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

To cause thy lovers fighe and fwone;
Then shalt thou know beauty but lent,

And wish and want as I have done.

35

Now cease, my lute; this is the last
Labour that thou and I shall wast,

And ended is that we begonne ;
Now is this song both song and paft:

My lute, be still; for I have done.

40

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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 lust and joy,
Wythe a Kynges sonne, my chyldysh yeres dyd paffe,
In greater feast than Priams sonnes of Troye;
Where eche swete place returnes a taftfull sower: 5
The large grene court where we were wont to“ hove,'
Wyth eyes cast up into the maydens tower,
And easy fighes, such as folkes draw in love;
The stately seates, the ladies brighte of hewe ;
The daunces short, 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 despoyled 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 sleves tyde on the helme
On fumyng 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.

up

With silver droppes the meade yet spreade for ruthe, in active games of nimbleness and strength, Where we did ftrayne, trayned wyth swarmes of

youthe, Our tender limmes, that yet

shot in lengthe; The secrete groves which ofte we made resounde, 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 forreste, 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 breste, The swete accorde, such flepes as yet delyght; 35 The pleasant dreames, the quyet bed of refte; The secret thoughtes imparted with such trust; The wanton talke, the dyvers chaunge of playe; The friendship sworne, eche promise kept so fast; Wherewith we past the winter nyghte away. 40 And wyth thys thoughte, the bloud forsakes the face, The teares berayne my chekes of deadly hewe, The whyche as soone as sobbyng fighes (alas !) Upsupped have, thus I my playnt renewe : O place of blisse! renewer of my woes ! 45 Give me accompt

where is

my

noble fere, Whom in thy walles thou doeft eche nyghte enclose, To other • leefe, but unto me most deere :' V. 29. holes. V. 48. luse. cleere.

59

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 lesse I fynd my chief reliefe.

DESCRIPTION AND PRAISE OF HIS LOVE

GERALDINE.

BY THE SAME.

FROM

Rom Tuscane came my ladies worthy race, Faire Florence was fometyme her auncient feate ; The Western yle whose pleasant shore doth face Wild Cambers clifs, did

geve her lyuely heate ; Fostered she was with milke of Irishe brest; 5 Her fire, an erle, her dame, of princes blood; From tender yeres

in Britaine she doth reft, With Kinges childe, where she tasteth coftly foode. Honfdon did first present her to myne yien : Bright is her hewe, and Geraldine The hight; 10 Hampton me taught to wishe her first for mine, And Windsor, 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 fepbeards boy, complaineth ibimselfe of his unfortunate loue, beeing but newly (as it seemetb) enamoured of a countrey lase called Rosalind : with which strong affection being verie fore trauelled, hee compareth his carefull cafe to the fad season of the yeere, to the frostie ground, to the frozen trees, and to his owne winter-beaten flocke. And lastly, finding himselfe robbed of all former pleafance and delight, be breaketh his pipe in peeces, and caferh himselfe to the ground.

COLIN CLOUT.

A SHEPHEARDS boy (no better doe him call),

When Winters wastefull spight was almost spent, All in a sunshine day, as did befall,

Led forth his flocke, that had been long ypent. So faint they woxe, and feeble in the fold, 5 That now vnnethes their feet could them vphold.

* Born 1553; dyed 1598.

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