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But thou, my sun, more bright than he
That shines at noon in summer tide,
Hast given me light and power to see
With perfect skill my sight to guide;
Till now I lived as blind as mole
That hides her head in earthly hole.

Tell Age it daily wasteth,
Tell Honour how it alters,
Tell Beauty how she blasteth,
Tell Favour how she falters ;
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.
Tell Wit how much it wrangles
In treble points of niceness,
Tell Wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness ;
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.
Tell Physic of her boldness,
Tell Skill it is pretension,
Tell Charity of coldness,
Tell Law it is contention ;
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.

I heard the praise of Beauty's grace,
Yet deem'd it nought but poet's skill,
I gazed on many a lovely face,
Yet found I none to bend my will ;
Which made me think that beauty bright
Was nothing else but red and white.

But now thy beams have clear'd my sight,
I blush to think I was so blind,
Thy flaming eyes afford me light,
That beauty's blaze each where I find;
And yet those dames that shine so bright,
Are but the shadows of thy light.

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EDIT. 1598.

And when my will is done, then Cynthia shine,

FROM WILBYE'S MADRIGALS. good lady, All other nights and days in honour of that night, Lady, your words do spite me, That happy, heavenly night, that night so dark and Yet your sweet lips so soft kiss and delight me; shady,

Your deeds my heart surcharged with overjoying, Wherein my love had eyes that lighted my delight. Your taunts my life destroying ;

Since both have force to kill me,
Let kisses sweet, sweet kill me!
Knights fight with swords and lances,

Fight you with smiling glances,
FROM THE SAME.

So, like swans of Meander,
The gentle season of the year

My ghost from hence shall wander,
Hath made my blooming branch appear,

Singing and dying, singing and dying.
And beautified the land with flowers ;
The air doth savour with delight,
The heavens do smile to see the sight,

THERE is a jewel which no Indian mine can buy, And yet mine eyes augment their showers.

No chemic art can counterfeit ;

It makes men rich in greatest poverty, The meads are mantled all with green,

Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold, The trembling leaves have clothed the treen,

The homely whistle to sweet music's strain ; The birds with feathers new do sing;

Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent, But I, poor soul, whom wrong doth rack, That much in little—all in nought_Content. Attire myself in mourning black, Whose leaf doth fall amidst his spring.

Change me, O heaven ! into the ruby stone And as you see the scarlet rose

That on my love's fair locks doth hang in gold, In his sweet prime his buds disclose,

Yet leave me speech to her to make my moan, Whose hue is with the sun revived ;

And give me eyes her beauty to behold : So, in the April of mine age,

Or if you will not make my flesh a stone, My lively colours do assuage,

Make her hard heart seem flesh, that now is Because my sunshine is deprived.

none.

Love me not for comely grace,

Who makes his seat a stately stamping steed, For my pleasing eye or face ;

Whose neighs and plays are princely to behold; Not for any outward part,

Whose courage stout, whose eyes are fiery red, No, nor for my constant heart ;

Whose joints well knit, whose harness all of gold, For those may fail, or turn to ill,

Doth well deserve to be no meaner thing And thus we love shall sever :

Than Persian knight, whose horse made him a Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye,

king. And love me still, Yet know not why,

By that bedside where sits a gallant dame, So hast thou the same reason still,

Who casteth off her brave and rich attire,
To dote upon me ever.

Whose petticoat sets forth as fair a frame
As mortal men or gods can well desire ;

Who sits and sees her petticoat unlaced,
Isang sometimes my thoughts and fancy’s pleasure, I say no more-the rest are all disgraced.
Where then I list, or time served best,
While Daphne did invite me
To supper once, and drank to me to spite me :
I smiled, yet still did doubt her,
And drank where she had drank before, to flout her. SONGS FROM WEELKES'S MADRIGALS.
But 0, while I did eye her,
My eyes drank love, my lips drank burning fire.

Like two proud armies marching in the field,

Joining a thund'ring fight, each scorns to yield,
O Light is love, in matchless beauty shining, So in my heart your beauty and my reason,
When she revisits Cyprus’ hallowed bowers, To th’ other says, it's treason, treason, treason :
Two feeble doves, harness'd in silken twining, But your fair beauty shineth as the sun,
Can draw her chariot ’mid the Paphian flowers : And dazzled reason yields as quite undone.
Lightness in love how ill she fitteth,
So heavy on my heart she sitteth.

Give me my heart and I will go,
Or else forsake your wonted no,
No, no, no,

- No, no, no. FROM BIRD'S COLLECTION OF SONGS, &c.

