The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Every-Day Book and Table Book, Vol. III, by William Hone.

THE VOICE OF SPRING.

I come, I come! ye have call’d me long;
I come o’er the mountains with light and song!
Ye may trace my steps o’er the wakening earth,
By the winds which tell of the violet’s birth,
By the primrose-stars in the shadowy grass,
By the green leaves opening as I pass.

I have breath’d on the south, and the chestnut flowers
By thousands have burst from the forest bowers,
And the ancient graves, and the fallen fanes,
Are veil’d with wreaths on Italian plains.
—But it is not for me, in my hour of bloom,
To speak of the ruin of the tomb!

I have pass’d o’er the hills of the stormy north,
And the larch has hung all his tassels forth;
The fisher is out on the sunny sea,
And the rein-deer bounds thro’ the pasture free,
And the pine has a fringe of softer green,
And the moss looks bright where my step has been.

I have sent thro’ the wood-paths a gentle sigh,
And call’d out each voice of the deep blue sky,
From the nightbird’s lay thro’ the starry time,
In the groves of the soft Hesperian clime,
To the swan’s wild note by the Iceland lakes,
When the dark fir-bough into verdure breaks.

From the streams and founts I have loos’d the chain,
They are sweeping on to the silvery main,
They are flashing down from the mountain-brows,
They are flinging spray on the forest-boughs,
They are bursting fresh from their starry caves,
And the earth resounds with the joy of waves.

Come forth, O ye children of gladness, come!
Where the violets lie, may be now your home;
Ye of the rose-cheek and dew-bright eye,
And the bounding footstep, to meet me fly.
With the lyre, and the wreath, and the joyous lay,
Come forth to the sunshine, I may not stay!

Away from the dwellings of care-worn men,
The waters are sparkling in wood and glen,
Away from the chamber and dusky hearth,
The young leaves are dancing in breezy mirth,
Their light stems thrill to the wild-wood strains,
And youth is abroad in my green domains.

Mrs. Hemans.

MOTHERING SUNDAY.

To the accounts in the Every-Day Book of the observance of Mid Lent, or “Mothering Sunday,” I would add, that the day is scrupulously observed in this city and neighbourhood; and, indeed, I believe generally in the western parts of England. The festival is kept here much in the same way as the 6th of January is with you: that day is passed over in silence with us.

All who consider themselves dutiful children, or who wish to be so considered by others, on this day make presents to their mother, and hence derived the name of “Mothering Sunday.” The family all assemble; and, if the day prove fine, proceed, after church, to the neighbouring village to eat frumerty. The higher classes partake of it at their own houses, and in the evening come the cake and wine. The “Mothering cakes” are very highly ornamented, artists being employed to paint them. This social meeting does not seem confined to the middling or lower orders; none, happily, deem themselves too high to be good and amiable.

The custom is of great antiquity; and long, long may it be prevalent amongst us.

Defoeana.
No. II.

MIXED BREEDS;
OR,
EDUCATION THROWN AWAY.

I came into a public-house once in London, where there was a black Mulatto-looking man sitting, talking very warmly among some gentlemen, who I observed were listening very attentively to what he said; and I sat myself down, and did the like; ’twas with great pleasure I heard him discourse very handsomely on several weighty subjects; I found he was a very good scholar, had been very handsomely bred, and that learning and study was his delight; and more than that, some of the best of science was at that time his employment: at length I took the freedom to ask him, if he was born in England? He replied with a great deal of good humour, but with an excess of resentment at his father, and with tears in his eyes, “Yes, yes, sir, I am a true born Englishman, to my father’s shame be it spoken; who, being an Englishman himself, could find in his heart to join himself to a negro woman, though he must needs know, the children he should beget, would curse the memory of such an action, and abhor his very name for the sake of it. Yes, yes, (said he repeating it again,) I am an Englishman, and born in lawful wedlock; happy it had been for me, though my father had gone to the devil for wh——m, had he lain with a cook-maid, or produced me from the meanest beggar in the street. My father might do the duty of nature to his black wife; but, God knows, he did no justice to his children. If it had not been for this black face of mine, (says he, then smiling,) I had been bred to the law, or brought up in the study of divinity: but my father gave me learning to no manner of purpose; for he knew I should never be able to rise by it to any thing but a learned valet de chambre. What he put me to school for I cannot imagine; he spoiled a good tarpawling, when he strove to make me a gentleman. When he had resolved to marry a slave, and lie with a slave, he should have begot slaves, and let us have been bred as we were born: but he has twice ruined me; first with getting me a frightful face, and then going to paint a gentleman upon me.”—It was a most affecting discourse indeed, and as such I record it; and I found it ended in tears from the person, who was in himself the most deserving, modest, and judicious man, that I ever met with, under a negro countenance, in my life.

