And yet are they not in England precise but wary, not disdainful to confer but fearful to offend, not without remorse where they perceive truth but without replying where they suspect treachery, whenas among other nations there is no tale so loathsome to chaste ears but it is heard with great sport and answered with great speed.

Is it not then a shame, ladies, that that little island should be a mirror to you, to Europe, to the whole world?

Where is the temperance you profess, when wine is more common than water? where the chastity, when lust is thought lawful? where the modesty, when your mirth turneth to uncleanness, uncleanness to shamelessness, shamelessness to all sinfulness? Learn, ladies, though late, yet at length, that the chiefest title of honor in earth is to give all honor to him that is in heaven; that the greatest bravery in this world is to be burning lamps in the world to come; that the clearest beauty in this life is to be amiable to him that shall give life eternal. Look in the glass of England, too bright, I fear me, for your eyes what is there in your sex that they have not, and what that you should not have?

:

They are in prayer devout, in bravery humble, in beauty chaste, in feasting temperate, in affection wise, in mirth modest, in all their actions, though courtly because women, yet angels because virtuous.

Ah, good ladies, good, I say, for that I love you, I would you could a little abate that pride of your stomachs, that looseness of mind, that licentious behavior, which I have seen in you, with no small sorrow, and cannot remedy with continual sighs.

They in England pray when you play, sow when you sleep, fast when you feast, and weep for their sins when you laugh at your sensualities.

They frequent the church to serve God, you to see gallants; they deck themselves for cleanliness, you for pride; they maintain their beauty for their own liking, you for others' lust; they refrain wine because they fear to take too much, you because you can take no more. Come, ladies, with tears I call you, look in this glass, repent your sins past, refrain your present vices, abhor vanities to come, say thus with one voice, "We can see our faults only in the English glass; a glass of grace to them, of grief to you; to them in the stead of righteousness, to you in place of repentance. The lords and gentlemen in that court are also an example for all others to follow,

true types of nobility, the only stay and staff of honor, brave courtiers, stout soldiers, apt to revel in peace and ride in war; in fight fierce, not dreading death; in friendship firm, not breaking promise; courteous to all that deserve well, cruel to none that deserve ill. Their adversaries they trust not, that showeth their wisdom; their enemies they fear not, that argueth their courage. They are not apt to proffer injuries, nor fit to take any; loath to pick quarrels, but longing to revenge them.

Active they are in all things, whether it be to wrestle in the games of Olympia or to fight at barriers in Palestra; able to carry as great burdens as Milo; of strength to throw as big stones as Turnus, and what not that either man hath done or may do; worthy of such ladies and none but they, and ladies willing to have such lords and none but such.

This is a glass for our youth in Greece, for your young ones in Italy, the English glass: behold it, lords and ladies, and all that either mean to have piety, use bravery, increase beauty, or that desire temperance, chastity, wit, wisdom, valor, or anything that may delight yourselves or deserve praise of others.

But another sight there is in my glass, which maketh me sigh for grief I cannot show it, and yet had I rather offend in derogating from my glass than my good will.

Blessed is that land that hath all commodities to increase the common wealth; happy is that island that hath wise councilors to maintain it, virtuous courtiers to beautify it, noble gentlemen to advance it, but to have such a prince to govern it as is their sovereign queen, I know not whether I should think the people to be more fortunate, or the prince famous; whether their felicity be more to be had in admiration that have such a ruler, or his virtues to be honored that hath such royalty; for such is their estate there that I am enforced to think that every day is as lucky to the Englishmen as the sixth day of February hath been to the Grecians.

But I see you gaze until I show this glass, which, you having once seen, will make you giddy.. O ladies! I know not when to begin nor where to end; for the more I go about to express the brightness, the more I find mine eyes bleared, the nearer I desire to come to it, the farther I seem from it; not unlike unto Simonides, who, being curious to set down what God was, the more leisure he took, the more loath he was to meddle, saying that in things above reach it was easy to catch

a strain but impossible to touch a star; and therefore, scarce tolerable to point at that which one can never pull at. When Alexander had commanded that none should paint him but Apelles, none carve him but Lysippus, none engrave him but Pergotales, Parrhasius framed a table squared every way two hundred feet, which in the borders he trimmed with fresh colors and limned with fine gold, leaving all the other room without knot or line, which table he presented to Alexander, who, no less marveling at the bigness than at the bareness, demanded to what end he gave him a frame without face, being so naked, and without fashion, being so great. Parrhasius answered him, "Let it be lawful for Parrhasius, O Alexander, to show a table wherein he would paint Alexander, if it were not unlawful, and for others to square timber though Lysippus carve it, and for all to cast brass though Pergotales engrave it." Alexander, perceiving the good mind of Parrhasius, pardoned his boldness and preferred his art, yet inquiring why he framed the table so big. He answered that he thought that frame to be but little enough for his picture, when the whole world was too little for his person, saying that Alexander must as well be praised as painted, and that all his victories and virtues were not to be drawn in the compass of a signet but in a field.

