222 



NOTES AND QUERIES. 



[2»4 S. X. Sept. 22. '60. 



Benjamin Johnson, " a poet," says Wood, " as 

 soon as he was born ; afterwards the father of our 

 poetry, and most admirably versed in classical 

 authors, and therefore beloved of Cambden, Sel- 

 den, Hopkins," &c. Mr. Gifford published an 

 edition of his plays, &c. 



Dr. Bliss says : 



" I should not have inserted the following poem, had 

 it not been recommended by a late editor of Johnson, 

 Whalley, in a MS. note in the Athence. The volume from 

 which it is taken is of peculiar rarity : — 



" A Description of Love, with certain Epigrams, Elegies, 

 and Sonnets : and also Mast. Johnson's Answer to Master 

 Withers. With The Boy of Ludgate, and The Song of 

 the Beggar. London, 1625. (Bodleian, 8vo., L. 79. Art.) 



There is no doubt that Witfier is the poet's 

 name, and not Withers. Ilowever, I have inserted 

 Withers, as it appears in the original. In all 

 George Wither's poems he writes himself Wither, 

 and is constantly punning upon the word. 

 « Withers. 

 " Shall I wasting in despaire. 

 Die because a woman's faire, 

 Or my cheekes make pale with care, 

 'Cause another's rosie are? 

 Be she fairer than the day, . 

 Or the flowry meades of May, 

 If she be not so to me, 

 What care I how faire she be ? 



Johnson. 

 " Shall I mine affections slacke, 

 'Cause I see a woman's blacke, 

 Or myself with care cast downe, 

 'Cause I see a woman's browne ? 

 Be she blacker than the night, 

 Or the blackest jet in sight, 

 If she be not so to mee. 

 What care I how black she be ? 



Withers. 

 " Shall my foolish heart be blinde, 

 'Cause I see a woman's kinde, 

 Or a well disposed nature, 

 Joyned in a comely feature ? 

 Be she kinde or meeker than 

 Turtle dove or pelican, 

 If she be not so to me 

 What care I how kinde she be ? 



Johnson. 

 " Shall ray foolish heart be burst 

 'Cause I see a woman's curst,. 

 Or a thwarting hoggish nature 

 Joined in as bad a feature?. 

 Be she cursed or fiercer than 

 Brutish beast or savage man : 

 If she be not so to me 

 What care I how curst she be ? 



Withers. 

 " Shall a woman's virtues make 

 Me to perish for her sake, 

 Or her merit's value knowne 

 Make me quite forget my owne ? 

 Be she with that goodness blest, 

 That may merit name of best. 

 If she seem not so to me 

 What care I how good she be ? 



Johnson. 

 '• Shall a woman's vices make 

 Me her vices quite forsake, 

 Or her faults to me made knowne. 

 Make me thinke that I have none ? 

 Be she of the most accurst. 

 And deserve the name of worst ; 

 If she be not so to me, 

 What care I how bad she be? '.; 



Withers. 

 "'Cause' her fortunes seem too high, 

 Should I play the fool and die ? 

 He that bears a noble mind 

 If not outward helpe hee find, 

 Think what with them he would do. 

 That without them dares to woo ? 

 And unlesse that minde I see. 

 What care I how great she be ? 



Johnson. 

 " 'Cause her fortunes seem too low, . ; 

 Shall I therefore let her goe ? 

 He that bears an ample mind. 

 And with riches can be kind, 

 I think how kind a heart he'd have,^ 

 If he were some servile slave ; 

 And if that same minde I see, 

 What care I how poore she be? 



Withers. 

 "Great or proud, or kind or faire, 



I will ne'er the more despaire. 



If she love me, then beleeve 



I will die, ere she shall grieve : 



If she slight me when I woo, 



I can slight and bid her go. 



If she be not fit for me, 



What care I for whom she be ? 

 'Johnson, 

 " Poore or bad, or curst, or blacke, 



I will ne'er the more be slacke ; 



If she hate me, then believe. 



She shall die ere I will grieve. 



If she like me when I woo, 



I can like and love her too ; 



If that she be fit for me. 



What care I what others be ? " 



"Although the following beautiful lines are well 

 known," says Dr. Bliss, " I cannot refrain from forcing 

 them on the reader once more : " 



" Still to be neate, still to be drest. 

 As you were going to a feast ; » 



Still to be powdred, still perfumed, 

 Ladye, 'tis to be presumed, 

 Though art's hid causes are not found, 

 All is not sweete, all is not sounde. 



" Give me a looke, give'me a' face. 

 That makes simplicity a grace, 

 Eobes loosely flowing, hayre as free ; 

 Such sweet neglect more taketh mee. 

 Than all the adulteries of arte, 

 They please my e3'e, but not my heart." 



MS. Ashmole, XXXVIII. 



Thomas Careio, one of the fjimous poets of his 

 time for the charming sweetness of his lyric odes 

 and amorous sonnets. " His songs," says Wood, 

 " were set to music, or if you please, were wedded 

 to the charming notes of Henry Lawes in his 

 Ayres and Dialogues, 1653." 



