GEORGE GASCOIGNE. BORN 1540; DIED 1577. THIS writer is justly placed among the worthies of our early poetical literature. His principal works are entitled—“The Fruits of War," the "Steel Glass," the "Supposes," a comedy, from Ariosto, and "Jocasta," a tragedy, from Euripides. His minor poems, of which some specimens follow, bear the quaint title of "Flowers, Herbs, and Weeds." Gascoigne was bred to the law, but quitted it, and served with distinction against the Spaniards, in the war in Holland. His writings present rather the result of just observation than the fruits of creative genius. His verse is uncommonly smooth, easy, and unaffected, for the age in which he wrote; and his pen is never employed but on the side of virtue and honour. B GEORGE GASCOIGNE. GOOD MORROW. You that have spent the silent night And joy to see the cheerful light That riseth in the East, Now clear your voice, now cheer your heart, To praise the heavenly King. And you whom care in prison keeps, Or secret sorrow breaks your sleeps, Yet bear a part in doleful wise, Yea, think it good accord, And acceptable sacrifice, Each sprite to praise the Lord. The dreadful night with darksomeness And sluggish sleep with drowsiness A glass wherein you may behold Each storm that stops our breath,Our bed the grave, our clothes like mould, And sleep like dreadful death. Yet as this deadly night did last And heavenly day, now night is past, When we have changed this mortal place And of such haps and heavenly joys, All earthly sights and worldly toys Are tokens to behold. The day is like the day of doom, The sun, the Son of man, The skies the heavens, the earth the tomb Wherein we rest till then. The rainbow bending in the sky, Is like the seat of God on high, That as thereby he promised To drown the world no more, So, by the blood which Christ has shed, He will our health restore. The misty clouds that fall sometime, Are like to troubles of our time, The carrion-crow, that loathsome beast, The devil so must we overthrow The little birds which sing so sweet, Which render God his praises meet, And as they more esteem that mirth Unto which joys for to attain Which never shall decay : Lord, for thy mercy, lend us might |