CONTENT.

BY ROBERT GREENE.

ROBERT GREENE was born at Norwich, about the year 1560, and, after having been educated at Cambridge, travelled in foreign countries. When he returned to England he took orders, but, unfortunately, was a discredit to his profession on account of the irregu larity of his life: in consequence he was deprived of his vicarage. He died in 1592, from excess at table. Some time before his death, however, he began to feel the pangs of remorse; and in one of his plays draws an affecting picture of genius debased by vice.]

SWEET are the thoughts that savour of content :

The quiet mind is richer than a crown:

Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent:

The poor estate scorns Fortune's angry frown.
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.

The homely house that harbours quiet rest,
The cottage that affords no pride nor care,
The mean, that 'grees with country music best,
The sweet consort of mirth's and music's fare.
Obscured life sets down a type of bliss;

A mind content both crown and kingdom is.

"AH! WHAT IS LOVE!"

BY ROBERT GREENE.

AH! what is love? It is a pretty thing,

As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,

And sweeter too :

For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,

And cares can make the sweetest cares to frown:

Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires gain,

What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

His flocks are folded; he comes home at night As merry as a king in his delight,

And merrier too :

For kings bethink them what the state require,

Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire:

"AH! WHAT IS LOVE?"

69

Ah then, ah then,

If country love such sweet desires gain,

What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

He kisseth first, then sits as blithe to eat

His cream and curd, as doth the king his meat,
And blither too :

For kings have often fears when they sup,

Where shepherds dread no poison in their cup :
Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

Upon his couch of straw he sleeps as sound
As doth the king upon his beds of down,
More sounder too :

For cares cause kings full oft their sleep to spill,
Where weary shepherds lie and snort their fill:

Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

Thus with his wife he spends the year as blithe
As doth the king at every tide or syth,

And blither too :

For kings have wars and broils to take in hand, When shepherds laugh, and love upon the land: Ah then, ah then,

If country love such sweet desires gain,

What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

[BARNFIELD, who wrote the following piece about the year 1592, is little known in any other way.]

As it fell upon a day,

In the merry month of May,

Sitting in a pleasant shade

Which a grove of myrtles made;

Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,
Trees did grow, and plants did spring;

Everything did banish moan,

Save the nightingale alone.

ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE.

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She, poor bird, as all forlorn,

Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn;
And there sung the dolefull'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity.

Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry;
Teru, teru, by and by;

That, to hear her so complain,

Scarce I could from tears refrain ;

For her griefs, so lively shown,

Made me think upon mine own.

Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain;

None takes pity on thy pain :

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee,

Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee:

King Pandion he is dead;

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead;

All thy fellow-birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing!

Whilst as fickle Fortune smil'd,

Thou and I were both beguil'd.

Every one that flatters thee

Is no friend in misery.

Words are easy, like the wind;

Faithful friends are hard to find.

Every man will be thy friend

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend :

But, if store of crowns be scant,

No man will supply thy want.

If that one be prodigal,