SIR ROBERT AYTON. 51 Nothing could have my love o'erthrown, I might perchance have yet been thine; When new desires had conquer'd thee, It had been lethargy in me, Not constancy, to love thee still: Yea, it had been a sin to go And prostitute affection so; Since we are taught no prayers to say, Yet do thou glory in thy choice, Thy choice, of his good fortune boast; To see him gain what I have lost: The author of the above Sonnet, SIR ROBERT AYTON, in 1606, says Pinkerton, wrote some Latin poems in the Delicia Poetarum Scotarum, and some light genteel pieces in English, two of which are published in Select Scottish Ballads, vol. I. One or two more may be found in a collection of Scottish Poems by Watson the printer, published, according to Alexander Campbell, editor of Albyn's Anthology, in 1706-9-11-12. Ayton was Private Secretary to Queen Anne of Denmark, wife of James the Sixth; he is little known as a poet, but the present specimen must induce a regret that he had not written more—it rivals even the Sonnets of Drummond in elegance of fancy and harmony of versification. THE JOLLY ALE-DRINKER. I cannot eat but little meat, I stuff my skin so full within, But belly, God send thee good ale enough, I love no roast, but a nut brown toast, A little bread shall serve my stead, For much I not desire, No frost or snow, no wind I know, Can hurt me if I would: I am so wrapp'd, and thoroughly lapp'd With jolly good ale and old. Back and sides go, &c. THOMAS HEYWOOD. 53 And Tib my wife, that as her life, Full oft drinks she, till you may see The tears run down her cheek. Of this jolly good ale and old. Back and sides go, &c. The above Bacchanalian Piece is by Dr. JOHN STILL, born at Grantham, in Lincolnshire, about 1542. After passing through several gradations in the church, and having been successively Master of St. John's and Trinity Colleges, and Vice-Chancellor of Cambridge, he attained the mitre at Bath and Wells, after the demise of Bishop Godwin, and died in 1607. Some curious notices regarding Dr. Still, will be found in the Nugæ Antiquæ, contained in a Letter from John Harrington to Prince Henry, wherein are several strong delineations of the simple humour and genius of these times. Bishop Still was author of the earliest English drama, that exhibited any approaches to regular comedy, "Gamer Gurton's Needle," acted in 1566, though not printed until 1575, in which "the Jolly Ale-Drinkers" first appeared. Our copy of the Ballad is taken from "Poor Robin's Almanack," for 1708, on the left hand side of this eccentric compiler's column for April. THE CHOICE. SHE that denies me, I would have; Who craves me, I despise; Venus hath power to rule mine heart, But not to please mine eyes: Temptations offer'd I still scorn, Diana doubly clothed, offends; The other no delight. That crafty girl shall please me best, That no for yea can say, Can season with a nay. GIVE MY LOVE GOOD-MORROW. PACK clouds away, and welcome day, Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing, To give my love good-morrow, Notes from them all I'll borrow. Wake from thy nest, robin red-breast, Sing, birds, in every furrow; And from each bill let music shrill, Give my fair love good-morrow; FRANCIS DAVIDSON. Blackbird and thrush, in every bush, 55 The above sprightly Sonnets are from the "Rape of Lucrece," 1608, by THOMAS HEYWOOD, the time of whose birth and death are alike unknown. He was an actor, and had more traffic with the stage than any man who ever lived, if we except the Spanish author, Lope de Vega. Heywood must indeed have been a man of prodigious industry, having, besides numerous other works, and attending to his business as an actor, had either, as is stated in the preface to his "English Traveller," an entire hand, or at least a main finger, in 220 plays, published betwixt 1596 and 1640; so say the learned editors of the "Old English Drama," while Ellis in his "Specimens" reduces their number to 120. Of this great number of plays, no more than 23 have come down to us, besides nine others which are doubtfully attributed to him. His Songs are scattered over his remaining plays, and are of various merit. LOVERS' FOLLIES. IF love be life, I long to die, A fool at least shall be. But he that feels the sorest fits, 'Scapes with no less than loss of wits: Unhappy life they gain, Which love do entertain. |