A gown made of the finest wool, A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs! The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD.-RALEIGH If all the world and love were young, Time drives the flocks from field to fold, The flowers do fade, and wanton fields Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs; All these in me no means can move To come to thee and be thy love. But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need, Sidney, Raleigh, and Marlow, had for their contemporaries Breton, Constable, Sylvester, and Barnfield, all of whom justly rank among the second rate miscellaneous poets of this period, though the number of their poems was generally limited. NICHOLAS BRETON was born in 1555, but at what place we have not been able to ascertain. Indeed, of his entire history no particulars have been preserved farther than that he first acquired very considerable popularity as a writer of pastorals, and then published a volume of poems under the title of The Works of a Young Wit. Breton died in 1624, in his seventieth year. The following stanzas from this author well deserve preservation : And next, adieu you gallant dames, The chief of noble youth's delight. That I am banish'd from your sight. Now next, my gallant youths, farewell; My grief of mind no tongue can tell, To think that I must from you part. And now farewell thou gallant lute, With instruments of music's sounds! Recorder, citern, harp, and flute, And heavenly descants on sweet grounds. I now must leave you all, indeed, And make some music on a reed! And now, you stately stamping steeds, My heavy heart for sorrow bleeds, To think that I must part with you: And on a strawen pannel sit, And ride some country carting tit! And now farewell both spear and shield, Caliver, pistol, arquebuss, See, see, what sighs my heart doth yield And lay aside my rapier blade, And you farewell, all gallant games, Wherewith I us'd with courtly dames And now farewell each dainty dish, To please this dainty mouth of mine! 1568 A.D.] HENRY CONSTABLE.-JOSHUA SYLVESTER. I now, alas, must leave all these, And make good cheer with bread and cheese! And now, all orders due, farewell! My table laid when it was noon; My dainty dinners are all done; And farewell all gay garments now, What shall I say, but bid adieu To every dream of sweet delight, 155 Of HENRY CONSTABLE less even is known than of Breton. He was a very popular writer of sonnets, though his sentiments are usually strained and conceited. But in the midst of his affectations and conceits, many happy thoughts and much beautiful imagery may be found. The following sonnet from his Diana contains much epigrammatic power :— To live in hell, and heaven to behold, To thirst for drink, and nectar still to draw, To live accurs'd, whom men hold blest to be, And weep-those wrongs, which never creature saw; If this be love, if love in these be founded, JOSHUA SYLVESTER was born in 1563. He was bred to ordinary mercantile pursuits, but the delicacy of his wit eventually brought him into notice, and he was patronized both by Elizabeth and James. For some cause, not now known, he was obliged to leave England, and he soon after died in Holland, on the twenty-eighth of September, 1618. Sylvester was the author of the following impressive poem, long attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh: THE SOUL'S ERRAND. Go, soul, the body's guest, Upon a thankless errand! Go, tell the court it glows, And shines like rotten wood; Tell potentates, they live Acting by others' actions, Not strong but by their factions. Give potentates the lie. Tell men of high condition Tell them that brave the most, Who in their greatest cost, Tell zeal it lacks devotion, Tell love it is but lust, Tell age it daily wasteth, Tell beauty how she blasteth, Tell wit how much it wrangles, Tell physic of her boldness, Tell fortune of the blindness, Tell justice of delay. And if they will reply, Then give them all the lie. Tell arts they have no soundness, Tell schools they want profoundness If arts and schools reply, Give arts and schools the lie. Tell faith it's fled the city, Tell how the country erreth, So then thou hast, as I Commanded thee, done babbling: Deserves no less than stabbing; Yet stab at thee who will No stab the soul can kill. RICHARD BARNFIELD was the author of a volume of poems of very unequal merit, published between 1594 and 1598. Among these poems, however, is found the following Address to the Nightingale, which is of so rare excellence, that it was, for a long time, ascribed to Shakspeare. ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE. As it fell upon a day, In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made; Beasts did leap and birds did sing, Trees did grow, and plants did spring; Every thing did banish moan, Save the Nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn; And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, That to hear it was great pity. Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry; Teru, teru, by and by; |