BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

TO SLEEP.

Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose
On this afflicted prince: fall like a cloud
In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud
Or painful to his slumbers; easy, sweet [light],
And as a purling stream, thou son of Night,
Pass by his troubled senses, sing his pain
Like hollow murmuring wind or gentle rain.
Into this prince, gently, oh, gently slide,
And kiss him into slumbers like a bride!

Hanging on their velvet heads,
Like a string of crystal beads.
See the heavy clouds low falling
And bright Hesperus down calling
The dead night from under ground;
At whose rising, mists unsound,
Damps and vapors fly apace,
And hover o'er the smiling face
Of these pastures; where they come,
Striking dead both bud and bloom.
Therefore from such danger lock
Every one his loved flock;

And let your dogs lie loose without,
Lest the wolf come as a scout
From the mountain, 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.

J. FLETCHER.

MELANCHOLY.

Hence, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights

Wherein you spend your folly:
There's nought in this life sweet
If man were wise to see't,
But only melancholy,

O sweetest Melancholy!

Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,

A look that's fasten'd to the ground,

A tongue chain'd up without a sound!
Fountain heads and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves!
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly housed save bats and owls!
A midnight bell, a parting groan!
These are the sounds we feed upon;

Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley;

Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely Melancholy.

5

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PHILIP MASSINGER.

5

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20

A NEW WAY TO PAY OLD DEBTS.

ACT III. SCENE I.

[Enter Lord Lovell, Allworth, Servants.]

Lovell. Walk the horses down the hill: something
In private I must impart to Allworth.

Allworth. O, my lord,

[Exeunt Servants.

What sacrifice of reverence, duty, watching,
Although I could put off the use of sleep,
And ever wait on your commands to serve them;
What dangers, though in ne'er so horrid shapes,
Nay death itself, though I should run to meet it,
Can I, and with a thankful willingness, suffer;
But still the retribution will fall short

Of your bounties shower'd upon me?
Loving youth;

Lov.

Till what I purpose be put into act,

Do not o'erprize it; since you have trusted me
With your
soul's nearest, nay,
her dearest secret,
Rest confident 'tis in a cabinet lock'd

Treachery shall never open. I have found you

(For so much to your face I must profess,

Howe'er you guard your modesty with a blush for't)
More zealous in your love and service to me,

Than I have been in my rewards.

All. Still great ones,

Above my merit.

Lov. Such your gratitude calls them: