And with a warrant searched for Yet here thou shalt be safe; Such privy ways there be, That if they sought an hundred years, And so carousing both Their pleasures to content: George Barnwell had in little space His money wholly spent. 105 110 Which done, to Ludlow straight He did provide to go, To rob his wealthy uncle there; 115 His minion would it so. And once he thought to take His father by the way, But that he fear'd his master had Took order for his stay.* Unto his uncle then He rode with might and main, Who with a welcome and good cheer Did Barnwell entertain. 120 * i. e. for stopping, and apprehending him at his father's. Therefore in railing sort, She thrust him out of door: Which is the just reward of those, O! do me not disgrace In this my need, quoth he. She call'd him thief and murderer, With all the spight might be : 150 155 To the constable she sent, To have him apprehended; And shewed how far, in each degree, 160 He had the laws offended. When Barnwell saw her drift, To sea he got straightway; Where fear and sting of conscience Unto the lord mayor then, He did a letter write; In which his own and Sarah's fault He did at large recite. Whereby she seized was And then to Ludlow sent : 165 170 Where she was judg'd, condemn'd, and hang'd, For murder incontinent. VII. THE STEDFAST SHEPHERD. These beautiful stanzas were written by GEORGE WITHER, of whom some account was given in the former part of this Volume: see the Song intitled THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION, Book II. Song XXI. In the first Edition of this work only a small fragment of this Sonnet was inserted. It was afterwards rendered more complete and entire by the addition of five Stanzas more, extracted from Wither's pastoral poem, intitled, "The Mistress of Philarete," of which this Song makes a part. It is now given still more correct and perfect by comparing it with another copy, printed by the author in his improved edition of "The Shepherd's Hunting," 1620, 8vo. HENCE away, thou Syren, leave me, Pish! unclaspe these wanton armes ; Fie, fie, forbeare; No common snare Can ever my affection chaine: 5 Thy painted baits, And poore deceits, Are all bestowed on me in vaine. 10 |