TO CHLOE JEALOUS

Dear Chloe, how blubbered is that pretty face!

Thy cheek all on fire, and thy hair all uncurled: Prithee quit this caprice; and (as old Falstaff says), Let us e'en talk a little like folks of this world.

How canst thou presume thou hast leave to destroy The beauties which Venus but lent to thy keeping?

Those looks were designed to inspire love and joy: More ordinary eyes may serve people for weeping.

To be vexed at a trifle or two that I writ, Your judgment at once, and my pa.s.sion you wrong: You take that for fact, which will scarce be found wit: Od's life! must one swear to the truth of a song?

What I speak, my fair Chloe, and what I write, shows The difference there is betwixt nature and art: I court others in verse, but I love thee in prose: And they have my whimsies, but thou hast my heart.

The G.o.d of us verse-men (you know, Child) the sun, How after his journeys he sets up his rest; If at morning o'er earth 'tis his fancy to run; At night he reclines on his Thetis's breast.

So when I am wearied with wandering all day, To thee, my delight, in the evening I come: No matter what beauties I saw in my way: They were but my visits, but thou art my home.

Then finish, dear Chloe, this pastoral war; And let us, like Horace and Lydia, agree: For thou art a girl as much brighter than her, As he was a poet sublimer than me.

Matthew Prior [1664-1721]

JACK AND JOAN

Jack and Joan they think no ill, But loving live, and merry still; Do their week-days' work, and pray Devoutly on the holy day: Skip and trip it on the green, And help to choose the Summer Queen; Lash out, at a country feast, Their silver penny with the best.

Well can they judge of nappy ale, And tell at large a winter tale; Climb up to the apple loft, And turn the crabs till they be soft.

Tib is all the father's joy, And little Tom the mother's boy.

All their pleasure is content; And care, to pay their yearly rent.

Joan can call by name her cows, And deck her windows with green boughs; She can wreaths and tuttyes make, And trim with plums a bridal cake.

Jack knows what brings gain or loss; And his long flail can stoutly toss: Makes the hedge which others break; And ever thinks what he doth speak.

Now, you courtly dames and knights, That study only strange delights; Though you scorn the home-spun gray, And revel in your rich array: Though your tongues dissemble deep, And can your heads from danger keep; Yet, for all your pomp and train, Securer lives the silly swain.

Thomas Campion [?--1619]

PHILLIS AND CORYDON

Phillis kept sheep along the western plains, And Corydon did feed his flocks hard by: This shepherd was the flower of all the swains That traced the downs of fruitful Thessaly; And Phillis, that did far her flocks surpa.s.s In silver hue, was thought a bonny la.s.s.

A bonny la.s.s, quaint in her country 'tire, Was lovely Phillis,--Corydon swore so; Her locks, her looks, did set the swain on fire, He left his lambs, and he began to woo; He looked, he sighed, he courted with a kiss, No better could the silly swad than this.

He little knew to paint a tale of love, Shepherds can fancy, but they cannot say: Phillis 'gan smile, and wily thought to prove What uncouth grief poor Corydon did pay; She asked him how his flocks or he did fare, Yet pensive thus his sighs did tell his care.

The shepherd blushed when Phillis questioned so, And swore by Pan it was not for his flocks: "'Tis love, fair Phillis, breedeth all this woe, My thoughts are trapped within thy lovely locks; Thine eye hath pierced, thy face hath set on fire; Fair Phillis kindleth Corydon's desire."

"Can shepherds love?" said Phillis to the swain.

"Such saints as Phillis," Corydon replied.

"Men when they l.u.s.t can many fancies feign,"

Said Phillis. This not Corydon denied, That l.u.s.t had lies; "But love," quoth he, "says truth: Thy shepherd loves, then, Phillis, what ensu'th?"

Phillis was won, she blushed and hung her head; The swain stepped to, and cheered her with a kiss: With faith, with troth, they struck the matter dead; So used they when men thought not amiss: Thus love begun and ended both in one; Phillis was loved, and she liked Corydon.

Robert Greene [1560?-1592]

SALLY IN OUR ALLEY

Of all the girls that are so smart There's none like pretty Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

There is no lady in the land Is half so sweet as Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

Her father he makes cabbage-nets, And through the streets does cry 'em; Her mother she sells laces long To such as please to buy 'em; But sure such folks could ne'er beget So sweet a girl as Sally!

She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

When she is by, I leave my work, I love her so sincerely; My master comes like any Turk, And bangs me most severely: But let him bang his bellyful, I'll bear it all for Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

Of all the days that's in the week I dearly love but one day-- And that's the day that comes betwixt A Sat.u.r.day and Monday; For then I'm dressed all in my best To walk abroad with Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

My master carries me to church, And often am I blamed Because I leave him in the lurch As soon as text is named; I leave the church in sermon-time And slink away to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

When Christmas comes about again, O, then I shall have money; I'll h.o.a.rd it up, and box it all, I'll give it to my honey: I would it were ten thousand pound, I'd give it all to Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley.

My master and the neighbors all Make game of me and Sally, And, but for her, I'd better be A slave and row a galley; But when my seven long years are out, O, then I'll marry Sally; O, then we'll wed, and then we'll bed-- But not in our alley!

Henry Carey [?--1743]

THE COUNTRY WEDDING

Well met, pretty nymph, says a jolly young swain To a lovely young shepherdess crossing the plain; Why so much in haste?--now the month it was May-- May I venture to ask you, fair maiden, which way?

Then straight to this question the nymph did reply, With a blush on her cheek, and a smile in her eye, I came from the village, and homeward I go, And now, gentle shepherd, pray why would you know?

I hope, pretty maid, you won't take it amiss, If I tell you my reason for asking you this; I would see you safe home--(now the swain was in love!) Of such a companion if you would approve.

Your offer, kind shepherd, is civil, I own; But I see no great danger in going alone; Nor yet can I hinder, the road being free For one as another, for you as for me.

No danger in going alone, it is true, But yet a companion is pleasanter, too; And if you could like--(now the swain he took heart)-- Such a sweetheart as me, why we never would part.

O that's a long word, said the shepherdess then, I've often heard say there's no minding you men.