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end -beat,

ofend. End,

ser

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At last she her advised, that he which made For he by words could call out of the sky
That mirror wherein the sick damosel

Both sun and moon, and make them him obe
So strangely viewed her strange lover's shade, The land to sea, and sea to mainland dry,
To weet the learned Merlin, well could tell And darksome night he eke could turn to da:
Under what coast of heaven the man did dwell, Huge hosts of men he could alone dismay,
And by what means his love might best be wrought; And hosts of men of meanest things could fra
For though beyond the Afric Ismael,

Whenso him list his enemies to fray ;
Or th’ Indian Peru he were, she thought

That to this day, for terror of his fame,
Him forth through infiniteendeavour to have sought. The fiends do quake whenany hinfto them does na
Forthwith themselves disguising both in strange And sooth men say, that he was not the son
And base attire, that none might them bewray, Of mortal sire, or other living wight,
To Maridunum, that is now by change

But wond'rously begotten and begone
Of name Cayr-Merdin call'd, they took their way; By false illusion of a guileful sprite
There the wise Merlin whylome wont (they say) On a fair lady nun, that whilom hight
To make his wonne, low underneath the ground, Matilda, daughter to Pubidius,
In a deep delve, far from the view of day; Who was the lord of Mathtraval by right,
That of no living wight he mote be found, And cousin unto king Ambrosius,
Whenso he counsell’d, with his sprites encompassid | Whence he enduëd was with skill so marvellou
round,

They here arriving, stay'd awhile without,
And if thou ever happen that same way

Ne durst adventure rashly in to wend,
To travel, go to see that dreadful place :

But of their first intent’gan make new doubt
It is an hideous hollow cave (they say)

For dread of danger, which it might portend,
Under a rock that lies a little space

Until the hardy maid (with love to friend)
From the swift Barry, tumbling down apace

First entering, the dreadful mage there found
Amongst the woody hills of Dynevowre :

Deep busied 'bout work of wond'rous end,
But dare thou not, I charge, in any case,

And writing strange characters in the ground
To enter into that same baleful bower,

With which the stubborn fiends he to
For fear the cruel fiends should thee unwares

(bou devour.

BELPHOEBE FINDS TIMIAS WOUNDED, AND CO
But standing high aloft, low lay thine ear,

VEYS HIM TO HER DWELLING.
And there such ghastly noise of iron chains,

BOOK III. CANTO V.
And brazen cauldrons thou shalt rumbling hear,

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Which thousand sprites, with long-enduring She on a day, as she pursued the chace
pains,

Of some wild beast, which, with her arrows ke
Do toss, that it will stun thy feeble brains

She wounded had, the same along did trace
And oftentimesgreat groans and grievous stounds, By tract of blood, which she had freshly seen
When too huge toil and labour them constrains, To have besprinkled all the grassy green ;
And oftentimes loud strokes and ringing sounds, By the great pursue which she there perceive
From under that deep rock most horribly re Well hoped she the beast engored had been,
bounds.

And made more haste the life to have bereave
The cause, some say, is this : a little while

But ah ! her expectation greatly was deceived. Before that Merlin died, he did intend

Shortly she came whereas that woeful squire, A brazen wall in compass to compile

With blood deformed, lay in deadly swouud ;
About Cairmardin, and did it commend

In whose fair eyes, like lamps of quenched fire
Unto these sprites to bring to perfect end ; The crystal humour stood congealed round;
During which work the Lady of the Lake, His locks, like faded leaves, fallen to ground,
Whom long he loved, for him in haste did send, Knotted with blood, in bunches rudely ran,
Who thereby forced his workmen to forsake, And his sweet lips, on which, before that stuur
Them bound till his return their labour not to The bud of youth to blossom fair began,
slake.

