Sir Henry Wotton

(1567-1639)

On a Bank as I sat a-fishing

And now all nature seem'd in love;
The lusty sap began to move;

New juice did stir th' embracing vines,
And birds had drawn their valentines;
The jealous trout, that low did lie,
Rose at a well-dissembled fly.

There stood my friend, with patient skill,

Attending of his trembling quill.
Already were the eaves possess'd
With the swift pilgrim's daubèd nest:
The groves already did rejoice
In Philomel's triumphing voice.

The showers were short, the weather mild,
The morning fresh, the evening smiled.
Joan takes her neat-rubb'd pail, and now
She trips to milk the sand-red cow;
Where, for some sturdy football swain,
Joan strokes a sillabub or twain.
The fields and gardens were beset
With tulip, crocus, violet;

And now, though late, the modest rose
Did more than half a blush disclose.
Thus all look'd gay, all full of cheer,
To welcome the new-liveried year.

Thomas Middleton

(1570?-1627)

Simplicity

Happy times we live to see,
Whose master is Simplicity:
This is the age when blessings flow,
In joy we reap, in peace we sow;
We do good deeds without delay,
We promise and we keep our day;
We love for virtue, not for wealth,
We drink no healths but all for health;
We sing, we dance, we pipe, we play,
Our work's continual holiday;
We live in poor contented sort,
Yet neither beg nor come to court.

From "The World tost at Tennis."

Thomas Vauter

Tuwhoo, tuwhit, tuwhit, tuwhoo-o-o

Sweet Suffolk owl, so trimly dight
With feathers like a lady bright,
Thou sing'st alone, sitting by night,
Te whit, te whoo!

Thy note, that forth so freely rolls,
With shrill command the mouse controls,
And sings a dirge for dying souls,
Te whit, te whoo!

From "Songs of Divers Airs and Natures."

Ist Nymph.

Ben Jonson

(1575-1637)

Hymn to Pan

Of Pan we sing, the best of singers, Pan,

That taught us swains how first to tune our lays, And on the pipe more airs than Phœbus can. Chorus.

Hear, O you groves, and hills resound his praise.

2nd Nymph.

Of Pan we sing, the best of leaders, Pan,

That leads the Naiads and the Dryads forth; And to their dances more than Hermes can. Chorus.

Hear, O you groves, and hills resound his worth.

3rd Nymph.

Of Pan we sing, the best of hunters, Pan,

That drives the hart to seek unusèd ways, And in the chase more than Silvanus can. Chorus.

Hear, O you groves, and hills resound his praise.

2nd Nymph.

Of Pan we sing, the best of shepherds, Pan,

That keeps our flocks and us, and both leads forth To better pastures than great Pales can.

Chorus.

Hear, O you groves, and hills resound his worth ;
And while his powers and praises thus we sing,
The valleys let rebound and all the rivers ring.
From "Pan's Anniversary."

Hymn to Diana

Queen and Huntress, Chaste and Fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,

State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade

Dare itself to interpose;

Cynthia's shining orb was made

Heaven to clear when day did close:
Bless us then with wishèd sight,
Goddess excellently bright.

Lay thy bow of pearl apart

And thy crystal-shining quiver;

Give unto the flying hart

Space to breathe, how short soever :
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright.

From "Cynthia's Revels."