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COMPLIMENT AND ADMIRATION.

TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY.

MERRY Margaret,
As midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon,
Or hawk of the tower ;
With solace and gladness,
Much mirth and no madness,
All good and no badness ;
So joyously,
So maidenly,
So womanly
Her demeaning,
In everything
Far, far passing
That I can indite,
Or suffice to write,
Of merry Margaret,
As midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon
Or hawk of the tower;
As patient and as still,
And as full of good-will,
As fair Isiphil,
Coliander,
Sweet Pomander,
Good Cassander ;
Steadfast of thought,
Well made, well wrought;
Far may be sought
Ere you can find
So courteous, so kind,
As merry Margaret,
This midsummer flower,
Gentle as falcon,
Or hawk of the tower.

JOHN SKELTON.

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'Twixt the souls of friend and friend : But upon

the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence' end, Will I Rosalinda write ;

Teaching all that read to know The quintessence of every sprite

Heaven would in little show. Therefore Heaven nature charged

That one body should be filled With all graces wide enlarged :

Nature presently distilled Helen's cheek, but not her heart,

Cleopatra's majesty, Atalanta's better part,

Sad Lucretia's modesty. Thus Rosalind of many parts

By heavenly synod was devised ; Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,

To have the touches dearest prized. Heaven would that she these fts should have,

And I to live and die her slave.

SHAKESPEARE.

PHILLIS THE FAIR.

On a hill there grows a flower,

Fair befall the dainty sweet !
By that flower there is a bower

Where the heavenly muses meet.

In that bower there is a chair,

Fringéd all about with gold,
Where doth sit the fairest fair

That ever eye did yet behold.

It is Phillis, fair and bright,

She that is the shepherd's joy,
She that Venus did despite,

And did blind her little boy.

Who would not that face admire ?

Who would not this saint adore ?
Who would not this sight desire ?

Though he thought to see no more.

Thou that art the shepherd's queen,

Look upon thy love-sick swain ;
By thy comfort have been seen

Dead men brought to life again.

NICHOLAS BRETON

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A VIOLET IN HER HAIR.

A violet in her lovely hair,
A rose upon her bosom fair !

But 0, her eyes
A lovelier violet disclose,
And her ripe lips the sweetest rose

That's 'neath the skies.

FROM "THE MERCHANT OF VENICE." Fair Portia's counterfeit? What demi-god Hath come so near creation ? Move these eyes ? Or whether, riding on the balls of mine, Seem they in motion ? Here are severed lips, Parted with sugar breath ; so sweet a har Should sunder such sweet friends : Here in her

hairs The painter plays the spider; and hath woren A golden mesh to entrap the hearts of men, Faster than gnats in cobwebs : But her eyes, How could he see to do them? having made one, Methinks it should have power to steal both his, And leave itself unfurnished.

A lute beneath her graceful hand Breathes music forth at her command ;

But still her tongue Far richer music calls to birth Than all the minstrel power on earth

Can give to song.

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WHEN AS IN SILKS MY JULIA GOES.

WHENAs in silks

my
Julia

goes Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows That liquefaction of her clothes.

A third, nor red nor white, had stol’n of both,
And to this robbery had annexed thy breath ;
But, for his theft, in pride of all his growth
A vengeful canker eat him up to death.
More flowers I noted, yet I none could see,
But sweet or color it had stolen from thee.

SHAKESPEARE.

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GIVE PLACE, YE LOVERS. Give place, ye lovers, here before

That spent your boasts and brags in vain ; My lady's beauty passeth more

The best of yours, I dare well sayen,
Than doth the sun the candle-light,
Or brightest day the darkest night.
And thereto hath a troth as just

As had Penelope the fair ;
For what she saith, ye may it trust,

As it by writing sealéd were :
And virtues hath she many mo'
Than I with pen have skill to show.
I could rehearse, if that I would,

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

The like to whom she could not paint : With wringing hands, how she did cry, And what she said, I know it aye. I know she swore with raging mind,

Her kingdom only set apart, There was no loss by law of kind

That could have gone so near her heart;
And this was chiefly all her pain ;
“She could not make the like again."
Sith Nature thus gave her the praise,

To be the chiefest work she wrought,
In faith, methink, some better ways
On

your behalf might well be sought,
Than to compare, as ye have done,
To match the candle with the sun.

I do not love thee for those soft
Red coral lips I 've kissed so oft ;
Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard
To speech whence music still is heard,
Though from those lips a kiss being taken
Might tyrants melt, and death awaken.

I do not love thee, O my fairest,
For that richest, for that rarest
Silver pillar, which stands under
Thy sound head, that globe of wonder ;
Though that neck be whiter far
Than towers of polished ivory are.

THOMAS CAREW.

LORD SURREY.

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