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Furth of his palace royal ishit Phoebus,
With golden crown and visage glorious,
Crisp hairs, bricht as chrysolite or topaz;
For whase hue micht nane behald his face.
The auriate vanes of his throne soverane
With glitterand glance o'erspread the oceane;
The largé fludes, lemand all of licht,
But with ane blink of his supernal sicht.
For to behald, it was ane glore to see
The stabled windis, and the calmed sea,
The soft season, the firmament serene,
The loune illuminate air and firth amene.
And lusty Flora did her bloomis spread
Under the feet of Phoebus' sulyart2 steed;
The swarded soil embrode with selcouth3 hues,
Wood and forest, obnumbrate with bews.4
Towers, turrets, kirnals, and pinnacles hie,
Of kirks, castles, and ilk fair citie,

Stude painted, every fane, phiol, and stage,7 Upon the plain ground by their awn umbrage. Of Eolus' north blasts havand no dreid,

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The soil spread her braid bosom on-breid;
The corn crops and the beir new-braird
With gladsome garment revesting the yerd.8
The prai9 besprent with springand sprouts dispers
For caller humours10 on the dewy nicht
Rendering some place the gerse-piles their licht;
As far as cattle the lang summer's day
Had in their pasture eat and nip away;
And blissful blossoms in the bloomed yerd,
Submits their heids to the young sun's safeguard.
Ivy leaves rank o'erspread the barmkin wall;
The bloomed hawthorn clad his pikis all;
Furth of fresh bourgeons!l the wine grapes ying12
Endland the trellis did on twistis hing;
The loukit buttons on the gemmed trees
O'erspreadand leaves of nature's tapestries;
Soft grassy verdure after balmy shouirs,
On curland stalkis smiland to their flouirs. *
The daisy did on-breid her crownal small,
And every flouer unlappit in the dale.
Sere downis small on dentilion sprang,
The young green bloomed strawberry leaves amang ;
Jimp jeryflouirs thereon leaves unshet,
Fresh primrose and the purpour violet ;
Heavenly lillies, with lockerand toppis white,
Opened and shew their crestis redemite.
Ane paradise it seemed to draw near

Thir galyard gardens and each green herbere
Maist amiable wax the emeraut meads;
Swarmis souchis through out the respand reeds.
Over the lochis and the fludis gray,
Searchand by kind ane place where they should lay.
Phoebus' red fowl,13 his cural crest can steer,
Oft streikand furth his heckle, crawand cleer.
Amid the wortis and the rutis gent

1 Ocean. Battlements. 8 Earth. 13 Young.

Pickand his meat in alleys where he went,

His wivis Toppa and Partolet him by

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A bird all-time that hauntis bigamy.
The painted powne14 pacand with plumes gym,
Kest up his tail ane proud plesand wheel-rim,
Ishrouded in his feathering bright and sheen,
Shapand the prent of Argus' hundred een.
Amang the bowis of the olive twists,
Sere small fowls, workand crafty nests,
Endlang the hedges thick, and on rank aiks
Ilk bird rejoicand with their mirthful makes.
In corners and clear fenestres of glass,
Full busily Arachne weavand was,
To knit her nettis and her wobbis slie,
Therewith to catch the little midge or flie.

2 Sultry.

Meadow. 13 The cock.

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3 Uncommon. 6 Cupola.

10 Cool vapours. 14 The peacock.

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4 Boughs.

7 Storey.

11 Sprouts.

So dusty powder upstours in every street,
While corby gaspit for the fervent heat.
Under the bowis bene in lufely vales,
Within fermance and parkis close of pales,
The busteous buckis rakis furth on raw,
Herdis of hertis through the thick wood-shaw.
The young fawns followand the dun daes,
Kids, skippand through, runnis after raes.
In leisurs and on leyis, little lambs
Full tait and trig socht bletand to their dams.
On salt streams wolk? Dorida and Thetis,

By rinnand strandis, Nymphis and Naiadis,
Sic as we clepe wenches and damysels,

In gersy graves3 wanderand by spring wells;

Of bloomed branches and flowers white and red,
Plettand their lusty chaplets for their head.
Some sang ring-songes, dances, leids,4 and rounds.
With voices shrill, while all the dale resounds.
Whereso they walk into their caroling,

