Her prettye lilly hands,

With fingers long and small,
In colour like the earthly claye,
Yea, cold and stiff withall.
When as the morning-star
Her golden gates had spred,
And that the glittering sun arose
Forth from fair Thetis' bed;
Then did my love awake,
Most like a lilly-flower,

And as the lovely queene of heaven,
So shone shee in her bower.
Attired was shee then

Like Flora in her pride,

Like one of bright Diana's nymphs,
So look'd my loving bride.

And as fair Helens face

Did Grecian dames besmirche,1
So did my dear exceed in sight
All virgins in the church.
When we had knitt the knott
Of holy wedlock-band,
Like alabaster joyn'd to jett,
So stood we hand in hand;

Then lo! a chilling cold
Strucke every vital part,

And griping grief, like pangs of death,
Seiz'd on my true love's heart.

Down in a swoon she fell,

As cold as any stone;

Like Venus picture lacking life,
So was my love brought home.
At length her rosye red,
Throughout her comely face,
As Phoebus beames with watry cloudes
Was cover'd for a space.

When with a grievous groane,

And voice both hoarse and drye, Farewell, quoth she, my loving friend, For I this daye must dye;

1 Besmirche-discolour.

The messenger of God

With golden trumpe I see, With manye other angels more, Which sound and call for mee.

Instead of musicke sweet,

Go toll my passing bell;

And with sweet flowers strow my grave,
That in my chamber smell.

Strip off my bride's arraye,
My cork shoes from my feet;
And, gentle mother, be not coye
To bring my winding-sheet.

My wedding dinner drest,
Bestowe upon the poor,

And on the hungry, needy, maimde,
Now craving at the door.

Instead of virgins yong,

My bride-bed for to see,
Go cause some cunning carpenter,
To make a chest for mee.

My bride laces of silk

Bestowd, for maidens meet, May fitly serve, when I am dead, To tye my hands and feet.

And thou, my lover true,

My husband and my friend, Let me intreat thee here to staye, Until my life doth end.

Now leave to talk of love,

And humblye on your knee,
Direct your prayers unto God:
But mourn no more for mee:

In love as we have livde,
In love let us depart;
And I, in token of my love,
Do kiss thee with my heart.

O staunch those bootless tearcs;
Thy weeping tis in vaine;
I am not lost, for wee in heaven
Shall one daye meet againe.

With that shee turn'd aside,
As one dispos'd to sleep,
And like a lamb departed life:
Whose friends did sorely weep.

Her true love seeing this,

Did fetch a grievous groane, As tho' his heart would burst in twaine, And thus he made his moane.

O darke and dismal daye,

A daye of grief and care,

That hath bereft the sun so bright,
Whose beams refresht the air.

Now woe unto the world,

And all that therein dwell;

O that I were with thee in heaven,
For here I live in hell.

And now this lover lives
A discontented life,

Whose bride was brought unto the grave
A maiden and a wife.

A garland fresh and faire
Öf lillies there was made,
In sign of her virginitye,
And on her coffin laid.

Six maidens all in white,

Did beare her to the ground: The bells did ring in solemn sort, And made a dolefull sound.

In earth they laid her then,

For hungry wormes a preye; So shall the fairest face alive

At length be brought to claye.

DULCINA.

FROM two ancient copies in black-letter. The Song is mentioned as very popular in Walton's "Angler;" and has been ascribed to Raleigh en very doubtful authority.

As at noone Dulcina rested

In her sweete and shady bower,
Came a shepherd, and requested
In her lapp to sleepe an hour.
But from her looke

A wounde he tooke

Soe deepe, that for a further boone
The nymph he prayes.

Wherto shee sayes,

Forgoe me now, come to me soone.

But in vayne shee did conjure him
To depart her presence soe;
Having a thousand tongues to allure him,
And but one to bid him goe;

Where lipps invite,

And eyes delight,

And cheekes, as fresh as rose in June,
Persuade delay;

What boots she say,

Forgoe me now, come to me soone?

He demands what time for pleasure
Can there be more fit than now:
She sayes, night gives love that leysure,
Which the day can not allow.
He sayes, the sight

Improves delight;

Which she denies: Night's mirkie noone

In Venus' playes

Makes bold, shee sayes;

Forgoe me now, come to mee soone.

But what promise or profession

From his hands could purchase scope

Who would sell the sweet possession
Of suche beautye for a hope?

P

Or for the sight
Of lingering night

Forgoe the present joyes of noone ?
Though ne'er soe faire
Her speeches were,

Forgoe me now, come to me soone.

How, at last, agreed these lovers?
Shee was fayre, and he was young:
The tongue may tell what th'eye discovers;
Joyes unseene are never sung.
Did shee consent,

Or he relent;

Accepts he night, or grants shee noone ;
Left he her a mayd,

Or not; she sayd,

Forgoe me now, come to me soone.

THE LADY ISABELLA'S TRAGEDY.

FROM an old black-letter copy in the Pepys Collection, collated with another in the British Museum.

THERE was a lord of worthy fame,
And a hunting he would ride,
Attended by a noble traine

Of gentrye by his side.

And while he did in chase remaine
To see both sport and playe;
His ladye went, as she did feigne,
Unto the church to praye.

This lord he had a daughter deare,
Whose beauty shone so bright,
She was belov'd, both far and neare,
Of many a lord and knight.

Fair Isabella was she call'd;
A creature faire was shee;
She was her father's only joye;
As you shall after see.