But he the e met a sight that nigh robbed him of life 'Twas the priest cheek by jowl with his pretty young wife! "Cuckoo!-Cuckoo!" Gaffer Gosling looked blue. He had found out the nest of the villain cuckoo. "O' my life, a good song, Will!" cried Ben Jonson, laughing as loud as any there. "A right exquisite song! By this hand! I have not heard so droll a song this many a day." "Indeed, 'tis a most merry conceit," said Master Constable. "I like the humour of it hugely,” added Master Sylvester; and all said something to the same purpose; for, out of all doubt, there was none there that did not relish exceedingly both the drollery of the song, and the infinite drollery of the singer. "Commend you not so liberally, my masters," observed Master Shakspeare, after emptying of a cup of wine. "Ben Jonson will presently give you better cause for praise." "Nay, that can never be, sweet Will!" replied Ben Jonson. "I know not any thing so truly laughable as that which thou hast so diverted us with, nor could I put such provoking mirth in it as thou hast, knew I songs of ever so comical a sort. But such as I have remembrance of, you shall hear if it please you to listen." This intimation produced a proper attention amongst his VOL. III. L companions, and in a few minutes he commenced singing of the following ballad. BEN JONSON'S SONG. Once old Father Time walked along, A journey to take at his leisure; When a group of fair nymphs there came up in a throng, All moving in gracefullest measure. "He shall tarry awhile," did they laughingly say; "We will hold him with us, and then dance Time away But although bound with garlands they made him advance, They soon found that they could not keep Time in the dance. "Alack, silly nymphs !" then he cries, "Whilst ye all dance so gaily, TIME FLIES." Then off Father Time again set, The dust from his scythe gravely wiping; Till a party of skilful young shepherds he met, Passing Time most melodiouly piping. Some sought to hold Time with a vigorous gripe, Some bade him to listen how well they could pipe, They played, but ere long found their pipes would not chime, They held not the tune, and they could not keep Time. "Alack, silly shepherds!" he cries, "Whilst ye all pipe so gaily, TIME FLIES.” Again the old fellow set out, Without a companion to cheer him ; But was stopped in his way by the laugh and the shout Of a crowd of gay Bacchanals near him. With his scythe the wild youths cut the grapes from the vine, And seizing his hour-glass soon filled it with wine. "We with drinking kill Time! cried they all in great glee: But whilst merrily quaffing, Time set himself free. "Alack, silly topers!" he cries. "Whilst ye all drink so gaily, TIME FLIES.' So, my masters, drink freely and fast, Time coming looks wondrously pleasant ; Let us merrily find our pastime in Time past, As we make the best use of Time present. Then crowned with fresh roses let's pass round the flask, We care not a whit how TIME FLIES. This song was well received of all, especially by Master Shakspeare, who seemed much taken with the conceit of it; and it appeared to give a fresh zest to the conviviality of the company; for more wine was brought in, more sack made, and the laugh became louder, and the jest more frequent. The table now lacked much of the pleasant appearance it had. Certes, there was a great shew of empty bottles, glasses, cups, tankards, and lighted candles; but of the dishes, mayhap there was a pippin in one, two or three prunes in another, half an orange in a third, and in the fourth nothing but parings of apples and shells of walnuts. Many more songs were sung: a love ballad by Master Carew, and ditties of a like kind by Beaumont and Fletcher, Master Donne and one or two others, the which have gone clean out of my memory, as well as sundry droll catches and exquisite madrigals which were then and there sung by divers of the company. In truth, nothing could exceed the mirth and harmony that prevailed, the which Sir Walter Raleigh at one end of the table, and Master Shakspeare at the other, sought to preserve with an exceeding pleasant humour and courteous free-heartedness. Every one looked moved by the spirit of good fellowship, and although Master Cotton being in a grave discourse to two or three attentive listeners on a matter of some antiquity, did ever and anon get slyly pelted by Master Shakspeare on one side, and Ben Jonson on the other, with orange pips and nutshells, to the infinite mirth of those around, he took it in good part, till a prune-stone from the latter hit him so sore a blow on the nose, that he suddenly caught hold of the half orange that lay in the dish before him, and flung it at Ben Jonson with so true an aim that it smashed against his head, whereupon the laugh was louder than ever, and Master Jonson joined in it as merrily as the rest. All at once there was a great cry for Master Francis to sing a song. He felt he had scarce confidence to attempt such a thing before so famous a company, and begged hard to be let off; but none heeding his excuses, and Sir Walter Raleigh and Master Shakspeare pressing him on the subject, he after some to-do, and with a voice somewhat tremulous, began to sing the verses here set down. MASTER FRANCIS' SONG. Forbear, sweet Wanton! Go your ways! Forbear, false Syren! Strive no more! Your tuneful voice hath ceased to charm me : Your power hath gone-your reign is o'er, Those witching sounds can no more harm me For though the strain was honey sweet, Its honey sweetness all allowed; And I like not the poor conceit, To be but one among the crowd. But give to me the steadfast soul Whose love no selfish care can sever, And I will own her fond control, And throne her in my heart for ever. But till such golden maid I find, "Truly, a most sweet song, Master Francis," exclaimed Ben Jonson, who had listened to the young singer, as had all, with an entire attentive ness. "And of an exceeding proper spirit," added Master Shakspeare; who fancied it was writ by |