VIII.THE FAREWELL TO LOVE.

FOOTNOTES:[985]He was born in 1563, and died in 1631.Biog. Brit.[986]As also Chaucer'sRhyme of Sir Topas, v. 6.[987][Reprinted by Utterson. TheRomance of Sir Isumbraswas printed from the MS. by Mr. Halliwell in theThornton Romance(Camden Society, 1844).][988][dwelt.][989][keen.][990][named.][991][she was taught the learning.][992][march-pane, a kind of biscuit.][993][dexterously.][994][gentle or tender.][995]Leominster, or Lemster, was long famous for its wool, and Skelton refers to "good Lemster wool" in hisElynour Rummin.[996]Peakish hill; this may refer to the well-known Derbyshire mountain called the Peak.[997]herb valerian, or mountain spikenard.[998]perhaps charlock, or wild rape.[999]exultingly.[1000]pastured.[1001]Alluding toTamburlaine the great, or the Scythian Shepheard, 1590, 8vo. an old ranting play ascribed to Marlowe.[1002]Sc. Abel.[1003][fleece of wool.][1004][sheepskin gloves with the wool on the inside.][1005][short boots.][1006][leather.][1007][mixed fur.][1008][rosined thread.][1009][Coventry.][1010][parrot.][1011][heed.][1012][undecked.][1013][cot.]

[985]He was born in 1563, and died in 1631.Biog. Brit.

[986]As also Chaucer'sRhyme of Sir Topas, v. 6.

[987][Reprinted by Utterson. TheRomance of Sir Isumbraswas printed from the MS. by Mr. Halliwell in theThornton Romance(Camden Society, 1844).]

[988][dwelt.]

[989][keen.]

[990][named.]

[991][she was taught the learning.]

[992][march-pane, a kind of biscuit.]

[993][dexterously.]

[994][gentle or tender.]

[995]Leominster, or Lemster, was long famous for its wool, and Skelton refers to "good Lemster wool" in hisElynour Rummin.

[996]Peakish hill; this may refer to the well-known Derbyshire mountain called the Peak.

[997]herb valerian, or mountain spikenard.

[998]perhaps charlock, or wild rape.

[999]exultingly.

[1000]pastured.

[1001]Alluding toTamburlaine the great, or the Scythian Shepheard, 1590, 8vo. an old ranting play ascribed to Marlowe.

[1002]Sc. Abel.

[1003][fleece of wool.]

[1004][sheepskin gloves with the wool on the inside.]

[1005][short boots.]

[1006][leather.]

[1007][mixed fur.]

[1008][rosined thread.]

[1009][Coventry.]

[1010][parrot.]

[1011][heed.]

[1012][undecked.]

[1013][cot.]

From Beaumont and Fletcher's play, intitledThe Lover's Progress. act iii. sc. 1.

Adieu, fond love, farewell you wanton powers;I am free again.Thou dull disease of bloud and idle hours,Bewitching pain,Fly to fools, that sigh away their time:5My nobler love to heaven doth climb,And there behold beauty still young,That time can ne'er corrupt, nor death destroy,Immortal sweetness by fair angels sung,And honoured by eternity and joy:10There lies my love, thither my hopes aspire,Fond love declines, this heavenly love grows higher.

Affordsa pretty poetical contest between Pleasure and Honour. It is found at the end ofHymen'sTriumph: a pastoral tragicomedie, written by Daniel, and printed among his works, 4to. 1623.[1014]Daniel, who was a contemporary of Drayton's, and is said to have been poet laureat to Queen Elizabeth, was born in 1562, and died in 1619.Anne, Countess of Dorset, Pembroke, and Montgomery (to whom Daniel had been tutor), has inserted a small portrait of him in a full-length picture of herself, preserved at Appleby Castle, in Cumberland.

This little poem is the rather selected for a specimen of Daniel's poetic powers, as it is omitted in the later edition of his works, 2 vols. 12mo. 1718.

