Furth from her iyen the cristall teares outbrast,

And syghing sore her handes she wrong and folde,

Tare al her heare, that ruth was to beholde.

Her body small forwithered and forespent,
As is the stalk that sommers drought opprest;
Her wealked face with woful teares besprent,
Her colour pale, and (as it seemd her best)
In woe and playnt reposed was her rest.
And as the stone that droppes of water weares;
So dented wher her checkes with fall of teares.

Her iyes swollen with flowing streames aflote, Wherewith her lookes throwen up full piteouslie,

Her forceles handes together ofte she smote, With doleful shrikes, that echoed in the skye: Whose playnt such sighes dyd strayt accom

pany,

That in my doome was never man did see
A wight but halfe so woe begon as she.
Thomas Sackville, Earl of Dorset.-About 1563.

97.-ALLEGORICAL PERSONAGES DESCRIBED IN HELL.

And first, within the porch and jaws of hell,
Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent
With tears; and to herself oft would she tell
Her wretchedness, and, cursing, never stent
To sob and sigh, but ever thus lament
With thoughtful care; as she that, all in vain,
Would wear and waste continually in pain:

Her eyes unstedfast, rolling here and there, Whirl'd on each place, as place that vengeance brought,

So was her mind continually in fear,
Tost and tormented with the tedious thought
Of those detested crimes which she had
wrought;

With dreadful cheer, and looks thrown to the sky,

Wishing for death, and yet she could not die.

Next, saw we Dread, all trembling how he shook,

With foot uncertain, profer'd here and there; Benumb'd with speech; and, with a ghastly look,

Searched every place, all pale and dead for fear,
His cap borne up with staring of his hair;
'Stoin'd and amazed at his own shade for dread,
And fearing greater dangers than was need.
And, next, within the entry of this lake,
Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for ire;
Devising means how she may vengeance take;
Never in rest, 'till she have her desire;
But frets within so far forth with the fire
Of wreaking flames, that now determines sho
To die by death, or 'veng'd by death to be.

When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pretence,
Had show'd herself, as next in order set,
With trembling limbs we softly parted thence,
"Till in our eyes another sight we met;
When fro my heart a sigh forthwith I fet,
Ruing, alas, upon the woeful plight
Of Misery, that next appear'd in sight:

His face was lean, and some-deal pin'd away,
And eke his hands consumed to the bone;
But, what his body was, I cannot say,
For on his carcase raiment had he none,
Save clouts and patchos pieced one by one;
With staff in hand, and serip on shoulders cast,
His chief defence against the winter's blast:

His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree, Unless sometime some crumbs fell to his share,

Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept ho, As on the which full daint'ly would he fare; His drink, the running stream, his cup, the bare Of his palm closed; his bed, the hard cold ground:

To this poor life was Misery ybound.

Whose wretched state when we had well beheld,

With tender ruth on him, and on his feers,
In thoughtful cares forth then our pace we
held;

And, by and by, another shape appears
Of greedy Care, still brushing up the briors;
His knuckles knob'd, his flesh deep dinted in,
With tawed hands, and hard ytanned skin.

His vital thread, and ended with their knife The fleeting course of fast declining life:

There heard we him with broke and hollow plaint

Rue with himself his end approaching fast, And all for nought his wretched mind torment

With sweet remembrance of his pleasures past.

And fresh delights of lusty youth forewaste; Recounting which, how would he sob and shriek,

And to be young again of Jove beseek!

But, an the cruel fates so fixed be

That time forepast cannot return again,
This one request of Jove yet prayed he,-
That, in such wither'd plight, and wretched
pain,

As eld, accompany'd with her loathsome train,
Had brought on him, all were it woo and grief
He might a while yet linger forth his life,

And not so soon descend into the pit;
Where Death, when he the mortal corpse hath
slain,

With reckless hand in grave doth cover it:
Thereafter never to enjoy again

The gladsome light, but, in the ground ylain, In depth of darkness wasto and wear to nought,

As he had ne'er into the world been brought:

But who had seen him sobbing how he stood
Unto himself, and how he would bemoan
His youth forepast-as though it wrought him
good

To talk of youth, all were his youth foregone

He would have mused, and marvel'd much whereon

This wretched Age should life desire so fain, And knows full well life doth but length his pain:

Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and bleareyed;

Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four;

With old lame bones, that rattled by his side; His scalp all pil'd, and he with eld forelore, His wither'd fist still knocking at death's

door;

Fumbling, and driveling, as he draws his breath;

For brief, the shape and messenger of Death.

