All beaten mariners!"—
songs which severally repeat the fatigue of the sea or that daring energy of its Elizabethan followers which by a false etymology we term chivalrous. We do not find the superb lunacy of "Mad Tom of Bedlam" in the catch beginning, "I know more than Apollo," but we have something almost as spirited, where John Ford sings, in The Sun's Darling,
"The dogs have the stag in chase!
'Tis a sport to content a king.
So-ho! ho! through the skies
How the proud bird flies,
And swooping, kills with a grace!
Now the deer falls! hark! how they ring."
For what is pensive and retrospective in tone we are given a song of "The Aged Courtier," which once in a pageant touched the finer consciousness of Queen Elizabeth. The unemployed warrior, whose "helmet now shall make a hive for bees," treats the virgin sovereign as his saint and divinity, promising,
"And when he saddest sits in holy cell,