[Samuel Daniel was born in Somersetshire, and educated at Magdalen Hall, Oxford. He left college without a degree, "his geny being," according to Ant. à Wood, "more prone to easier and smoother subjects than in pecking and hewing at logic." He was tutor to Lady Anne Clifford, subsequently Countess of Pembroke, and afterwards groom of the privy chamber to Anne, queen of James I. Browne calls him inBritannia's Pastorals, "Wel-languaged Daniel," and the union of power of thought with sweetness and grace of expression exhibited by him is highly praised by Southey and Coleridge. He was free from indelicacy in his writings, and Fuller says of him that "he carried in his Christian and surname two holy prophets, his monitors, so to qualify his raptures that he abhorred all profaneness."]

Syren.

Come, worthy Greeke, Ulysses come,Possesse these shores with me,The windes and seas are troublesome,And here we may be free.Here may we sit and view their toyle,5That travaile in the deepe,Enjoy the day in mirth the while,And spend the night in sleepe.

Ulysses.

Faire nymph, if fame or honour wereTo be attain'd with ease,10Then would I come and rest with thee.And leave such toiles as these:But here it dwels, and here must IWith danger seek it forth;To spend the time luxuriously15Becomes not men of worth.

Syren.

Ulysses, O be not deceiv'dWith that unreall name:This honour is a thing conceiv'd,And rests on others' fame.20Begotten only to molestOur peace, and to beguile(The best thing of our life) our rest,And give us up to toyle!

Ulysses.

Delicious nymph, suppose there were25Nor honor, nor report,Yet manlinesse would scorne to weareThe time in idle sport:For toyle doth give a better touchTo make us feele our joy;30And ease findes tediousnes, as muchAs labour yeelds annoy.

Syren.

Then pleasure likewise seemes the shore,Whereto tendes all your toyle;Which you forego to make it more,35And perish oft the while.Who may disport them diversly,Find never tedious day;And ease may have variety,As well as action may.40

Ulysses.

But natures of the noblest frameThese toyles and dangers please;And they take comfort in the same,As much as you in ease:And with the thought of actions past45Are recreated still:When pleasure leaves a touch at lastTo shew that it was ill.

Syren.

That doth opinion only cause,That's out of custom bred;50Which makes us many other laws,Than ever nature did.No widdowes waile for our delights,Our sports are without blood;The world we see by warlike wights55Receives more hurt than good.

Ulysses.

But yet the state of things requireThese motions of unrest,And these great spirits of high desireSeem borne to turne them best:60To purge the mischiefes, that increaseAnd all good order mar:For oft we see a wicked peace,To be well chang'd for war.

Syren.

Well, well, Ulysses, then I see65I shall not have thee here;And therefore I will come to thee,And take my fortune there.I must be wonne that cannot win,Yet lost were I not wonne:70For beauty hath created binT' undoo or be undone.

FOOTNOTES:[1014]In this edition it is collated with a copy printed at the end of his "Tragedie of Cleopatra. London, 1607, 12mo."

[1014]In this edition it is collated with a copy printed at the end of his "Tragedie of Cleopatra. London, 1607, 12mo."

Thisbeautiful poem, which possesses a classical elegance hardly to be expected in the age of James I. is printed from the 4th edition of Davison's Poems,[1015]&c. 1621. It is also found in a later miscellany, intitled, "Le Prince d'Amour," 1660, 8vo. Francis Davison, editor of the poemsabove referred to, was son of that unfortunate secretary of state who suffered so much from the affair of Mary Q. of Scots. These poems, he tells us in his preface, were written by himself, by his brother [Walter], who was a soldier in the wars of the Low Countries, and by some dear friends "anonymoi." Among them are found some pieces by Sir J. Davis, the Countess of Pembroke, Sir Philip Sidney, Spenser, and other wits of those times.

In the fourth vol. ofDryden's Miscellanies, this poem is attributed to Sydney Godolphin, Esq.; but erroneously, being probably written before he was born. One edit. of Davison's book was published in 1608. Godolphin was born in 1610, and died in 1642-3. Ath. Ox. ii. 23.

