(9) England's Helicon, 1600; edited by J. Bodenham.

This is the most celebrated and the richest of the whole class, and is in itself a compendium of all that is best or that at the time was famous among Elizabethan pastorals and love poems. Every living poet of eminence seems to have been drawn upon for a copy of verses, and much was added from the stores of those no longer living. Thus we have poems from Surrey, Spenser, Sidney, Lord Brooke, Greene, Lodge, Marlowe, and even from Shakespeare; from Watson, Drayton, Browne; and much of what has since been rightly and wrongly attributed to Raleigh appears here under the title Ignoto. Some of the most celebrated poems, such as Sidney's 'Love is dead,' we give under their authors' names; it is better in this place to quote only from those minor but still beautiful writers who are otherwise not represented in these volumes-such as Breton, the Shepherd Tonie (? Anthony Munday), and Bolton.

(10) A Poetical Rapsody, 1602.

The editor of this most interesting miscellany was Francis Davison, who with his brother Walter contributed many poems. The list of other writers includes Sidney, Raleigh, Sir John Davies, Watson, Sylvester, Charles Best, and many more, the editor pretending, after the fashion of those times, to throw the responsibility of inserting the works of such 'great and learned personages' upon the too presumptuous printer. It is interesting to note that Davison, writing in 1602, contrasts the poetry of twenty years before with 'the perfection which it has now attained'; a kind of boast which was commoner at the end of the seventeenth century than at the beginning. We may add that the 'Rapsody' passed through four editions in the reign of James I, and that in that of 1608 the poem of 'The Lie, 'which we print under Raleigh's name, first appeared.

EDITOR.

VOL. I.

k k

[From The Paradyse of Dainty Devises, 1576.]

AMANTIUM IRAE.

In going to my naked bed, as one that would have slept,
I heard a wife sing to her child, that long before had wept:
She sighed sore and sang full sore, to bring the babe to rest,
That would not rest but cried still in sucking at her breast:
She was full weary of her watch, and grieved with her child,
She rocked it and rated it, until on her it smiled:
Then did she say now have I found the proverb true to prove
The falling out of faithful friends is the renewing of love.

I marvel much, pardy, quoth she, for to behold the rout,
To see man, woman, boy and beast, to toss the world about:
Some kneel, some crouch, some beck, some check, and some

can smoothly smile,

And some embrace others in arms, and there think many a wile : Some stand aloof at cap and knee, some humble and some stout, Yet are they never friends indeed, until they once fall out : Thus ended she her song, and said before she did remove, The falling out of faithful friends is the renewing of love.

[From A Handefull of Pleasant Delites, 1584.]

A PROPER SONNET.

(To any pleasant Tune.)

I smile to see how you devise

New masking nets my eyes to blear;
Yourself you cannot so disguise,

But as you are you must appear.

Your privy winks at board I see,

And how you set your roving mind;
Yourself you cannot hide from me,

Although I wink, I am not blind.

R. Edwards.

The secret sighs and feigned cheer
That oft doth pain thy careful breast,
To me right plainly doth appear;

I see in whom thy heart doth rest.

And though thou mak'st a feigned vow
That love no more thy heart should nip,
Yet think I know as well as thou

The fickle helm doth guide the ship.

The salamander in the fire

By course of wind doth bathe his limbs ; The floating fish tak'th his desire

In running streams whereas he swims.

So thou in change dost take delight;
Full well I know thy slippery kind;
In vain thou seem'st to dim my sight;
Thy rolling eyes bewray thy mind.

I see him smile that doth possess

Thy love, which once I honoured most;
If he be wise he may well guess
Thy love, soon won, will soon be lost.

And sith thou can no more entice
That he should still love thee alone,
Thy beauty now hath lost her price,
I see thy savoury scent is gone.

Therefore leave off thy wonted play,
But as thou art thou wilt appear;
Unless thou canst devise a way

To dark the sun that shines so clear.

And keep thy friend, that thou hast won;
In truth to him thy love supply;

Lest he at length, as I have done,
Take off thy bells, and let thee fly!

Anon.

[From The Arbor of Amorous Devises, 1597.]

A SWEET LULLABY.

Come little babe, come silly soul,
Thy father's shame, thy mother's grief,
Born as I doubt to all our dole,
And to thyself unhappy chief :

Sing lullaby and lap it warm,

Poor soul that thinks no creature harm.

Thou little think'st and less dost know
The cause of this thy mother's moan;
Thou want'st the wit to wail her woe,
And I myself am all alone;

Why dost thou weep, why dost thou wail,
And know'st not yet what thou dost ail?

Come little wretch, ah silly heart,
Mine only joy; what can I more?
If there be any wrong thy smart
That may the destinies implore;

'Twas I, I say, against my will;
I wail the time, but be thou still.

And dost thou smile? oh, thy sweet face!
Would God himself he might thee see!
No doubt thou soon wouldst purchase grace,
I know right well, for thee and me.

But come to mother, babe, and play;
For father false is fled away.

Sweet boy, if it by fortune chance
Thy father home again to send,
If death do strike me with his lance,
Yet mayst thou me to him commend;

If any ask thy mother's name,

Tell how by love she purchased blame.

Then will his gentle heart soon yield;
I know him of a noble mind;
Although a lion in the field

A lamb in turn thou shalt him find;

Ask blessing, babe! be not afraid;
His sugared words have me betrayed.
Then mayst thou joy and be right glad
Although in woe I seem to moan;
Thy father is no rascal lad,

A noble youth of blood and bone;

His glancing looks, if once he smile,
Right honest women may beguile.

Come little boy and rock asleep ;
Sing lullaby and be thou still;
I that can do nought else but weep
Will sit by thee and wail my fill:

God bless my babe, and lullaby
From this thy father's quality!

Anon.

[From England's Helicon, 1600.]

A PALINODE.

As withereth the primrose by the river,
As fadeth summer's sun from gliding fountains,
As vanisheth the light blown bubble ever,
As melteth snow upon the mossy mountains :
So melts, so vanisheth, so fades, so withers,
The rose, the shine, the bubble and the snow,
Of praise, pomp, glory, joy, which short life gathers,
Fair praise, vain pomp, sweet glory, brittle joy.
The withered primrose by the mourning river,
The faded summer's sun from weeping fountains,
The light-blown bubble, vanished for ever,
The molten snow upon the naked mountains,
Are emblems that the treasures we uplay,
Soon wither, vanish, fade, and melt away.