CHINESE IDOL.

It had a thing instead of a head, but no head; it had a mouth distorted out of all manner of shape, and not to be described for a mouth, being only an unshapen chasm, neither representing the mouth of a man, beast, fowl, or fish: the thing was neither any of the four, but an incongruous monster: it had feet, hands, fingers, claws, legs, arms, wings, ears, horns, every thing mixed one among another, neither in the shape or place that nature appointed, but blended together, and fixed to a bulk, not a body; formed of no just parts, but a shapeless trunk or log; whether of wood, or stone, I know not; a thing that might have stood with any side forward, or any side backward, any end upward, or any end downward; that had as much veneration due to it on one side, as on the other; a kind of celestial hedgehog, that was rolled up within itself, and was every thing every way; formed neither to walk, stand, go, nor fly; neither to see, hear, nor speak; but merely to instil ideas of something nauseous and abominable into the minds of men that adored it.

MANNERS OF A LONDON WATERMAN, AND HIS FARE, A HUNDRED YEARS AGO.

What I have said last [of the Manners of a spruce London Mercer,[184]] makes me think on another way of inviting customers, the most distant in the world from what I have been speaking of, I mean that which is practised by the watermen, especially on those whom by their mien and garb they know to be peasants. It is not unpleasant to see half a dozen people surround a man they never saw in their lives before, and two of them that can get the nearest, clapping each an arm over his neck, hug him in as loving and familiar a manner as if he were their brother newly come home from an East India voyage; a third lays hold of his hand, another of his sleeve, his coat, the buttons of it, or any thing he can come at, whilst a fifth or a sixth, who has scampered twice round him already without being able to get at him, plants himself directly before the man in hold, and within three inches of his nose, contradicting his rivals with an open-mouthed cry, shows him a dreadful set of large teeth, and a small remainder of chewed bread and cheese, which the countryman’s arrival had hindered from being swallowed. At all this no offence is taken, and the peasant justly thinks they are making much of him; therefore far from opposing them he patiently suffers himself to be pushed or pulled which way the strength that surrounds him shall direct. He has not the delicacy to find fault with a man’s breath, who has just blown out his pipe, or a greasy head of hair that is rubbing against his chaps: dirt and sweat he has been used to from his cradle, and it is no disturbance to him to hear half a score people, some of them at his ear, and the furthest not five feet from him, bawl out as if he was a hundred yards off: he is conscious that he makes no less noise when he is merry himself, and is secretly pleased with their boisterous usages. The hawling and pulling him about he construes in the way it is intended; it is a courtship he can feel and understand: he can’t help wishing them well for the esteem they seem to have for him: he loves to be taken notice of, and admires the Londoners for being so pressing in their offers of service to him, for the value of threepence or less; whereas in the country, at the shop he uses, he can have nothing but he must first tell them what he wants, and, though he lays out three or four shillings at a time, has hardly a word spoke to him unless it be in answer to a question himself is forced to ask first. This alacrity in his behalf moves his gratitude, and unwilling to disoblige any, from his heart he knows not whom to choose. I have seen a man think all this, or something like it, as plainly as I could see the nose on his face; and at the same time move along very contentedly under a load of watermen, and with a smiling countenance carry seven or eight stone more than his own weight, to the water side.

May.

MAY GOSLINGS.—MAY BATHERS.

