Cynthia, with certaine Sonnets, and the Legend of Cas sandra.

Quod cupio nequeo,

At London, printed for Humfrey Lownes, and are to bee sold at the West doore of Paules, 1595.

This rare volume is dedicated by Richard Barnefeilde to "the most noble-minded Lord, William Stanley, Earl of Darby," and the author speaks of his years being so young, that his perfection cannot be great. To the courteous gentlemen readers he thus addresses himself, in extenuation of the exception that had been taken to his former work.

"Gentlemen,

"The last time there came forth a little toy of mine, intituled "The affectionate Shepheard:" in the which his Country Content found such friendly favor, that it hath incouraged me to publish my second fruites. The Affectionate Shepheard being the first: howsoever undeservedly (I protest) I have been thought of some, to have been the authour of two bookes hertofore. I need not to name them, because they are too wel knowne already: nor will I deny them, because they are dislik't, but because they are not mine. This protestation, I hope, will satisfie the indifferent; and as for them that are maliciously envious, as I cannot, so I care not, to please.

Some there were that did interpret The Affectionate Shepheard otherwise then, in truth, I meant, touching the subject

thereof to wit, the love of a shepheard to a boy: a fault, the which I will not excuse, because I never made. Onely this, I will unshaddow my conceit-being nothing else but an imitation of Virgill, in the second Eglogue of Alexis. In one or two places in this booke, I use the name of Eliza pastorally. Wherin, lest any one should misconster my meaning (as I hope none will) I have here briefly discovered my harmeles conceipt as concerning that name; whereof once, in a simple shepheard's device, I wrote this Epigramme.

One name there is-which name above all other

I most esteeme, as time and place shall prove;
The one is Vesta, th' other Cupid's mother;
The first my goddesse is, the last my love;

Subject to both I am: to that by birth,

To this for beautie, fairest on the earth.

Thus, hoping you will beare with my rude conceit of "Cynthia ;" if for no other cause, yet for that it is the first imitation of the verse of that excellent poet, Maister SPENCER, in his Fayrie Queene. I leave you to the reading of that, which I so much desire may breed you delight.

RICHARD BARNEFEILD."

Stanzas here follow by T. T. "in commendatiun of the authour and his worke." Others are addressed by the poet "to his Mistresse." The poem of "Cynthia" then commences in the following picturesque manner.

Now was the welkyn all invelloped

With duskie mantle of the sable night;
And Cynthia, lifting up her drouping head,
Blusht at the beautie of her borrow'd light:
When sleepe now summon'd every mortall wight,
Then, loe! methought I saw, or seem'd to see,

An heavenly creature, like an angell bright,.

That in great haste came pacing towards me:Was never mortall eye beheld so faire a shee!

"Thou lazie man! (quoth she) what mak'st thou heere,
Lul'd in the lap of Honour's enimie?

I heere commaund thee now for to appeare
(By vertue of Jove's mickle majestie)

In yonder wood." Which, with her finger shee
Out-pointing, had no sooner turn'd her face,

And leaving mee to muze what she should bee,
Evanished into some other place:

But straite, methought, I saw a rout of heavenlie race.

Downe in a dale, hard by a forrest-side,

Under the shadow of a loftie pine,

Not far from whence a trickling streame did glide,
Did Nature by her secret art combine

A pleasant arbour of a spreading vine,
Wherein Art strove with Nature to compare,
That made it rather seeme a thing divine,
Being scituate all in the open aire ;

A fairer ne'er was seene, if any seene so faire.

There might one see, and yet not see, indeede,
Fresh Flora flourishing in chiefest prime,
Arrayed all in gay and gorgeous weede,
The primrose and sweet-smelling eglantine,
As fitted best beguiling so the time.
And ever as she went she strew'd the place,
Red roses mixt with daffadillies fine;
For gods and goddesses, that in like case

In this same order sat, with ill-beseeming grace.

The sonnets are amatorious, and in number twenty. I extract the last of them; not from preeminence, but

because it introduces Spenser and Drayton, under the names of Colin and Rowland; and because it has less of that sexual perversion for which the Complaint of Daphnis was condemned, and many even of the sonnets of Shakspeare deserve condemnation.

But now, my Muse, toyl'd with continuall care,
Begins to faint, and slacke her former pace,
Expecting favour from that heavenly grace
That maie, in time, her feeble strength repaire.
Till when, sweete youth! the essence of my soule,
Thou that dost sit and sing at my heart's griefe,
Thou that dost send thy shepheard no reliefe,
Beholde these lines, the sons of teares and dole.
Ah! had great Colin, chiefe of shepheards all,
Or gentle Rowland, my professed friend,
Had they thy beautie or my pennance pen'd,
Greater had been thy fame, and lesse my fall;

But since that everie one cannot be wittie,
Pardon I crave of them, and of thee pitty!

The "Legend of Cassandra" is of considerable length. Appended is an Ode of such lyric excellence, as almost to leave the proprietorship a divided matter of claim between the present poet and our surpassing Shakspeare.

T

The Encomion of Lady Pecunia: or the Praise of Money. By Richard Barnfield, Graduate in Oxford.

1598.

The Complaint of Poetrie for the Death of Liberalitie. 1598.

This has a dedication in verse "To his worshipfull well-willer, Mr. Edw. Leigh of Grayes Inne.”

The Combat betweene Conscience and Covetousnesse in the Minde of Man.

Dedicated "To his worshipfull good friend, Mr. John Steventon, of Dothill in Salop, Esq.”

Poems in divers Humors. 1598.

Printed with the former, and dedicated "To the learned and accomplisht gentleman, Mr. Nic. Blackleech of Grayes Inne."

Before the first of these pieces was printed the following address.

"To the Gentlemen Readers.

"Gentlemen, being incouraged through your gentle acceptance of my Cynthia [vide supra] I have once more adventured on your curtesies; hoping to finde you (as I have done heretofore) friendly. Being determined to write of somthing, and yet not resolved of any thing, I considered with my selfe,-if one should write of Love, they will say-Why, every one writes of Love: if of Vertue,-Why, who regards Vertue? To be short, I could thinke of nothing, but either it