The night discharged of all care, And every thought did shew so lyvely in Where wine the wit may not oppress. myne eyes,

That now I sight, and then I smilde, as The faithful wife, without debate;

cause of thoughts did ryse. Such sleeps as may beguile the night; I saw the little boy, in thought how oft Contented with thine own estate,

that he Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.

Did wishe of God, to scape the rod, a tall

young man to be, GIVE PLACE, YE LOVERS.

The young man eake that feles his bones

with paines opprest Give place, ye lovers, here before How he would be a riche old man,

to That spent your boasts and brags in live and lye at rest; vain;

The riche olde man that sees his end My lady's beauty passeth more

draw on so sore, The best of yours, I dare well sayen, How he would be a boy againe to live so Than doth the sun the candlelight,

much the more. Or brightest day the darkest night; Whereat full oft I smylde, to see how all

those three And thereto hath a troth as just

From boy to man, from man to boy, As had Penelope the fair;

would chop and change degree. For what she saith ye may it trust, And musing thus, I think, the case is As it by writing sealed were;

very strange, And virtues hath she

many
mo'

That man from wealth, to live in wo, Than I with pen have skill to show.

doth ever seke to change. I could rehearse, if that I would,

Thus thoughtfull as I lay, I sawe my

withered skyn, The whole effect of Nature's plaint, When she had lost the perfect mould,

How it doth shew my dented chewes,

the flesh was worn so thin, The like to whom she could not paint. With wringing hands, how did she cry!

And eke my tootheless chaps, the gates And what she said, I know it aye.

of my right way,

That opes and shuttes, as I do speak, I know she swore, with raging mind,

do thus unto me say: Her kingdom only set apart,

The white and horish heres, the messenThere was no loss by law of kind

gers

of That could have gone so near her

That shew like lines of true belief, that heart;

this life doth assuage, And this was chiefly all her pain, –

Biddes thee lay hand, and feele them “She could not make the like again.” hanging on thy chin.

The whiche doth write to ages past, the Sith Nature thus gave her the praise

third now coming in; To be the chiefest work she wrought, Hang up therefore the bitte, of thy yong In faith, methink, some better ways

wanton tyme, On your behalf might well be sought, And thou that therein beaten art, the Than to compare, as ye have done,

happiest life defyne. To match the candle with the sun. Whereat I sighed, and sayde, farewell

my wonted toye,

Trusse up thy packe, and trudge from HOW NO AGE IS CONTENT

me, to every little boy, WITH ITS OWN ESTATE.

And tell them thus from me, their time Layd in my quiet bed in study as I were, most happy is, I saw within my troubled head, a heap If to theyr time they reason had, to of thoughts appear,

know the truth of this.

age,

His

SIR THOMAS WYATT.

1503-1542. [THOMAS WYATT, the eldest son of Sir Henry Wyatt, a baronet of ancient family, was born at Allington Castle, in Kent, in 1503. In the Court of Henry VIII. he soon became a conspicuous figure, famous for his wit, his learning, his poetical talents, his linguistic attainments, his skill in athletic exercises, his fascinating manners and his handsome person. From a courtier he developed into a statesman and a diplomatist, and in the duties incident to statesmanship and diplomacy most of his life was passed. He died at Sherborne, while on his road to Falmouth, and was buried there October 11, 1542.

poems were first printed in Tottel's Miscellany in 1557.] A DESCRIPTION OF SUCH A ONE Some pleasant houres thy wo may wrap, AS HE COULD LOVE.

and thee defend and cover.

Thus in this trust, as yet it hath my life A FACE that should content me won

sustained, derous well,

But now (alas) I see it faint, and I by Should not be fatt, but lovely to behold, trust am trayned. Of lively look all griefe for to repell

The tyme doth flete, and I see how the With right good grace so would I that

hours do bende, it should.

