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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 paft:
My lute, be ftill; for I have done.

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PRISONER IN WINDSOR, HE RECOUNTETH

HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED.

BY HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY.

So cruell prifon howe could betyde, alas!
As proude Windfor; where I, in luft and joy,
Wythe a Kynges fonne, my chyldysh yeres 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 strength,
Where we did ftrayne, trayned wyth fwarmes of
youthe,

Our tender limmes, that yet fhot 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 fpede, 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 refte;
The secret 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,

40

45

Whom in thy walles thou doeft eche nyghte enclose, To other leefe,' but unto me most deere :'

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V. 29. holes.

V. 48. lufe. cleere.

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.

59

DESCRIPTION AND PRAISE OF HIS LOVE

GERALDINE.

BY THE SAME.

5

FROM
ROM Tufcane 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;
Foftered she was with milke of Irishe breft;
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 she hight; 10
Hampton me taught to wishe her firft for mine,
And Windfor, alas, doth chafe me from her fight,
Her beauty of kinde, her vertue from above;
Happy is he that can obtain her love!

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IN this Aeglogue, Colin Clout, a fhepheards boy, complaineth himfelfe of his unfortunate loue, beeing but newly (as it Seemeth) enamoured of a countrey laffe called Rofalind : 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 pleafance 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 wastefull 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.

Born 1553; dyed 1598.

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