XXIX PIPING PEACE You virgins that did late despair To keep your wealth from cruel men, Now lovers' eyes may gently shoot Sing Io, Io! for his sake That hath restored your drooping heads; Whilst we whole groves of laurel bring, And all the bloom we owe.1 James Shirley. XXX A ROUND. SHAKE off your heavy trance! And leap into a dance Such as no mortals use to tread; Fit only for Apollo To play to, for the moon to lead, And all the stars to follow! Francis Beaumont. 1 Own. A ROUND 25 XXXI ANOTHER HEY, nonny no! Men are fools that wish to die! Is 't not fine to swim in wine, And turn upon the toe, And sing hey, nonny no! When the winds blow and the seas flow? XXXII ANOTHER Anon. ON a fair morning, as I came by the way, Met I with a merry maid in the merry month of May; When a sweet love sings his lovely lay And every bird upon the bush bechirps it so gay: With a heave and ho! with a heave and ho! Thy wife shall be thy master, I trow. Sing care away, care away, let the world go! XXXIII ANOTHER Anon. Now that the Spring hath fill'd our veins With kind and active fire, And made green liv'ries for the plains, Sing we a song of merry glee, And Bacchus fill the bowl. 1. Then here's to thee; 2. And thou to me And every thirsty soul. Nor Care nor Sorrow e'er paid debt, Nor never shall do mine; I have no cradle going yet, No wife at home to send for me, No hogs are in my ground, No suit in law to pay a fee, —Then round, old Jocky, round! All. Shear sheep that have them, cry we still, But see that no man 'scape To drink of the sherry That makes us so merry And plump as the lusty grape. Wm. Browne. XXXIV TO LIVE MERRILY AND TO TRUST TO GOOD VERSES Now is the time for mirth, Nor cheek or tongue be dumb; For, with the flowery earth, The golden pomp is come. LIVE MERRILY AND TRUST GOOD VERSES 27 The golden pomp is come; For now each tree does wear, Made of her pap and gum, Rich beads of amber here: Now reigns the rose, and now Th' Arabian dew besmears My uncontrolled brow And my retorted hairs. Homer, this health to thee! -In sack of such a kind Next, Virgil I'll call forth To pledge this second health A goblet next I'll drink To Ovid, and suppose, Made he the pledge, he'd think Then this immensive cup Of aromatic wine, Catullus, I'll quaff up To that terse muse of thine. Wild am I now with heat: O Bacchus, cool thy rays! Or frantic I shall eat Thy thyrse and bite the bays. Round, round the roof does run, Now to Tibullus, next, This flood I'll drink to thee: But stay, I see a text That this presents to me :— Behold, Tibullus lies Here burnt, whose small return Of ashes scarce suffice To fill a little urn. Trust to good verses then : And when all bodies meet In Lethe to be drown'd, Then only numbers sweet With endless life are crown'd. Herrick. |