But since my dear doth doubt me, Your shining eyes and golden hair,

With no, no, no, I mean to fout thee; Your lily rosed lips most fair,

No, no, no. Your other beauties that excel,

Now there is hope we shall agree, Men cannot chuse but like them well ;

Since double no imparteth yea ; But when for them they say they'll die,

If that be so, my dearest, Believe them not, they do but lie.

With no, no, no, my heart thou cheerest.

EDIT. 1604.

Ambitious love hath forced me to aspire

Cold winter ice is fled and gone,
To beauties rare, which do adorn thy face ;

And summer brags on every tree ;
Thy modest life yet bridles my desire,
Whose law severe doth promise me no grace.

The red-breast peeps among the throng

Of wood-hrown birds that wanton be :
But what ! may love live under any law?

Each one forgets what they have been,
No, no, his power exceedeth man's conceit, And so doth Phyllis, summer's queen,
Of which the gods themselves do stand in awe,
For on his frown a thousand torments wait.

Hold out my heart, with joy's delights accloy'd ; Proceed, then, in this deperate enterprise

Hold out my heart and show it, With good advice, and follow love, thy guide,

That all the world may know it, That leads thee to thy wished paradise :

What sweet content thou lately hast enjoy'd. Thy climbing thoughts this comfort take withal,

She that “ Come, dear!” would say, That if it be thy foul disgrace to slide,

Then laugh, and smile, and run away ; Thy brave attempt shall yet excuse thy fall.

And if I stay'd her would cry nay,

Fy for shame, fy. Amid the seas a gallant ship set out,

My true love not regarding, Wherein nor men nor yet ’munition lacks, Hath giv'n me at length his full rewarding, In greatest winds that spareth not a clout, So that unless I tell But cuts the waves in spite of weather's wrack, The joys that overfill me, Would force a swain that comes of coward kind, My joys, kept in full well, To change himself, and be of noble mind.

I know will kill me.

TO HIS LOVE.

FROM ENGLAND'S HELICON.

Say, dear, will you not have me?
Then take the kiss you gave me ;
You elsewhere would, perhaps, bestow it,
And I would be as loth to owe it ;
Or if you will not take the thing once given,
Let me kiss you, and then we shall be even.

FROM BATESON'S MADRIGALS.

EDIT. 1606.

Love would discharge the duty of his heart
In beauty's praise, whose greatness doth deny
Words to his thoughts, and thoughts to his desert;
Which high conceit, since nothing can supply,
Love here constrain'd through conquest to confess,
Bids silence sigh what tongue cannot express.

Come away, come, sweet love!
The golden morning breaks,
All the earth, all the air,
Of love and pleasure speaks ;
Teach thine arms then to embrace,
And sweet rosy lips to kiss,
And mix our souls in mutual bliss :
Eyes were made for beauty's grace ;
Viewing, ruing, love's long pain,
Procured by beauty's rude disdain.
Come away, come, sweet love!
The golden morning wastes,
While the sun from his sphere
His fiery arrows casts,
Making all the shadows fly,
Playing, staying, in the grove,
To entertain the stealth of love ;
Thither, sweet love, let us hie,
Flying, dying, in desire,
Wing'd with sweet hopes and heavenly fire.
Come, come, sweet love!
Do not in vain adorn
Beauty's grace, that should rise
Like to the naked morn,
Lilies on the river's side,
And fair Cyprian flow'rs newly blown,
Ask no beauties but their own.
Ornament is nurse of pride

WHITHER So fast? Ah, see the kindly flowers
Perfume the air, and all to make thee stay ;
The climbing woodbind, clipping all these bowers,
Clips thee likewise, for fear thou pass away:
Fortune, our friend, our foe, will not gainsay:
Stay but awhile, Phæbe no tell-tale is,
She her Endymion—I'll my Phæbe kiss.

YET stay, alway be chained to my heart
With links of love, that we do never part ;
Then I'll not call thee serpent, tiger, cruel,
But my sweet Gemma, and my dearest jewel.

JOHN LYLY

(Born, 1554. Died, 1600.)

