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So as she shows, she seems the budding rose,
Yet sweeter far than is an earthly flower,
Sovereign of beauty, like the spray she grows,
Compassed she is with thorns and cankered flower,
Yet were she willing to be plucked and worn,
She would be gathered, though she grew on thorn.
Ah, when she sings, all music else be still,
For none must be compared to her note;
Ne'er breathed such glee from Philomela's bill,
Nor from the morning-singer's swelling throat.
Ah, when she riseth from her blissful bed,

She comforts all the world, as doth the sun,
And at her sight the night's foul vapour's fled;
When she is set, the gladsome day is done.
O glorious sun, imagine me the west,
Shine in my arms, and set thou in my breast!

BELLARIA'S EPITAPH.

HERE lies entombed Bellaria fair,
Falsely accused to be unchaste;

Cleared by Apollo's sacred doom,
Yet slain by jealousy at last.
Whate'er thou be that passest by,
Curse him that caused this Queen to die.

FROM NEVER TOO LATE.*

AN ODE.

OWN the valley 'gan he track,
Bag and bottle at his back,

In a surcoat all of gray;
Such wear palmers on the way,

* Greene's Never Too Late. Youthful Gentlemen, to root

Or, a Powder of Experience, sent to all out the infectious follies, that over

When with scrip and staff they see
Jesus' grave on Calvary;

A hat of straw, like a swain,
Shelter for the sun and rain,
With a scallop shell before;
Sandals on his feet he wore;
Legs were bare, arms unclad :
Such attire this palmer had.
His face fair like Titan's shine;
Gray and buxom were his eyne,
Whereout dropped pearls of sorrow:
Such sweet tears love doth borrow,
When in outward dews she plains
Heart's distress that lovers pains;
Ruby lips, cherry cheeks:

Such rare mixture Venus seeks,
When to keep her damsels quiet,
Beauty sets them down their diet.
Adon was not thought more fair;
Curled locks of amber hair,
Locks where love did sit and twine
Nets to snare the gazer's eyne.
Such a palmer ne'er was seen,
'Less Love himself had palmer been.
Yet, for all he was so quaint,
Sorrow did his visage taint:
'Midst the riches of his face,
Grief decyphered high disgrace.
Every step strained a tear;
Sudden sighs showed his fear;
And yet his fear by his sight
Ended in a strange delight;
That his passions did approve,
Weeds and sorrow were for love.

reaching conceits foster in the spring-time of their youth. Decyphering in a true English history, those particular vanities, that with a frosty vapour nip the blossoms of every ripe brain from attaining to his intended perfection. As pleasant as profitable, being a right pumice-stone, apt to race out idleness with delight, and folly with admonition. Rob. Greene, in Artibus Magister.

1590.

THE PALMER'S ODE.

LD Menalcas, on a day,
As in field this shepherd lay,
Tuning of his oaten pipe,

Which he hit with many a stripe,
Said to Coridon that he

Once was young and full of glee.
'Blithe and wanton was I then:
Such desires follow men.

As I lay and kept my sheep,
Came the God that hateth sleep,
Clad in armour all of fire,
Hand in hand with queen Desire,
And with a dart that wounded nigh,
Pierced my heart as I did lie;
That when I woke I 'gan swear
Phillis beauty's palm did bear.
Up I start, forth went I,

With her face to feed mine eye;

There I saw Desire sit,

That my heart with love had hit,
Laying forth bright beauty's hooks
To entrap my gazing looks.
Love I did, and 'gan to woo,
Pray and sigh; all would not do:
Women, when they take the toy,
Covet to be counted coy.
Coy she was, and I 'gan court;
She thought love was but a sport;
Profound hell was in my thought;
Such a pain desire had wrought,
That I sued with sighs and tears;
Still ingrate she stopped her ears,
Till my youth I had spent.
Last a passion of repent
Told me flat, that Desire
Was a brond of love's fire,

Which consumeth men in thrall,
Virtue, youth, wit, and all.
At this saw, back I start,
Bet Desire from my heart,

Shook off Love, and made an oath
To be enemy to both.

Old I was when thus I fled
Such fond toys as cloyed my head,
But this I learned at Virtue's gate,
The way to good is never late.'

THE HERMIT'S VERSES.

HERE look, my son, for no vain-glorious shows
Of royal apparition for the eye:

Humble and meek befitteth men of years.
Behold my cell, built in a silent shade,
Holding content for poverty and peace,
And in my lodge is fealty and faith,
Labour and love united in one league.
I want not, for my mind affordeth wealth;
I know not envy, for I climb not high:
Thus do I live, and thus I mean to die.
If that the world presents illusions,
Or Sathan seeks to puff me up with pomp,
As man is frail and apt to follow pride;
Then see, my son, where I have in my cell

A dead man's skull, which calls this straight to mind,
That as this is, so must my ending be.

When then I see that earth to earth must pass,
I sigh, and say, all flesh is like to grass.

If care to live, or sweet delight in life,
As man desires to see out many days,
Draws me to listen to the flattering world;
Then see my glass, which swiftly out doth run,
Compared to man, who dies ere he begins.

This tells me, time slacks not his posting course,
But as the glass runs out with every hour,
Some in their youth, some in their weakest age,
All sure to die, but no man knows his time.
By this I think, how vain a thing is man,
Whose longest life is likened to a span.

When Sathan seeks to sift me with his wiles,
Or proudly dares to give a fierce assault,
To make a shipwreck of my faith with fears;
Then armed at all points to withstand the foe,
With holy armour; here's the martial sword:
This book, this bible, this two-edged blade,
Whose sweet content pierceth the gates of hell,
Decyphering laws and discipline of war
To overthrow the strength of Sathan's jar.

ISABEL'S ODE.

SITTING by a river side,

Where a silent stream did glide,
Banked about with choice flowers,
Such as spring from April showers,
When fair Iris smiling shows
All her riches in her dews;
Thick-leaved trees so were planted,
As nor art nor nature wanted,
Bordering all the brook with shade,
As if Venus there had made,
By Flora's wile, a curious bower,
To dally with her paramour;
At this current as I gazed,
Eyes entrapped, mind amazed,
I might see in my ken
Such a flame as fireth men,

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