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JOHN LYLY.

What if I beat the wanton boy,
With many a rod?

He will repay me with annoy,
Because a god!

Then sit thou softly on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee,
O Cupid! so thou pity me!

Spare not, but play thee.

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The above Ballad is by DR. THOMAS LODGE. His plays and poetry possess considerable merit. He was born in 1556, and

died in 1625.

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WHAT BIRD SO SINGS.

WHAT bird so sings, yet so does wail?
'Tis Philomel, the nightingale;

Jugg, jugg, jugg, jugg, terue, she cries,

And hailing earth, to heaven she flies.-Cuckoo!
Ha, ha, hark, bark, the cuckoos sing
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring.

Brave prick song, who is't now we hear?
'Tis the lark's silver leer-a-leer;
Chirup, the sparrow, flies away,
For he fell to't ere break of day:
Ha, ha, hark, hark, the cuckoos sing
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring.

CUPID AND CAMPASPE.

CUPID and my Campaspe play'd
At cards for kisses; Cupid paid:
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,

His mother's doves, and team of

sparrows, Loses them too; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose

Growing on's cheek (but none knows how),

With these, the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin:
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes,
She won, and Cupid blind did rise:
O Love! has she done this to thee?

What shall, alas! become of me?

The two foregoing Sonnets are the composition of JOHN LYLY, a celebrated writer in the time of Queen Elizabeth, born about 1553, in the wilds of Kent. He was the author of nine plays, and several lyrics, published betwixt 1580 and 1632, which, along with the above, certainly merit preservation. The last of these,

"Cupid and Campaspe," is to be found in his play of " Alexander and Campaspe," printed in 1591. The time of this author's death is uncertain, but Ellis fixes it about the year 1600.

THE MAD MAID'S SONG.

GOOD-morrow to the day so fair,

Good-morrow, Sir, to you;

Good-morrow to mine own torn hair,

Bedabbled all with dew.

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Good-morrow to this primrose too;
Good-morning to each maid,

That will with flowers the tomb bestrew
my love is laid.

Wherein

Ah, woe is me, woe, woe is me,
Alack and well-a-day!

For pity, Sir, find out that bee
Which bore my love away.

I'll seek him in your bonnet brave,
I'll seek him in your eyes;

Nay, now I think they've made his grave
In the bed of strawberries.

I'll seek him there, I know ere this,
The cold, cold earth doth shake him;

But I will go, or send a kiss

By you, Sir, to awake him.

Pray, hurt him not; though he be dead,
He knows well who do love him,
And who with green turfs rear his head,
And who so rudely move him.

He's soft and tender, pray take heed,
With bands of cowslips bind him,
And bring him home; but 'tis decreed
That I shall never find him.

NIGHT SONG TO JULIA.

HER lamp the glow-worm lend me,
The shooting stars attend me,

And the elves also, whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire befriend me.

No will-o'-the-wisp beslight thee,
Nor snake, or slow-worm bite thee,
But on, on thy way, nor lingering stay,
Since ghost there is none to affright thee.

Then let not the darkness thee cumber,
What though the moon does slumber,

The stars of the night will lend thee their light,
Like tapers clear without number.

Then, Julia, let me woo thee,

Thus, thus to come unto me,

And when I shall meet thy silvery feet,

My soul I will pour into thee.

CHERRY-RIPE.

CHERRY-ripe, ripe, ripe, ripe I cry,
Full and fair ones, come and buy!
If so be you ask me where
They do grow, I answer there,

UNCERTAIN AUTHOR.

Where my Julia's lips do smile;
There's the land, or cherry isle;
Whose plantations fully show

All the year where cherries grow.

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The three foregoing Songs are by ROBERT HERRICK, who appears to have been a poet of very considerable merit. Within these few years, his memory has been happily revived by Drake, Irvin, Campbell, Retrospective Review, &c. all of whom, attracted by the native sweetness and harmony of his versification, have drawn largely upon his writings. Herrick's poetry is considerable, and he may be placed at the head of the minor poets of his time. He lived to an advanced age, and was born in London in 1591. He published a volume of his poetry, under the title of 'Hesperides." 1648. 8vo.

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DETRACTION'S REWARD.

WHO seeks to tame the blustering wind,
Or cause the floods bend to his will,

Or else against dame nature's kind

To change things fram'd by cunning skill:
That man I think bestoweth pain,
Though that his labour be in vain.

Who strives to break the sturdy steel,
Or goeth about to stay the sun;
Who thinks to cause an oak to reel,
Which never can by force be done:
That man likewise bestoweth pain,
Though that his labour be in vain.

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