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The ambitious toyling statesman that prepares
Then why when my slow chariot used to clime,
As if my empire did usurpe their time,
I come to ease their labours, and prevent
The above is taken from LUMINALIA or the Festival of Light. A Masque, presented at Court on Shrove Tuesday night. 1637.
Now fie on Love, it ill befits,
Or man and woman know it,
Love was not meant for people in their wits,
Betray their too much featherd brains,
To love is to distract my sleep,
And waking to wear fetters;
To love is but to go to school to weep;
If single love be such a curse,
To marry is to make it ten times worse.
From the Careless Shepherdess, a Tragi-Comedy, acted before the King and Queen, and at Salisbury Court. 1656.
Golden slumbers kisse your eyes,
Care is heavy, therefore sleepe you;
Rocke then, rocke then, lullabie.
From The Pleasant Comodie of Patient
His golden lockes Time hath to silver turned;
O Time too swift, O swiftnesse never ceasing :
His helmet now shall make a hive for bees,
But though from court to cottage he depart,
And when he saddest sits in homely cell,
From POLYHYMNIA, describing the honourable triumph at Tylt, before Her Majestie on the 17 of Nov. &c. &c. 1590.
SONG at the Lord Mayor's Table.
The storm is all over, a Halcyon Calm
The emblem of victory.
Great Jove the proud Titans subdu'd in a trice,
Then a health to that one whom Heav'n to the Throne, Did in spite of Pretenders restore:
May the friends of the Crown be install'd with renown, And his enemies hang at the door.
With courage and conduct our Cæsar endow'd,
Did the factious band overcome,
Surprize their great Dagon, the God of the Crowd,
And brought him a captive home.
Great Jove has the Cyclops a sacrifice made,
When steel-daring giants made war with the Gods,
But when the Calestials had gotten the odds,
Their throne they secur'd in the skies.
His friends have exalted our Jove in his sphear,
From Londons Annual Triumph, a Pageant, by Matt. Taubman.
Haymakers, rackers, reapers and mowers,
Dresse up with musk-rose her eglantine bowers
Daffadills strew the
The sun does bravely shine
Rich as a pearle
This is mine, this is mine, this is mine;
Bow to the Sun, to our Queen, and that fair one,
Each bonny lasse here is counted a rare one,
These and wee,
With countrie glee,
Will teach the woods to resound,
Their bleating dams,
Mongst kids shall trip it round,
Winde jolly huntsmen your neat bugles shrilly,
Spring up you faulconers the partridges freely,
Over ridg, over plain,
The dogs have the stag in chace,
And sowcing kills with a grace,
How the deer falls, hark how they ring.
From the Suns Darling, a Masque, by John Foard and Thomas Decker. 1656.