LOVE IS BLIND, AND A WANTON.

L

OVE is blind, and a wanton ;

In the whole world, there is scant one
Such another:

No, not his mother.

He hath plucked her doves and sparrows,
To feather his sharp arrows,
And alone prevaileth,

While sick Venus waileth.

But if Cypris once recover
The wag, it shall behove her
To look better to him,

Or she will undo him.

ADDE MERUM!

́AKE, our mirth begins to die,

WA

Quicken it with tunes and wine.

Raise your notes; you're out : fy, fy!

This drowsiness is an ill sign.

We banish him the quire of gods,

That droops again :

Then all are men,

For here's not one, but nods.

I.

THE BANQUET OF SENSE.

`HEN, in a free and lofty strain

ΤΗ

Our broken tunes we thus repair; 2. And we answer them again,

Running division on the panting air;

Ambo. To celebrate this feast of sense,
As free from scandal as offence.

Here is beauty for the eye;

I.

2.

For the ear sweet melody;

1. Ambrosiac odours for the smell;

2.

Delicious nectar for the taste; Ambo. For the touch a lady's waist, Which doth all the rest excel.

Fo

From BEN JONSON'S Volpone, or
The Fox, 1607.

O FORTUNATI!

OOLS, they are the only nation
Worth men's envy or admiration ;

Free from care or sorrow-taking,
Selves and others merry making :
All they speak or do is sterling.

Your fool he is your great man's dearling,
And your ladies' sport and pleasure;

1

Tongue and bable 1 are his treasure.

Ev'n his face begetteth laughter,

And he speaks truth free from slaughter;

He's the grace of every feast,

And sometimes the chiefest guest;

Hath his trencher and his stool,

When wit waits upon the fool.

O, who would not be
He, he, he?

1 Old form of "bauble."

VIVAMUS, MEA LESBIA.

'OME, my Celia, let us prove,

COM

While we can, the sports of love, Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever; Spend not then his gifts in vain : Suns that set may rise again; But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night. Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumour are but toys. Cannot we delude the eyes Of a few poor household spies? Or his easier ears beguile, Thus removed by our wile? 'Tis no sin love's fruits to steal,

But the sweet thefts to reveal;

To be taken, to be seen,

These have crimes accounted been.

From BEN JONSON'S The Description of the Masque, with the Nuptial Songs, celebrating the happy marriage of John, Lord Ramsay, with the Lady Elizabeth Radcliffe, 1608.

EPITHALAMION.

P! youths and virgins! up, and praise

UP!

The God whose nights outshine his days!
Hymen, whose hallowed rites

Could never boast of brighter lights;

Whose bands pass liberty.

Two of your troop, that with the morn were free,
Are now waged to his war;

And what they are,
If you'll perfection see,

Yourselves must be.

Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star!

What joy or honours can compare
With holy nuptials, when they are
Made out of equal parts

Of years, of states, of hands, of hearts;
When in the happy choice

The spouse and spoused have the foremost voice!
Such, glad of Hymen's war,

Live what they are

And long perfection see:

And such ours be.

Shine, Hesperus! shine forth, thou wished star!

The solemn state of this one night
Were fit to last an age's light;

But there are rites behind

Have less of state and more of kind :
Love's wealthy crop of kisses,

And fruitful harvest of his mother's blisses.

Sound then to Hymen's war!

That what these are,
Who will perfection see

May haste to be.

Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star!

Love's Commonwealth consists of toys;
His Council are those antic boys,

Games, Laughter, Sports, Delights,
That triumph with him on these nights:
To whom we must give way,

For now their reign begins, and lasts till day.
They sweeten Hymen's war,

And in that jar

Make all, that married be,.
Perfection see.

Shine, Hesperus ! shine forth, thou wished star!

Why stays the bridegroom to invade
Her that would be a matron made?

Good-night! whilst yet we may

Good-night to you a virgin say.
To-morrow rise the same