, and then fetching a price that makes a book-hunter almost despair of its acquisition. So great a favourite was it in the Cavalier times, that most copies have been literally worn to pieces in the hands of its many admirers, as they chanted forth a merry stave from the pages.There is no collection of songs surpassing it in the language, and as representative of the lyrics of the first twelve years after the Restoration it is unequalled: by far the greater number are elsewhere unattainable.

TheWestminster Drolleriesare reprinted with the utmost fidelity, page for page, and line for line, not a word being altered, or a single letter departing from the original spelling.

DROLLERY RE-PRINTS.

NOW READY.

“Merry Drollery, Complete,”1661, 1691.

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