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Care draws on care, wo comforts wo again,
Sorrow breeds sorrow, one grief brings forth twain.
If live or die, as thou do'st, so do I;
If live, I live; and if thou die, I die;
One heart, one love, one joy, one grief, one troth,
One good, one ill, one life, one death to both.

If Howard's blood thou hold'st as but too vile,
Or not esteem'st of Norfolk's princely style ;
If Scotland's coat no mark of fame can lend,
That lion placed in our bright silver bend,
Which as a trophy beautifies our shield,
Since Scottish blood discolour'd Floden field;
When the proud Cheviot our brave ensign bare,
As a rich jewel in a lady's hair,
And did fair Bramston's neighbouring valleys choke
With clouds of cannons' fire-disgorged smoke;
If Surrey's earldom insufficient be,
And not a dower so well contenting thee:
Yet I am one of great Apollo's heirs,
The sacred Muses challenge me for theirs.
By princes my immortal lines are sung,
My flowing verses graced with ev'ry tongue :
The little children when they learn to go,
By painful mothers daded to and fro,
Are taught my sugar'd numbers to rehearse,
And have their sweet lips season'd with my verse.

When Heav'n would strive to do the best it can, And puts an angel's spirit into man, The utmost power it hath, it then doth spend, When to the world a poet it doth intend, That little diff'rence 'twixt the gods and us (By them confirm’d), distinguished only thus : Whom they in birth ordain to happy days, The gods commit their glory to our praise ; T' eternal life when they dissolve their breath, We likewise share a second power by death.

When time shall turn those amber locks to gray, My verse again shall gild and make them gay, And trick them up in knotted curls anew, And to thy autumn give a summer's hue;

That sacred pow'r, that in my ink remains,
Shall put fresh blood into thy wither'd veins,
And on thy red decay'd, thy whiteness dead,
Shall set a white more white, a red more red:
When thy dim sight thy glass cannot descry,
Nor thy crazed mirror can discern thine eye,
My verse, to tell th’ one what the other was,
Shall represent them both, thine eye and glass :
Where both thy mirror and thine eye shall see,
What once thou saw'st in that, that saw in thee;
And to them both shall tell the simple truth,
What that in pureness was, what thou in youth.

If Florence once should lose her old renown,
As famous Athens, now a fisher-town;
My lines for thee a Florence shall erect,
Which great Apollo ever shall protect,
And with the numbers from my pen that falls,
Bring marble mines to re-erect those walls.
Nor beauteous Stanhope, whom all tongues report
To be the glory of the English court,
Shall by our nation be so much admired,
If ever Surrey truly were inspired.
And famous Wyat, who in numbers sings
To that enchanting Thracian harper's strings,
To whom Phæbus (the poets' god) did drink
A bowl of Nectar, fill'd up to the brink;
And sweet tongued Bryan (whom the Muses kept,
And in his cradle rook'd him whilst he slept)
In sacred verses (most divinely penn'd)
Upon thy praises ever shall attend.


When to my chamber I myself retire,
Burnt with the sparks that kindled all this fire,
Thinking of England, which my hope contains,
The happy isle where Geraldine remains :
Of Hunsdon, where those sweet celestial eyne
At first did pierce this tender breast of mine :
Of Hampton Court and Windsor, where abound
All pleasures that in Paradise were found :