On the first of May, the juvenile inhabitants of Skipton, in Craven, Yorkshire, have a similar custom to the one in general use on the first of April. Not content with making their companions fools on one day, they set apart another, to make them “May goslings,” or geese. If a boy made any one a May gosling on the second of May, the following rhyme was said in reply:—

“May-day’s past and gone,
Thou’s a gosling, and I’m none.”

This distich was also said, mutatis mutandis, on the second of April. The practice of making May goslings was very common about twelve years ago, but is now dying away.

As the present month is one when very severe colds are often caught by bathers, it may not be amiss to submit to the readers of the Table Book the following old saying, which is very prevalent in Skipton:—

“They who bathe in May
Will be soon laid in clay;
They who bathe in June
Will sing a merry tune.”

SAILORS ON THE FIRST OF MAY.

Sir,—You have described the ceremony adopted by our sailors, of shaving all nautical tyros on crossing the line,[185] but perhaps you are not aware of a custom which prevails annually on the first of May, in the whale-fishery at Greenland and Davis’s Straits. I therefore send you an account of the celebration which took place on board the Neptune of London, in Greenland, 1824, of which ship I was surgeon at that period.

Previous to the ship’s leaving her port, the sailors collected from their wives, and other female friends, ribands “for the garland,” of which great care was taken until a few days previous to the first of May, when all hands were engaged in preparing the said garland, with a model of the ship.

The garland was made of a hoop, taken from one of the beef casks; this hoop, decorated with ribands, was fastened to a stock of wood, of about four feet in length, and a model of the ship, prepared by the carpenter, was fastened above the hoop to the top of the stock, in such a manner as to answer the purpose of a vane. The first of May arrives; the tyros were kept from between decks, and all intruders excluded while the principal performers got ready the necessary apparatus and dresses. The barber was the boatswain, the barber’s mate was the cooper, and on a piece of tarpawling, fastened to the entrance of the fore-hatchway, was the following inscription:—

The performers then came forward, as follows:—First, the fiddler, playing as well as he could on an old fiddle, “See the conquering hero comes;” next, four men, two abreast, disguised with matting, rags, &c. so as to completely prevent them from being recognised, each armed with a boat-hook; then came Neptune himself, also disguised, mounted on the carriage of the largest gun in the ship, and followed by the barber, barber’s mate, swab-bearer, shaving-box carrier, and as many of the ship’s company as chose to join them, dressed in such a grotesque manner as to beggar all description. Arrived on the quarter-deck they were met by the captain, when his briny majesty immediately dismounted, and the following dialogue ensued:—

Nept. Well, I hope I shall drink your honour’s health, and I wish you a prosperous fishery.

Nept. (filling a glass.) Here’s health to you, captain, and success to our cause. Have you got any fresh-water sailors on board? for if you have, I must christen them, so as to make them useful to our king and country.

Capt. We have eight of them on board at your service; I therefore wish you good morning.

The procession then returned in the same manner as it came, the candidates for nautical fame following in the rear; after descending the fore-hatchway they congregated between decks, when all the offerings to Neptune were given to the deputy, (the cook,) consisting of whiskey, tobacco, &c. The barber then stood ready with his box of lather, and the landsmen were ordered before Neptune, when the following dialogue took place with each, only with the alteration of the man’s name, as follows:—

At each of these answers, the brush dipped in the lather (consisting of soap-suds, oil, tar, paint, &c.) was thrust into the respondent’s mouth and over his face; then the barber’s-mate scraped his face with a razor, made of a piece of iron hoop well notched; his sore face was wiped with a damask towel, (a boat-swab dipped in filthy water) and this ended the ceremony. When it was over they undressed themselves, the fiddle struck up, and they danced and regaled with their grog until they were “full three sheets in the wind.”

NAVAL ANECDOTE.

