Thy tooth is not so keen,

Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Heigh, ho! sing, heigh, ho! unto the green holly!
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly!
Then heigh, ho, the holly!
This life is most jolly.

II.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
"That dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot!
"Though thou the waters warp,

Thy sting is not so sharp.

As friend remembered not.

SONNET.

O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem,
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odor which doth in it live.

The canker-blooms have full as deep a die,

As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly

When summer's breath their masked buds discloses:
But for their virtue only is their show;

They live unwoo'd and unrespected fade;
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;

Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odors made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,

When that shall fade, my verse distils your truth.

JONSON, BEAUMONT, AND

FLETCHER.

It has become the custom, established almost by universal consent, to deplore the faults of these men as writers, rather than to admire their beauties. Jonson had "too much learning," or made too great a display of it; and Beaumont and Fletcher should have written "poems instead of tragedies." Criticism has become so keen as to perceive "a coarseness" in the "very refinement" of Jonson: it has become prophetic also; had Beaumont and Fletcher been born a little earlier, and been the playmates of Shakspeare, he would have "rectified the refined spirits of the young gentlemen, and saved their Hippocrene from becoming ditchwater."

There is a finish and an elegance about the works of Jonson that surpass all his predecessors: the fitness, the beauty, of his language ally him to a later age. His comic powers have never been surpassed: his Volpone places him at the head of English comedy: that his masques and odes have contributed to the dignity and luster of Milton's muse, is a sufficient attestation of his fancy and elegance: his address to

Cynthia, and the character of Celia, show that he is not destitute of feeling, of tenderness.

VOLPONE.

Volpone devises the plan af cheating his visitants, who bring him presents, with the expectation of being his heir.

Vol. Hold thee, Mosca,

[gives him money.]

Take of my hand: thou strikest on truth in all,

And they are envious, term the parasite.

Call forth my dwarf, my eunuch, and my fool,

And let them make me sport. [Exit Mos.] What should

I do,

But cocker up my genius, and live free

To all delights my fortune calls me to?

I have no wife, no parent, child, ally,

To give my substance to; but whom I make

Must be my heir: and this makes men observe me :
This draws new clients daily to my house,

Women and men, of every sex and age,

That bring me presents, send me plate, coin, jewels,
With hope that when I die, (which they expect
Each greedy minute,) it shall then return
Ten-fold upon them; whilst some, covetous
Above the rest, seek to engross me whole,
And counterwork the one unto the other,
Contend in gifts, as they would seem in love:
All which I suffer, playing with their hopes,
And am content to coin them into profit,
And look upon their kindness, and take more,
And look on that; still bearing them in hand,
Letting the cherry knock against their lips,
And draw it by their mouths, and back again.

What thou art queen of; not in expectation,

As I feed others, but possess'd and crown'd.
See here, a rope of pearl; and each more orient,
Than that the brave Ægyptian queen caroused:
Dissolve and drink them. See, a carbuncle,
May put out both the eyes of our St. Mark:
A diamond would have bought Lollier Pauliner,
When she came in like star-light, hid with jewels,
That were the spoils of provinces; take these,
And wear and lose them; yet remains an ear-ring
To purchase them again, and this whole state.
A gem, but worth a private matrimony,
Is nothing: we will eat such at a meal.
The heads of parrots, tongues of nightingales,
The brains of peacocks, and of ostriches,
Shall be our food: and could we get the phoenix,
Though nature lost her kind, she were our dish.

Cel. Good sir, these things might move a mind affected With such delights; but I, whose innocence

Is all I can think wealthy, or worth th' enjoying,

And which once lost, I have naught to lose beyond it,

Cannot be taken with these sensual baits:

If you have conscience

Volp.

'Tis the beggar's virtue:

If thou had wisdom, hear me, Celia.
Thy baths shall be the juice of July flowers,
Spirit of roses and of violets,

The milk of unicorns, and panther's breath,
Gather'd in bags, and mixt with Cretan wines.
Our drink shall be prepared gold and amber,
Which we will take, until my roof whirl round
With the vertigo: and my dwarf shall dance,
My eunuch sing, my fool make up the antic;
Whilst we, in changed shape, act Ovid's tales;
Thou, like Europa now, and I like Jove;
Then I like Mars, and thou like Erycine:
So, of the rest, till we have quite run through
And wearied all the fables of the gods,

TO CYNTHIA.

QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep;
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess, excellently bright.
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;

Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear, when day did close;
Bless us, then, with wished sight,
Goddess, excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal shining quiver,
Give unto the flying hart

Space to breathe, how short soever:
Thou that makest day of night,
Goddess, excellently bright.

ON LUCY,

COUNTESS OF BEDFORD.

This morning, timely rapt with holy fire,
I thought to form unto my zealous muse,
What kind of creature I could most desire,
To honor, serve, and love, as poets use;
I meant to make her fair, and free, and wise,

Of greatest blood, and yet more good than great;
I meant the day-star should not brighter rise,
Nor lend like influence from his lucent seat.
I meant she should be courteous, facile, sweet,
Hating that solemn vice of greatness, pride;
I meant each softest virtue there should meet,
Fit in that softer bosom to reside.