Near that fair castle is a little grove,
With hanging rocks all cover'd from above,
Which on the banks of goodly Thames doth stand,
Clipp'd by the water from the other land,
Whose bushy top doth bid the sun forbear,
And checks his proud beams that would enter there;
Whose leaves still mutt'ring, as the air doth breathe,
With the sweet bubbling of the stream beneath,
Doth rock the senses (whilst the small birds sing)
Lulled asleep with gentle murmuring ;
Where light-foot fairies sport at prison-base
(No doubt there is some pow'r frequents the place),
There the soft poplar and smooth beech do bear
Our name together carved everywhere,
And Gordian knots do curiously entwine
The names of Henry and of Geraldine.
Oh let this grove, in happy times to come,
Be call’d the lover's bless'd Elyzium ;
Whither my mistress wonted to resort,
In summer's heat, in those sweet shades to sport:
A thousand sundry names I have it given,
And call'd it Wonder-hider, Cover-heav'n,
The roof where beauty her rich court doth keep,
Under whose compass all the stars do sleep.
There is one tree, which, now I call to mind,
Doth bear these verses carved in the rind :
6 When Geraldine shall sit in thy fair shade,
Fan her fair tresses with perfumed air,
Let thy large boughs a canopy be made,
To keep the sun from gazing on my fair :
And when thy spreading branched arms be sunk,
And thou no sap nor pith shalt more retain,
Ev'n from the dust of thy unwieldy trunk
I will renew thee, phenix-like, again,
And from thy dry decayed root will bring,
A new-born stem, another Æson's spring.”


In Cupid's school I never read those books,
Whose lectures oft we practice in our looks,
Nor ever did suspicious rival eye
Yet lie in wait my favours to espy;
My virgin thoughts are innocent and meek,
As the chaste blushes sitting on my cheek :
As in a fever I do shiver yet,
Since first my pen was to the paper set.


My house from Florence I do not pretend,
Nor from those Geralds claim I to descend;
Nor hold those honours insufficient are,
That I receive from Desmond or Kildare :
Nor better air will ever boast to breathe,
Than that of Leinster, Munster, or of Meath :
Nor crave I other foreign far allies,
Than Windsor's or Fitz-Gerald's families :
It is enough to leave unto my heirs,
If they but please t acknowledge me for theirs.

To what place ever did the court remove,
But that the house gives matter to my love ?
At Windsor still I see thee sit and walk,
There mount thy courser, there devise, there talk,
The robes, the garter, and the state of kings,
Into my thoughts thy hoped greatness brings :
None-such, the name imports (methinks) so much,
None such as it, nor as my lord, none such:
In Hampton's great magnificence I find
The lively image of thy princely mind :
Fair Richmond's tow'rs like goodly trophies stand,
Reard by the pow'r of thy victorious hand;
White-Hall's triumphing galleries are yet
Adorn'd with rich devices of thy wit:
In Greenwich still, as in a glass, I view,
Where last thou bad'st thy Geraldine adieu.

rfeit a sea,

With ev'ry little perling breath that blows, How are my thoughts confused with joys and woes! As through a gate, so through my longing ears Pass to my heart whole multitudes of fears. Oh, in a map that I might see thee show The place where now in danger thou dost go! Whilst we discourse, to travel with our eye Romania, Tuscan, and fair Lombardy; Or with thy pen exactly to set down The model of that temple or that town; And to relate at large where thou hast been, As there, and there, and what thou there hast seen; Expressing in a figure, by thy hand, How Naples lies, how Florence fair doth stand: Or as the Grecian's finger dipp'd in wine, Drawing a river in a little line, And with a drop, a gulf to figure out, To model Venice moated round about; Then adding more to cour And draw the front of stately Genoa. These from thy lips were like harmonious tones, Which now do sound like mandrake's dreadful groans.

Some travel hence t' enrich their minds with skill, Leave here their good, and bring home others' ill; Which seem to like all countries but their own, Affecting most where they the least are known: Their leg, their · arm, their back, their neck, their

As they had been in sev'ral countries bred;
In their attire, their gesture, and their gait,
Found in each one, all Italianate,
So well in all deformity in fashion ;
Borrowing a limb of ev'ry sev'ral nation:
And nothing more than England hold in scorn,
So live as strangers whereas they were born ;
But thy return in this I do not read,
Thou art a perfect gentleman indeed :
Oh God forbid that Howard's noble line
From ancient virtue should so far decline!

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