And then may chaunce thee to repent
The time that thou haft loft and spent,

To cause thy lovers fighe and fwone;
Then fhalt thou know beauty but lent,
And wish and want as I have done.

Now cease, my lute; this is the last
Labour that thou and I fhall waft,

And ended is that we begonne; . Now is this fong both fong and past: My lute, be ftill; for I have done.

35

40

PRISONER IN WINDSOR, HE RECOUNTETH

HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED.

BY HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY.

So cruell prison howe could betyde, alas!
As proude Windsor; where I, in luft and joy,
Wythe a Kynges fonne, my chyldyfhyeres dyd paffe,
In greater feast than Priams fonnes of Troye;
Where eche fwete place returnes a taftfull sower: 5
The large grene court where we were wont to 'hove,'
Wyth eyes caft up into the maydens tower,
And easy fighes, fuch as folkes draw in love;
The stately seates, the ladies brighte of hewe;
The daunces fhort, long tales of greate delight, 10
Wyth woordes and lookes, that tygers could but rewe,
Where eche of us dyd please the others ryghte;
The palme play, where defpoyled for the game,
With dared eyes oft we by gleames of love,
Have myft the ball, and gote fighte of our dame, 15
To bayte her eyes, whyche kept the leads above;
The gravel ground, wythe fleves tyde on the helme
On fomyng horse, with swordes and friendly hartes;
Wythe chere as though one should another whelme,
Where we have fought, and chased oft with dartes; 20

* Born 15..; beheaded 1546.

V. 6. trove.

With filver droppes the meade yet spreade for ruthe,
In active games of nimbleness and ftrength,
Where we did ftrayne, trayned wyth fwarmes of

youthe,

Our tender limmes, that yet shot up in lengthe;
The fecrete groves which ofte we made refounde,
Of pleasant playnte, and of our ladies prayse, 26
Recordyng oft what grace eche one had founde,
What hope of spede, what dreade of long delayes;
The wylde forrefte, the clothed holtes' with grene,
With raynes availed, and swiftly breathed horse; 30
Wyth cry of houndes and merry blastes betwene,
Where we did chase the feareful hart of force;
The wyde vales eke, that harborde us eche nyghte :
Wherewyth (alas) reviveth in my brefte,
The fwete accorde, fuch flepes as yet delyght; 35
The pleasant dreames, the quyet bed of reste;
The fecret thoughtes imparted with fuch truft;
The wanton talke, the dyvers chaunge of playe;
The friendship fworne, eche promise kept so fast;
Wherewith we past the winter nyghte away.
And wyth thys thoughte, the bloud forfakes the face,
The teares berayne my chekes of deadly hewe,
The whyche as foone as fobbyng fighes (alas!)
Upfupped have, thus I my playnt renewe:
O place of bliffe! renewer of my woes!
Give me accompt where is my noble fere,
Whom in thy walles thou doeft eche nyghte enclose,

40

To other leefe,' but unto me most deere :'

V. 29. holes.

V. 48. lufe. cleere,

45

Eccho (alas!) that doth my forrow rewe,
Returns thereto a hollowe founde of playnt;
Thus I alone, where all my freedome grewe,
In pryfon pyne, wythe bondage and restraynt:
And with remembrance of the greater griefe
To banishe the leffe I fynd my chief reliefe.

59

DESCRIPTION AND PRAISE OF HIS LOVE GERALDINE.

BY THE SAME.

FROM Tufcane came my ladies worthy race,
Faire Florence was fometyme her auncient seate;
The Western yle whose pleasant shore doth face
Wild Cambers clifs, did geve her lyuely heate;
Foftered fhe was with milke of Irishe breft; 5
Her fire, an erle, her dame, of princes blood;
From tender yeres in Britaine fhe doth reft,
With Kinges childe, where she tasteth costly foode.
Honfdon did first present her to myne yien:
Bright is her hewe, and Geraldine she hight; 10
Hampton me taught to wishe her first for mine,
And Windfor, alas, doth chase me from her fight.
Her beauty of kinde, her vertue from above;
Happy is he that can obtain her love!

ECLOGUE.

BY EDMUND SPENSER.

ARGUMENT.

IN this Aeglogue, Colin Clout, a shepheards boy, complaineth \himselfe of his vnfortunate loue, beeing but newly (as it feemeth) enamoured of a countrey laffe called Rosalind : with which strong affection being verie fore trauelled, hee compareth his carefull cafe to the fad feafon of the yeere, to the froftie ground, to the frozen trees, and to his owne winter-beaten flocke. And lastly, finding himselfe robbed of all former pleasance and delight, he breaketh his pipe in peeces, and cafteth himselfe to the ground.

COLIN CLOUT.

A

SHEPHEARDS boy (no better doe him call), When Winters waftefull spight was almost spent, All in a funshine day, as did befall,

Led forth his flocke, that had been long ypent. So faint they woxe, and feeble in the fold, That now vnnethes their feet could them vphold.

5

*Born 1553; dyed 1598.