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DESCRIPTION OF SPRING.

THE Soote season, that bud and bloom forth brings,

With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale,
The nightingale with feathers new she sings;
The turtle to her makes hath told her tale.
Summer is come, for every spray now springs.
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings;
The fishes fleet with new repaired scale
The adder all her slough away she flings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flies small;
The busy bee her honey now she mings;
Winter is worn that was the flower's bale1.
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.

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h Mingles.

HOW EACH THING, SAVE THE LOVER IN SPRING, REVIVETH TO PLEASURE.

WHEN Windsor walls sustain'd my wearied arm;
My hand my chin, to ease my restless head;
The pleasant plot revested green with warm;
The blossom'd boughs with lusty ver yspread;
The flower'd meads, the wedded birds so late
Mine eyes discover; and to my mind resort
The jolly woes, the hateless short debate,
The rakehell life that longs to love's disport.
Wherewith, alas! the heavy charge of care
Heap'd in my breast, breaks forth against my will
In smoky sighs that overcast the air.
My vapour'd eye such dreary tears distil,
The tender green they quicken where they fall;
And I half bend to throw me down withal.

k Careless.-Rakil, or rakle, seems synonymous with reckless.

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RICHARD EDWARDS

[Born, 1523 Died, 1566.]

WAS a principal contributor to the Paradise of Dainty Devices, and one of our earliest dramatic authors. He wrote two comedies, one entitled Damon and Pythias, the other Palamon and Arcite, both of which were acted before Queen Elizabeth. Besides his regular dramas, he appears to have contrived masques, and to have written verses for pageants; and is described as having been the first fiddle, the most fashion

able sonneteer, and the most facetious mimic of the court. In the beginning of Elizabeth's reign he was one of the gentlemen of her chapel, and master of the children there, having the character of an excellent musician. His pleasing little poem, the Amantium Iræ, has been so often reprinted, that, for the sake of variety, I have selected another specimen of his simplicity.

HE REQUESTETH SOME FRIENDLY COMFORT, AFFIRMING HIS CONSTANCY.

THE mountains high, whose lofty tops do meet the haughty sky;

My faith, lo here! I vow to thee, my troth thou know'st too well;

The craggy rock, that to the sea free passage doth My goods, my friends, my life, is thine; what deny;

The aged oak, that doth resist the force of blustring blast;

need I more to tell?

I am not mine, but thine; I vow thy hests I will obey,

The pleasant herb, that everywhere a pleasant And serve thee as a servant ought, in pleasing if smell doth cast;

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I may ;

And sith I have no flying wings, to serve thee as I wish,

Ne fins to cut the silver streams, as doth the gliding fish ;

Wherefore leave now forgetfulness, and send

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The roaring of the cannon shot, that makes the piece to shake,

Or terror, such as mighty Jove from heaven above can make:

Thus Love, as victor of the field, triumphs above the rest,

And joys to see his subjects lie with living death in breast;

All these, in fine, may not compare, experience But dire Disdain lets drive a shaft, and galls this

so doth prove,

Unto the torments, sharp and strange, of such as be in love.

bragging fool,

He plucks his plumes, unbends his bow, and sets him new to school;

Whereby this boy that bragged late, as conqueror over all,

Love looks aloft, and laughs to scorn all such as griefs annoy, The more extreme their passions be, the greater Now yields himself unto Disdain, his vassal and

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THOMAS SACKVILLE,

BARON BUCKHURST, AND EARL OF DORSET,
[Born, 1536. Died, April 19, 1608.]

Was the son of Sir Richard Sackville, and was
born at Withyam, in Sussex, in 1536. He was
educated at both universities, and enjoyed an
early reputation in Latin as well as in English
poetry. While a student of the Inner Temple,
he wrote his tragedy of Gorboduc, which was
played by the young students, as a part of a
Christmas entertainment, and afterwards before
Queen Elizabeth at Whitehall, in 1561. In a
subsequent edition of this piece it was entitled
the tragedy of Ferrex and Porrex. He is said
to have been assisted in the composition of it by
Thomas Norton; but to what extent does not
appear. T. Warton disputes the fact of his being
at all indebted to Norton. The merit of the
piece does not render the question of much
importance. This tragedy and his contribution
of the Induction and Legend of the Duke of
Buckingham to the "Mirror for Magistrates,"

