JOHN LYLY. What if I beat the wanton boy, He will repay me with annoy, Then sit thou softly on my knee, Spare not, but play thee. 31 The above Ballad is by DR. THOMAS LODGE. His plays and poetry possess considerable merit. He was born in 1556, and died in 1625. wwwwwww WHAT BIRD SO SINGS. WHAT bird so sings, yet so does wail? Jugg, jugg, jugg, jugg, terue, she cries, And hailing earth, to heaven she flies.-Cuckoo! Brave prick song, who is't now we hear? CUPID AND CAMPASPE. CUPID and my Campaspe play'd 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, 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. Good-morrow to this primrose too; That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein Ah, woe is me, woe, woe is me, For pity, Sir, find out that bee I'll seek him in your bonnet brave, Nay, now I think they've made his grave I'll seek him there, I know ere this, But I will go, or send a kiss By you, Sir, to awake him. Pray, hurt him not; though he be dead, He's soft and tender, pray take heed, NIGHT SONG TO JULIA. HER lamp the glow-worm lend me, And the elves also, whose little eyes glow No will-o'-the-wisp beslight thee, Then let not the darkness thee cumber, The stars of the night will lend thee their light, 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, UNCERTAIN AUTHOR. Where my Julia's lips do smile; All the year where cherries grow. 35 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. 66 DETRACTION'S REWARD. WHO seeks to tame the blustering wind, Or else against dame nature's kind To change things fram'd by cunning skill: Who strives to break the sturdy steel, |