Quoth she, Thou art a knave,
To charge me in this sort,
Being a woman of credit fair,
And known of good report

Therefore I tell the flat,

Be packing with good speed, I do defie thee from my heart, And scorn thy filthy deed.

Is this the friendship, that
You did to me protest?

Is this the great affection, which
You so to me exprest?

Now fie on subtle shrews!
The best is, I may speed
To get a lodging any where
For money in my need.

On father, friends, and all my kin, I would my talons grate.

These beautiful stanzas were written by George Wither, of whom some account was given in the former part of this Volume: see the Song intitled "The Shepherd's Resolution," Book II. Song XXI. In the first Edition of this work only a small fragment of this Sonnet was inserted. It was afterwards rendered more complete and entire by the addition of five Stanzas more, extracted from Wither's pastoral poem, intitled, "The Mistress of Philarete," of which this Song makes a part. It is now given still more correct and perfect by comparing it with another copy, printed by the author in his improved edition of "The Shepherd's Hunting," 1620, 8vo.

HENCE away, thou Syren, leave me,
Pish unclaspe these wanton armes ;

Sugred words can ne'er deceive me,

(Though thou prove a thousand charmes).

Fie, fie, forbeare;

No common snare

Thy painted baits,

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Hee's a foole, that basely dallies,

Can ever my affection chaine :

Where each peasant mates with him : Shall I haunt the thronged vallies,

And poore deceits,

Whilst ther's noble hils to climbe?

Are all bestowed on me in vaine.

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I'me no slave to such, as you be;

Neither shall that snowy brest,

I know the best can but disdaine :

Rowling eye, and lip of ruby

And those lle prove :

Ever robb me of my rest:

So will thy love

Thy beautie's ray

To some more-soone enamour'd swaine :

Those common wiles

I doe scorn to vow a dutie,

The subject of this ballad is taken from a folio collection of tragical stories, entitled, "The theatre of God's judgments, by Dr. Beard and Dr. Taylor, 1642." Pt. 2. p. 89.-The text is given (with corrections) from two copies; one of them in blackletter in the Pepys collection. In this every stanza is accompanied with the following distich by way of burden:

"Oh jealousie! thou art nurst in hell:
Depart from hence, and therein dwell."

ALL tender hearts, that ake to hear
Of those that suffer wrong;

All you, that never shed a tear,

Give heed unto my song.

When he was gone from home, The lady all with rage did swell, And to the damsell come.

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And fiercely her assail.

Which makes the damsel sorely weep,

And her sad fate bewail.

With her fair hands she strives in vain Her body to defend :

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With shrieks and cries she doth complain, But all is to no end.