The Project Gutenberg eBook ofSpeculum AmantisThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: Speculum AmantisEditor: A. H. BullenRelease date: July 22, 2014 [eBook #46359]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Bethanne M. Simms, Les Galloway and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPECULUM AMANTIS ***
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
Title: Speculum AmantisEditor: A. H. BullenRelease date: July 22, 2014 [eBook #46359]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024Language: EnglishCredits: Produced by Bethanne M. Simms, Les Galloway and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
Title: Speculum Amantis
Editor: A. H. Bullen
Editor: A. H. Bullen
Release date: July 22, 2014 [eBook #46359]Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Produced by Bethanne M. Simms, Les Galloway and the OnlineDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Thisfile was produced from images generously made availableby The Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPECULUM AMANTIS ***
SPECULUM AMANTIS.
τὁ ῥὀδον ἀκμἀζει βαιὀν χρονὁν' ἢν δἑ παρἐλθυ,ζητων εὐρἠσεισ οὐ ῥὀδον, ἀλλἁ βἀτον.
Incert.
The season of the rose is brief, make haste topluck your posies;Another day you'll chance to find bare thornswhere bloomed the roses.
LOVE-POEMSFROM RARE SONG-BOOKS AND MISCELLANIESOF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.
EDITED BYA. H. BULLEN.
LONDON:PRIVATELY PRINTED.1889.
Note.—Five Hundred Copies only printed, each numbered as issued.
No.133
Warning and Welcome.GRAVE moralist, with eyes a-squint,And pucker'd mouth, pack hence! away!Your heart is hard as any flint:Avaunt! Love's feast is spread to-day.And you, coy maiden, come not nigh,Lest wanton rhyme assail your ears:Wait till your chaste zone you untieAnd Hymen put to flight your fears.But, ho! all ye whose brisker veinsGlow with Dan Cupid's genial fire,Post hitherwards, 'tis worth your pains,And harken to our tuneful quire.
Warning and Welcome.
GRAVE moralist, with eyes a-squint,And pucker'd mouth, pack hence! away!Your heart is hard as any flint:Avaunt! Love's feast is spread to-day.And you, coy maiden, come not nigh,Lest wanton rhyme assail your ears:Wait till your chaste zone you untieAnd Hymen put to flight your fears.But, ho! all ye whose brisker veinsGlow with Dan Cupid's genial fire,Post hitherwards, 'tis worth your pains,And harken to our tuneful quire.
GRAVE moralist, with eyes a-squint,And pucker'd mouth, pack hence! away!Your heart is hard as any flint:Avaunt! Love's feast is spread to-day.
And you, coy maiden, come not nigh,Lest wanton rhyme assail your ears:Wait till your chaste zone you untieAnd Hymen put to flight your fears.
But, ho! all ye whose brisker veinsGlow with Dan Cupid's genial fire,Post hitherwards, 'tis worth your pains,And harken to our tuneful quire.
In sending out this little anthology of seventeenth-century love-verses, I must say a few words by way of explanation or apology. Some eighteen months ago I published a collection of "Lyrics from the Song-books of the Elizabethan Age" (J. C. Nimmo), and recently I issued a second collection, "More Lyrics from the Song-books of the Elizabethan Age" (J. C. Nimmo). Those volumes were addressed to all classes of readers. They may lie on a drawing-room table without offence. Philemon may give them to his Amanda on her birthday with the full assurance that he will run no risk of bringing a blush to the fair nymph's cheek. I was careful to exclude from those collections any poems that passed the bounds of conventional propriety. In the seventeenth century those bounds were not so well defined as in the present age. John Attey, in 1622,dedicated his "First Book of Airs" to "The Right Honourable John, Earl of Bridgewater, Viscount Brackley, and Baron of Ellesmere; and the truly Noble and Virtuous Lady, Frances, Countess of Bridgewater." Among Attey's songs are the audacious verses, "My days, my months, my years," which I have given in the present collection (page15). A noble and virtuous lady now-a-days would be justly incensed if she found such a lyric in a song-book of which she had accepted the dedication; but we may be sure that John Attey's patroness did not withdraw her favour from the composer, or express herself shocked at his temerity. Manners have changed, and "My days, my months, my years" is no longer a song for the drawing-room; but snugly stowed away with its fellows on a top shelf in the library it can do no harm.
