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From the mountains and, ere day,
Bear a lamb or kid away;

Or the crafty, thievish fox
Break upon your simple flocks.
To secure yourself from these,
Be not too secure in ease;

So shall you good shepherds prove,
And deserve your master's love.

Now, good-night! May sweetest slumbers

And soft silence fall in numbers

On your eyelids. So farewell;
Thus I end my evening knell.

RUSTIC SONG

From THE SUN'S DARLING

THOMAS DEKKER

AYMAKERS, rakers, reapers, and mowers,
Wait on your summer queen!

Dress up with musk-rose her eglantine bowers,
Daffodils strew the green!

Sing, dance, and play,

'Tis holiday!

The Sun does bravely shine

On our ears of corn.

Rich as a pearl

Comes every girl.

This is mine, this is mine, this is mine.

Let us die ere away they be borne.

Bow to our Sun, to our Queen, and that fair one

Come to behold our sports;

Each bonny lass here is counted a rare one,

As those in princes' courts.

These and me,

With country glee,

Will teach the woods to resound,

And the hills with echoes hollow.
Skipping lambs

Their bleating dams

'Mongst kids shall trip it round;

For joy thus our wenches we follow.

Wind, jolly huntsman, your neat bugles shrilly,
Hounds make a lusty cry;

Spring up, you falconers, partridges freely,
Then let your brave hawks fly!

Horses amain,

Over ridge, over plain,

The dogs have the stag in chase:

'Tis a sport to content a king.

So ho! ho! through the skies
How the proud bird flies,

And sousing, kills with a grace!
Now the deer falls; hark! how they ring.

LULLABY

From PATIENT GRISSEL

THOMAS DEKKER

OLDEN slumbers kiss your eyes, Smiles awake you when you rise. Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, And I will sing a lullaby : Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you;

You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,
And I will sing a lullaby :

Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

ACK clouds away, and welcome day, With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft, To give my love good-morrow. Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow. Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing, To give my love good-morrow. To give my love good-morrow,

Notes from them all I'll borrow.

Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast,
Sing, birds, in every furrow;
And from each bill let music shrill
Give my fair love good-morrow.
Blackbird and thrush in every bush,
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow,
You pretty elves, amongst yourselves,
Sing my fair love good-morrow.
To give my love good-morrow,
Sing, birds, in every furrow.