HA, HA, HA!

OH, how my lungs do tickle! ha, ha, ha!

Oh, how my lungs do tickle! ho, ho, ho, ho!
Set a sharp jest

Against my breast,

Then how my lungs do tickle!

As nightingales,

And things in cambric rails,'

Sing best against a prickle.
Ha, ha, ha, ha!

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho!

Laugh! Laugh! Laugh! Laugh!
Wide! Loud! And vary!

A smile is for a simpering novice,

One that ne'er tasted caviare,

Nor knows the smack of dear anchovies.
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho!

A giggling waiting wench for me,

That shows her teeth how white they be!

A thing not fit for gravity,

For theirs are foul and hardly three.

Ha, ha, ha!

Ho, ho, ho!

Democritus, thou ancient fleerer.

How I miss thy laugh, and ha' since!
There you named the famous['t] jeerer,
That ever jeered in Rome or Athens.
Ha, ha, ha!
Ho, ho, ho!

1 Night-rails (night-dresses).

How brave lives he that keeps a fool,
Although the rate be deeper!

But he that is his own fool, sir,

Does live a great deal cheaper.
Sure I shall burst, burst, quite break,
Thou art so witty.

'Tis rare to break at court,

For that belongs to the city.
Ha, ha! my spleen is almost worn
To the last laughter.

Oh, keep a corner for a friend;
A jest may come hereafter.

From JOHN FLETCHER'S Love's
Cure, 1647.

TURN, TURN THY BEAUTEOUS FACE AWAY.

URN, turn thy beauteous face away;

TURI

How pale and sickly looks the day,

In emulation of thy brighter beams!

Oh envious light, fly, fly, begone!

Come, night, and piece two breasts as one!
When what love does we will repeat in dreams.

Yet, thy eyes open, who can day hence fright?
Let but their lids fall, and it will be night.

From JOHN FLETCHER'S The
Queen of Corinth, 1647.

WEEP NO MORE.

EEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan,

WEE

Sorrow calls no time that's gone:
Violets plucked, the sweetest rain
Makes not fresh nor grow again;
Trim thy locks, look cheerfully;
Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see:
Joys as winged dreams fly fast,
Why should sadness longer last?
Grief is but a wound to woe;

Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo.1

REE

UNIVERSITY CALIFORNIA

From JOHN FLETCHER'S The

Bloody Brother; or, Rollo,
Duke of Normandy, 1639.

DRINK TO-DAY, AND DROWN ALL SORROW.

DRINK to-day, and drown all sorrow,

You shall perhaps not do it to-morrow :
Best, while you have it, use your breath;
There is no drinking after death.

Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit,
There is no cure 'gainst age but it :
It helps the head-ache, cough, and tisic,
And is for all diseases physic.

Then let us swill, boys, for our health ;
Who drinks well, loves the commonwealth.
And he that will to bed go sober

Falls with the leaf still in October.

From JOHN FLETCHER'S The
Elder Brother, 1637.

BEAUTY CLEAR AND FAIR.

BEAUTY clear and fair,

Where the air

Rather like a perfume dwells;

Where the violet and the rose

Their blue veins and' blush disclose,

And come to honour nothing else.

Where to live near,

And planted there,

Is to live, and still live new ;

Where to gain a favour is

More than light, perpetual bliss,-

Make me live by serving you.

Dear, again back recall
To this light,

A stranger to himself and all;
Both the wonder and the story

Shall be yours, and eke the glory :
I am your servant, and your thrall.

1 Old eds. "in "-which Dyce retained.

Mason proposed

"and"; and this reading is found in an early MS. copy of the play (Egerton MS. 1994).

From FLETCHER and RowLEY'S
The Maid in the Mill, 1647.1

COME FOLLOW ME, YOU COUNTRY LASSES.

OME follow me, you country lasses,

COME

And you shall see such sport as passes:

You shall dance and I will sing;

Pedro, he shall rub the string;

Each shall have a loose-bodied gown
Of green, and laugh till you lie down.
Come follow me, come follow, &c.

You shall have crowns of roses, daisies,
Buds where the honey-maker grazes;
You shall taste the golden thighs,
Such as in wax-chamber lies:

What fruit please you taste, freely pull,
Till you have all your bellies full.

Come follow me, &c.

1 Acted in 1623.-I suspect that the song may be by William Rowley.