Spoil'd of their rosy red, were waxen pale and wa
In the mean time, through that false lady's train, Saw never living eye more heavy sight,
He was surprised and buried under bier,

That could have made a rock of stone to rue
Ne ever to his work returu'd again ;
Nathless those fiends may not their work forbear,

Or rive in twain ; which when that lady brigli

Besides all hope, with melting eyes did view,
So greatly his commandement they fear,

All suddenly abash’d, she changed hue,
But there do toil and travail day and night,
Until that brazen wall they up do rear ;

And with stern horror backward 'gan to start

But when she better him beheld, she grew
For Merlin had in magic more insight
Than ever him before or after living wight.

Full of soft passion and unwonted smart ;
The point of pity pierced through her tender hear

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Meekly she bowed down, to weet if life

By this her damsels, which the former chace Yet in his frozen members did remain,

Had undertaken after her, arrived, And feeling by his pulse's beating rife

As did Belphæbe, in the bloody place, That the weak soul her seat did yet retain, And thereby deem'd the beast had been deprived She cast to comfort him with busy pain.

Of life whom late their lady's arrow rived ; His double-folded neck she rear'd upright,

Forthy the bloody tract they follow'd fast, And rubb’d his temples and each trembling vein; And every one to run the swiftest striv'd ; His mailed haberjon she did undight,

But two of them the rest far overpast, And from his head his heavy burganet did light. And where their lady was arrived at the last. Into the woods thenceforth in haste she went, Where, when they saw that goodly boy with blood To seek for herbs that mote him remedy,

Defouled, and their lady dress his wound, For she of herbs had great intendiment,

They wonder'd much, and shortly understood Taught of the nymph which from her infancy How him in deadly case their lady found, Her nursed had in true nobility;

And rescued out of the heavy stound: There, whether it divine tobacco were,

Eftsoons his warlike courser, which was stray'd Or panacea, or polygony,

Far in the woods, whiles that he lay in swownd, She found, and brought it to her patient dear, She made those damsels search; which being stay'd, Who all this while lay bleeding out his heart-blood They did him set thereon, and forthwith them con

vey'd.

near.

The sovereign weed, betwixt two marbles plain,
She pounded small, and did in pieces bruise,
And then atween her lily handės twain
Into his wound the juice thereof did scruze,
And round about (as she could well it use)
The flesh therewith she suppled and did steep,
T'abate all spasm, and soak the swelling bruise;
And after having search'd the intuse deep,
She with her scarf did bind the wound, from cold to

keep.

Into that forest far they thence him led,
Where was their dwelling, in a pleasant glade,
With mountains round about environed,
And mighty woods which did the valley shade
And like a stately theatre it made.
Spreading itself into a spacious plain ;
And in the midst a little river play'd
Amongst the pumice stones, which seem'd to plain
With gentle murmur, that his course they did

restrain.

By this he had sweet life recur'd again.

Beside the same a dainty place there lay, And groaning inly deep, at last his eyes,

Planted with myrtle trees and laurels green, His watery eyes, drizzling like dewy rain,

In which the birds sang many a lovely lay He up 'gan lift toward the azure skies,

Of God's high praise, and of theirsweet loves teen, From whence descend all hopeless remedies : As it an earthly paradise had been ; Therewith he sigh'd ; and turning him aside,

In whose enclosed shadow there was pight The goodly maid, full of divinities,

A fair pavilion, scarcely to be seen, And gifts of heavenly grace, he by him spied, The which was all within most richly dight, Her bow and gilden quiver lying him beside. That greatest princes living it mote well delight. “Mercy, dear Lord !” said he,“ what grace is this Thither they brought that wounded squire, and laid That thou hast shewed to me, sinful wight, In easy couch his feeble limbs to rest : To send thine angel from her bower of bliss He rested him a while, and then the maid To comfort me in my distressed plight ?

His ready wound with better salves new drest; Angel, or goddess, do I call thee right?

Daily she dressed him, and did the best What service may I do unto thee meet,

His grievous hurt to guarish that she might, That hast from darkness me return'd to light, That shortly he his dolour had redrest, And with thy heavenly salves and med'cines sweet

And his foul sore reduced to fair plight; Hast drest my sinfulwounds? I kiss thy blessed feet.”