In the present volume I have gathered together from the song-books the songs that could find no place in the former collections, and I have included several poems from rare miscellanies of the seventeenth century.
Although some of the poems here collected will be familiar to students, I am confident that a considerable portion of the anthology is unknown. Sir Walter Raleigh is a prominent figure in English literature. The late Archdeacon Hannah's edition of Raleigh's poems is a valuable piece of work; and Sir Egerton Brydges, in collecting what he supposed to be Raleigh's poems, showed commendable industry, but scant judgment. I therefore count myself fortunate in having discovered the characteristic poem, "Nature that wash'd her hands in milk" (page76), which escaped the researches of previous enquirers. The last stanza of that poem, "Oh cruel time, which takes in trust," with a couple of lines tacked on, was published in Raleigh'sRemains, where it is said to have been "found in his bible in the Gatehouse at Westminster." Every reader has that stanza by heart, but the complete poem—as given in the Harleian MS.—is printed for the first time.
Aurelian Townsend is a poet about whom I have often felt curiosity. He was the friend of Carew, and Suckling introduces him intoThe Session of the Poets. From one of theMalone MSS., in the Bodleian Library, I have recovered the charming verses "To the Lady May;" and I can lay my hand on other poems of Townsend whichhave never seen the light.[1]The poems by Henry Ramsay (page118), of whom I know nothing, of Bishop Andrewes (page121), and of J. Paulin (page127), are not hackneyed; and I might refer to many others.
The finest of all Cartwright's poems is here—the magnificent "Song of Dalliance"—beginning, "Hark, my Flora! Love doth call us." It is ascribed to Cartwright in the unique miscellany (preserved in the Bodleian),Sportive Wit: the Muses' Merriment, 1656, but is not printed in his Works. Cartwright had a great reputation among his contemporaries. "My son, Cartwright," said Ben Jonson, "writes all like a man." "Cartwright was the utmost man could come to" in the opinion of that excellent prelate, Bishop Fell. All the wits of the age paid tributes to his memory. Anthony-à-Wood and Lloyd rush into raptures about him. After reading the various panegyrics on his poems it is a sad disappointment to turn to the poems themselves. But if Cartwright wrote other poems equal to "Hark, myFlora!"—not for publication (for he was "the most florid and seraphical preacher in the University," and seraphical preachers should not publish Songs of Dalliance), but to be circulated in manuscript among his friends—then the esteem in which his poetical abilities were held would be intelligible.
Among the rare miscellanies from which I have quoted areWits Interpreter, 1655, 1671;The Academy of Compliments, 1650;The Marrow of Compliments, 1655;Sportive Wit, 1656;The Mysteries of Love and Eloquence(edited by Milton's nephew, Edward Phillips), 1658;Wit and Drollery, 1661;The New Academy of Compliments, 1671;The Windsor Drollery, 1672; andThe Bristol Drollery, 1674. Many poems are from MSS. preserved in the Bodleian Library and the British Museum. The Rev. J. W. Ebsworth, with his usual kindness, has helped me when my knowledge or memory has been at fault. No man has so intimate a knowledge as Mr. Ebsworth of the floating literature of the second half of the seventeenth century.
Though not a few of the poems in the present volume could not be included in anthologies intended for general circulation, I must yet be allowedto state that I have reprinted nothing that is offensively gross. There is a great deal of dirt—nasty worthless trash—in the miscellanies of the Restoration, and with this garbage I have not chosen to meddle.
Dalkeith, N.B.,August, 1888.
FromThe Academy of Compliments, 1650.IF[2]my lady bid begin,Shall I say "No: 'tis a sin"?If she bid me kiss and play,Shall I shrink, cold fool, away?If she clap my cheeks and spyLittle Cupids in my eye,Gripe my hand and stroke my hair,Shall I like a faint heart fear?No, no, no: let those that lieIn dismal prison, and would die,Despair and fear; let those that cryThey are forsaken and would fly,Quit their fortunes; mine are free:Hope makes me hardy, so does she.
