And to her snowy palfrey got agayne,

To seek her strayed Champion if she might attayne.
The Lyon would not leave her desolate,
But with her went along, as a strong gard

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Of her chast person, and a faythfull mate
Of her sad troubles and misfortunes hard:
Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward;
And, when she wakt, he wayted diligent,
With humble service to her will prepard:
From her fayre eyes he took commandement,
And ever by her lookes conceived her intent.

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SPENSER.

THE WORLD'S VANITY.

LOOKING far foorth into the ocean wide,
A goodly ship, with banners bravely dight,
And flag in her top-gallant, I espide,

Through the maine sea making her merry flight:

Faire blew the wind into her bosome right;

And the heavens looked lovely all the while;
That she did seeme to daunce, as in delight,
And at her owne felicitie did smile.

All sodainely there clove unto her keele

A little fish, that men call Remora,

Which stopt her course, and held her by the heele, That winde nor tide could move her thence away. Straunge thing, me seemeth, that so small a thing Should able be so great an one to wring!

SPENSER.

CUPID AND CAMPASPE.

CUPID and my Campaspe play'd
At cardes for kisses; Cupid pay'd;
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mothers doves, and teame of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lippe, the rose

Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how);
With these, the crystal of his browe,
And then the dimple of his chinne;
All these did my Campaspe winne.
At last he set her both his eyes;
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of mee?

LYLY.

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A FATHER'S ADVICE TO HIS SON GOING

TO TRAVEL.

My blessing with you,

And these few precepts in thy memory.

Look thou charácter. Give thy thoughts no tongue,

Nor any unproportion'd thought his act:

Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar :
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried,
Grapple them to thy soul with hooks of steel;
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment
Of each new-hatch'd, unfledged comrade. Beware
Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,
Bear it, that the opposer may beware of thee:

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Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice:
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment:
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy,

But not express'd in fancy; rich, not gaudy;
For the apparel oft proclaims the man.
Neither a borrower, nor a lender be;

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For loan oft loses both itself and friend; ‹
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry.
'This above all;-to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
Farewell; my blessing season this in thee!

SHAKSPEARE.

BEAUTY.

O! How much more doth Beauty beauteous seem, By that sweet ornament which Truth doth give! The Rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem

For that sweet odour which doth in it live.

The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye

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As the perfumed tincture of the roses;

Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly,

When summer's breath their masked buds discloses.

But, (for their virtue only is their show)
They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade;
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so;
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made:
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth,
When that shall fade, my verse distils your

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truth.

SHAKSPEARE.

THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE

SHEPHERD.

IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But Time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage, and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb;
And age complains of cares to come.

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The flowers do fade and wanton fields

To wayward winter reckoning yields;

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A honey tongue, a heart of gall,

Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joy no date, nor age no need;
Then these delights my mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

RALEIGH,

VIRTUE.

SWEET Day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
The dews shall weep thy fall to-night;
For thou must die.

Sweet Rose whose hue angry and brave
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,

Thy root is ever in its grave,

And thou must die.

Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,

My musick shows ye have your closes,

And all must die.

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Only a sweet and virtuous soul,

Like season'd timber, never gives;

But, though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.

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you,

kinsman ;

WHAT Would I have you do? I'll tell
Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive;
That would I have you do: and not to spend
Your coin on every bauble that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain that humours you.

S

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