THE BLOODY BROTHER; OR, ROLLO, DUKE OF A DRINKING SONG. DRINK to-day, and drown all sorrow, You shall perhaps not do it to-morrow: Wine works the heart up, wakes the wit, Then let us swill, boys, for our health; Falls with the leaf, still in October. * The sole authorship of this play by Fletcher is doubtful, although ascribed to him on the title-page of the edition of 1640. Parts of it are supposed, on internal evidence, to have been written by some other dramatist.-Weber suggests either W. Rowley or Middleton. This defence of drinking is repeated and expanded in a song by Shadwell. The following well-known catch, or glee, is formed on this song: SONG OF THE YEOMAN OF THE CELLAR, THE BUTLER, THE COOK, AND PAUL THE PANTLER* GOING TO EXECUTION. Yeoman. COME, Fortune's a jade, I care not who tell her, Chorus. Three merry boys, and three merry boys, Butler. But I that was so lusty, Chorus.-Three merry boys, &c. Cook. Oh, yet but look On the master cook, * The Pantler was the servant who had charge of the pantry. The glory of the kitchen, No tailor e'er had stitch in; Wherein I have my wishes, Pantler. Oh, man or beast, Or you, at least, That wears or brow or antler, Prick up your ears Unto the tears Of me, poor Paul the Pantler, The cursed crust of treason With loyal knife: Oh, doleful strife, To hang thus without reason! Chorus.-Three merry boys, &c. TAKE, OH! TAKE THOSE LIPS AWAY. AKE, oh! take those lips away, TA That so sweetly were forsworn, On whose tops the pinks that grow A WIFE FOR A MONTH.t TO THE BLEST EVANTHE. ET those complain that feel Love's cruelty, My mistress' eyes shine fair on my desires, With folded arms, and sighs all day, My mistress smiles, and all my sorrows cease. *The first stanza of this song is found in Measure for Measure.— See ante, p. 95. The origin of both verses may be traced to the fragment Ad Lydiam, ascribed to Cornelius Gallus. The following are the corresponding passages, which discover a resemblance too close to have been merely accidental: 'Pande, Puella, geneas roseas, Perfusas rubro purpureæ tyriæ. The English version of the second of these passages, by the translator of Secundus, is still nearer to Fletcher's song. Yet, what is living in her eye, Or being blessed with her sweet tongue, A golden gyve, a pleasing wrong: To be your own but one poor month, I'd give THE LOVERS' PROGRESS.* 'TIS Be THE SONG OF THE DEAD HOST. IS late and cold; stir up the fire; You shall find ready when you're up, THE PILGRIM.T NEPTUNE COMMANDING STILLNESS ON THE SEA. DOWN, ye angry waters all! Ye loud whistling whirlwinds, fall! * One of the pieces left unfinished by Fletcher, and completed by another writer-supposed to be Shirley, or Massinger. Ascribed to Fletcher. |