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By drawing down, and drying up the rheum,

The mother and the nurse of each disease.
It is tobacco which doth cold expel,
And clears the obstructions of the arteries,

And surfeits threatening death digesteth well,

Decocting all the stomach's crudities.

It is tobacco which hath power to clarify The cloudy mists before dim eyes appearing, It is tobacco which hath power to rarify The thick gross humour which doth stop the hearing,

The wasting hectic and the quartan fever, Which doth of physic make a mockery: The gout it cures, and helps ill breaths for ever,

Whether the cause in teeth or stomach


And though ill breaths were by it but confounded

Yet that vile medicine it doth far excel, Which by Sir Thomas More hath been propounded,

For this is thought a gentlemanlike smell.
O that I were one of these mountebanks,
Which praise their oils and powders which
they sell,

My customers would give me coin with thanks!

I for this ware, forsooth a tale would tell;

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There stands the constable, there stands the We call him Fame, for that the wide-mouth whore, And harkening to the song, mark not each Will eat as fast as he will utter lies; other;

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For Fame is said an hundred mouths to have,

And he eats more than would five score suffice.

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Publius, student at the Common Law,
Oft leaves his books, and for his recreation,
To Paris Garden doth himself withdraw,
Where he is ravished with such delectation,
As down amongst the bears and dogs he

Where whilst he skipping cries, "To head, to head,"

His satin doublet and his velvet hose,
Are all with spittle from above bespread.
Then is he like his father's country hall,
Stinking with dogs, and muted all with

And rightly too on him this filth doth fall, Which for such filthy sports his books forsakes;

Leaving old Plowden, Dyer and Brooke alone,

To see old Harry Hunkes and Sacarson.

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Dacus with some good colour and pretence,
Terms his love's beauty "silent eloquence;"
For she doth lay more colours on her face,
Than ever Tully used his speech to grace.


Why dost thou, Marcus, in thy misery
Rail and blaspheme, and call the heavens

The heavens do owe no kindness unto

Thou hast the heavens so little in thy


For in thy life thou never usest prayer,
But at primero, to encounter fair.


See yonder melancholy gentleman,
Which hoodwinked with his hat, alone
doth sit!

Think what he thinks and tell me, if you

What great affairs trouble his little wit.

He thinks not of the war 'twixt France and

Whether it be for Europe good or ill,

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Peace, idle Muse, have done! for it is tim
Since lousy Ponticus envies me fame,
And swears the better sort are much t

To make me so well known for my ill rhyme
Yet Banks his horse is better known than he
So are the camels and the western hog,
And so is Lepidus his printed dog:
Why doth not Ponticus their fames envy?
Besides this Muse of mine, and the blac

Grew both together fresh in estimation,
And both grown stale, were cast away to

What fame is this that scarce lasts out a fashion?

Nor whether the Empire can itself main-Only this last in credit doth remain,


Against the Turkish power encroaching still;

Nor what great town in all the Nether-

The States determine to besiege this spring,
Nor how the Scottish policy now stands,
Nor what becomes of the Irish mutining.

That from henceforth each bastard cas

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I LOVE thee not for sacred chastity.
Who loves for that? nor for thy sprightly wit:
I love thee not for thy sweet modesty,
Which makes thee in perfection's throne to

I love thee not for thy enchanting eye,
Thy beauty, ravishing perfection :
I love thee not for unchaste luxury,
Nor for thy body's fair proportion.

I love thee not for that my soul doth dance,
And leap with pleasure when those lips of

Give musical and graceful utterance,
To some (by thee made happy) poet's line.
I love thee not for voice or slender small,
But wilt thou know wherefore? fair sweet,
for all.

'Faith wench! I cannot court thy sprightly

With the base viol placed between my thighs:
I cannot lisp, nor to some fiddle sing,
Nor run upon a high stretched minikin.
I cannot whine in puling elegies.
Entombing Cupid with sad obsequies :
I am not fashioned for these amorous times,
To court thy beauty with lascivious rhymes:
I cannot dally, caper, dance and sing,
Oiling my saint with supple sonneting:

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Or show my love as musky courtiers do;
I'll not carouse a health to honour thee,
In this same bezzling drunken courtesy:
And when all's quaffed, eat up my bousing

In glory that I am thy servile ass.
Nor will I wear a rotten Bourbon lock,
As some sworn peasant to a female smock.
Well-featured lass, thou know'st I love thee

Yet for thy sake I will not bore mine ear,
To hang thy dirty silken shoe-tires there :
Nor for thy love will I once gnash a brick,
Or some pied colours in my bonnet stick.

But by the chaps of hell, to do thee good,
I'll freely spend my thrice decocted

The Passionate Shepherd to his Love.

[This beautiful song was first printed in 1599 in The Passionate Pilgrim as Shakspeare's, but in the following year is found in England's Helicon with the name Chr. Marlow appended to it, and followed by The Nimph's Reply to the Sheepheard, and Another of the same nature, made since. The former of these has always been assigned to Sir Walter Raleigh; but in England's Helicon both have the word Ignoto attached to them, which is equivalent to the Anon." of the present day. Marlowe's famous song should never be printed without them. I have here given, in the first instance, the version made popular by Isaak Walton, and afterwards the three sister poems copied verbatim et literatim from Mr. Collier's beautiful reprint of the old Anthology.]

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COME live with me, and be my love;
And we will all the pleasures prove

That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy-buds
With coral clasps, and amber-studs:

Aud, if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

[Thy silver dishes for thy meat,
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.]

The shepherd swains shall dance and si
For thy delight each May-morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

The Passionate Sheepheard to his Loue.

COME liue with mee, and be my loue
And we will all the pleasures proue,
That Vallies, groues, hills and fieldes,
Woods, or steepie mountaine yeeldes.

And wee will sit vpon the Rocks,
Seeing the Sheepheards feede theyr

By shallow Riuers, to whose falls,
Melodious byrds sings Madrigalls.

And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant poesies,
A cap of flowers and a kirtle,
Imbroydred all with leaues of Mirtle.


A gowne made of the finest wooll
Which from our pretty Lambes we pull,
Fayre lined slippers for the cold:
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw, and Iuie buds,
With Corall clasps and Amber studs,
And if these pleasures may thee moue,
Come liue with mee, and be my loue.

The Sheepheards Swaines shall daunc
and sing,

For thy delight each May-morning,
If these delights thy mind may moue;
Then liue with mee, and be my loue.

The Nimphs Reply to the Sheepheard.

IF all the world and loue were young,
And truth in euery Sheepheards tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me moue,
To liue with thee, and be thy loue.

Time driues the flocks from field to fold,
When Riuers rage and Rocks grow

And Philomell becommeth dombe,

The rest complaines of cares to come.

The flowers doe fade and wanton fieldes,
To wayward winter reckoning yeeldes,
A honny tongue, a hart of gall,
Is fancies spring, but sorrowes fall.

Thy gounes, thy shooes, thy beds of Roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy poesies,
Soone breake, soone wither, soone for

In follie ripe, in reason rotten.

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