This answer Alexander both liked and rewarded, insomuch that it was lawful ever after for Parrhasius both to praise that noble king and to paint him.

In the like manner I hope, and though it be not requisite that any should paint their prince in England that cannot sufficiently perfect her, yet it shall not be thought rashness or rudeness for Euphues to frame a table for Elizabeth, though he presume not to paint her. Let Apelles show his fine art, Euphues will manifest his faithful heart; the one can but prove his conceit to blaze his cunning, the other his good will to grind his colors; he that wetteth the tools is not to be disliked though he cannot carve the image; the worm that spinneth the silk is to be esteemed though she cannot work the sampler; they that fell timber for ships are not to be blamed because they cannot build ships.

He that carrieth mortar furthereth the building, though he be no expert mason; he that diggeth the garden is to be considered, though he cannot tread the knots; the goldsmith's boy must have his wages for blowing the fire, though he cannot fashion the jewel.

Then, ladies, I hope poor Euphues shall not be reviled though he deserve not to be rewarded. I will set down this Elizabeth as near as I can, and it may be that as the Venus of Apelles, not finished; the Tindarides of Nichomachus, not ended; the Medea of Timonachus, not perfected; the table of Parrhasius, not colored, brought greater desire to consummate them and to others to see them; so the Elizabeth of Euphues, being but shadowed for others to varnish, but begun for others to end, but drawn with a black coal for others to blaze with a bright color, may work either a desire in Euphues hereafter, if he live, to end it, or a mind in those that are better able to amend it, or in all (if none can work it) a will to wish it. In the mean season I say, as Zeuxis did when he had drawn the picture of Atlanta, more will envy me than imitate me, and not commend it though they cannot amend it.

UNA AND THE LION.

BY EDMUND SPENSER.

(From "The Faerie Queene.")

[EDMUND SPENSER, English poet, was born in London about 1552, and attended Pembroke Hall, Cambridge. He became intimate with Sir Philip Sidney and the Earl of Leicester, and through the latter's influence procured (1580) the post of private secretary to Lord Grey de Wilton, the queen's deputy in Ireland. For his services in suppressing Desmond's rebellion, he obtained a grant of three thousand acres of land from the forfeited estate of the Earl of Desmond, including the castle and manor of Kilcolman Castle. At the suggestion of Sir Walter Raleigh, he went to London in 1589, and the next year brought out the first three books of "The Faerie Queene," which so pleased Queen Elizabeth that she bestowed upon him a pension of fifty pounds per annum. In 1591 he returned to Kilcolman Castle, and wrote "Colin Clout's Come Home Again." Seven years later his house was burned by the Irish rebels, and on January 13, 1599, he died destitute and broken-hearted at Westminster. By his own request he was buried near Chaucer in Westminster Abbey, the funeral expenses being paid by the Earl of Essex. Besides the works already mentioned, Spenser wrote: "The Shepherd's Calendar," "Amoretti," " Astrophel," "Four Hymns," etc.]

NAUGHT is there under heaven's wide hollowness,
That moves more dear compassion of mind,
Than beauty brought t' unworthy wretchedness

Through envy's snares, or fortune's freaks unkind.
I, whether lately through her brightness blind,
Or through allegiance, and fast fealty,

Which I do owe unto all womankind,

Feel my heart pierced with so great agony, When such I see, that all for pity I could die.

And now it is empassioned so deep,

For fairest Una's sake, of whom I sing,

That my frail eyes these lines with tears do steep,
To think how she through guileful handeling,
Though true as touch, though daughter of a king,
Though fair as ever living wight was fair,
Though nor in word nor deed ill meriting,
Is from her knight divorced in despair,

And her due loves derived to that vile witch's share.

Yet she, most faithful lady, all this while

Forsaken, woeful, solitary maid,

Far from all people's preace, as in exile,

In wilderness and wasteful deserts strayed,

To seek her knight; who, subtilely betrayed

Through that late vision which th' enchanter wrought, Had her abandoned; she of naught afraid, Through woods and wasteness wide him daily sought, Yet wished tidings none of him unto her brought.

One day, nigh weary of the irksome way,
From her unhasty beast she did alight;
And on the grass her dainty limbs did lay
In secret shadow, far from all men's sight;
From her fair head her fillet she undight,
And laid her stole aside: Her angel's face,
As the great eye of heaven, shinèd bright,
And made a sunshine in the shady place;
Did never mortal eye behold such heavenly grace.

It fortunèd, out of the thickest wood,
A ramping lion rushèd suddenly,
Hunting full greedy after savage blood.
Soon as the royal virgin he did spy,
With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,

To have at once devoured her tender corse;
But to the prey when as he drew more nigh,
His bloody rage assuagèd with remorse,

And, with the sight amazed, forgat his furious force.