And fast by him pale Malady was placed:
Sore sick in bed, her colour all foregone;
Bereft of stomach, savour, and of taste,
Ne could she brook no meat but broths alone;
Her breath corrupt; her keepers every one
Abhorring her; her sickness past recure,
Detesting physic, and all physic's cure.

But, oh, the doleful sight that then we see!
We turn'd our look, and on the other side
A grisly shape of Famine mought we see:
With greedy looks, and gaping mouth, that
cried

And roar'd for meat, as she should there have died;

Her body thin and bare as any bone,
Whereto was left nought but the case alone.

And that, alas, was gnawen every where,
All full of holes; that I ne mought refrain
From tears, to see how she her arms could
tear,

And with her teeth gnash on the bones in vain,
When, all for nought, she fain would so sustain
Her starven corpse, that rather seem'd a shade
Than any substance of a creature made:

Great was her force, whom stone-wall could not stay:

Her tearing nails snatching at all she saw;
With gaping jaws, that by no means ymay
Be satisfy'd from hunger of her maw,
But cats herself as she that hath no law;
Gnawing, alas! her carcase all in vain,
Where you may count each sinew, bone, and
vein.

On her while we thus firmly fix'd our eyes,
That bled for ruth of such a dreary sight,
Lo, suddenly she shriek'd in so huge wise
As made hell gates to shiver with the might;
Wherewith, a dart we saw, how it did light
Right on her breast, and, therewithal, pale
Death

Enthirling it, to rieve her of her breath:

And, by and by, a dumb dead corpse we saw,
Heavy, and cold, the shape of Death aright,
That daunts all earthly creatures to his law,
Against whose force in vain it is to fight;
Ne peers, ne princes, nor no mortal wight,
No towns, ne realms, cities, ne strongest
tower,

But all, perforce, must yield unto his power:

His dart, anon, out of the corpse he took, And in his hand (a dreadful sight to see) With great triumph eftsoons the same he shook,

That most of all my fears affrayed me;

His body dight with nought but bones, pardy;
The naked shape of man there saw I plain,
All save the flesh, the sinew, and the vein.

Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad, With visage grim, stern look, and blackly hued:

In his right hand a naked sword he had,
That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued;
And in his left (that kings and kingdoms
rued)

Famine and fire he held, and therewithal
He razed towns, and threw down towers and
all:

Cities he sack'd, and realms (that whilom flower'd

In honour, glory, and rule, above the rest) He overwhelm'd, and all their fame devour'd, Consum'd, destroy'd, wasted, and never ceas'd, "Till he their wealth, their name, and all oppress'd:

His face forehew'd with wounds; and by his side

There hung his targe, with gashes deep and wide.

Thomas Sackville, Earl of Dorset.—About 1563.

98.-HENRY DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM

IN THE INFERNAL REGIONS. Then first came Henry Duke of Buckingham, His cloak of black all piled, and quite forlorn, Wringing his hands, and Fortune oft doth blame,

Which of a duke had made him now her scorn;
With ghastly looks, as one in manner lorn,
Oft spread his arms, stretched hands he joins
as fast,

With rueful cheer, and vapoured eyes upcast.
His cloak he rent, his manly breast he beat ;
His hair all torn, about the place it lain :
My heart so molt to see his grief so great,
As feelingly, methought, it dropped away:
His eyes they whirled about withouten stay:
With stormy sighs the place did so complain,
As if his heart at each had burst in twain.

Thrice he began to tell his doleful tale,
And thrice the sighs did swallow up his voice;
At each of which he shrieked so withal,
As though the heavens ryved with the noise;
Till at the last, recovering of his voice,
Supping the tears that all his breast berained,
On cruel Fortune, weeping thus he plained.
Thomas Sackville, Earl of Dorset,―About 1563.

99.-SONNET MADE ON ISABELLA MARKHAM,

When I first thought her fair, as she stood at the Princess's window, in goodly attire, and talked to divers in the court-yard, 1564.

Whence comes my love? Oh, heart, disclose;
It was from cheeks that shamed the rose,
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise,
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze:
Whence comes my woe? as freely own;
Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone.

The blushing cheek speaks modest mind,
The lips befitting words most kind,
The eye does tempt to love's desire,
And seems to say 'tis Cupid's fire;
Yet all so fair but speak my moan,
Sith nought doth say the heart of stone.

Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak
Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek-
Yet not a heart to save my pain;
Oh, Venus, take thy gifts again!
Make not so fair to cause our moan,
Or make a heart that's like our own.

John Harrington.-About 1564.

