MERCURY COMPLAINING.

WHA

Mercury.

WHAT makes me so unnimbly rise,
That did descend so fleet?

There is no uphill in the skies,

Clouds stay not feathered feet.

Chorus.

Thy wings are singed, and thou canst fly
But slowly now, swift Mercury.

Mercury.

Some lady here is sure to blame,

That from Love's starry skies

Hath shot some beam or sent some flame
Like lightning from her eyes.

Chorus.

Tax not the stars with what the sun,
Too near approached, incensed hath done.

Mercury.

I'll roll me in Aurora's dew

Or lie in Tethys' bed,

Or from cool Iris beg a few

Pure opal showers new shed.

Chorus.

Nor dew, nor showers, nor sea can slake
Thy quenchless heat, but Lethe's lake.

From JOSEPH RUTTER'S The
Shepherd's Holiday, 1635.

SONG OF VENUS AND THE GRACES.

COME,

And leave these uncouth woods and all
That feed thy fancy with love's gall
But keep away the honey and the sport!

Chorus of Graces-Come unto me!

And with variety

Thou shalt be fed: which Nature loves, and I.

There is no music in a voice

That is but one, and still the same:
Inconstancy is but a name

To fright poor lovers from a better choice.

Chorus-Come then to me!

Orpheus that on Eurydice

Spent all his love, on others scorn, Now on the banks of Hebrus torn Finds the reward of foolish constancy.

Chorus-Come then to me!

And sigh no more for one love lost!
I have a thousand Cupids here
Shall recompense with better cheer
Thy misspent labours and thy bitter cost.
Chorus-Come then to me!-

PRAISE OF HYMEN.

HYMEN, god of marriage-bed,

Be thou ever honoured:

Thou, whose torch's purer light
Death's sad tapers did affright,
And instead of funeral fires

Kindled lovers' chaste desires:
May their love

Ever prove

True and constant; let not age

Know their youthful heat t'assuage.

Maids, prepare the genial bed:

Then come, night, and hide that red
Which her cheeks, his heart does burn;
Till the envious day return,
And the lusty bridegroom say,
"I have chased her fears away,
And instead

Of virginhead,

Given her a greater good,

Perfection and womanhood.”

1635.

FATE'S DECREE.

DIE, die, ah die!

We all must die :

'Tis Fate's decree;

Then ask not why.

When we were framed the Fates consultedly

Did make this law, that all things born should die.

Yet Nature strove,

And did deny

We should be slaves

To Destiny:

At which they heap

Such misery,

That Nature's self

Did wish to die,

And thanked their goodness that they would foresee

To end our cares with such a mild decree.

COME, LOVERS, BRING YOUR CARES.

'OME, lovers, bring your cares,

COME

Bring sigh-perfumed sweets,

Bedew the grave with tears,
Where death and virtue meets.

Sigh for the hapless hour
That knit two hearts in one,
And only gave love power
To die when 'twas begun.

IN

As with mine own dull weight opprest,
To close with sleep the jealous lover's eyes,
And give forsaken virgins rest.

Th' advent'rous merchant and the mariner,
Whom storms all day vex in the deep,
Begin to trust the winds when I appear,
And lose their dangers in their sleep.

The studious that consume their brains and sight
In search where doubtful knowledge lies,

Grow weary of their fruitless use of light,
And wish my shades to ease their eyes.

Th' ambitious toiling statesman that prepares
Great mischiefs ere the day begins,

Not measures day by hours, but by his cares;
And night must intermit his sins.

Then why, when my slow chariot used to climb,
Did old mistaking sages weep?

As if my empire did usurp their time,

And hours were lost when spent in sleep?

I come to ease their labours and prevent
That weariness which would destroy;
The profit of their toils are still misspent
Till rest enables to enjoy.