Instead of musicke sweet, Go toll my passing-bell; And with sweet flowers strow my grave, That in my chamber smell. Strip off my bride's arraye, My cork shoes from my feet; And, gentle mother, be not coye To bring my winding-sheet. 65 70 My bride laces of silk Bestowd, for maidens meet, May fitly serve, when I am dead, To tye my hands and feet. And thou, my lover true, My husband and my friend, Let me intreat thee here to staye, Until my life doth end. 85 With that shee turn'd aside, And like a lamb departed life: Whose friends did sorely weep. Her true love seeing this, Did fetch a grievous groane, As tho' his heart would burst in twaine, And thus he made his moane. O darke and dismal daye, 95 100 105 A daye of grief and care, 110 That hath bereft the sun so bright, Whose beams refresht the air. Whose bride was brought unto the grave A maiden and a wife. A garland fresh and faire And on her coffin laid. Six maidens all in white, Did beare her to the ground: The bells did ring in solemn sort, And made a dolefull sound. 120 125 In earth they laid her then, 130 For hungry wormes a preye; So shall the fairest face alive At length be brought to claye. XIII. DULCINA. Given from two ancient copies, one in black-print, in the Pepys Collection, the other in the Editor's folio MS. Each of these contained a stanza not found in the other. What seemed the best readings were selected from both. This song is quoted as very popular in Walton's Complete Angler, chap. 2. It is more ancient than the ballad of ROBIN GOOD-FELLOW printed below, which yet is supposed to have been written by Ben Jonson. As at noone Dulcina rested In her sweete and shady bower, A wounde he tooke Soe deepe, that for a further boone 5 Wherto shee sayes, Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 10 But in vayne shee did conjure him To depart her presence soe ; Having a thousand tongues to allure him, Where lipps invite, And cheekes, as fresh as rose in june, What boots, she say, Forgoe me now, come to me soone. He demands what time for pleasure Can there be more fit than now: He sayes, the sight Improves delight. Which she denies: Nights mirkie noone In Venus' playes Makes bold, shee sayes; Forgoe me now, come to mee soone. But what promise or profession From his hands could purchase scope? Of lingering night Forgoe the present joyes of noone? Though ne'er soe faire Her speeches were, Forgoe me now, come to me soone. 30 35 40 |