_Page_ 24. "Farewell, false Love, the oracle of lies."--"J. C." in "Alcilia," 1595, writes:--
"Love is honey mixed with gall, A thraldom free, a freedom thrall; A bitter sweet, a pleasant sour, Got in a year, lost in an hour; A peaceful war, a warlike peace, Whose wealth brings want, whose want increase; Full long pursuit and little gain, Uncertain pleasure, certain pain; Regard of neither right nor wrong, For short delights repentance long.
Love is the sickness of the thought, Conceit of pleasure dearly bought; A restless passion of the mind, A labyrinth of arrows blind: A sugared poison, fair deceit, A bait for fools, a furious heat; A chilling cold, a wondrous passion, Exceeding man's imagination; Which none can tell in whole or part, But only he that feels the smart."
Robert Greene has a somewhat similar description of Love ("What thing is Love? it is a power divine," &c.) in "Menaphon," 1589.
_Page_ 28. "Fond wanton youths."--This piece is also printed in "The Golden Garland of Princely Delights," 1620, where it is headed "Of the Inconveniences by Marriage," and is directed to be sung to the tune of "When Troy town."
_Page_ 29, l. 22. "Their _longings_ must not be beguiled."--The original gives "Their _laughings_" (which is unintelligible).
_Page_ 31. It was at Wanstead House, a seat of the Earl of Leicester, that Sidney wrote his masque the "Lady of the May" in honour of Queen Elizabeth's visit in 1578. "Was Raleigh retired there," writes Mr. W. J. Linton (_Rare Poems_, p. 257), "during some season of her displeasure? There is a look of him about this song, not unlike the lines to Cynthia; and what mistress but Majesty should appoint his place of retirement?
'Wanstead, my Mistress saith this is the doom.'"
The two lines that close each stanza are from a song in Sidney's "Arcadia."
_Page_ 37. "Who, known to all, unknown to himself dies." From Seneca's "Thyestes:"--
"qui notus nimis omnibus Ignotus moritur sibi."
_Page_ 39. "How many things."--I have given four of John Maynard's "Twelve Wonders of the World" (cf. pp. 44-5, 69); and, if I am not mistaken, the reader will like to see the remaining eight. There is much freshness and piquancy in these quaint old rhymes, which were written by no less a poet than Sir John Davies.