VII.

THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD.

These beautiful Stanzas were written by George Wither, of whom some account was given in the former part of this volume; see the song entitled, 'The Shepherd's Resolution,' Book II. Song XXI. In the first edition of this work only a fragment of this sonnet was inserted. It was afterwards rendered more complete and entire by the addition of five stanzas more, extracted from Wither's pastoral poem, entitled, The Mistress of Philarete,' of which this so ng makes a part. It is now given still more correct and perfect by comparing it with another copy, printed by the author in his improved edition of 'The Shepherd's Hunting,' 1620, 8vo.

HENCE away, thou Syren, leave me,

Pish! unclaspe these wanton armes;
Sugred words can ne'er deceive me,
(Though thou prove a thousand charmes).
Fie, fie, forbeare;

No common snare

Can ever my affection chaine;

Thy painted baits,

And poore deceits,

Are all bestowed on me in vaine.

10

I'me no slave to such, as you be;
Neither shall that snowy brest,

Rowling eye, and lip of ruby

Ever robb me of my rest:

Goe, goe display

Thy beautie's ray

To some more-soone enamour'd swaine:

Those common wiles

Of sighs and smiles

Are all bestowed on me in vaine.

I have elsewhere vowed a dutie;
Turne away thy tempting eye:

Shew not me a painted beautie;
These impostures I defie:
My spirit lothes

Where gawdy clothes

And fained othes may love obtaine:
I love her so,

Whose looke sweares No;

That all your labours will be vaine.

Can he prize the tainted posies,

Which on every brest are worne; That may plucke the virgin roses From their never-touched thorne? I can goe rest

On her sweet brest,

That is the pride of Cynthia's traine:
Then stay thy tongue;

Thy mermaid song

Is all bestowed on me in vaine.

Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,

Where each peasant mates with him: Shall I haunt the thronged vallies, Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe? No, no, though clownes

Are scar'd with frownes,

I know the best can but disdaine;
And those Ile prove:

So will thy love

Be all bestowed on me in vaine.

I doe scorne to vow a dutie,

Where each lustfull lad may wooe: Give me her, whose sun-like beautie Buzzards dare not soare unto:

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30

35

40

45

50

Shee, shee it is

Affoords that blisse

For which I would refuse no paine:

But such as you,

Fond fooles, adieu;

55

You seeke to captive me in vaine.

Leave me then, you Syrens, leave me;
Seeke no more to worke my harmes:
Craftie wiles cannot deceive me,

Who am proofe against your charmes;

You labour may

To lead astray

The heart, that constant shall remaine:

And I the while

Will sit and smile

To see you spend your time in vaine.

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65

70

VIII.

THE SPANISH VIRGIN, OR EFFECTS
OF JEALOUSY.

The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tragical stories, entitled, 'The theatre of God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor,' 1642, Pt. 2, p. 89.-The text is given (with corrections) from two copies; one of them in black-letter in the Pepys collection. In this every stanza is accompanied with the following distich by way of burden:

'O jealousie! thou art nurst in hell:

Depart from hence, and therein dwell.'

ALL tender hearts, that ake to hear
Of those that suffer wrong;

All you, that never shed a tear,

Give heed unto my song.

Fair Isabella's tragedy

My tale doth far exceed: Alas! that so much cruelty

In female hearts should breed!

In Spain a lady liv'd of late,
Who was of high degree;

Whose wayward temper did create
Much woe and misery.

Strange jealousies so fill'd her head

With many a vain surmize,

10

She thought her lord had wrong'd her bed,

15

And did her love despise.

A gentlewoman passing fair

Did on this lady wait;

With bravest dames she might compare;

Her beauty was compleat.

Her lady cast a jealous eye
Upon this gentle maid;
And taxt her with disloyaltye;
And did her oft upbraid.

In silence still this maiden meek
Her bitter taunts would bear,
While oft adown her lovely cheek
Would steal the falling tear.

In vain in humble sort she strove

Her fury to disarm;

As well the meekness of the dove

The bloody hawke might charm.

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25

80

Her lord of humour light and gay,

And innocent the while,

As oft as she came in his way,

Would on the damsell smile.

And oft before his lady's face,
As thinking her her friend,

He would the maiden's modest grace
And comeliness commend.

All which incens'd his lady so

She burnt with wrath extreame;

At length the fire that long did glow,
Burst forth into a flame.

For on a day it so befell,

When he was gone from home, The lady all with rage did swell, And to the damsell come.

And charging her with great offence,
And many a grievous fault;

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40

45

50

She bade her servants drag her thence,

Into a dismal vault,

That lay beneath the common-shore:

A dungeon dark and deep:

Where they were wont, in days of
Offenders great to keep.

There never light of chearful day

Dispers'd the hideous gloom;
But dank and noisome vapours play
Around the wretched room:

yore,