So fast that I have scant the space to Speak without word, such words as none

marke my coming end. can tell;

Westward the sunn from out the east Her tress also should be of crisped gold.

scant shewd his lite, With wit and these, perchaunce I might When in the west he hies him straite be tryde

within the dark of night And knit againe with knot that should

And comes as fast, where he began his not slide.

path awry, From east to west, from west to east, so

doth his journey lye. COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE

Thy lyfe so short, so frayle, that morOF HIS LOVE.

tall men lyve here, Soe feeble is the thred that doth the

Soe great a weight, so heavy charge the burden stay,

bodyes that we bere, Of my poor life in heavy plight that That when I think upon the distance

falleth in decay, That but it have elsewhere some ayde That doth so farre divide me from thy or some succours,

dere desired face, The running spindle of my fate anon I know not how t'attaine the winges shall end his course.

that I require, For since the unhappy houre that dyd To lyft me up that I might fly to follow me to depart,

my desyre. From my sweet weale one only hoape Thus of that hope that doth my lyfe hath stayed my life apart,

somethyng susteyne, Which doth perswade such words unto Alas I fear, and partly feel full little my sored mynde,

doth remaine. Maintaine thy selfe, O wofull wight, Eche place doth bring me griefe where some better luck to find.

I doe not behold, For though thou be deprived from thy Those lively eyes which of my thoughts, desired sight

were wont the keys to hold. Who can thee tell, if thy returne before Those thoughts were pleasant sweet thy more delight;

whilst I enjoy'd that grace, Or who can tell thy loss if thou mayst My pleasure past, my present pain, when once recover,

I might well embrace.

and the space,

And for because my want should more And with my teares ť assy to charge my woe increase,

myne eyes twayne, In watch and sleep both day and night Like as my hart above the brink is my will doth never cease.

fraughted full of payne. That thing to wishe whereof synce I did And for because thereto, that these fair lose the sight,

eyes do treate, Was never thing that mought in ought Do me provoke, I will returne, my plaint my wofull hart delight.

thus to repeate; Th’ uneasy life I lead doth teach me for For there is nothing els, so toucheth me to mete,

within, The floods, the seas, the land, the hills, Where they rule all, and I alone, nought that doth them intermete,

but the case or skin. Twene me and those shene lights that Wherefore I shall returne to them as wonted for to clere,

well or spring, My darked pangs of cloudy thoughts as From whom descends my mortall wo, bright as Phebus sphere;

above all other thing. It teacheth me also, what was my pleas- So shall myne eyes in paine accompany ant state,

my heart, The more to feele by such record how That were the guides, that did it lead of that my welth doth bate.

love to feel the smart. If such record (alas) provoke the in- The crisped gold that doth surmount flamed mynde,

Appolloe's pride, Which sprung that day that I dyd leave The lively streames of pleasant starrs that the best of me behynde,

under it doth glyde, If love forgeat himselfe by length of wherein the beames of love doe still absence let,

increase theire heate, Who doth me guid (O wofull wretch) Which yet so far touch me to near in cold unto this baited net :

to make me sweat, Where doth encrease my care, much The wise and pleasant take, so rare or better were for me,

else alone, As dumm as stone all things forgott, still That gave to me the curties gyft, that absent for to be.

earst had never none. Alas the clear christall, the bright tran- Be far from me alas, and every other splendant glasse,

thing, Doth not bewray the colours hid which I might forbear with better will, then underneath it hase.

this that did me bring. As doth the accumbred sprite the With pleasand woord and cheer, redress thoughtfull throwes discover,

of lingred payne, Of teares delyte of fervent love that in And wonted oft in kindled will, to vertue our hartes we cover,

me to trayne. Out by these eyes, it sheweth that ever- Thus am I forc'd to hear and hearken

more delight; In plaint and teares to seek redress, and My cor fort scant, my large desire in eke both day and night.

douwtful trust renews. Those kindes of pleasures most wherein And yet with more delight to move my men soe rejoice,

wofull case, To me they do redouble still of stormy I must complaine these hands, those sighes the voice.

armes, that firmly do embrace, For, I am one of them, whom plaint Me from myself, and rule the sterne of doth well content,

my poor life, It fits me well my absent wealth me The sweet disdaynes, the pleasant semes for to lament,

wrathes, and eke the holy strife,

after news,

That wonted well to tune in temper just | As they have been of yore. and mete,

For reason me denyes The rage, that oft did make me err by | This youthly ydle ryme, furour undiscrete.

And day by day to me cryes, All this is hid from me with sharp and Leave of these toyes in tyme. ragged hills,

The wrinkles in my browe, At others will my long abode, my depe The furrows in my face, dyspayr fulfills.

Say lymping age will lodge hym now, And of my hope sometime ryse up by Where youth must geve him place. some redresse,

"The harbinger of death, It stumbleth straite for feable faint my To me I see him ride, fear hath such excesse.

The cough, the cold, the gasping breath Such is the sort of hoape, the less for Doth byd me to provyde more desyre,

A pickax and a spade And yet I trust e’re that I dye, to see And eke a shrowding shete, that I require.

A house of clay for to be made, "The resting-place of love, where virtue For such a geaste most mete. dwells and growes,

Methinkes I hear the clarke "There I desire my weary life sometime That knoles the carefull knell, may take repose,

And byddes me leave my woful warke, My song thou shalt attaine, to find the Ere nature me compell. pleasant place,

My kepers knit the knot, Where she doth live by whom I live, may That youth did laugh to skorne, chance to have this grace.

Of me that cleane shall be forgot, When she hath read and seen, the griefe As I had not been borne. wherein I serve,

Thus must I youth geve up, Between her brests she shall thee put, Whose badge I long dyd weare, there shall she thee reserve.

To them I yelde the wanton cup, "Then tell her, that I come, she shall me That better may it beare. shortly see,

Lo, here the bare hed skull, And if for waight the body fayl, the soul By whose balde signe I know, shall to her flee.

That stouping age away shall pull
Which youthful yeres did sowe.

For beauty with her band

These croked cares hath wrought,
THE AGED LOVER RENOUNCETH

And shipped me into the land,
LOVE.

From whence I fyrst was brought.
I LOTHE that I dyd love,

And ye that byde behinde, In youth that I thought swete,

Have ye none other trust As time requires for my behove,

As ye of clay were cast by kynd,
Methinks they are not mete.

So shall ye waste to dust.
My lustes they do me leave,
My fancies all are fled,
And tract of time begynnes to weave

THE LONGER LIFE THE MORE Gray heares upon my hed.

OFFENCE.
For age with stealing steppes
Hath clawde me with his crouche, The longer life the more offence,
And lusty lyfe away she leapes

The more offence the greater paine, As there had been none such.

The greater paine the lesse defence, My muse doth not delight

The lesse defence the lesser gaine; Me as she dyd before,

The loss of gaine long yll doth trye, My hand and pen are not in plight, Wherefore come death and let me dye

The shorter life, less count I finde, Come gentle death, the ebbe of care, The less account the sooner made, The ebbe of care, the flood of life, The account soon made, the merier mind, | The flood of life, the joyful fare, The merier mynd doth thought evade; The joyful fare, the end of strife, Short life in truth this thing doth trye, The end of strise, that thing wish I, Wherefore come death and let me dye. Wherefore come death and let me die.

BEN JONSON.

1573-1637. (Born 1573; educated at Westminster School and (according to Fuller) at St. John's College, Cambridge. After a brief connection with the trade of his step-father, a master brick-layer, he served as a volunteer in the Low Countries, and settled in London as a playwright not later than 1597. His first important comedy, Every Man in his Humour, was acted 1598; his first tragedy, Sejanus, 1603. His masques chiefly belong to the reign of James I., more especially to its earlier part. He wrote nothing for the stage from 1616 to 1625. After this he produced a few more plays, vithout permanently securing the favor of the public. Of these plays the last but two was The New Inn, the complete failure of which on the stage provoked Jonson's longer Ode to Himself. He enjoyed, however, in his later years, besides a fluctuating court patronage, the general homage of the English world of letters as its veteran chief. He died in London, August 6, 1637. The First Folio edition of his Works, published in 1616, included the Book of Epigrams, and the lyrics and epistles gathered under the heading The Forest in the same Folio; the Second Folio, published posthumously in 1641, contained the larger and (as its name implies) supplementary collection, called Underwoods by its author.]

THE SWEET NEGLECT.
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
As you were going to a feast :
Still to be poud'red, still perfum’d:
Lady, it is to be presum’d,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a looke, give me a face,
That makes simplicitie a grace;
Robes loosely flowing, haire as free:
Such sweet neglect more taketh me,
Than all th' adulteries of art,
That strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

TRUTH [From Hymenæi; or, the Solemnities of

Masque and Barriers at the marriage of

the Earl of Essex, 1606.] UPON her head she wears a crown of

stars, Through which her orient hair waves to

her waist, By which believing mortals hold her

fast, And in those golden cords are carried

even, Till with her breath she blows them up

to heaven. She wears a robe enchased with eagles'

eyes, To signify her sight in mysteries : Upon each shoulder sits a milk-white

dove, And at her feet do witty serpents move: Her spacious arms do reach from east

to west, And you may see her heart shine through

her breast. Her right hand holds a sun with burn

ing rays, Her lest a curious bunch of golden keys,