* The "Mirror for Magistrates" was intended to celebrate the chief unfortunate personages in English history, in a series of poetical legends spoken by the characters themselves, with epilogues interspersed to connect the stories, in imitation of Boccaccio's Fall of Princes, which had been translated by Lydgate. The historian of English poetry ascribes the plan of this work to Sackville, and seems to have supposed that his Induction and legend of Henry Duke of Buckingham appeared in the first edition: but Sir E. Brydges has shown that it was not until the second edition of the Mirror for Magistrates that Sackville's contribution was published, viz. in 1563. Baldwin and Ferrers were the authors of the first edition, in 1559. Higgins, Phayer, Churchyard, and a crowd of inferior versifiers, contributed successive legends, not confining themselves to English history, but treating the reader with the lamentations of Geta and Caracalla, Brennus, &c. &c. till the improvement of the drama superseded those dreary monologues, by giving heroic history a more engaging air. Sackville's contribution to "The Mirror for Magistrates," is the only part of it that is tolerable. It is observable that his plan differs materially from that of the other contributors. He lays

compose the poetical history of Sackville's life. The rest of it was political. He had been elected to parliament at the age of thirty. Six years afterwards, in the same year that his Induction and legend of Buckingham were published, he went abroad on his travels, and was, for some reason that is not mentioned, confined, for a time, as a prisoner at Rome; but he returned home, on the death of his father, in 1566, and was soon after promoted to the title of Baron Buckhurst. Having entered at first with rather too much prodigality on the enjoyment of his patrimony, he is said to have been reclaimed by the indignity of being kept in waiting by an alderman, from whom he was borrowing money, and to have made a resolution of economy, from which he never departed. The queen employed him, in the fourteenth year of her reign, in an embassy to Charles IX. of France. In 1587 he went as ambassador to the United Provinces, upon their complaint against the Earl of Leicester; but, though he performed his trust with integrity, the favourite had sufficient influence to get him recalled; and on his return, he was ordered to confinement in his own house, for nine or ten months. On Leicester's death, however, he was immediately reinstated in royal favour, and was made knight of the garter, and chancellor of Oxford. On the death of Burleigh he became lord high treasurer of England. At Queen Elizabeth's demise he was one of the privy councillors on whom the administration of the kingdom devolved, and he concurred in proclaiming the scene, like Dante, in Hell, and makes his characters relate their history at the gates of Elysium, under the guidance of Sorrow; while the authors of the other legends are generally contented with simply dreaming of the unfortunate personages, and, by going to sleep, offer a powerful inducement to follow their example.

King James. The new sovereign confirmed him in the office of high treasurer by a patent for life, and on all occasions consulted him with confidence. In March 1604, he was created Earl of Dorset. He died suddenly [1608] at the council table, in consequence of a dropsy on the brain. Few ministers, as Lord Orford remarks, have left behind them so unblemished a character. His family considered his memory so invulnerable, that when some partial aspersions were thrown upon it, after his death, they disdained to answer them. He carried taste and elegance even into his formal political functions, and for his eloquence was styled the bell of the Star

Chamber. As a poet, his attempt to unite allegory with heroic narrative, and his giving our language its earliest regular tragedy, evince the views and enterprise of no ordinary mind; but, though the induction to the Mirror for Magistrates displays some potent sketches, it bears the complexion of a saturnine genius, and resembles a bold and gloomy landscape on which the sun never shines. As to Gorboduc, it is a piece of monotonous recitals, and cold and heavy accumulation of incidents. As an imitation of classical tragedy it is peculiarly unfortunate, in being without even the unities of place and time, to circumscribe its dulness.

FROM SACKVILLE'S INDUCTION TO THE COMPLAINT OF HENRY, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

THE wrathful Winter, 'proaching on apace,
With blust'ring blasts had all ybared the treen,
And old Saturnus, with his frosty face,
With chilling cold had pierced the tender green;
The mantles rent wherein enwrapped been
The gladsome groves that now lay overthrown,
The tapets torn, and every tree down blown.

The soil that erst so seemly was to seen,
Was all despoiled of her beauty's hue;
And soote fresh flow'rs, wherewith the Summer's
Queen

Had clad the earth, now Boreas blasts down blew ;
And small fowls, flocking, in their song did rue
The Winter's wrath, wherewith each thing defaced
In woeful wise bewail'd the Summer past.

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And sorrowing I to see the Summer flowers,
The lively green, the lusty leas forlorn ;
The sturdy trees so shatter'd with the showers,
The fields so fade that flourish'd sc beforne;
It taught me well all earthly things be borne
To die the death, for nought long time may last;
The Summer's beauty yields to Winter's blast.

