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Be nought dismayd that her unmoved mind
Doth still persist in her rebellious pride :
Such love, not lyke to lusts of baser kynd,
The harder wonne,

the firmer will abide.
The durefull oake, whose sap is not yet dride,
Is long ere it conceive the kindling fyre ;
But, when it once doth burne, it doth divide
Great heat, and makes his flames to heaven aspire.
So hard it is to kindle new desire
In gentle brest that shall endure for ever :
Deepe is the wound, that dints the parts entire
With chaste effects, thatnought but death can sever.
Then thinke not long in taking litle paine
To knit the knot that ever shall remaine.

SPENSER

THE merry cuckow, messenger of Spring,
His trompet shrill hath thrise already sounded,
That warnes al lovers wayte upon their king,
Who now is coming forth with girland crouned.
With noyse whereof the quyre of byrds resounded
Their anthemes sweet, devized of loves prayse,
That all the woods theyr ecchoes back rebounded,
As if they knew the meaning of their layes.
But mongst them all, which did Loves honor rayse,
No word was heard of her that most it ought;
But she his precept proudly disobayes,
And doth his ydle message set at nought.
Therefore, O Love, unlesse she turne to thee
Ere cuckow end, let her a rebell be!

SPENSER

1

WHAT guyle is this, that those her golden tresses
She doth attyre under a net of gold;
And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,
That which is gold or haire may scarse be told?
Is it that mens frayle eyes which gaze too bold
She may entangle in that golden snare;
And, being caught, may craftily enfold
Their weaker harts, which are not wel aware?
Take heed therefore, myne eyes, how ye doe stare
Henceforth too rashly on that guilefull net,
In which if ever ye entrapped are,
Out of her bands ye by no meanes shall get.
Fondnesse it were for any, being free,
To covet fetters, though they golden bee!

SPENSER

MARK when she smiles with amiable cheare,
And tell me whereto can ye lyken it;
When on each eyelid sweetly doe appeare
A hundred Graces as in shade to sit.
Lykest it seemeth, in my simple wit,
Unto the fayre sunshine in somers day ;
That, when a dreadfull storme away is flit,
Thrugh the broad world doth spred his goodly ray;
At sight whereof, each bird that sits on spray,
And every beast that to his den was fled,
Comes forth afresh out of their late dismay,
And to the light lift up their drouping hed.
So my storme-beaten hart likewise is cheared
With that sunshine when cloudy looks are cleared.

SPENSER,

The doubt which ye misdeeme, fayre Love, is vaine,
That fondly feare to lose your liberty ;
When, losing one, two liberties ye gayne,
And make him bond that bondage earst did fly.'
Sweet be the bands, the which true love doth tye
Without constraynt or dread of any ill :
The gentle birde feeles no captivity
Within her cage; but sings, and feeds her fill.
There pride dare not approch, nor discord spill
The league twixt them that loyal love hath bound :
But simple Truth, and mutual Good-will,
Seeks, with sweet Peace, to salve each others

wound: There Fayth doth fearless dwell in brasen towre, And spotlesse Pleasure builds her sacred bowre.

SPENSER.

FRESH Spring, the herald of Loves mighty king,
In whose cote-armour richly are displayd
All sorts of flowres, the which on earth do spring,
In goodly colours gloriously arrayd;
Goe to my love, where she is carelesse layd,
Yet in her winters bowre not well awake;
Tell her the ioyous time wil not be staid,
Unlesse she doe him by the forelock take;
Bid her therefore her selfe soon ready make,
To wayt on Love amongst his lovely crew;
Where every one that misseth then her make
Shall be by him amearst with penance dew.
Make hast therefore, sweet Love, whilst it is prime;
For none can call againe the passed time.

SPENSER,

BECAUSE I breathe not love to every one,

Nor do not use set colours for to wear,

Nor nourish special locks of vowed hair, Nor give each speech a full point of a groan; The courtly nymphs, acquainted with the moan Of those who in their lips Love's standard bear,

What, he ? say they of me, 'now I dare swear He cannot love! No, no; let him alone.' And think so still! so Stella know my mind :

Profess indeed I do not Cupid's art; But you, fair maids, at length this true shall find,

That his right badge is worn but in the heart. Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers prove; They love, indeed, who quake to say they love.

SIR P, SIDNEY.

Look, Delia, how we'esteem the half blown rose,

The image of thy blush and summer's honour; Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose

That full of beauty Time bestows upon her. No sooner spreads her glory to the air, [cline;

But straight her wide blown pomp comes to de. She then is scorn'd that late adorn’d the fair;

So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine. No April can revive thy withered flowers,

Whose springing grace adorns thy glory now; Swift, speedy Time, feather'd with flying hours,

Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow: Then do not thou such treasure waste in vain, But love now whilst thou mayst be loved again.

DANIEL

I ONCE may see when years shall wreak my wrong,

When golden hairs shall change to silver wire;

And those bright rays that kindle all this fire. Shall fail in force, their working not so strong. Then Beauty (now the burthen of my song),

Whose glorious blaze the world doth so admire,

Must yield up all to tyrant Time's desire ; Then fade those flowers that deck'd her pride so

long : When, if she grieve to gaze upon her glass

Which then presents her winter-wither'd hue, Go you, my verse, go tell her what she was ;

For what she was she best shall find in you. Your fiery heat lets not her glory pass,

But (phoenixlike) shall make her live anew.

DANIEL,

Love renounced and reinvited. Since there's no help, come, let us kiss and part:

Nay, I have done ; you get no more of me: And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,

That thus so cleanly I myself can free: Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,

And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows

That we one spark of former love retain. Now, at the last gasp of Love's latest breath,

When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies, When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death,

And Innocence is closing up his eyes, Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life thou mightst him yet recover.

DRAYTON.

VOL. III,

SS

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