And on his breast a bloody cross he bore,

The dear remembrance of his dying Lord,

For whose sweet sake that glorious badge he wore,

And dead (as living) ever him adored:

Upon his shield the like was also scored,

For sovereign hope, which in his help he had :
Right faithful true he was in deed and word;
But of his cheer did seem too solemn sad:
Yet nothing did he dread, but ever was ydrad.

Upon a great adventure he was bound,
That greatest Gloriana to him gave,

(That greatest glorious queen of fairy lond,)
To win him worship, and her grace to have,
Which of all earthly things he most did crave;
And ever as he rode his heart did yearn
To prove his puissance in battle brave
Upon his foe, and his new force to learn;
Upon his foe, a dragon horrible and stern.

A lovely lady rode him fair beside,

Upon a lowly ass more white than snow;
Yet she much whiter, but the same did hide
Under a veil that wimpled was full low,
And over all a black stole she did throw,
As one that inly mourn'd: so was she sad,
And heavy sat upon her palfrey slow;
Seemed in heart some hidden care she had,

And by her in line a milk-white lamb she led.

So pure and innocent, as that same lamb,

She was in life and every virtuous lore,

And by descent from royal lineage came

Of ancient kings and queens, that had of yore

Their sceptres stretcht from east to western shore,
And all the world in their subjection held;

Till that infernal fiend with foul uproar

Forewasted all their land and them expell'd:

Whom to avenge, she had this knight from far compell'd.

Behind her far away a dwarf did lag,

That lazy seem'd in being ever last,

Or wearied with bearing of her bag

Of needments at his back. Thus as they past

The day with clouds was sudden overcast,

And angry Jove an hideous storm of rain

Did pour into his leman's lap so fast,

That every wight to shroud it did constrain,

And this fair couple eke to shroud themselves were fain.

Enforced to seek some covert nigh at hand,
A shady grove not far away they spied,
That promised aid the tempest to withstand;
Whose lofty trees yclad with summer's pride,
Did spread so broad that heaven's light did hide,

Nor pierceable with power of any star:

And all within were paths and alleys wide,

With footing worn, and leading inward far:

Fair harbour, that them seems, so in they entered are.

M

And forth they pass, with pleasure forward led,

Joying to hear the birds' sweet harmony,

Which therein shrouded from the tempest dread,
Seem'd in their song to scorn the cruel sky.

Much can they praise the trees so straight and high,

The sailing pine, the cedar proud and tall,

The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry,

The builder oak, sole king of forests all,

The aspin good for staves, the cypress funeral.

The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors

And poets sage, the fir that weepeth still,

The willow, worn of forlorn paramours,

The yew obedient to the bender's will,
The birch for shafts, the sallow for the mill,
The myrrh sweet bleeding in the bitter wound,
The warlike beech, the ash, for nothing ill,
The fruitful olive, and the plantain round,

The carver holme, the maple seldom inward sound:

Led with delight, they thus beguile the way,
Until the blustering storm is overblown,
When weening to return, whence they did stray,
They cannot find that path which first was shown,
But wander to and fro in ways unknown,

Furthest from end then, when they nearest ween,
That makes them doubt their wits be not their own:
So many paths, so many turnings seen,

That which of them to take, in divers doubts they been.

LIKE as a ship, that through the ocean wide,
By conduct of some star, doth make her way,
Whenas a storm hath dimm'd her trusty guide
Out of her course doth wander far astray;
So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray
Me to direct, with clouds is overcast,

Do wander now, in darkness and dismay,
Through hidden perils round about me plast:
Yet hope I well that, when this storm is past,

My Helice, the lodestar of my life,
Will shine again, and look on me at last,
With lovely light to clear my cloudy griet.
Till then I wander careful, comfortless,
In secret sorrow and sad pensiveness.

THE SHEPHERD'S COMMENDATION OF

HIS NYMPH.

BY EDWARD VERE, EARL OF OXFORD.

EDWARD VERE, EARL OF OXFORD, was born about the year 1534, and after having been educated in Cambridge, spent some time on the Continent, from which he returned a perfect coxcomb. He took an active part in the destruction of the Spanish Armada, and sat on the trial of Mary, Queen of Scots. His poems. which are full of conceits, have never been collected. He died in 1604.]

WHAT shepherd can express

The favour of her face?

To whom in this distress

I do appeal for grace;

A thousand Cupids fly
About her gentle eye;

From which each throws a dart

That kindleth soft sweet fire

Within my sighing heart;

Possessed by desire,

No sweeter life I try

Than in her love to die.