Then looking upward to the Heaven's leams,
With Nighte's stars thick powder'd every where,
Which erst so glisten'd with the golden streams,
That cheerful Phoebus spread down from his
sphere,

Beholding dark oppressing day so near;
The sudden sight reduced to my mind
The sundry changes that in earth we find.

That musing on this worldly wealth in thought,
Which comes and goes more faster than we see
The fleckering flame that with the fire is wrought,
My busy mind presented unto me

Such fall of Peers as in this realm had be,
That oft I wish'd some would their woes descrive,
To warn the rest whom fortune left alive.

And strait forth-stalking with redoubled pace,
For that I saw the Night draw on so fast,
In black all clad, there fell before my face
A piteous wight, whom Woe had all forewaste,
Forth from her eyen the chrystal tears out brast,
And sighing sore, her hands she wrung and fold,
Tare all her hair, that ruth was to behold.

Her body small, forewither'd and forespent,
As is the stalk that Summer's drought oppress'd;
Her wealked face with woeful tears besprent,
Her colour pale, and as it seem'd her best;
In woe and plaint reposed was her rest;
And as the stone that drops of water wears,
So dented was her cheek with fall of tears.

b Been.

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Her eyes unstedfast, rolling here and there, Whirl'd on each place, as place that vengeance brought,

So was her mind continually in fear,
Toss'd and tormented by the tedious thought
Of those detested crimes which she had wrought:
With dreadful cheer and looks thrown to the sky,
Wishing for death, and yet she could not die.

Next saw we Dread, all trembling how he shook,
With foot uncertain proffer'd here and there;
Benumm'd of speech, and with a ghastly look,
Search'd every place, all pale and dead for fear;
His cap upborn with staring of his hair,
Stoyn'd and amazed at his shade for dread,
And fearing greater dangers than was need.

And next within the entry of this lake
Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for ire,
Devising means how she may vengeance take,
Never in rest till she have her desire;
But frets within so far forth with the fire
Of wreaking flames, that now determines she
To die by death, or venged by death to be.

When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pretence,
Had shew'd herself, as next in order set,
With trembling limbs we softly parted thence,
Till in our eyes another sight we met,
When from my heart a sigh forthwith I fet,
Rewing, alas! upon the woeful plight
Of Misery, that next appear'd in sight.
d Astonished.

e Stopped.

e Fetched.

His face was lean and some-deal pined away,
And eke his handes consumed to the bone,
But what his body was I cannot say ;
For on his carcass raiment had he none,
Save clouts and patches, pieced one by one;
With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders cast,
His chief defence against the winter's blast.

His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree;
Unless sometime some crumbs fell to his share,
Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept he,
As on the which full daintily would he fare.
His drink the running stream, his cup the bare
Of his palm closed, his bed the hard cold ground;
To this poor life was Misery ybound.

Whose wretched state, when we had well beheld
With tender ruth on him and on his ferest,
In thoughtful cares forth then our pace we held,
And, by and by, another shape appears,
Of greedy Care, still brushing up the breress,
His knuckles knob'd, his flesh deep dented in,
With tawed hands and hard ytanned skin.

The morrow gray no sooner had begun
To spread his light, even peeping in our eyes,
When he is up and to his work yrun ;
And let the night's black misty mantles rise,
And with foul dark never so much disguise
The fair bright day, yet ceaseth he no while,
But hath his candles to prolong his toil.

By him lay heavy Sleep, the cousin of Death,
Flat on the ground, and still as any stone,
A very corps, save yielding forth a breath;
Small keep took he whom Fortune frowned on,
Or whom she lifted up into the throne
Of high renown: but as a living death,
So dead, alive, of life he drew the breath.

The body's rest, the quiet of the heart,
The travail's ease, the still night's fere was he;
And of our life in earth the better part,
Reever of sight, and yet in whom we see
Things oft that tide, and oft that never be ;
Without respect esteeming equally
King Croesus' pomp, and Irus' poverty.

And next in order sad Old Age we found,
His beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and blind;
With drooping cheer still poring on the ground,
As on the place where Nature him assign'd
To rest, when that the sisters had entwined
His vital thread, and ended with their knife
The fleeting course of fast declining life.

Crook'd-back'dhewas,tooth-shaken,andblear-eyed,
Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four;
With old lame bones that rattled by his side,
His scalp all pill'd', and he with eld forlore,
His wither'd fist still knocking at Death's door;
Trembling and driv'ling as he draws his breath,
For brief, the shape and messenger of Death.
f Companions.
A Happen. 1 Bare.

g Briars.

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