XXIX

PIPING PEACE

You virgins that did late despair

To keep your wealth from cruel men,
Tie up in silk your careless hair :
Soft peace is come again.

Now lovers' eyes may gently shoot
A flame that will not kill;
The drum was angry, but the lute
Shall whisper what you will.

Sing Io, Io! for his sake

That hath restored your drooping heads;
With choice of sweetest flowers make
A garden where he treads;

Whilst we whole groves of laurel bring,
A petty triumph for his brow,
Who is the Master of our spring

And all the bloom we owe.1

James Shirley.

XXX

A ROUND.

SHAKE off your heavy trance!

And leap into a dance

Such as no mortals use to tread;

Fit only for Apollo

To play to, for the moon to lead,

And all the stars to follow!

Francis Beaumont.

1 Own.

A ROUND

25

XXXI

ANOTHER

HEY, nonny no!

Men are fools that wish to die!
Is't not fine to dance and sing
When the bells of death do ring?

Is 't not fine to swim in wine,

And turn upon the toe,

And sing hey, nonny no!

When the winds blow and the seas flow?
Hey, nonny no!

XXXII

ANOTHER

Anon.

ON a fair morning, as I came by the

way,

Met I with a merry maid in the merry month of May; When a sweet love sings his lovely lay

And every bird upon the bush bechirps it so gay:

With a heave and ho! with a heave and ho!

Thy wife shall be thy master, I trow.
Sing care away, care away, let the world go!
Hey, lustily all in a row, all in a row,

Sing care away, care away, let the world go!

XXXIII

ANOTHER

Anon.

Now that the Spring hath fill'd our veins

With kind and active fire,

And made green liv'ries for the plains,
And every grove a quire :

Sing we a song of merry glee,

And Bacchus fill the bowl.

1. Then here's to thee; 2. And thou to me And every thirsty soul.

Nor Care nor Sorrow e'er paid debt,

Nor never shall do mine;

I have no cradle going yet,
Not I, by this good wine.

No wife at home to send for me,

No hogs are in my ground,

No suit in law to pay a fee,

—Then round, old Jocky, round!

All.

Shear sheep that have them, cry we still,

But see that no man 'scape

To drink of the sherry

That makes us so merry

And plump as the lusty grape.

Wm. Browne.

XXXIV

TO LIVE MERRILY AND TO TRUST TO

GOOD VERSES

Now is the time for mirth,

Nor cheek or tongue be dumb;

For, with the flowery earth,

The golden pomp is come.

LIVE MERRILY AND TRUST GOOD VERSES 27

The golden pomp is come;

For now each tree does wear,

Made of her pap

and gum,

Rich beads of amber here:

Now reigns the rose, and now

Th' Arabian dew besmears

My uncontrolled brow

And my retorted hairs.

Homer, this health to thee!

-In sack of such a kind
That it would make thee see
Though thou wert ne'er so blind.

Next, Virgil I'll call forth

To pledge this second health
In wine, whose each cup's worth
An Indian commonwealth.

A goblet next I'll drink

To Ovid, and suppose,

Made he the pledge, he'd think
The world had all one nose.

Then this immensive cup

Of aromatic wine,

Catullus, I'll quaff up

To that terse muse of thine.

Wild am I now with heat:

O Bacchus, cool thy rays! Or frantic I shall eat

Thy thyrse and bite the bays.

Round, round the roof does run,
And being ravish'd thus,
Come, I will drink a tun
To my Propertius.

Now to Tibullus, next,

This flood I'll drink to thee:

But stay, I see a text

That this presents to me :—

Behold, Tibullus lies

Here burnt, whose small return

Of ashes scarce suffice

To fill a little urn.

Trust to good verses then :
They only will aspire
When pyramids, as men,
Are lost i' th' funeral fire.

And when all bodies meet

In Lethe to be drown'd,

Then only numbers sweet

With endless life are crown'd.

Herrick.