Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry Part 1

Quaint Gleanings from Ancient Poetry.

by Edmund Goldsmid.

INTRODUCTION.

The following curious collection I have gathered together during several years' reading in out-of-the-way corners. Ma.n.u.scripts, in public and private libraries; old books picked up on dusty bookstalls, or carried away as prizes from the battlefield of the auction-room; even pencillings on the inside of tattered bindings,--all have been laid under contribution. I trust this medley, or _pot-pourri_, of s.n.a.t.c.hes of song, grave and gay, will prove as interesting to my readers as they have been to myself. They claim attention on various grounds: some are the works of well-known men, such as Anthony Munday and Warren Hastings; some are bitter political squibs--such, for instance, as the "Satyre against the Scots," page 47; some, again, are exquisitely beautiful, as "The Dirge," page 53. A few have appeared in different collections: but none of my readers, I will undertake to say, have seen more than a half-dozen or so.

With these few words I beg to introduce Volume One of the "Collectanea Adamantaea."

EDMUND GOLDSMID.

Edinburgh, _March 6th_, 1884.

BEAUTIES FORT.

FROM AN ANONYMOUS MS., LATELY IN POSSESSION OF J. P. COLLIER, ESQ., F.S.A.

When raging Love, with fierce a.s.sault, Strikes at fair Beauties gate, What army hath she to resist And keepe her court and state?

She calleth first on Chast.i.tie To lende her help in time; And Prudence no lesse summons shee To meet her foe so trim.

And female Courage she alwaye Doth bring unto the walle, To blowe the trump in her dismaye, Fearing her fort may falle.

On force of wordes she much relies Her foe without to keepe, And parleyeth with her two bright eyes When they her d.y.k.e would leape.

Yet natheless the more she strives, The lesse she keepes him out, For she hath traitors in her camp That keepe her still in doubt.

The first and worst of these the Fleshe, Then womans Vanitie That still is caughte within the meshe Of guilefull Flatterie.

These traitors ope the gate at length; And in, with sword in hande, Came raging Love, and all her strength No longer can withstande.

Prudence and Chast.i.tie both to Submit unto the foe; And female Courage nought can doe But down her walls must goe.

She needes must yield her castle strong, And Love triumphs once more; Its onely what the boy hath done A thousand times before.

None may resist his mightie power; And though a boy, and blinde, He knows to chase a happie hour When maidens must be kinde.

MY BONNY La.s.s! THINE EYE.

By THOMAS LODGE, M.D.

[Footnote: The original of this poem not being within my reach at present, I have inserted Professor Arber's modern version.]

My bonny la.s.s! thine eye, So sly, Hath made me sorrow so.

Thy crimson cheeks, my dear!

So clear, Have so much wrought my woe.

Thy pleasing smiles and grace, Thy face, Have ravished so my sprites, That life is grown to nought Through thought Of love, which me affrights.

For fancy's flames of fire Aspire Unto such furious power, As but the tears I shed Make dead, The brands would me devour.

I should consume to nought Through thought Of thy fair shining eye, Thy cheeks, thy pleasing smiles, The wiles That forced my heart to die,

Thy grace, thy face, the part Where art Stands gazing still to see The wondrous gifts and power, Each hour, That hath bewitched me.

ANTHONY MUNDAY'S POEM ON THE CAPTIVITY OF JOHN FOX.

Leeving at large all fables vainly us'd, all trifling toys that doe no truth import, Lo, here how the end (at length), though long diffus'd, unfoldeth plaine a rare and true report, To glad those minds who seek their countries wealth by proffer'd pains t'enlarge its happy health.

At Rome I was when Fox did there arrive; therefore I may sufficiently express What gallant joy his deedes did there revive in the hearts of those which heard his valiantness.

And how the Pope did recompense his pains, and letters gave to move his greater gains.

But yet I know that many doe mis...o...b.. that those his pains are fables, and untrue; Not only I in this will bear him out, but divers more that did his Patents view, And unto those so boldly I dare say that nought but truth John Fox cloth here bewray.

Besides, there's one was slave with him in thrall lately return'd into our native land; This witness can this matter perfect all: what needeth more? for witness he may stand.

And thus I end, unfolding what I know; the other man more larger proof can show.

"_Honos alit Artes_"

The above lines by Anthony Munday are omitted by Hakluyt in his reprint of the captivity of John Fox in his "Princ.i.p.al English Voyages," vol. ii. p. 136, ed. 1598-1600. John Fox, of Woodbridge, gunner of the _Three Half Moons_, was made prisoner by the Turks in 1563. Escaped with 266 other Christians in 1577.

CARE FOR THY SOULE.

Care for thy soule, as thing of greatest pryce!

Made to the ende to taste of power Divine, Devoid of guilt, abhorryng sin and vice, Apt by G.o.d's grace to virtue to incline; Care for it soe, as by thy retchless traine It bee not brought to taste eternall paine!

Care for thy corpse (body), but chiefely for soules sake, Not of excess; sustainyng food is best To vanquish pryde, but comely clothing take.

Seeke after skille; deepe ignorance detest; Care so, I say, the flesh to feede and cloth, That thou harm not thy soule and bodie both.

Care for the world, to doe thy bodie right; Back not thy wytt to win by wicked wayes; Seeke not t'oppress the weak by wrongfull might; To pay thy due, doe banish all delayes; Care to dispend accordyng to thy store, And, in like sort, bee mindfull of the pore.