It chanc'd of late a shepherd swain,That went to seek his straying sheep,Within a thicket on a plainEspied a dainty nymph asleep.Her golden hair o'erspred her face;5Her careless arms abroad were cast;Her quiver had her pillows place;Her breast lay bare to every blast.The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill;Nought durst he do; nought durst he say;10Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will,Did guide the god of love that way.The crafty boy that sees her sleep,Whom if she wak'd he durst not see;Behind her closely seeks to creep,15Before her nap should ended bee.There come, he steals her shafts away,And puts his own into their place;Nor dares he any longer stay,But, ere she wakes, hies thence apace.20Scarce was he gone, but she awakes,And spies the shepherd standing by:Her bended bow in haste she takes,And at the simple swain lets flye.Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart,25That to the ground he fell with pain:Yet up again forthwith he start,And to the nymph he ran amain.Amazed to see so strange a sight,She shot, and shot, but all in vain;30The more his wounds, the more his mightLove yielded strength amidst his pain.Her angry eyes were great with tears,She blames her hand, she blames her skill;The bluntness of her shafts she fears,35And try them on herself she will.Take heed, sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft,Each little touch will pierce thy heart:Alas! thou know'st not Cupids craft;Revenge is joy; the end is smart.40Yet try she will, and pierce some bare;Her hands were glov'd, but next to handWas that fair breast, that breast so rare,That made the shepherd senseless stand.That breast she pierc'd; and through that breast45Love found an entry to her heart;At feeling of this new-come guest,Lord! how this gentle nymph did start?She runs not now; she shoots no more;Away she throws both shaft and bow:50She seeks for what she shunn'd before,She thinks the shepherds haste too slow.Though mountains meet not, lovers may:What other lovers do, did they:The god of love sate on a tree,55And laught that pleasant sight to see.

It chanc'd of late a shepherd swain,That went to seek his straying sheep,Within a thicket on a plainEspied a dainty nymph asleep.

Her golden hair o'erspred her face;5Her careless arms abroad were cast;Her quiver had her pillows place;Her breast lay bare to every blast.

The shepherd stood and gaz'd his fill;Nought durst he do; nought durst he say;10Whilst chance, or else perhaps his will,Did guide the god of love that way.

The crafty boy that sees her sleep,Whom if she wak'd he durst not see;Behind her closely seeks to creep,15Before her nap should ended bee.

There come, he steals her shafts away,And puts his own into their place;Nor dares he any longer stay,But, ere she wakes, hies thence apace.20

Scarce was he gone, but she awakes,And spies the shepherd standing by:Her bended bow in haste she takes,And at the simple swain lets flye.

Forth flew the shaft, and pierc'd his heart,25That to the ground he fell with pain:Yet up again forthwith he start,And to the nymph he ran amain.

Amazed to see so strange a sight,She shot, and shot, but all in vain;30The more his wounds, the more his mightLove yielded strength amidst his pain.

Her angry eyes were great with tears,She blames her hand, she blames her skill;The bluntness of her shafts she fears,35And try them on herself she will.

Take heed, sweet nymph, trye not thy shaft,Each little touch will pierce thy heart:Alas! thou know'st not Cupids craft;Revenge is joy; the end is smart.40

Yet try she will, and pierce some bare;Her hands were glov'd, but next to handWas that fair breast, that breast so rare,That made the shepherd senseless stand.

That breast she pierc'd; and through that breast45Love found an entry to her heart;At feeling of this new-come guest,Lord! how this gentle nymph did start?

She runs not now; she shoots no more;Away she throws both shaft and bow:50She seeks for what she shunn'd before,She thinks the shepherds haste too slow.

Though mountains meet not, lovers may:What other lovers do, did they:The god of love sate on a tree,55And laught that pleasant sight to see.

FOOTNOTES:[1015]See the full title in Vol. ii. Book iii. No. iv.

[1015]See the full title in Vol. ii. Book iii. No. iv.

Thislittle moral poem was writ by SirHenry Wotton, who died Provost of Eton in 1639. Æt. 72. It is printed from a little collection of his pieces, intitled.Reliquiæ Wottonianæ, 1651, 12mo.; compared with one or two other copies. [Ben Jonson is said to have greatly admired these verses, and to have known them by heart.]