Was born in the Weald of Kent. Wood places snatching." Whether Apollo was ever so comhis birth in 1553. Oldys makes it appear pro- plaisant or not, it is certain that Lyly's work of bable that he was born much earlier*. He Euphues and his England,preceded by another studied at both the universities, and for many called “ Euphues, the Anatomy of Wit,” &c. years attended the court of Elizabeth in expecta- promoted a fantastic style of false wit, bombastic tion of being made Master of the Revels. In this metaphor, and pedantic allusion, which it was object he was disappointed, and was obliged, in fashionable to speak at court under the name of his old age, to solicit the Queen for some trifling Euphuism, and which the ladies thought it indisgrant to support himt, which it is uncertain whe- pensable to acquire. Lyly, in his Euphues, ther he ever obtained. Very little indeed is probably did not create the new style, but only known of him, though Blount, his editor, tells us collected and methodised the floating affectathat “ he sate at Apollo's table, and that the god tions of phraseology. - Drayton ascribes the gave him a wreath of his own bays without overthrow of Euphuism to Sir P. Sydney, who,

(* Lyly was born in Kent in 1554, and was matriculated at Oxford in 1571, when it was recorded in the entry

did first reduce that he was seventeen years old.-COLLIER's Annals,

Our tongue from Lylie's writing then in use, vol. iii, p. 174.]

Talking of stones, stars, plants, of fishes, flies, # If he was an old man in the reign of Elizabeth.

Plying with words and idle similies, Oldys's conjecture as to the date of his birth seems to be As th' English apes and very zanies be verified, -as we scarcely call a man old at fifty.

Of everything that they do hear and see.

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Sydney died in 1586, and Euphues had appeared many years after his death ; and it seems to have but six years earlier. We may well suppose expired, like all other fashions, by growing vulgar. Sydney to have been hostile to such absurdity, Lyly wrote nine plays, in some of which there is and his writings probably promoted a better considerable wit and humour, rescued from the taste ; but we hear of Euphuism being in vogue | jargon of his favourite system.

CUPID AND CAMPASPE.

Brave prick-song! who is't now we hear ?
None but the lark so shrill and clear ;
Now at Heaven's gate she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark! hark ! but what a pretty note,
Poor Robin red-breast tunes his throat ;
Hark ! how the jolly cuckoos sing
Cuckoo_to welcome in the spring.

Cupid and my Campaspe play'd
At cards for kisses : Cupid paid.
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows ;
His mother's doves and team of sparrows;
Loses them too : then down he throws
The coral of his lip—the rose
Growing on 's cheek, but none knows how,
With these the crystal on his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin ;
All these did my Campaspe win :
At last he set her both his eyes ;
She won, and Cupid blind did rise ;
O Love, hath she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?

FRON MOTHER BOMBIE.

O Cupid, monarch over kings,
Wherefore hast thou feet and wings?
Is it to show how swift thou art,
When thou wound'st a tender heart !
Thy wings being clipt and feet held still,
Thy bow so many could not kill.
It is all one in Venus' wanton school,
Who highest sits, the wise man or the fool-
Fools in Love's college
Have far more knowledge,
To read a woman over,
Than a neat-prating lover ;
Nay, 'tis confest
That fools please women best.

SONG.

FROM ALEXANDER AND CAMPASPE.

What bird so sings, yet so does wail ?
O'tis the ravish'd nightingale-
Jug, jug, jug, jug-tereu—she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.

ALEXANDER HUME

(Born, 1560 ? Died, 1609?)

Was the second son of Patrick, fifth Baron of pitch, and when a reformation, fostered by the Polwarth, from whom the family of Marchmont poetry of Lyndsay, and by the learning of Buare descended. He was born probably about the chanan, had begun to grow hostile to elegant middle, and died about the end, of the sixteenth literature. Though the drama, rude as it was, century. During four years of the earlier part had been no mean engine in the hands of Lyndsay of his life, he resided in France, after which he against popery, yet the Scottish reformers of this returned home and studied law, but abandoned

latter period even anticipated the zeal of the the bar to try his fortune at court. There he is English puritans against dramatic and romantic said to have been disgusted with the preference poetry, which they regarded as emanations from shown to a poetical rival, Montgomery, with whom

hell. Hume had imbibed so far the spirit of his he exchanged flytings, (or invectives,) in verse,

times as to publish an exhortation to the youth and who boasts of having “ driven Polwart from

of Scotland to forego the admiration of all clasthe chimney nook." He then went into the

sical heroes, and to read no other books on the church, and was appointed rector or minister of subject of love than the Song of Solomon. But Logie ; the names of ecclesiastical offices in

Calvinism* itself could not entirely eradicate the Scotland then floating between presbytery and prelacy. In the clerical profession he continued * This once gloomy influence of Calvinism on the lite

rary character of the Scottish churchmen, forms & contill his death. Hume lived at a period when the

trast with more recent times, that needs scarcely to be spirit of Calvinism in Scotland was at its gloomiest suggested to those acquainted with Scotland. In extend

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