It she reduced, but himself destroyed quite. Thereat she blushing said, “Ah! gentle Squire,

O foolish physic, and unfruitful pain, Nor goddess I, nor angel, but the maid

That heals up one, and makes another wound; And daughter of a woody nymph, desire

She his hurt thigh to him recured again, No service but thy safety and aid,

But hurt his heart, the which before was sound, Which if thou gain, I shall be well apaid.

Through an unwary dart, which did rebound We mortal wights, whose lives and fortunes be

From her fair eyes and gracious countenance : To common accidents still open laid,

What boots it him from death to be unbound, Are bound with common bond of frailty,

To be captived in endeless durànce
To succour wretched wights whom we captived of sorrow and despair without allegiance ?

see.”

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Thus warred he long time against his will,
Till that through weakness he was forced at last
To yield himself unto the mighty ill,
Which as a victor proud 'gan ransack fast
His inward parts, and all his entrails waste,
That neither blood in face, nor life in heart,
It left, but both did quite dry up and blast,
As piercing levin, which the inner part
Of everything consumes, and càlcineth by art.
Which seeing, fair Belphebe 'gan to fear
Least that his wound were inly well not heal’d,
Or that the wicked steel empoison'd were ;
Little she ween'd that love he close conceal'd ;
Yet still he wasted as the snow congeal'd,
When the bright sun his beams theron doth beat ;
Yet never he his heart to her reveal’d,
But rather chose to die for sorrow great,
Than with dishonourable terms her to entreat.

For, when as day the heaven doth adorn,
I wish that night the noyous day would end
And when as night hath us of light forlorn,
I wish that day would shortly reascend.
Thus I the time with expectation spend,
And fain my grief with changes to beguile,
That further seems his term still to extend
And maketh every minute seem a mile.
So sorrow still doth seem too long to last,
But joyous hours do fly away too fast.

SONNET LXXXVIII.

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Like as the culver, on the bared bough,
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate,
And in her songs sends many a wishful vow
For his return that seems to linger late ;
So I alone, now left disconsolate,
Mourn to myself the absence of my Love,
And, wand'ring here and there, all desolate,
Seek with my plaints to match that mournful
Ne joy of aught that under heaven doth hove
Can comfort me but her own joyous sight,
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can
In her unspotted pleasuns to delight.
Dark is my day, whiles her fair light I miss,
And dead my life, that wants such lively bliss

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POETRY OF UNCERTAIN AUTHORS

OP

THE END OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

THE SOUL'S ERRAND.

FROM DAVISON'S " POETICAL RHAPSODY."

Tuis bold and spirited poem has been ascribed that Joshua uses the beautiful original merely to several authors, but to none on satisfactory a text, and has the conscience to print his o authority. It can be traced to MS. of a date as stuff in a way that shows it to be interpolate early as 1593, when Francis Davison, who pub- Among those additions there occur some su lished it in his Poetical Rhapsody, was too young execrable stanzas as the following: to be supposed, with much probability, to have written it; and as Davison's work was a compi

Say, soldiers are the sink

Of sin to all the realm, lation, his claims to it must be very doubtful.

Giv'n all to whore and drink, Sir Egerton Brydges has published it among Sir

To quarrel and blaspheme. Walter Raleigh's poems, but without a tittle of evidence to show that it was the production of

Tell townsmen, that because that that great man. Mr. Ellis gives it to Joshua

They prank their brides so proud,

Too many times it draws that Sylvester, evidently by mistake. Whoever looks

Which makes them beetle-brow'd. at the folio vol. of Sylvester's poems, will see

Ohe jam satis !

THE SOUL'S ERRAND.

Go, Soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand,
Fear not to touch the best,
The truth shall be thy warrant ;
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.

Tell Fortune of her blindness,
Tell Nature of decay,
Tell Friendship of unkindness,
Tell Justice of delay;
And if they will reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell Arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming,
Tell Schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming;
If Arts and Schools reply,
Give Arts and Schools the lie.

