For Venus taught him still this rest to set, That he was young, and might be wanton yet.

Where Venus strikes with beauty to the quick,
It little 'vails sage Reason to reply;
Few are the cares for such as are love-sick,

But love then, though I wanton it awry,
And play the wag, from Adon this I get,—
I am but young, and may be wanton yet.

In

pomp sits Mercy seated in her face;
Love 'twixt her breasts his trophies doth
imprint ;

Her eyes shine favour, courtesy, and grace;

But touch her heart, ah, that is fram'd of flint! Therefore my harvest in the grass bears grain; The rock will wear, wash'd with a winter's rain.

SONNET,

IN ANSWER TO THE PRECEDING.

THE Siren Venus nouric'd* in her lap

Fair Adon, swearing whiles he was a youth He might be wanton: note his after-hap,

The guerdon that such lawless lust ensu'th; So long he follow'd flattering Venus' lore, Till, seely lad, he perish'd by a boar.

Mars in his youth did court this lusty dame, He won her love; what might his fancy let? He was but young: at last, unto his shame, Vulcan entrapp'd them slyly in a net, And call'd the gods to witness as a truth, A lecher's fault was not excus'd by youth.

If crooked age accounteth youth his spring, The spring, the fairest season of the year, Enrich'd with flowers, and sweets, and many a thing,

That fair and gorgeous to the eyes appear; It fits that youth, the spring of man, should be 'Rich'd with such flowers as virtue yieldeth thee.

SONNET.

FAIR is my love, for April in her face,
Her lovely breasts September claims his part,
And lordly July in her eyes takes place;

But cold December dwelleth in her heart:

Blest be the months that set my thoughts on fire, Accurs'd that month that hindereth my desire!

Like Phoebus' fire, so sparkle both her eyes; As air perfum'd with amber is her breath; Like swelling waves her lovely teats do rise;

As earth her heart, cold, dateth me to death: Ay me, poor man, that on the earth do live, When unkind earth death and despair doth give!

nouric'd] i. e. nursed,-fondled.

SONNET.

PHILLIS kept sheep along the western plains, And Coridon did feed his flocks hard by: This shepherd was the flower of all the swains That trac'd the downs of fruitful Thessaly; And Phillis, that did far her flocks surpass In silver hue, was thought a bonny lass.

A bonny lass, quaint in her country 'tire, Was lovely Phillis, Coridon swore so; Her locks, her looks, did set the swain on fire, He left his lambs, and he began to woo ; He look'd, he sigh'd, he courted with a kiss, No better could the silly swad* than this.

He little knew to paint a tale of love,

Shepherds can fancy, but they cannot say : Phillis gan smile, and wily thought to prove

What uncouth grief poor Coridon did pay; She ask'd him how his flocks or he did fare, Yet pensive thus his sighs did tell his care. The shepherd blush'd when Phillis question'd so, And swore by Pan it was not for his flock[s]; ""Tis love, fair Phillis, breedeth all this woe,

My thoughts are trapt within thy lovely locks, Thine eye hath pierc'd, thy face hath set on fire; Fair Phillis kindleth Coridon's desire."

"Can shepherds love?" said Phillis to the swain. "Such saints as Phillis," Coridon replied. "Men when they lust can many fancies feign," Said Phillis. This not Coridon denied, That lust had lies; "But love," quoth he, "says truth:

Thy shepherd loves, then, Phillis, what ensu'th?"

Phillis was won, she blush'd and hung the head; The swain stept to, and cheer'd her with a kiss:

With faith, with troth, they struck the matter dead;

So used they when men thought not amiss:
This love begun and ended both in one;
Phillis was lov'd, and she lik'd Coridon.

* swad] i. e. clown, bumpkin.
tThis] Qy "Thus".

FROM

PANDOSTO, THE TRIUMPH OF TIME.

(ED. 1694.)

Dorastus* in love-passion writes these few lines in praise of his loving and best-beloved Fawnia.

AH, were she pitiful as she is fair,

Or but as mild as she is seeming so, Then were my hopes greater than my despair, Then all the world were heaven, nothing woe. Ah, were her heart relenting as her hand,

That seems to melt even with the mildest touch, Then knew I where to seat me in a land,

Under wide heavens, but yet [there is] not such. So as she shows, she seems the budding rose, Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower, Sovereign of beauty, like the spray she grows; Compass'd she is with thorns and canker'd bower,+

Yet, were she willing to be pluck'd and worn, She would be gather'd, though she grew on thorn.

Ah, when she sings, all music else be still,

For none must be compared to her note; Ne'er breath'd such glee from Philomela's bill, Nor from the morning-singer's swelling throat. Ah, when she riseth from her blissful bed,

She comforts all the world as doth the sun, And at her sight the night's foul vapour's fled; When she is set, the gladsome day is done. O glorious sun, imagine me the west, Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast!

BELLARIA'S EPITAPH. HERE lies entomb'd Bellaria fair, Falsely accus'd to be unchaste; Clear'd by Apollo's sacred doom, Yet slain by jealousy at last. Whate'er thou be that passeth by, Curse him that caus'd this queen to die.

* Dorastus, &c.] I find this "love-passion" on the back of the title-page of some of the latest editions of this tract, when it was put forth under the name of Dorastus and Fawnia: in none of the earlier editions have I ever met with it.

Mr. Collier conjectures that "it may possibly have been taken from the earliest, and now lost, edition of Pandosto." Introd. to Pandosto, p. iii,-Shakespeare's Library.

tbower] The 4tos. "flower."-I adopt the conjecture of the Rev. J. Mitford (Gent. Mag. for March, 1833, p. 218), who compares a line in our author's Radagon's Sonnet (see post, p. 301, first col.),

"Solemn and sad within a wither'd bower."

FROM

NEVER TOO LATE. (ED. 1590.)

AN ODE.

Down the valley gan he track,

Bag and bottle at his back,
In a surcoat all of grey;

Such wear palmers on the way,
When with scrip and staff they see
Jesus' grave on Calvary :
A hat of straw, like a swain,
Shelter for the sun and rain,
With a scallop-shell before;
Sandals on his feet he wore;
Legs were bare, arms unclad:
Such attire this palmer had.
His face fair, like Titan's shine;
Grey and buxom were his eyne,
Whereout dropt pearls of sorrow;
Such sweet tears Love doth borrow,
When in outward dews he* plains
Heart's distress that lovers pains;
Ruby lips, cherry cheeks;
Such rare mixture Venus seeks,
When, to keep her damsels quiet,
Beauty sets them down their diet:
Adon was not thought more fair:
Curled locks of amber hair,
Locks where Love did sit and twine
Nets to snare the gazer's eyne.
Such a palmer ne'er was seen,
'Less Love himself had palmer been.
Yet, for all he was so quaint,
Sorrow did his visage taint:
Midst the riches of his face
Grief decipher'd high disgrace.
Every step strain'd a tear;
Sudden sighs show'd his fear;
And yet his fear by his sight
Ended in a strange delight;
That his passions did approve +
Weeds and sorrow were for love.

THE PALMER'S ODE.
OLD Menalcas, on a day,
As in field this shepherd lay,
Tuning of his oaten pipe,
Which he hit with many a stripe,
Said to Coridon that he

Once was young and full of glee.

*he] The 4to. "she" (and our early poets sometimes make "Love" feminine-the Queen of Love): but presently we have "Love himself." t approve] i. c. prove.

"Blithe and wanton was I then :
Such desires follow men.
As I lay and kept my sheep,
Came the god that hateth sleep,
Clad in armour all of fire,
Hand in hand with Queen Desire,
And with a dart that wounded nigh
Pierc'd my heart as I did lie;
That, when I woke, I gan swear
Phillis' beauty palm did bear.
Up I start, forth went I,

With her face to feed mine eye :
There I saw Desire sit,

That my heart with love had hit,
Laying forth bright beauty's hooks
To entrap my gazing looks.
Love I did, and gan to woo,
Pray and sigh: all would not do;
Women, when they take the toy,
Covet to be counted coy.
Coy she was, and I gan court;
She thought love was but a sport;
Profound hell was in my thought;
Such a pain desire had wrought,
That I su'd with sighs and tears;
Still ingrate she stopp'd her ears,
Till my youth I had spent.
Last a passion of repent
Told me flat, that desire

Was a brand of love's fire,

Which consumeth men in thrall,
Virtue, youth, wit, and all.
At this saw back I start,

Bet desire from my heart,

Shook off love, and made an oath
To be enemy to both.

Old I was when thus I fled

Such fond toys as cloy'd my head;
But this I learn'd at Virtue's gate,-
The way to good is never late."

THE HERMIT'S VERSES.

HERE look, my son, for no vain-glorious shows

Of royal apparition for the eye:
Humble and meek befitteth men of years.
Behold my cell, built in a silent shade,
Holding content for poverty and peace;
And in my lodge is fealty and faith,
Labour and love united in one league.
I want not, for my mind affordeth wealth;
I know not envy, for I climb not high:
Thus do I live, and thus I mean to die.

If that the world presents illusions,
Or Satan seeks to puff me up with pomp,
As man is frail and apt to follow pride;
Then see, my son, where I have in my cell
A dead man's scull, which calls this straight to
That as this is, so must my ending be. [mind,
When, then, I see that earth to earth must pass,

I sigh, and say, "All flesh is like to grass."

If care to live, or sweet delight in life,

As man desires to see out many days,
Draws me to listen to the flattering world;
Then see my glass, which swiftly out doth run,
Compar'd to man, who dies ere he begins.
This tells me, time slacks not his posting course,
But as the glass runs out with every hour,
Some in their youth, some in their weakest age,
All sure to die, but no man knows his time.
By this I think, how vain a thing is man,
Whose longest life is liken'd to a span.
When Satan seeks to sift me with his wiles,
Or proudly dares to give a fierce assault,
To make a shipwreck of my faith with fears;
Then arm'd at all points, to withstand the foe,
With holy armour,-here's the martial sword,
This book, this bible, this two-edged blade,
Whose sweet content pierceth the gates of hell,
Deciphering laws and discipline of war,
To overthrow the strength of Satan's jar.

ISABEL'S ODE.

SITTING by a river-side,

Where a silent stream did glide,
Bank'd about with choice flowers,
Such as spring from April-showers,
When fair Iris smiling shews
All her riches in her dews;
Thick-leav'd trees so were planted,
As nor art nor nature wanted,
Bordering all the brook with shade,
As if Venus there had made,
By Flora's wile, a curious bower,
To dally with her paramour;
At this current as I gaz'd,
Eyes entrapt, mind amaz'd,
I might see in my ken

Such a flame as fireth men,
Such a fire as doth fry

With one blaze both heart and eye,

Such a heat as doth prove

No heat like to heat of love. Bright she was, for 'twas a she That trac'd her steps towards me:

On her head she ware a bay,
To fence Phoebus' light away:
In her face one might descry
The curious beauty of the sky:
Her eyes carried darts of fire,
Feather'd all with swift desire;
Yet forth these fiery darts did pass
Pearlèd tears as bright as glass,
That wonder 'twas in her eyne
Fire and water should combine,
If the old saw did not borrow,*
Fire is love, and water sorrow.
Down she sat, pale and sad;
No mirth in her looks she had;
Face and eyes show'd distress,
Inward sighs discours'd no less :
Head on hand might I see,
Elbow leanèd on her knee.
Last she breathed out this saw,
"O, that love hath no law !
Love enforceth with constraint,
Love delighteth in complaint.
Whoso loves hates his life,

For love's peace is mind's strife.
Love doth feed on beauty's fare,
Every dish sauc'd with care:
Chiefly women, reason why,
Love is hatchèd in their eye;
Thence it steppeth to the heart,
There it poisoneth every part,
Mind and heart, eye and thought,

Till sweet love their woes hath wrought:
Then repentant they gin† cry,

'O my heart that trow'd mine eye!""
Thus she said, and then she rose,
Face and mind both full of woes;
Flinging thence with this saw,-
"Fie on love that hath no law!"

FRANCESCO'S ODE. WHEN I look about the place Where sorrow nurseth up disgrace, Wrapt within a fold of cares, Whose distress no heart spares; Eyes might look, but see no light, Heart might think, but on despite ; Sun did shine, but not on me : Sorrow said, it may not be That heart or eye should once possess Any salve to cure distress;

borrow] i. e. give warrant,-assure us. tgin] The 4to. "gan."

trow'd mine eye] i. e. believed mine eye.

For men in prison must suppose
Their couches are the beds of woes.
Seeing this, I sighed then
Fortune thus should punish men:
But when I call'd to mind her face,
For whose love I brook this place,
Starry eyes, whereat my sight
Did eclipse with much delight,
Eyes that lighten, and do shine*
Beams of love that are divine,
Lily cheeks, whereon beside
Buds of roses show their pride,
Cherry lips, which did speak

Words that made all hearts to break,
Words most sweet, for breath was sweet,

Such perfume for love is meet,
Precious words, as hard to tell
Which more pleased, wit or smell;
When I saw my greatest pains
Grow for her that beauty stains,
Fortune thus I did reprove,
"Nothing grief-full grows from love."