100.-VERSES ON A MOST STONYHEARTED MAIDEN,

Who did sorely beguile the Noble Knight, my true Friend.

I.

Why didst thou raise such woeful wail,
And waste in briny tears thy days?
'Cause she that wont to flout and rail,
At last gave proof of woman's ways;
She did, in sooth, display the heart
That might have wrought thee greater smart.

II.

Why, thank her then, not weep or moan;
Let others guard their careless heart,
And praise the day that thus made known
The faithless hold on woman's art;
Their lips can gloze and gain such root,
That gentle youth hath hope of fruit.

III.

But, ere the blossom fair doth rise,
To shoot its sweetness o'er the taste,
Creepeth disdain in canker-wise,
And chilling scorn the fruit doth blast:
There is no hope of all our toil;
There is no fruit from such a soil.

IV.

Give o'er thy plaint, the danger's o'er; She might have poison'd all thy life; Such wayward mind had bred thee more Of sorrow had she proved thy wife: Leave her to meet all hopeless meed, And bless thyself that so art freed.

V.

No youth shall sue such one to win,
Unmark'd by all the shining fair,
Save for her pride and scorn, such sin
As heart of love can never bear;
Like leafless plant in blasted shade,
So liveth she-a barren maid.

John Harrington.-About 1564.

101.-THE ARRAIGNMENT OF A LOVER.

At Beauty's bar as I did stand,
When False Suspect accused me,

George, quoth the judge, hold up thy hand,
Thou art arraign'd of Flattery;

Tell, therefore, how wilt thou be tried,
Whose judgment thou wilt here abide ?
My lord, quod I, this lady here,
Whom I esteem above the rest,
Doth know my guilt, if any were;
Wherefore her doom doth please me best.
Let her be judge and juror both,
To try me guiltless by mine oath.
Quoth Beauty, No, it fitteth not
A prince herself to judge the cause;
Will is our justice, well ye wot,
Appointed to discuss our laws;
If you will guiltless seem to go,
God and your country quit you so.

Then Craft the crier call'd a quest,
Of whom was Falsehood foremost fere;
A pack of pickthanks were the rest,
Which came false witness for to bear;
The jury such, the judge unjust,
Sentence was said, "I should be truss'd."

Jealous, the gaoler, bound me fast,
To hear the verdict of the bill;
George, quoth the judge, now thou art cast,
Thou must go hence to Heavy Hill,
And there be hang'd all but the head;
God rest thy soul when thou art dead!

Down fell I then upon my knee,
All flat before dame Beauty's face,
And cried, Good Lady, pardon me!
Who here appeal unto your grace;
You know if I have been untrue,
It was in too much praising you.

And though this Judge doth make such haste
To shed with shame my guiltless blood,
Yet let your pity first be placed

To save the man that meant you good;
So shall you show yourself a Queen,
And I may be your servant seen.

Quoth Beauty, Well; because I guess
What thou dost mean henceforth to be;
Although thy faults deserve no less
Than Justice here hath judged thee;
Wilt thou be bound to stint all strife,
And be true prisoner all thy life?

Yea, madam, quoth I, that I shall;
Lo, Faith and Truth my sureties:
Why then, quoth she, come when I call,
I ask no better warrantise.
Thus am I Beauty's bounden thrall,
At her command when she doth call.

George Gascoigne.-About 1575.

102.-SWIFTNESS OF TIME. The heavens on high perpetually do move; By minutes meal the hour doth steal away, By hours the days, by days the months remove, And then by months the years as fast decay; Yea, Virgil's verse and Tully's truth do say,

You that have spent the silent night,

In sleepe and quiet rest,

And ioye to see the cheerefull lyght
That ryseth in the East:

Now cleare your voyce, now chere your hart,
Come helpe me nowe to sing:

Eche willing wight come beare a part,
To prayse the heauenly King.

And you whome care in prison keepes,
Or sickenes doth suppresse,

Or secret sorowe breakes your sleepes,
Or dolours doe distresse :

Yet beare a part in dolfull wise,

Yea thinke it good accorde,

And acceptable sacrifice,

Eche sprite to prayse the Lorde.

The dreadfull night with darkesomnesse,

Had ouer spread the light,

And sluggish sleepe with drowsynesse,
Had ouer prest our might:

A glasse wherin you may beholde,
Eche storme that stopes our breath,
Our bed the graue, our clothes lyke molde,
And sleepe like dreadfull death.

Yet as this deadly night did laste,
But for a little space,
And heauenly daye nowe night is past,
Doth shewe his pleasaunt face: