The Bride | Page 2

an heroic stanza of six lines, and, as is not so common with
him, is in dialogue form. The dialogue for the most part is well
sustained and sprightly. The story of the birth of Merlin, it is true,
seems to have been inserted mainly to fill out the required number of
pages; but this digression has an interest of its own, in that the name
here given to Merlin's mother, "Lady Adhan," does not appear in the
ordinary versions of the legend.
Of Rowlands's life almost nothing is known: that little is told in the
Memoir by Mr. Gosse prefixed to the Hunterian Club edition, and by
Mr. Lee in the Dictionary of National Biography, and need not be
repeated here. All that is known with certainty is that Samuel Rowlands
was a writer of numerous poems and pamphlets, published between the

years 1598 and 1628. During this period there appeared almost every
year a pamphlet bearing his name or the well known initials, "S. R."
Twenty-eight separate works, of which many passed through several
editions, are known to have been written by him. All of these early
editions are rare; at least two of the works have been lost; several are
extant only in the second or later editions; and of at least ten, only
single copies are known to exist. Beside the edition of the Works
already referred to, a number of Rowlands's tracts have been separately
reprinted, in limited editions, by Sir Walter Scott, by S. W. Singer, by
E. V. Utterson, by Halliwell-Phillipps, by J. P. Collier, and by E. F.
Rimbault in the publications of the Percy Society; to this series of
reprints, "The Bride" is now added.
ALFRED CLAGHORN POTTER
Harvard College Library
January, 1905
THE BRIDE
BY S.R.
LONDON
Printed by W. I. for T. P. 1617
THE BRIDE TO ALL MAYDES.
Not out of bubble blasted Pride,
Doe I oppose myselfe a Bride,
In
scornefull manner with vpbraides:
Against all modest virgin maides.

As though I did dispise chast youth,
This is not my intent of truth,

I know they must liue single liues,
Before th'are graced to be wiues.

But such are only touch'd by me,
That thinke themselues as good
as wee:
And say girles, Weomens fellows arr,
Nay sawcely, Our
betters farr:
Yea will dispute, they are as good,
Such Wenches vex
me to the blood,
And are not to be borne with all:
Those I doe here
in question call,
Whome with the rules of reasons Arte:
He teach
more wit before we part,
Sylence, of kindnes I beseech,
Doe you
finde eares, and weele finde speach.
THE BRIDE

Virgins, and fellow maydes (that were of late)
Take kindly heere my wedding dayes a dew,
I entertayne degree
aboue your state:
For Marriage life's beyond the single crew,
Bring
me to Church as custome sayes you shall,
And then as wife, farewell
my wenches all.
I goe before you vnto Honour now,
And Hymen's Rites with ioy doe
vndertake
For life, I make the constant Nuptiall vow,
Striue you to
follow for your credits sake,
For greater grace to Womankind is none
Then Ioyne with husband,
faithfull two in one.
God Honoured thus, our great Grand-mother Eue
And gaue thereby
the blessing of increase,
For were not mariage we must all beleeue,

The generations of the earth would cease.
Mankind should be extinguish'd and decreas'd
And all the world
would but consist of beast.
Which caused me to finde my Mayden folly,
And having found it, to
reforme the same:
Though some of you, thereat seeme melancholy

That I for ever doe renounce your name.
I not respect what censure
you can giue,
Since with a loving Man I meane to liue.
Whose kindest heart, to me is worth you all,
Him to content, my
soule in all things seekes,
Say what you please, exclaiming chide and
brall,
Ile turne disgrace unto your blushing cheekes.
I am your better now by Ring_ and _Hatt,
No more playn Rose_, but
_Mistris you know what.
Marrie therefore and yeald increase a store,
Else to what purpose
weare you breed and borne:
Those that receaue, and nothing giue
therefore:
Are fruitles creatures, of contempt and scorne,

The excellence of all things doth consist,
In giuing, this no reason can
resist.
The glorious Sun, in giving forth his light,
The Earth in plants, and
hearbs & countles things
The trees their fruit, The Empresse of the
Night
She bountious gives to rivers flouds and springs,
And all that heaven, and all that earth containes,
Their goodnes, in
Increase of guifts explaynes.
But what doe you that neither give nor take,
(As only made for
hearing, and for seeing,)
Although created helpers for Mans sake:

Yet Man no whit the better for your being,
That spend consume and Idle out your howers,
Like many
garden-paynted vselesse flowers.
Your liues are like those worthles barren trees,
That never yeald
(from yeare to yeare) but leaues:
Greene-bowes vpon them only all
men sees,
But other goodnes there is none receaues,
They flourish sommer and they make a showe,
Yet to themselues
they fruitles spring & growe.