CANZONE.

As then the sun sat lordly in his pride, Not shadow'd with the veil of any cloud, The welkin had no rack that seem'd to glide, No dusky vapour did bright Phoebus shroud; No blemish did eclipse the beauteous sky From setting forth heaven's secret-searching eye. No blustering wind did shake the shady trees, Each leaf lay still and silent in the wood; The birds were musical; the labouring bees, That in the summer heap their winter's good, Plied to their hives sweet honey from those

flowers

Whereout the serpent strengthens all his powers.

The lion laid and stretch'd him in the lawns; No storm did hold the leopard from his prey; The fallow-fields were full of wanton fawns; The plough-swains never saw a fairer day; For every beast and bird did take delight To see the quiet heavens to shine so bright. When thus the winds lay sleeping in the caves, The air was silent in her concave sphere, And Neptune with a calm did please his slaves, Ready to wash the never-drenched bear; Then did the change of my affects begin, And wanton love assay'd to snare me in.

*shine, &c.] Compare, ante, p. 293, sec. col.; eyes shine favour, courtesy, and grace."

"Her

Leaning my back against a lofty pine, Whose top did check the pride of all the air,

Fixing my thoughts, and with my thoughts mine eyne,

Upon the sun, the fairest of all fair; "What thing made God so fair as this?" quoth I: And thus I mus'd until I dark'd mine eye.

Finding the sun too glorious for my sight,
I glanc'd my look to shun so bright a lamp:
With that appear'd* an object twice as
bright,

So gorgeous as my senses all were damp; +
In Ida richer beauty did not win,‡
When lovely Venus show'd her silver skin.

Her pace was like to Juno's pompous strains, Whenas she sweeps through heaven's brasspaved way;

Her front was powder'd through with azur'd veins,

That 'twixt sweet roses and fair lilies lay, Reflecting such a mixture from her face As tainted Venus' beauty with disgrace. Arctophylax, the brightest of the stars, Was not so orient as her crystal eyes, Wherein triumphant sat both peace and

wars,

From out whose arches such sweet favour §

flies

As might reclaim Mars in his highest rage,
At beauty's charge, his fury to assuage.

The diamond gleams not more reflecting lights,

Pointed with fiery pyramids to shine,

Than are those flames that burnish in our

sights,

Darting fire out the crystal of her eyne, Able to set Narcissus' thoughts on fire, Although he swore him foe to sweet desire. Gazing upon this leman with mine eye, I felt my sight vail** bonnet to her looks; So deep a passion to my heart did fly As I was trapt within her luring hooks,++ Forc'd to confess, before that I had done, Her beauty far more brighter than the sun.

appear'd] The 4to. "appeare."

+ damp] The 4to. " dampt."

I win] i. e. win the prize (the golden apple) from Paris.

$ favour] The 4to. "fauours."

Pointed] The 4to. "Painted."

leman] i. e. love, mistress.

** vail] i. e. lower.
tt hooks] The 4to. "lookes."

INFIDA'S SONG.

SWEET Adon, dar'st not glance thine eye-
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?—
Upon thy Venus that must die?

Je vous en prie, pity me;
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel,
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?

See how sad thy Venus lies,

N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ?—
Love in heart, and tears in eyes;
Je vous en prie, pity me;
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel,
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?

Thy face as fair as Paphos' brooks,—
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ?—
Wherein fancy baits her hooks;
Je vous en prie, pity me;
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel,
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?

Thy cheeks like cherries that do grow—
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami ?—-
Amongst the western mounts of snow;
Je vous en prie, pity me;
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel,
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?

Thy lips vermilion, full of love,-
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?—
Thy neck as silver-white as dove;
Je vous en prie, pity me;
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel,
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?

Thine eyes, like flames of holy fires,-
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?—
Burn all my thoughts with sweet desires;
Je vous en prie, pity me;
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel,
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?

All thy beauties sting my heart;
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?—

I must die through Cupid's dart;
Je vous en prie, pity me;
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel,
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?

Wilt thou let thy Venus die?
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami? -
Adon were unkind, say I,—

Je vous en prie, pity me;
N'oserez vous, mon bel, mon bel,
N'oserez vous, mon bel ami?—