NICOLAS GRIMAOLD

A TRUE LOVE

WHAT sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see,
What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true Love is to me;
As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth excecd,

As morning bright with scarlet sky doth pass the evening's weed,
As mellow pears above harsh crabs esteemed be,

So doth my Love surmount them all whom yet I hap to see.
The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray,

The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay,

Or I my Love let slip out of mine entire heart:

So deep reposed in my breast is She for her desert.

For many blessed gifts, O happy, happy land!

Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand; Yet, land! more is thy bliss that in this cruel age

A Venus imp thou hast brought forth, so steadfast and so sage.
Among the Muses nine a tenth if Jove would make,

And to the Graces three a fourth, Her would Apollo take.
Let some for honour hunt, or hoard the massy gold:

With Her so I may live and die, my weal can not be told.

BARNABE GOOGE

TO THE TUNE OF APELLES

'HE rushing rivers that do run,

THE

The vallies sweet adorned new

That lean their sides against the sun,

With flowers fresh of sundry hue,
Both ash and elm, and oak so high,
Do all lament my woeful cry.

While winter black with hideous storms
Doth spoil the ground of summer's green,
While spring-time sweet the leaf returns
That late on tree could not be seen,
While summer burns, while harvest reigns,
Still, still do rage my restless pains.

No end I find in all my smart,

But endless torment I sustain,

Since first, alas! my woeful heart

By sight of thee was forced to plain, · Since that I lost my liberty,

Since that thou madest a slave of me.

My heart, that once abroad was free,
Thy beauty hath in durance brought;
Once reason ruled and guided me,

And now is wit consumed with thought; Once I rejoiced above the sky,

And now for thee, alas! I die.

Once I rejoiced in company,

And now my chief and sole delight Is from my friends away to fly

And keep alone my wearied sprite. Thy face divine and my desire

From flesh have me transform'd to fire.

O Nature! thou that first didst frame
My Lady's hair of purest gold,

Her face of crystal to the same,

Her lips of precious rubies' mould,
Her neck of alabaster white,
Surmounting far each other wight:

Why didst thou not that time devise,
Why didst thou not foresee, before

The mischief that thereof doth rise

And grief on grief doth heap with store,

To make her heart of wax alone

And not of flint and marble stone?

O Lady! show thy favour yet:

Let not thy servant die for thee!
Where Rigour ruled let Mercy sit!
Let Pity conquer Cruelty !
Let not Disdain, a fiend of hell,

Possess the place where Grace should dwell!

ONCE MUSING AS I SAT,

And candle burning by,

When all were hush'd, I might discern

A simple sely Fly,

That flew before mine eyes,

With free rejoicing heart,

And here and there with wings did play, As void of pain and smart.

Sometime by me she sat

When she had play'd her fill;
And ever when she rested had
About she flutter'd still.
When I perceived her well
Rejoicing in her place,
O happy Fly! quoth I, and eke
O worm in happy case!
Which of us two is best?
I that have reason? No:
But thou that reason art without,
And therewith void of woe.

I live, and so dost thou ;

But I live all in pain,

And subject am to Her, alas!

That makes my grief her gain.
Thou livest, but feel'st no grief;
No love doth thee torment.
A happy thing for me it were
(If God were so content)

That thou with pen wert placed here

And I sat in thy place:

Then I should joy as thou dost now,

And thou shouldst wail thy case.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY

THE MEETING

N A GROVE, most rich of shade,

IN

Where birds wanton music made,

May, then young, his pied weeds showing,
New-perfumed with flowers fresh growing,
Astrophel with Stella sweet

Did for mutual comfort meet,
Both within themselves oppressed,
But each in the other blessed.

Him great harms had taught much care,
Her fair neck a foul yoke bare ;
But her sight his cares did banish,
In his sight her yoke did vanish.

Wept they had, alas the while!
But now tears themselves did smile,
While their eyes, by love directed,
Interchangeably reflected.

Sigh they did but now betwixt
Sighs of woe were glad sighs mix'd;
With arms cross'd, yet testifying
Restless rest, and living dying.