During the siege of Acre, Daniel Bryan, an old seaman and captain of the fore-top, who had been turned over from the Blanche into sir Sidney Smith’s ship Le Tigré, repeatedly applied to be employed on shore; but, being an elderly man and rather deaf, his request was not acceded to. At the first storming of the breach by the French, one of their generals fell among the multitude of the slain, and the Turks, in triumph, struck off his head, and, after mangling the body with their sabres, left it a prey to the dogs, which in that country are of great ferocity, and rove in herds. In a few days it became a shocking spectacle, and when any of the sailors who had been on shore returned to their ship, inquiries were constantly made respecting the state of the French general. To Dan’s frequent demands of his messmates why they had not buried him, the only answer he received was, “Go and do it yourself.” One morning having obtained leave to go and see the town, he dressed himself as though for an excursion of pleasure, and went ashore with the surgeon in the jolly-boat. About an hour or two after, while the surgeon was dressing the wounded Turks in the hospital, in came honest Dan, who, in his rough, good-natured manner, exclaimed, “I’ve been burying the general, sir, and now I’m come to see the sick!” Not particularly attending to the tar’s salute, but fearing that he might catch the plague, which was making great ravages among the wounded Turks, the surgeon immediately ordered him out. Returning on board, the cockswain asked of the surgeon if he had seen old Dan? It was then that Dan’s words in the hospital first occurred, and on further inquiry of the boat’s crew they related the following circumstances:—

The old man procured a pick-axe, a shovel, and a rope, and insisted on being let down, out of a port-hole, close to the breach. Some of his more juvenile companions offered to attend him. “No!” he replied, “you are too young to be shot yet; as for me, I am old and deaf, and my loss would be no great matter.” Persisting in his adventure, in the midst of the firing, Dan was slung and lowered down, with his implements of action on his shoulder. His first difficulty was to beat away the dogs. The French levelled their pieces—they were on the instant of firing at the hero!—but an officer, perceiving the friendly intentions of the sailor, was seen to throw himself across the file: instantaneously the din of military thunder ceased, a dead, solemn silence prevailed, and the worthy fellow consigned the corpse to its parent earth. He covered it with mould and stones, placing a large stone at its head, and another at its feet. The unostentatious grave was formed, but no inscription recorded the fate or character of its possessor. Dan, with the peculiar air of a British sailor, took a piece of chalk from his pocket, and attempted to write

He was then, with his pick-axe and shovel, hoisted into the town, and the hostile firing immediately recommenced.

A few days afterwards, sir Sidney, having been informed of the circumstance, ordered old Dan to be called into the cabin.—“Well, Dan, I hear you have buried the French general.”—“Yes, your honour.”—“Had you any body with you?”—“Yes, your honour.”—“Why, Mr. —— says you had not.”—“But I had, your honour.”—“Ah! who had you?”—“God Almighty, sir.”—“A very good assistant, indeed. Give old Dan a glass of grog.”—“Thank your honour.” Dan drank the grog, and left the cabin highly gratified. He was for several years a pensioner in the royal hospital at Greenwich.

THE “RIGHT” LORD LOVAT.

The following remarkable anecdote, communicated by a respectable correspondent, with his name and address, may be relied on as genuine.

An old man, claiming to be “the right lord Lovat,” i. e. heir to him who was beheaded in 1745, came to the Mansion-house in 1818 for advice and assistance. He was in person and face as much like the rebel lord, if one may judge from his pictures, as a person could be, and the more especially as he was of an advanced age. He said he had been to the present lord Lovat, who had given him food and a little money, and turned him away. He stated his pedigree and claim thus:—The rebel lord had an only brother, known by the family name of Simon Fraser. Before lord Lovat engaged in the rebellion, Simon Fraser went to a wedding in his highland costume; when he entered the room where the party was assembled, an unfortunate wight of a bagpiper struck up the favourite march of a clan in mortal enmity with that of Fraser, which so enraged him, that he drew his dirk and killed the piper upon the spot. Fraser immediately fled, and found refuge in a mine in Wales. No law proceedings took place against him as he was absent, and supposed to have perished at sea. He married in Wales, and had one son, the old man abovenamed, who said he was about sixty. When lord Lovat was executed his lands became forfeited; but in course of time, lord L. not having left a son, the estates were granted by the crown to a collateral branch, (one remove beyond Simon Fraser,) the present lord, it not being known that Simon Fraser was alive or had left issue. It is further remarkable that the applicant further stated, that both he and his father, Simon Fraser, were called lord Lovat by the miners and other inhabitants of that spot where he was known.

The old man was very ignorant, not knowing how to read or write, having been born in the mine and brought up a miner; but he said he had preserved Simon Fraser’s highland dress, and that he had it in Wales.

FAST-PUDDING.
Extract from the Famous Historie of Friar Bacon.
How Friar Bacon deceived his Man, that would fast for conscience sake.

Friar Bacon had only one man to attend him; and he, too, was none of the wisest, for he kept him in charity more than for any service he had of him. This man of his, named Miles, never could endure to fast like other religious persons did; for he always had, in one corner or other, flesh, which he would eat, when his master eat bread only, or else did fast and abstain from all things.

Friar Bacon seeing this, thought at one time or other to be even with him, which he did, one Friday, in this manner: Miles, on the Thursday night, had provided a great black-pudding for his Friday’s fast; that pudding he put in his pocket, (thinking to warm it so, for his master had no fire on those days.) On the next day, who was so demure as Miles! he looked as though he could not have eat any thing. When his master offered him some bread, he refused it, saying, his sins deserved a greater penance than one day’s fast in a whole week. His master commended him for it, and bid him take heed he did not dissemble, for if he did, it would at last be known. “Then were I worse than a Turk,” said Miles. So went he forth, as if he would have gone to pray privately, but it was for nothing but to prey privily on his black-pudding. Then he pulled out, and fell to it lustily: but he was deceived, for, having put one end in his mouth, he could neither get it out again, nor bite it off; so that he stamped for help. His master hearing him, came; and finding him in that manner, took hold of the other end of the pudding, and led him to the hall, and showed him to all the scholars, saying, “See here, my good friends and fellow-students, what a devout man my servant Miles is! He loved not to break a fast-day—witness this pudding, that his conscience will not let him swallow!” His master did not release him till night, when Miles did vow never to break any fast-day while he lived.

CLERICAL ERRORS.

Every inhabitant of Craven has heard tales of this eccentric person, and numberless are the anecdotes told of him. I have not the history of Craven, and cannot name the period of his death exactly, but I believe it happened between fifty and sixty years ago. He was a learned man and a wit—so much addicted to waggery, that he sometimes forgot his office, and indulged in sallies rather unbecoming a minister, but nevertheless he was a sincere Christian. The following anecdotes are well known in Craven, and may amuse elsewhere. One of Mr. Alcock’s friends, at whose house he was in the habit of calling previously to his entering the church on Sundays, once took occasion to unstitch his sermon and misplace the leaves. At the church, Mr. Alcock, when he had read a page, discovered the joke. “Peter,” said he, “thou rascal! what’s thou been doing with my sermon?” then turning to his congregation he said, “Brethren, Peter’s been misplacing the leaves of my sermon, I have not time to put them right, I shall read on as I find it, and you must make the best of it that you can;” and he accordingly read through the confused mass, to the astonishment of his flock. On another occasion, when in the pulpit, he found that he had forgotten his sermon; nowise disappointed at the loss, he called out to his clerk, “Jonas, I have left my sermon at home, so hand us up that Bible, and I’ll read ’em a chapter in Job worth ten of it!” Jonas, like his master, was an oddity, and used to make a practice of falling asleep at the commencement of the sermon, and waking in the middle of it, and bawling out “amen,” thereby destroyed the gravity of the congregation. Mr. Alcock once lectured him for this, and particularly requested he would not say amen till he had finished his discourse. Jonas promised compliance, but on the following Sunday made bad worse, for he fell asleep as usual, and in the middle of the sermon awoke and bawled out “Amen at a venture!” The Rev. Mr. Alcock is, I think, buried before the communion-table of Skipton church, under a slab of blue marble, with a Latin inscription to his memory.

REMARKABLE EPITAPH.

Frank Fry, of Christian Malford, Wilts, whose bones lie undisturbed in the church-yard of his native village, wrote for himself the following

“Epitaph.

“Here lies I
Who did die;
I lie did
As I die did,
Old Frank Fry!

“When the worms comes
To pick up their crumbs,
They’ll have in I—
A rare Frank Fry!”

The worms have had, in Frank, a lusty subject—his epitaph is recorded only in the Table Book.

A MODERN MYSTERY.

Sir,—As I perceive you sometimes insert in your Table Book articles similar to the enclosed original printed Notice, you may perhaps think it worthy of a place in your amusing miscellany; if so, it is much at your service.

Saturday 30 and on Sunday 31 of the corrent, in the Royal Theatre of St. Charles will be represented by the Italian Company the famous Holy Drama intitled

In the interval of the frist to the second act it shall have a new and pompous Ball of the composition of John Baptista Gianini, who has by title:

in which will enter all the excellent corp of Ball, who dance at present in the said Royal Theatre; the spetacle will be finished with the second act and Ball analog to the same Drama, all with the nessessary decoration.

This is who is offered to the Respectable Publick of whom is waited all the protection and concurrence:

ODD SIGN.

At West-end, near Skipton in Craven, Yorkshire, a gate hangs, as a sign to a public-house, with this inscription on it—

This gate hangs well,
And hinders none;
Refresh and pay,
And travel on.

Vol. I.—21.

SNUFFERS.

Perhaps there is no implement of domestic use that we are less acquainted with, in its old form, than snuffers. I have now before me a pair, which for their antiquity and elegant workmanship seem worth attention: the engraving on the other side represents their exact size and construction.

After some research, I can only meet with particulars of one other pair, which were found in digging the foundation of a granary, at the foot of a hill adjoining to Cotton Mansion-house, (formerly the seat of the respectable family of the Mohuns,) in the parish of St. Peter, Portisham, about two miles north-east from Abbotsbury in Dorsetshire. They were of brass, and weighed six ounces. “The great difference,” says Mr. Hutchins, “between these and modern utensils of the same name and use is, that these are in shape like a heart fluted, and consequently terminate in a point. They consist of two equal lateral cavities, by the edges of which the snuff is cut off and received into the cavities, from which it is not got out without particular application and trouble. There are two circumstances attending this little utensil, which seem to bespeak it of considerable age: the roughness of the workmanship, which is in all respects as rude and coarse as can be well imagined, and the awkwardness of the form.” There is an engraving of the Dorsetshire snuffers in the history of that county.

The snuffers now submitted to notice are superior in design and workmanship to those found in Dorsetshire. The latter seem of earlier date, and they divide in the middle of the upper as well as the lower part, but in one respect both pairs are alike: they are each “in shape like a heart,” and they each terminate in a point formed exactly in the manner shown by the present engraving. The print likewise shows that the box of the snuffers bears a boldly chased winged head of Mercury, who had more employments and occupations than any other of the ancient deities. Whether as the director of theft, as the conductor of the departed to their final destination, as an interpreter to enlighten, or as an office-bearer constantly in requisition, the portrait of Mercury is a symbol appropriate to the implement before us. The engraving shows the exact size of the instrument, and the present appearance of the chasing, which is in bold relief, and was, originally, very elegant.

These snuffers are plain on the underside, and made without legs. They were purchased, with some miscellaneous articles, by a person who has no clue to their former possessors, but who rightly imagined that in an archæological view they would be acceptable to the Table Book.

Garrick Plays.
No. XVIII.

Now for the crown and throne of Israel,
To be confirm’d with virtue of my sword,
And writ with David’s blood upon the blade.
Now, Jove,[186] let forth the golden firmament,
And look on him with all thy fiery eyes,
Which thou hast made to give their glories light.
To shew thou lovest the virtue of thy hand,
Let fall a wreath of stars upon my head,
Whose influence may govern Israel
With state exceeding all her other Kings.
Fight, Lords and Captains, that your Sovereign
May shine in honour brighter than the sun
And with the virtue of my beauteous rays
Make this fair Land as fruitful as the fields,
That with sweet milk and honey overflowed.
God in the whissing of a pleasant wind
Shall march upon the tops of mulberry trees,
To cool all breasts that burn with any griefs;
As whilom he was good to Moyses’ men,
By day the Lord shall sit within a cloud,
To guide your footsteps to the fields of joy;
And in the night a pillar bright as fire
Shall go before you like a second sun.
Wherein the Essence of his Godhead is;
That day and night you may be brought to peace,
And never swerve from that delightsome path
That leads your souls to perfect happiness:
This he shall do for joy when I am King.
Then fight, brave Captains, that these joys may fly
Into your bosoms with sweet victory.

*****

Absalon. First Absalon was by the trumpet’s sound
Proclaim’d thro’ Hebron King of Israel;
And now is set in fair Jerusalem
With complete state and glory of a crown.
Fifty fair footmen by my chariot run;
And to the air, whose rupture rings my fame,
Wheree’er I ride, they offer reverence.
Why should not Absalon, that in his face
Carries the final purpose of his God,
(That is, to work him grace in Israel),
Endeavour to achieve with all his strength
The state that most may satisfy his joy—
Keeping his statutes and his covenants sure?
His thunder is intangled in my hair,
And with my beauty is his lightning quench’d.
I am the man he made to glory in,
When by the errors of my father’s sin
He lost the path, that led into the Land
Wherewith our chosen ancestors were blest.

[From a “Looking Glass for England and London,” a Tragi-comedy, by Thomas Lodge and Robert Green, 1598.]

Alvida, Paramour to Rasni, the Great King of Assyria, courts a petty King of Cilicia.

Alvida. Ladies, go sit you down amidst this bower,
And let the Eunuchs play you all asleep:
Put garlands made of roses on your heads,
And play the wantons, whilst I talk awhile.
Ladies. Thou beautiful of all the world, we will.
(Exeunt.)
Alvida. King of Cilicia, kind and courteous;
Like to thyself, because a lovely King;
Come lay thee down upon thy Mistress’ knee,
And I will sing and talk of Love to thee.
Cilicia. Most gracious Paragon of excellence,
It fits not such an abject wretch as I
To talk with Rasni’s Paramour and Love.
Alvida. To talk, sweet friend! who would not talk with thee?
Oh be not coy: art thou not only fair?
Come twine thine arms about this snow-white neck,
A love-nest for the Great Assyrian King.
Blushing I tell thee, fair Cilician Prince,
None but thyself can merit such a grace.
Cilica. Madam, I hope you mean not for to mock me.
Alvida. No, King, fair King, my meaning is to yoke thee,
Hear me but sing of Love: then by my sighs,
My tears, my glancing looks, my changed cheer,
Thou shalt perceive how I do hold thee dear.
Cilicia. Sing, Madam, if you please; but love in jest.
Alvida. Nay, I will love, and sigh at every jest.

(She sings.)

Beauty, alas! where wast thou born,
Thus to hold thyself in scorn,
When as Beauty kiss’d to wooe thee?
Thou by Beauty dost undo me.
Heigho, despise me not.

I and thou in sooth are one,
Fairer thou, I fairer none:
Wanton thou; and wilt thou, wanton,
Yield a cruel heart to plant on?
Do me right, and do me reason;
Cruelty is cursed treason.
Heigho, I love; Heigho, I love;
Heigho, and yet he eyes me not.

Cilicia. Madam your Song is passing passionate.
Alvida. And wilt thou then not pity my estate?
Cilicia. Ask love of them who pity may impart.
Alvida. I ask of thee, sweet; thou hast stole my heart.
Cilicia. Your love is fixed on a greater King.
Alvida. Tut, women’s love—it is a fickle thing.
I love my Rasni for my dignity:
I love Cilician King for his sweet eye.
I love my Rasni, since he rules the world:
But more I love this Kingly little world.
How sweet he looks!—O were I Cynthia’s sphere,
And thou Endymion, I should hold thee dear:
Thus should mine arms be spread about thy neck,
Thus would I kiss my Love at every beck.
Thus would I sigh to see thee sweetly sleep:
And if thou wak’st not soon, thus would I weep:
And thus, and thus, and thus: thus much I love thee.