PRAISE OF MUSIC. 95 PRAISE OF MUSIC. WHEN whispering strains do softly steal Our pulses beat and bear a part; When threads can make Can scarce deny The soul consists of harmony. O lull me, lull me, charming air, My sense is rock'd with wonder sweet! Grief who need fear That hath an ear? Down let him lie, And slumb'ring die, And change his soul for harmony. William Strode. 96 A BRIDAL SONG. A BRIDAL SONG. ROSES, their sharp spines being gone, Primrose, first-born child of Ver, Oxlips in their cradles growing, All, dear Nature's children sweet, Not an angel of the air, Bird melodious, or bird fair, Be absent hence! The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor May on our bride-house perch or sing, But from it fly! F. Beaumont. A FOREST-DITTY. 97 A FOREST-DITTY. UNDER the greenwood tree Come hither, come hither, come hither; No enemy, But winter and rough weather. Who doth ambition shun, And pleas'd with what he gets, Here shall he see No enemy, But winter and rough weather. W. Shakespeare. 7 Elder Poets. 98 ARCHERS THREE. ARCHERS THREE. WE three Archers be, Rangers that rove through the north countree, That value not honours or money. We three good fellows be, That never yet ran from three times three. We three merry men be, At a lass or a glass under greenwood tree; Though we had not a penny of money. Anonymous. TO DIANA. 99 TO DIANA. HAIL, beauteous Dian, queen of shades, That are by her allowed. Virginity we all profess, Abjure the worldly vain excess, And will to Dian yield no less Than we to her have vowed. The shepherds, satyrs, nymphs, and fawns, Come, to the forest let us go, The fairies dance and satyrs sing, The shepherds, satyrs, &c., &c. Our food is honey from the bees, Of every steepy mountain. The shepherds, satyrs, &c., &c. Thomas Heywood. |