Unto whom mirth is displeasure, Only rich in mischief's treasure. Yet, alas, before you go, Hear your woful master's story, Which to stones I else would show : Sorrow only then hath glory When 'tis excellently sorry. Stella, fiercest shepherdess, Stella, whom, O heavens still bless, Stella hath refused me! Stella, who more love hath provèd Then can in good ewes be movèd Stella hath refused me! Why, alas, doth she then swear Coals of love that burn so clearly, Is that love? forsooth, I trow, No, she hates me, well-away, All her hate, death soon would seize me, Then adieu, dear flock, adieu; FROM SIDERA.1 "LOVE IS DEAD.” Ring out your bells, let mourning shews be spread; All Love is dead, infected With plague of deep disdain : Worth, as nought worth, rejected, And Faith fair scorn doth gain. From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female franzy,2 From them that use men thus, Weep, neighbours, weep; do you not hear it said His death-bed, peacock's folly; His winding-sheet is shame; His will, false-seeming holy; His sole executor, blame. From so ungrateful fancy, From such a female franzy, From them that use men thus, Good Lord, deliver us! Let dirge be sung, and trentals3 rightly read, For Love is dead; Sir Wrong his tomb ordaineth My mistress' marble heart; Which epitaph containeth, Her eyes were once his dart. 1 A name given by Mr. Grosart to a set of poems first printed in an edition of the Arcadia, 1598, and entitled in all the after folios Certaine Sonets. The name Sidera is meant to express an apparent relation of this series to that of Astrophel and Stella. 2 An effeminate frenzy. 3 Services of thirty masses, usually celebrated upon thirty successive days, for the dead. From so ungrateful fancy, Alas, I lie; rage hath this error bred; Love is not dead, but sleepeth In his unmatched mind, Where she his counsel keepeth, Till due deserts she find : Therefore from so vile fancy, FROM THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE'S ARCADIA.1 ON DYING. Since Nature's works be good, and death doth serve Which were not evil well viewed in reason's light. 1 First printed in 1590. JOHN LYLY. LYLY was a native of Kent. He received his education at Oxford, and was one of the most popular writers in Elizabeth's reign. His principal work was a prose romance called Euphues, published in two parts, in 1579 and 1580. He also wrote nine plays, in which some songs occur. Lyly was obsequiously followed by other writers as a master of style. His literary mannerisms were adopted in England among all classes of educated persons, and were in favour with the Queen herself and her court. The name of his book has passed as an abstract term into our language; but the book itself is no longer read, and the "Euphuistic" method of expression is known to most of us in these days only through the caricatures of it which Shakespeare, Scott, and other writers have produced. Lyly's songs, about a score in all, are graceful, and one or two of them may help us to realise the popularity of their author, whose plays we are told were often acted "before Queen Elizabeth by the Children of her Majesty's Chapel, and the Children of Paul's," or in presence of a less select audience at Blackfriars Theatre. CUPID AND CAMPASPE,1 Cupid and my Campaspe played Growing on his cheek, but none knows how; 1 From the play of Campaspe, 1584. THE SONG OF BIRDS.1 What bird so sings, yet so does wail? Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear? Hark, hark! with what a pretty throat Cuckoo! to welcome in the spring! VULCAN'S SONG.2 My shag-hair Cyclops, come let's ply By my wife's sparrows, I swear these arrows, Shall singing fly Through many a wanton's eye. These headed are with golden blisses, Strikes a clown dead, He falls in a trance, To see his black-brown lass not buss him, NICHOLAS BRETON. (1555-1624.) THE life of this writer spanned the reigns of both Elizabeth and James. He composed a considerable quantity both of prose and verse; and, although nothing that he wrote was much above mediocrity, he was decidedly a popular favourite. 1 Also from Campaspe. 2 From Sappho and Phaon, 1584. |