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Songs in a Masque.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

Songs in a Masque.

1 Song: Fortune Descending.

Say, say, ungratefull Mortalls, why
do you so much at Fortune rail
Since there's not any can deny,
but by her power they do prevail,
Or in their Love or Chivalry.
Chorus.
Then you that are from envy free
Come and make up a Simphony.

The Souldier and the Amorist
the Courtier, Clerk, and Clients Case,
Each had their severall purpose Mist,
if fortune had not been in place
To make them happy as she list.
Chorus.
Then you that are from envy free
Come and make up a Simphony.

2 The poor Schollers Song.

VVhat Creatures on Earth
can boast freer Mirth
Lesse envy'd and loved than we.
Though Learning grow poor

107

We scorn to implore
a gift but what's noble and free.
Our freedome of mind,
cannot be confin'd
With Riches are inwardly blest;
nor Death, nor the Grave,
Our worths can deprave,
nor malice our Ashes molest.
When such Moals as you,
your own Earth shal Mew,
And worms shal your memory eat:
our names being read
Shall strike envy dead
and Ages our worths shall repeat.

3 Song. The Country-life.

VVho can boast a happiness
more compleatly sure than we;
Since our harmless thoughts we dress
in a pure simplicity:
And chast nature doth dispense
here her Beauties Innocence.
Envy is a stranger here.
blest Content our Bowls do Crown.
Let such Slaves themselves to Fear,
on whose Guilt the Iudge doth frown:

108

We from evil Actions are
Free as uncorrupted Air.
With the Turtles whisper Love,
with the Birds we practise Mirth;
With our harmlesse Kids we move,
and receive our food from Earth:
Nor do we disdain to be
Cloath'd with the Lambs Livery.

4. Song. Ambition.

How deceitfull is the State
of that Greatness we adore,
when Ambitiously we soar,
And have ta'n the glorious height;
'tis but Ruine painted o're
To enslave us to our Fate;
Whose false Delight is easier got than kept;
Content ne're on it's gaudy Pillow slept.
Then how fondly do we try
with such Superstitious care,
to bulild Fabricks in the Air;
Or seek safety in that Skie,
where no Stars, but Meteors are,
That portend a Ruine nigh:
Where having reach'd the Object of our Aim,
we find it but a Pyramide of flame.

109

5. Song.

Hang up this delaying devise,
since I am resolved to roam:
I hate things so peevishly nice,
and will frolick it e're I go home.
Thou tell'st me thou lovest me best,
how am I assured of that?
Thou sufferest me to dandle thy Brest,
but debarr'st me the thing thou know'st What.
Hang Lip-love, and such foolish toys,
they do but augment our Desires:
Let Kisses be nourish'd by Boys,
'tis Action that shews Manly fires.
Wherefore thinkest thou I came hither,
but to tickle thee into the Mood,
'Til with striving we do melt together?
such Surfeits do our Bodies most good.
Then I prithee tell me thy mind,
if thou to the Feat be willing;
If not, I shall find one more kind
though lesse fair, shall do't for a shilling.
For the times you know are barely made,
Men cannot much Money disburse:
And 'tis fit Women should live by their Trade,
light gains make a heavy Purse.