NOTE TO ARTICLE XXIII. (2.) ECHOES. 1. He confesseth his first love to his friend. I love a lady, fair as any star, As bright and sparkling, but alack as cold, I try to tell her what her beauties are, And strive to make her think that I am bold. For ladies do not love the men who fear, Though fear is compound in impassioned hearts, I read her sonnets where men's woes appear, When they so suffer from Love's painful darts. I say none other lady of the land, I have a thought of, or a will to see, I pray her to be kind, and not withstand And then she turns her back, and would away, I dare not ask her yet again to stay: Then I grow angry, which brings some relief. 66 For it bethinks me I'm as good a man, She turns and whispers" Stay, if you will know; Dost thou think, we shall e'er, as lovers, meet? 2. He complaineth his marvellous woe. Praising her beauties to her inner ear, I made my love grow proud, and self-content, She would have praise that other men could hear, And words more richly gilded than I meant. Boasting her graces unto thee, my friend Finis. Her vaunted beauties soon thou fain wouldst see, And begged me from my precious hours to lend, Some minutes to peruse the same with me. Ay me! I bear the sorrows now of four I've lost my Love, my friend, his Love, my soul, All suffer, but none think of me, or pour The solace of their comfort on my dole. My Love pursues thee unto thine annoy, My Love saith "easy won is lightly lost," 3. He prepareth for death. My lute, attend, have patience with my woe, A Lady fair, and sweet as any rose, Whose Love made all my heart and fancies glad She leaves me lone, and scorneth my despair, For other Lovers now her fancy burns, She hath grown cruel, though she still is fair. But thee, my Lute, I bid thee note each phrase, And when she touches thee, fill thou her ear 4. He waiteth a space ere he dieth. Fair and stately is the May, Who late stole my heart away, And in spite of me. Finis. Finis. Cold and cruel is the May Who thus stole my heart away, And she keeps my faithful heart But, alas, she would not go With me to the realms below! Better dwell on Life, where she Lives to wound and torture me Life some hope may see. 5. The Lady mourns alone. Ah, she was fair and golden, And I was dark and brown, My Love out of my life; Finis. Finis. TO HIS WIFE. WHEN, 'mid the feigning fervours of the play, At home, calm, sweet, renewer of worn life, Draw me to thee, in thy Courts to appear, Thy bounds are Avon, and her gentle streams Wash pleasant woodlands, wov'n for sleep and dreams, Which fortune-foughten souls esteem most dear, Thou art the Lady of my Land of Rest, FINIS. Acton, Joyce, 129, 138, 150 "Alarme to England," 252 "to London," 253 Alleyn, Giles, 262 INDEX Bandello, 28, 43 Beaton, Cardinal, 295 Becon, Thomas, 307 "All's well that ends Well," 254 Bedford, Countess of, 9 66 Belleforest, François de, 43, 47, 51,77 Benger, Sir Thomas, 215 Anatomie of Absurditie," 278 Berchan, St., 80, 85 Beza, Theodore, 292 Bewe, M., 281, 283, 289 Bodleian Library, The, 279, Boece, Hector, 91, 94, 102, 309 Bradshaw, Mr., 309, 310, 311 Brampton, Thomas, 293 Breton, Nicholas, 307 Brigham, Nicholas, 316, 322 Brooke, Lord, 107 Bruno, Giordano, 5 Bryce Thomas, 317 Brydges, Sir Egerton, 77, 278, Bale, John, 310, 313, 316, 320 Buchanan, George, 94 |