So let us rest, sweet love, in hope of this,

And cease till then our tymely joyes to sing:

The woods no more us answer, nor our eccho ring!

Song! made in lieu of many ornaments,

With which my love should duly have been dect,
Which cutting off through hasty accidents,
Ye would not stay your dew time to expect,

But promist both to recompens;

Be unto her a goodly ornament,

And for short time an endlesse moniment.

In praise of Eliza, Queen of the Shepherds
SEE where she sits upon the grassie greene,
(O seemely sight!)

Yclad in Scarlot, like a mayden Queene,
And ermines white:

Upon her head a Cremosin coronet
With Damaske roses and Daffadillies set:
Bay leaves betweene,

And primroses greene,

Embellish the sweete Violet.

Tell me, have ye seene her angelick face
Like Phoebe fayre?

Her heavenly haveour, her princely grace,
Can you well compare?

The Redde rose medled with the White yfere
In either cheeke depeincten lively chere:

Her modest eye,

Her Majestie,

Where have you seene the like but there?

I see Calliope speede her to the place,
Where my Goddesse shines;

And after her the other Muses trace
With their Violines.

Bene they not Bay braunches which they do beare, All for Elisa in her hand to weare?

So sweetely they play,

And sing all the way,

That it a heaven is to heare.

Lo, how finely the Graces can it foote
To the Instrument:

They dauncen deffly, and singen soote,
In their meriment.

Wants not a fourth Grace to make the daunce even?
Let that rowme to my Lady be yeven.

She shal be a Grace,

To fyll the fourth place,

And reigne with the rest in heaven.

Bring hether the Pincke and purple Cullambine,
With Gelliflowres;

Bring Coronations, and Sops-in-wine

Worne of Paramoures:

Strowe me the ground with Daffadowndillies,
And Cowslips, and Kingcups, and lovèd Lillies:
The pretie Pawnce,

And the Chevisaunce,

Shall match with the fayre flowre Delice.

Now ryse up, Elisa, deckèd as thou art
In royall aray;

And now ye daintie Damsells may depart
Eche one her way.

I feare I have troubled your troupes to longe:
Let dame Elisa thanke you for her song:
And if you come hether

When Damsines I gether,

I will part them all you among.

75

PERIGOT AND WILLIE'S ROUNDELAY

It fell upon a holly eve,

Hey ho, hollidaye!

When holly fathers wont to shrieve,

Now gynneth this roundelay.

Sitting upon a hill so hye,

Hey ho, the high hyll!

The while my flocke did feede thereby,
The while the shepheard selfe did spill:

I saw the bouncing Bellibone,
Hey ho, Bonibell!

Tripping over the dale alone:

She can trippe it very well;
Well decked in a frocke of gray,
Hey ho, gray is greete!

And in a kirtle of greene saye,

The greene is for maydens meete.

A chapelet on her head she wore,
Hey ho, chapelet!

Of sweete violets therein was store,
-She sweeter then the violet.

My sheepe did leave theyr wonted foode,
Hey ho, seely sheepe!

And gazd on her, as they were wood,
-Woode as he, that did them keepe.

As the bonnilasse passed bye,
Hey ho, bonilasse !

She rovde at me with glauncing eye,
As cleare as the christall glasse:
All as the sunnye beame so bright,
Hey ho, the sunne beame!

Glaunceth from Phoebus face forthright,
So love into my hart did streame:

Or as the thonder cleaves the cloudes,
Hey ho, the thonder!

Wherein the lightsome levin shroudes,
So cleaves thy soule asonder:
Or as Dame Cynthias silver raye
Hey ho, the moonelight!

Upon the glyttering wave doth playe:
Such play is a pitteous plight!

The glaunce into my heart did glide,
Hey ho, the glyder!

Therewith my soule was sharply gryde;

Such woundes soone wexen wider.
Hasting to raunch the arrow out,
Hey ho, Perigot!

I left the head in my hart roote:
It was a desperate shot.

There it ranckleth ay more and more,

Hey ho, the arrowe!

Ne can I find salve for my sore:

Love is a cureless sorrowe.

And though my bale with death I brought,

Hey ho, heavie cheere!

Yet should thilk lasse not from my thought: So you may buye gold to deare.

But whether in paynefull love I pyne,
Hey ho, pinching payne!

Or thrive in welth, she shalbe mine.
But if thou can her obteine.

And if for gracelesse griefe I dye,
Hey ho, graceless griefe!
Witnesse, shee slewe me with her eye:

Let thy follye be the priefe.

And you that sawe it, simple shepe,
Hey ho, the fayre flocke!

For priefe thereof my death shall weepe,
And mone with many a mocke.

So learnd I love on a hollye eve,—
Hey ho, holidaye!

That ever since my hart did greve:
Now endeth our roundelay.

76

EASTER

Most glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day,
Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin;
And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win:

This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin;
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dye,
Being with Thy deare blood clene washt from sin,
May live for ever in felicity!

And that Thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love Thee for the same againe;
And for Thy sake, that all lyke deare didst buy,
With love may one another entertayne!

So let us love, deare Love, lyke as we ought,
-Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

77

WHAT GUILE IS THIS?

WHAT guile is this, that those her golden tresses
She doth attire under a net of gold;

And with sly skill so cunningly them dresses,
That which is gold or hair may scarce be told?
Is it that men's frail eyes, which gaze too bold,
She may entangle in that golden snare;
And, being caught, may craftily enfold

Their weaker hearts, which are not well aware?
Take heed, therefore, mine eyes, how ye do stare
Henceforth too rashly on that guileful net,
In which, if ever ye entrappèd are,

Out of her bands ye by no means shall get.
Fondness it were for any, being free,
To cover fetters, though they golden be.