Go, tell the Court it glows,
And shines like rotten wood ;
Go, tell the Church it shows
What's good and doth no good;
If Church and Court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
Tell potentates they live,
Acting by others' actions,
Not loved, unless they give,
Not strong but by their factions ;
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.
Tell men of high condition
That rule affairs of state,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate ;
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell Faith it's fled the city,
Tell how the country erreth,
Tell manhood shakes off pity,
Tell Virtue least preferreth ;
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

And when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing,
Although to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing ;
Yet stab at thee who will,
No stab the Soul can kill.

CANZONET.

FROM DAVISON'S RHAPSODY. EDIT. 1608.

Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending ;
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell Zeal it lacks devotion, Tell Love it is but lust, Tell Time it is but motion, Tell Flesh it is but dust ; And wish them not reply, For thou must give the lie.

The golden sun that brings the day,
And lends men light to see withal,
In vain doth cast his beams away,
When they are blind on whom they fall ;
There is no force in all his light
To give the mole a perfect sight.

Tell Age it daily wasteth,
Tell Honour how it alters,
Tell Beauty how she blasteth,
Tell Favour how she falters ;
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.

But thou, my sun, more bright than he
That shines at noon in summer tide,
Hast given me light and power to see
With perfect skill my sight to guide;
Till now I lived as blind as mole
That hides her head in earthly hole.

I heard the praise of Beauty's grace,
Yet deem'd it nought but poet's skill,
I gazed on many a lovely face,
Yet found I none to bend my will ;
Which made me think that beauty bright
Was nothing else but red and white.

Tell Wit how much it wrangles
In treble points of niceness,
Tell Wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness;
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.
Tell Physic of her boldness,
Tell Skill it is pretension,
Tell Charity of coldness,
Tell Law it is contention ;
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.

But now thy beams have clear'd my sight,
I blush to think I was so blind,
Thy flaming eyes afford me light,
That beauty's blaze each where I find ;
And yet those dames that shine so bright,
Are but the shadows of thy light.

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SONGS.

FROM WILBYE'S MADRIGALS.

EDIT, 1598.

And when my will is done, then Cynthia shine,

good lady, All other nights and days in honour of that night, Lady, your words do spite me, That happy, heavenly night, that night so dark and Yet your sweet lips so soft kiss and delight me shady,

Your deeds my heart surcharged with overjoyin Wherein my love had eyes that lighted my delight. Your taunts my life destroying ;

Since both have force to kill me,
Let kisses sweet, sweet kill me!

Knights fight with swords and lances,
FROM THE SAME.

Fight you with smiling glances,

So, like swans of Meander, The gentle season of the year

My ghost from hence shall wander,
Hath made my blooming branch appear,

Singing and dying, singing and dying.
And beautified the land with flowers ;
The air doth savour with delight,
The heavens do smile to see the sight,

There is a jewel which no Indian mine can bu And yet mine eyes augment their showers.

No chemic art can counterfeit ;

It makes men rich in greatest poverty, The meads are mantled all with green,

Makes water wine, turns wooden cups to gold, The trembling leaves have clothed the treen,

The homely whistle to sweet music's strain ; The birds with feathers new do sing;

Seldom it comes, to few from heaven sent, But I, poor soul, whom wrong doth rack, That much in little—all in nought-Content. Attire myself in mourning black, Whose leaf doth fall amidst his spring.

Change me, 0 heaven ! into the ruby stone And as you see the scarlet rose

That on my love's fair locks doth hang in gold, In his sweet prime his buds disclose,

Yet leave me speech to her to make my moan, Whose hue is with the sun revived ;

And give me eyes her beauty to behold: So, in the April of mine age,

Or if you will not make my flesh a stone, My lively colours do assuage,

Make her hard heart seem flesh, that now is Because my sunshine is deprived.

none,

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