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FRIEND.

Let him give her gay gold rings

Or tufted gloves, were they ne'er so [gay]; Or were her lovers lords or kings,

They should not carry the wench away.

JACK.

But a' dances wonders well,

And with his dances stole her love from me: Yet she wont to say I bore the bell

For dancing and for courtesy.

DICK,

Fie, lusty younker, what do you here,
Not dancing on the green to-day?
For Pierce, the farmer's son, I fear,
Is like to carry your wench away.

JACK.

Good Dick, bid them all come hither,
And tell Pierce from me beside,

That, if he think to have the wench,
Here he stands shall lie with the bride.

DICK.

Fie, Nan, why use thy old lover so,
For any other new-come guest?
Thou long time his love did know;
Why shouldst thou not use him best?

NAN.

Bonny Dick, I will not forsake
My bonny Rowland for any gold:
If he can dance as well as Pierce,
He shall have my heart in hold.

PIERCE.

Why, then, my hearts, let's to this
And by dancing I may won
My Nan, whose love I hold so dear
As any realm under the sun.

gear;

GENTLEMAN.

Then, gentles, ere I speed from hence,
I will be so bold to dance

A turn or two without offence;

For, as I was walking along by chance, I was told you did agree.

FRIEND.

'Tis true, good sir; and this is she

Hopes your worship comes not to crave her; For she hath lovers two or three,

And he that dances best must have her.

GENTLEMAN.

How say you, sweet, will you dance with me? And you [shall] have both land and [hill]; My love shall want nor gold nor fee.

NAN.

I thank you, sir, for your good will,
But one of these my love must be:
I'm but a homely country maid,
And far unfit for your degree;
[To dance with you I am afraid.]

FRIEND.

Take her, good sir, by the hand,

As she is fairest: were she fairer,

By this dance, you shall understand,

He that can win her is like to wear her.

FOOL.

And saw you not [my] Nan to-day,

My mother's maid have you not seen?

My pretty Nan is gone away

To seek her love upon the green.

[I cannot see her 'mong so many:] She shall have me, if she have any.

NAN.

Welcome, sweetheart, and welcome here,
Welcome, my [true] love, now to me.

This is my love [and my darling dear],
And that my husband [soon] must be.
And boy, when thou com'st home, thou❜lt se
Thou art as welcome home as he.

GENTLEMAN.

Why, how now, sweet Nan? I hope you jest.

NAN.

No, by my troth, I love the fool the best:
And, if you be jealous, God give you good-night!
I fear you're a gelding, you caper so light.

GENTLEMAN.

I thought she had jested and meant but a fable,
But now do I see she hath played with his bable.
I wish all my friends by me to take heed, [speed.
That a fool come not near you when you mean to

In obitum honoratissimi viri, ROGERI MANWOOD,*
Militis, Quæstorii Reginalis Capitalis Baronis.

OCTIVAGI terror, ganeonis triste flagellum,
Et Jovis Alcides, rigido vulturque latroni,
Urnâ subtegitur. Scelerum, gaudete, nepotes!
Insons, luctificâ sparsis cervice capillis,
Plange! fori lumen, venerandæ gloria legis,
Occidit heu, secum effoetas Acherontis ad oras
Multa abiit virtus. Pro tot virtutibus uni,
Livor, parce viro; non audacissimus esto
Illius in cineres, cujus tot millia vultus
Mortalium attonuit: sic cum te nuntia Ditis
Vulneret exsanguis, feliciter ossa quiescant,
Famaque marmorei superet monumenta sepulcri.

Sir Roger Manwood was a native of Sandwich, where he was born in 1525. He went into the profession of the law, in which he early acquired a high reputation, and after having been appointed Justice of the Common Pleas in 1572, was made Chief Baron of the Exchequer, with the dignity of knighthood, in 1578. Sir Roger resided at St. Stephen's, near Canterbury, where he died on the 14th December, 1592. He was buried in the church of St. Stephen's, where there is a costly monument to his memory, which he caused to be erected himself.

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237

THE FIRST BOOK OF LUCAN.

TO HIS KIND AND TRUE FRIEND, EDWARD BLUNT. BLUNT, I purpose to be blunt with you, and, out of my dulness, to encounter you with a Dedication in memory of that pure elemental wit, Chr. Marlowe, whose ghost or genius is to be seen walk the Churchyard in, at the least, three or four sheets. Methinks you should presently look wild now, and grow humorously frantic upon the taste of it. Well, lest you should, let me tell you, this spirit was sometime a familiar of your own, Lucan's First Book translated; which, in regard of your old right in it, I have raised in the circle of your patronage. But stay now, Edward: if I mistake not, you are to accommodate yourself with some few instructions, touching the property of a patron, that you are not yet possessed of; and to study them for your better grace, as our gallants do fashions. First, you must be proud, and think you have merit enough in you, though you are ne'er so empty; then, when I bring you the book, take physic, and keep state; assign me a time by your man to come again; and, afore the day, be sure to have changed your lodging; in the mean time sleep little, and sweat with the invention of some pitiful dry jest or two, which you may happen to utter, with some little, or not at all, marking of your friends, when you have found a place for them to come in at; or, if by chance something has dropped from you worth the taking up, weary all that come to you with the often repetition of it; censure scornfully enough, and somewhat like a traveller; commend nothing, lest you discredit your (that which you would seem to have) judgment. These things, if you can mould yourself to them, Ned, I make no question but they will not become you. One special virtue in our patrons of these days I have promised myself you shall fit excellently, which is, to give nothing; yes, thy love I will challenge as my peculiar object, both in this, and, I hope, many more succeeding offices. Farewell: I affect not the world should measure my thoughts to thee by a scale of this nature: leave to think good of me when I fall from thee.

Thine in all rites of perfect friendship,

THOMAS THORPE.*

WARS worse than civil on Thessalian plains,

And outrage strangling law, and people strong,

Thorpe, and Blunt, to whom this dedication was addressed, were both booksellers.

We sing, whose conquering swords their own breasts
launched,

Armies allied, the kingdom's league uprooted,
Th' affrighted world's force bent on public spoil,
Trumpets and drums, like deadly, threatening other,
Eagles alike displayed, darts answering darts.

Romans, what madness, what huge lust of war,
Hath made barbarians drunk with Latin blood?
Now Babylon, proud through our spoil, should stoop,
While slaughtered Crassus' ghost walks unrevenged,*
Will ye wage war, for which you shall not triumph?
Ah me! oh, what a world of land and sea
Might they have won whom civil broils have slain! ·
As far as Titan springs, where night dims heaven,
Ay, to the torrid zone where mid-day burns,
And where stiff winter, whom no spring resolves
Fetters the Euxine Sea with chains of ice;
Scythia and wild Armenia had been yoked,
And they of Nilus' mouth, if there live any.
Rome, if thou take delight in impious war,
First conquer all the earth, then turn thy force
Against thyself: as yet thou wants not foes.
That now the walls of houses half-reared totter,
That rampires fallen down, huge heaps of stone
Lie in our towns, that houses are abandoned,
And few live that behold their ancient seats;
Italy many years hath lien untilled

[hinds;

And choked with thorns; that greedy earth wants
Fierce Pyrrhus, neither thou nor Hannibal
Art cause; no foreign foe could so afflict us:
These plagues arise from wreak of civil power.
But if for Nero, then unborn, the Fates
Would find no other means, and gods not slightly
Purchase immortal thrones, nor Jove joyed heaven
Until the cruel giants' war was done;

We plain not, Heavens, but gladly bear these evils

* Crassus, member of the first triumvirate with Cæsar and Pompey, put to death by Surena, general of the Parthians under Orodes the king, after having lost 20,000 men.

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