How happy is he born or taught,That serveth not anothers will;Whose armour is his honest thought,And simple truth his highest skill:Whose passions not his masters are;5Whose soul is still prepar'd for death;Not ty'd unto the world with careOf princes ear, or vulgar breath:Who hath his life from rumours freed;Whose conscience is his strong retreat:10Whose state can neither flatterers feed,Nor ruine make oppressors great:Who envies none, whom chance doth raise,Or vice: Who never understoodHow deepest wounds are given with praise;15Nor rules of state, but rules of good:Who God doth late and early prayMore of his grace than gifts to lend;And entertaines the harmless dayWith a well-chosen book or friend.20This man is freed from servile bandsOf hope to rise, or feare to fall;Lord of himselfe, though not of lands;And having nothing, yet hath all.

How happy is he born or taught,That serveth not anothers will;Whose armour is his honest thought,And simple truth his highest skill:

Whose passions not his masters are;5Whose soul is still prepar'd for death;Not ty'd unto the world with careOf princes ear, or vulgar breath:

Who hath his life from rumours freed;Whose conscience is his strong retreat:10Whose state can neither flatterers feed,Nor ruine make oppressors great:

Who envies none, whom chance doth raise,Or vice: Who never understoodHow deepest wounds are given with praise;15Nor rules of state, but rules of good:

Who God doth late and early prayMore of his grace than gifts to lend;And entertaines the harmless dayWith a well-chosen book or friend.20

This man is freed from servile bandsOf hope to rise, or feare to fall;Lord of himselfe, though not of lands;And having nothing, yet hath all.

Wasa famous robber, who lived about the middle of the last century, if we may credit the histories and storybooks of highwaymen, which relate many improbable feats of him, as his robbing Cardinal Richelieu, Oliver Cromwell, &c. But these stories have probably no other authority than the records of Grub-street. At least theGilderoy, who is the hero of Scottish songsters, seems to have lived in an earlier age; for, in Thompson'sOrpheus Caledonius, vol. ii. 1733, 8vo. is a copy of this ballad, which, tho' corrupt and interpolated, contains some lines that appear to be of genuine antiquity: in these he is represented as contemporary with Mary Q. of Scots:ex. gr.

"The Queen of Scots possessed nought,That my love let me want:For cow and ew he to me brought,And een whan they were scant.All these did honestly possessHe never did annoy,Who never fail'd to pay their cessTo my love Gilderoy."

These lines perhaps might safely have been inserted among the following stanzas, which are given from a written copy, that appears to have received some modern corrections. Indeed, the common popular ballad contained some indecent luxuriances that required the pruning-hook.

[The subject of this ballad was a ruffian totally unworthy of the poetic honours given to him, and the poem itself can in no way be looked upon as historic. To mention but one instance of its departure from truth—the song is said to have been written by a young woman of a superior station in society who had been induced to live with the freebooter, but the fact was that one thousand marks having been offered for his apprehension, he was betrayed by his mistress Peg Cunningham, and captured after killing eight of the men sent against him, and stabbing the woman.He was one of the proscribed clan Gregor, and a notorious lifter of cattle in the Highlands of Perthshire for some time before 1636. In February of that year seven of his accomplices were taken, tried, condemned, and executed at Edinburgh. These men were apprehended chiefly through the exertions of the Stewarts of Athol, and in revenge Gilderoy burned several of the houses belonging to the Stewarts. In a few months, however, he was captured, as before mentioned, and in July, 1636, was hanged with five accomplices at the Gallowlee, between Leith and Edinburgh. As a mark of unenviable distinction, Gilderoy was hanged on a gallows higher than the rest. It is curious that this wretched miscreant, who robbed the poor and outraged all women who came in his way, should have become popular in the south of Britain. His adventures, with the various details noticed above by Percy, are related in Captain Alexander Smith'sHistory ofHighwaymen, &c., 1719, and in Johnson'sLives and Exploits ofHighwaymen, 1734.The earliest known version of this song was printed in London in 1650, and another is included inWestminster Drollery, 1671. The latter consists of five stanzas, the first being:

He was one of the proscribed clan Gregor, and a notorious lifter of cattle in the Highlands of Perthshire for some time before 1636. In February of that year seven of his accomplices were taken, tried, condemned, and executed at Edinburgh. These men were apprehended chiefly through the exertions of the Stewarts of Athol, and in revenge Gilderoy burned several of the houses belonging to the Stewarts. In a few months, however, he was captured, as before mentioned, and in July, 1636, was hanged with five accomplices at the Gallowlee, between Leith and Edinburgh. As a mark of unenviable distinction, Gilderoy was hanged on a gallows higher than the rest. It is curious that this wretched miscreant, who robbed the poor and outraged all women who came in his way, should have become popular in the south of Britain. His adventures, with the various details noticed above by Percy, are related in Captain Alexander Smith'sHistory ofHighwaymen, &c., 1719, and in Johnson'sLives and Exploits ofHighwaymen, 1734.

The earliest known version of this song was printed in London in 1650, and another is included inWestminster Drollery, 1671. The latter consists of five stanzas, the first being:

"Was ever grief so great as mineThen speak dear bearn, I prethee,That thus must leave my Gilderoy,O my benison gang with thee.Good speed be with you then Sir she saidFor gone is all my joy:And gone is he whom I love best,My handsome Gilderoy."

The second stanza is Percy's fifth, with some of the "luxuriances" he refers to. The third stanza is a variation of Percy's first.

"Now Gilderoy was bonny boyWould needs to th' King be goneWith his silken garters on his legs,And the roses on his shoone.But better he had staid at homeWith me his only joy,For on a gallow tree they hungMy handsome Gilderoy."

The fourth stanza is a variety of Percy's eleventh, and the fifth of his ninth.There is another version of this song in theCollection of OldBallads, 1723 (vol. i.), entitled "The Scotch Lover's Lamentation, or Gilderoy's last farewell," which contains some few "luxuriances," but is on the whole superior to the "improved" one here printed. This was altered by Lady Wardlaw, who added the stanzas between brackets, besides the one quoted above by Percy.Gilderoy is now, perhaps, better known by Campbell's song than by this ballad. The name is a corruption of the Gaelicgilleroy, red-haired boy.]

The fourth stanza is a variety of Percy's eleventh, and the fifth of his ninth.

There is another version of this song in theCollection of OldBallads, 1723 (vol. i.), entitled "The Scotch Lover's Lamentation, or Gilderoy's last farewell," which contains some few "luxuriances," but is on the whole superior to the "improved" one here printed. This was altered by Lady Wardlaw, who added the stanzas between brackets, besides the one quoted above by Percy.

Gilderoy is now, perhaps, better known by Campbell's song than by this ballad. The name is a corruption of the Gaelicgilleroy, red-haired boy.]

Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,Had roses tull[1016]his shoone,His stockings were of silken soy,[1017]Wi' garters hanging doune:It was, I weene, a comelie sight,5To see sae trim a boy;He was my jo[1018]and hearts delight,My handsome Gilderoy.Oh! sike twa charming een he had,A breath as sweet as rose,10He never ware a Highland plaid,But costly silken clothes;He gain'd the luve of ladies gay,Nane eir tull him was coy:Ah! wae is mee! I mourn the day15For my dear Gilderoy.My Gilderoy and I were born,Baith in one toun together,We scant were seven years beforn,We gan to luve each other;20Our dadies and our mammies thay,Were fill'd wi' mickle joy,To think upon the bridal day,Twixt me and Gilderoy.For Gilderoy that luve of mine,25Gude faith, I freely boughtA wedding sark[1019]of holland fine,Wi' silken flowers wrought:And he gied me a wedding ring,Which I receiv'd wi' joy,30Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing,Like me and Gilderoy.Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime,Till we were baith sixteen,And aft we past the langsome time,35Among the leaves sae green;Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair,And sweetly kiss and toy,Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hairMy handsome Gilderoy.40[Oh! that he still had been content,Wi' me to lead his life;But, ah! his manfu' heart was bent,To stir in feates of strife:And he in many a venturous deed,45His courage bauld wad try;And now this gars[1020]mine heart to bleed,For my dear Gilderoy.And when of me his leave he tuik,The tears they wat mine ee,50I gave tull him a parting luik,"My benison gang wi' thee;God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart,For gane is all my joy;My heart is rent sith we maun part,55My handsome Gilderoy."]My Gilderoy baith far and near,Was fear'd in every toun,And bauldly bare away the gear,[1021]Of many a lawland loun:60Nane eir durst meet him man to man,He was sae brave a boy;At length wi' numbers he was tane,My winsome[1022]Gilderoy.Wae worth[1023]the loun that made the laws,65To hang a man for gear,To 'reave of life for ox or ass,For sheep, or horse, or mare:Had not their laws been made sae strick,I neir had lost my joy,70Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek,For my dear Gilderoy.Giff Gilderoy had done amisse,He mought hae banisht been;Ah! what fair cruelty is this,75To hang sike handsome men:To hang the flower o' Scottish land,Sae sweet and fair a boy;Nae lady had sae white a hand,As thee, my Gilderoy.80Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were,They bound him mickle strong,Tull Edenburrow they led him thair,And on a gallows hung:They hung him high aboon the rest,85He was sae trim a boy;Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best,My handsome Gilderoy.Thus having yielded up his breath,I bare his corpse away,90Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,I washt his comelye clay;And siker[1024]in a grave sae deep,I laid the dear-lued boy,And now for evir maun I weep,95My winsome Gilderoy.

Oh! sike twa charming een he had,A breath as sweet as rose,10He never ware a Highland plaid,But costly silken clothes;He gain'd the luve of ladies gay,Nane eir tull him was coy:Ah! wae is mee! I mourn the day15For my dear Gilderoy.

My Gilderoy and I were born,Baith in one toun together,We scant were seven years beforn,We gan to luve each other;20Our dadies and our mammies thay,Were fill'd wi' mickle joy,To think upon the bridal day,Twixt me and Gilderoy.

For Gilderoy that luve of mine,25Gude faith, I freely boughtA wedding sark[1019]of holland fine,Wi' silken flowers wrought:And he gied me a wedding ring,Which I receiv'd wi' joy,30Nae lad nor lassie eir could sing,Like me and Gilderoy.

Wi' mickle joy we spent our prime,Till we were baith sixteen,And aft we past the langsome time,35Among the leaves sae green;Aft on the banks we'd sit us thair,And sweetly kiss and toy,Wi' garlands gay wad deck my hairMy handsome Gilderoy.40

[Oh! that he still had been content,Wi' me to lead his life;But, ah! his manfu' heart was bent,To stir in feates of strife:And he in many a venturous deed,45His courage bauld wad try;And now this gars[1020]mine heart to bleed,For my dear Gilderoy.

And when of me his leave he tuik,The tears they wat mine ee,50I gave tull him a parting luik,"My benison gang wi' thee;God speed thee weil, mine ain dear heart,For gane is all my joy;My heart is rent sith we maun part,55My handsome Gilderoy."]

My Gilderoy baith far and near,Was fear'd in every toun,And bauldly bare away the gear,[1021]Of many a lawland loun:60Nane eir durst meet him man to man,He was sae brave a boy;At length wi' numbers he was tane,My winsome[1022]Gilderoy.

Wae worth[1023]the loun that made the laws,65To hang a man for gear,To 'reave of life for ox or ass,For sheep, or horse, or mare:Had not their laws been made sae strick,I neir had lost my joy,70Wi' sorrow neir had wat my cheek,For my dear Gilderoy.

Giff Gilderoy had done amisse,He mought hae banisht been;Ah! what fair cruelty is this,75To hang sike handsome men:To hang the flower o' Scottish land,Sae sweet and fair a boy;Nae lady had sae white a hand,As thee, my Gilderoy.80

Of Gilderoy sae fraid they were,They bound him mickle strong,Tull Edenburrow they led him thair,And on a gallows hung:They hung him high aboon the rest,85He was sae trim a boy;Thair dyed the youth whom I lued best,My handsome Gilderoy.