FromThe Academy of Compliments, 1650.
IF[2]my lady bid begin,Shall I say "No: 'tis a sin"?If she bid me kiss and play,Shall I shrink, cold fool, away?If she clap my cheeks and spyLittle Cupids in my eye,Gripe my hand and stroke my hair,Shall I like a faint heart fear?No, no, no: let those that lieIn dismal prison, and would die,Despair and fear; let those that cryThey are forsaken and would fly,Quit their fortunes; mine are free:Hope makes me hardy, so does she.
IF[2]my lady bid begin,Shall I say "No: 'tis a sin"?If she bid me kiss and play,Shall I shrink, cold fool, away?If she clap my cheeks and spyLittle Cupids in my eye,Gripe my hand and stroke my hair,Shall I like a faint heart fear?No, no, no: let those that lieIn dismal prison, and would die,Despair and fear; let those that cryThey are forsaken and would fly,Quit their fortunes; mine are free:Hope makes me hardy, so does she.
FromHarl. MS.6917. fol. 38.LET common beauties have the powerTo make one love-sick for an hour,Perhaps for one whole day or two;But so to captivate a heartAs it should never, never part,None hath that artBut only you.Let meaner beauties have the skill,By tempering hopes with fears, to killAnd by degrees a heart undo;But with a sweet, yet tyrant, eyeAt once to bid one look and die,None hath that powerBut only you.Fair wonder, to those charming eyesA heart I fain would sacrifice,Had I but e'er a one in store;But having lost mine long before,Well may I sigh, wish, and adore,But for my lifeCan die no more.
FromHarl. MS.6917. fol. 38.
LET common beauties have the powerTo make one love-sick for an hour,Perhaps for one whole day or two;But so to captivate a heartAs it should never, never part,None hath that artBut only you.Let meaner beauties have the skill,By tempering hopes with fears, to killAnd by degrees a heart undo;But with a sweet, yet tyrant, eyeAt once to bid one look and die,None hath that powerBut only you.Fair wonder, to those charming eyesA heart I fain would sacrifice,Had I but e'er a one in store;But having lost mine long before,Well may I sigh, wish, and adore,But for my lifeCan die no more.
LET common beauties have the powerTo make one love-sick for an hour,Perhaps for one whole day or two;But so to captivate a heartAs it should never, never part,None hath that artBut only you.
Let meaner beauties have the skill,By tempering hopes with fears, to killAnd by degrees a heart undo;But with a sweet, yet tyrant, eyeAt once to bid one look and die,None hath that powerBut only you.
Fair wonder, to those charming eyesA heart I fain would sacrifice,Had I but e'er a one in store;But having lost mine long before,Well may I sigh, wish, and adore,But for my lifeCan die no more.
FromHarl. MS.6917.A Motion to Pleasure.STILL to affect, still to admire,Yet never satisfy desireWith touch of hand, or lip, or thatWhich pleaseth best (I name not what),—Like Tantalus I pining die,Taking Love's dainties at the eye.Nature made nothing but for use,And, fairest, 'twere a gross abuseTo her best work if you it holdUnused, like misers' ill-got gold,Or keep it in a virgin scorn,Like rich robes that are seldom worn.
FromHarl. MS.6917.
A Motion to Pleasure.
STILL to affect, still to admire,Yet never satisfy desireWith touch of hand, or lip, or thatWhich pleaseth best (I name not what),—Like Tantalus I pining die,Taking Love's dainties at the eye.Nature made nothing but for use,And, fairest, 'twere a gross abuseTo her best work if you it holdUnused, like misers' ill-got gold,Or keep it in a virgin scorn,Like rich robes that are seldom worn.
STILL to affect, still to admire,Yet never satisfy desireWith touch of hand, or lip, or thatWhich pleaseth best (I name not what),—Like Tantalus I pining die,Taking Love's dainties at the eye.
Nature made nothing but for use,And, fairest, 'twere a gross abuseTo her best work if you it holdUnused, like misers' ill-got gold,Or keep it in a virgin scorn,Like rich robes that are seldom worn.