Thus having yielded up his breath,I bare his corpse away,90Wi' tears, that trickled for his death,I washt his comelye clay;And siker[1024]in a grave sae deep,I laid the dear-lued boy,And now for evir maun I weep,95My winsome Gilderoy.

⁂

FOOTNOTES:[1016][fortillto.][1017][silk.][1018][sweetheart.][1019][shift.][1020][makes.][1021][property.][1022][winning.][1023][woe betide.][1024][secure.]

[1016][fortillto.]

[1017][silk.]

[1018][sweetheart.]

[1019][shift.]

[1020][makes.]

[1021][property.]

[1022][winning.]

[1023][woe betide.]

[1024][secure.]

Thisbeautiful address to conjugal love, a subject too much neglected by the libertine Muses, was, I believe, first printed in a volume ofMiscellaneous Poems, byseveral hands, published by D. [David] Lewis, 1726, 8vo.

It is there said, how truly I know not, to be "a translation from the ancient British language."

Away; let nought to love displeasing,My Winifreda, move your care;Let nought delay the heavenly blessing,Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.What tho' no grants of royal donors5With pompous titles grace our blood;We'll shine in more substantial honors,And to be noble we'll be good.Our name, while virtue thus we tender,Will sweetly sound where-e'er 'tis spoke:10And all the great ones, they shall wonderHow they respect such little folk.What though from fortune's lavish bountyNo mighty treasures we possess;We'll find within our pittance plenty,15And be content without excess.Still shall each returning seasonSufficient for our wishes give;For we will live a life of reason,And that's the only life to live.20Through youth and age in love excelling,We'll hand in hand together tread;Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.How should I love the pretty creatures,25While round my knees they fondly clung;To see them look their mothers features,To hear them lisp their mothers tongue.And when with envy time transported,Shall think to rob us of our joys,30You'll in your girls again be courted,And I'll go a wooing in my boys.

Away; let nought to love displeasing,My Winifreda, move your care;Let nought delay the heavenly blessing,Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear.

What tho' no grants of royal donors5With pompous titles grace our blood;We'll shine in more substantial honors,And to be noble we'll be good.

Our name, while virtue thus we tender,Will sweetly sound where-e'er 'tis spoke:10And all the great ones, they shall wonderHow they respect such little folk.

What though from fortune's lavish bountyNo mighty treasures we possess;We'll find within our pittance plenty,15And be content without excess.

Still shall each returning seasonSufficient for our wishes give;For we will live a life of reason,And that's the only life to live.20

Through youth and age in love excelling,We'll hand in hand together tread;Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling,And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed.

How should I love the pretty creatures,25While round my knees they fondly clung;To see them look their mothers features,To hear them lisp their mothers tongue.

And when with envy time transported,Shall think to rob us of our joys,30You'll in your girls again be courted,And I'll go a wooing in my boys.

Waspublished in a small collection of poems, intitledEuthemia, or the Power of Harmony, &c. 1756, written in 1748, by the ingenious Dr.Harrington, of Bath, who never allowed them to be published, and withheld his name till it could no longer be concealed. The following copy was furnished by the late Mr.Shenstone, with some variations and corrections of his own, which he had taken the liberty to propose, and for which the author's indulgence was intreated. In this edition it was intended to reprint the author's own original copy; but, as that may be seen correctly given inPearch'sCollection, vol. i. 1783, p. 161, it was thought the reader of taste would wish to have the variations preserved, they are, therefore, still retained here, which it is hoped the worthy author will excuse with his wonted liberality.

Wokey-holeis a noted cavern in Somersetshire, which has given birth to as many wild fanciful stories as the Sybils Cave, in Italy. Thro' a very narrow entrance, it opens into a very large vault, the roof whereof, either on account of its height, or the thickness of the gloom, cannot be discovered by the light of torches. It goes winding a great way underground, is crossed by a stream of very cold water, and is all horrid with broken pieces of rock: many of these are evident petrifactions; which, on account of their singular forms, have given rise to the fables alluded to in this poem.

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