For amorous lays does all the rockis ring.
Ane sang, 'The ship sails over the salt faem,
Will bring the merchants and my leman hame."
Some other sings, I will be blythe and licht,
My heart is lent upon so goodly wicht."5
And thoughtful lovers rounis to and fro,
To leis7 their pain, and plein their jolly woe.
After their guise, now singand, now in sorrow,
With heartis pensive the lang summer's morrow.
Some ballads list indite of his lady;
Some livis in hope; and some all utterly
Despairit is, and sae quite out of grace,
His purgatory he finds in every place.
Dame Nature's menstrals, on that other part,
Their blissful lay intoning every art,
And all small fowlis singis on the spray,
Welcome the lord of licht, and lampe of day,
Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green,
Welcome quickener of flourist flouirs sheen,
Welcome support of every rute and vein,
Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain,
Welcome the birdis beilds upon the brier,
Welcome master and ruler of the year,
Welcome weelfare of husbands at the plews,
Welcome repairer of woods, trees, and bews,
Welcome depainter of the bloomit meads,
Welcome, the life of every thing that spreads
Welcome storer of all kind bestial,
Welcome be thy bricht beamis, gladdand all. *

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Howard, Earl of Surrey.

king, and in early life became accomplished, not only

in the learning of the time, but in all kinds of courtly and chivalrous exercises. Having travelled into Italy, he became a devoted student of the poets of that country-Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, and Ariosto-and formed his own poetical style upon theirs. His poetry is chiefly amorous, and, notwithstanding his having been married in early life, much of it consists of the praises of a lady whom he names Geraldine, supposed to have been a daughter of the Earl of Kildare. Surrey was a gallant soldier as well as a poet, and conducted an important expedition, in 1542, for the devastation of the Scottish borders. He finally fell under the displeasure of Henry VIII., and was beheaded on Tower Hill in 1547. The poetry of Surrey is remarkable for a flowing melody,

correctness of style, and purity of expression; he was the first to introduce the sonnet and blank verse into English poetry. The gentle and melancholy pathos of his style is well exemplified in the verses which he wrote during his captivity in Windsor Castle, when about to yield his life a sacrifice to tyrannical caprice :

Prisoner in Windsor, he recounteth his Pleasure there passed.

So cruel prison how could betide, alas !
As proud Windsor? where I, in lust and joy,
With a king's son, my childish years did pass,
In greater feast than Priam's son of Troy:

Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour! The large green courts where we were wont to hove, With eyes cast up into the Maiden Tower,

And easy sighs such as folk draw in love.

The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue;

The dances short, long tales of great delight,
With words and looks that tigers could but rue,
Where each of us did plead the other's right.
The palm-play, where, despoiled for the game;
Have missed the ball and got sight of our dame,
With dazed eyes oft we by gleams of love,
To bait her eyes, which kept the leads above.
The gravel ground, with sleeves tied on the helm

Of foaming horse,2 with swords and friendly hearts; With cheer, as though one should another whelm,

Where we have fought, and chased oft with darts; With silver drops the mead yet spread for ruth,

In active games of nimbleness and strength, Where we did strain, trained with swarms of youth, Our tender limbs that yet shot up in length:

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The secret groves which oft we made resound,

Of pleasant plaint, and of our ladies' praise, Recording oft what grace each one had found,

What hope of speed what dread of long delays: The wild forest, the clothed holts with green,

With reins availed3 and swift ybreathed horse; With cry of hounds and merry blasts between,

Where we did chase the fearful hart of force.

The wide vales, eke, that harboured us each night,
Wherewith, alas, reviveth in my breast,
The sweet accord such sleeps as yet delight,

The pleasant dreams, the quiet bed of rest:

The secret thoughts imparted with such trust,

The wanton talk, the divers change of play, The friendship sworn, each promise kept so just; Wherewith we passed the winter night away.

And with this thought, the blood forsakes the face,
The tears berain my cheeks of deadly hue,
The which, as soon as sobbing sighs, alas,
Upsupped have, thus I my plaint renew:
O place of bliss! renewer of my woes,

Whom in thy walls thou dost each night enclose;
Give me accounts, where is my noble fere ;4

To other leef,5 but unto me most dear: Echo, alas! that doth my sorrow rue,

Returns thereto a hollow sound of plaint. Thus I alone, where all my freedom grew,

In prison pine with bondage and restraint, And with remembrance of the greater grief To banish the less, I find my chief relief.

1 Hover; loiter.

2 A lover tied the sleeve of his mistress on the head of his horse. 3 Reins droppod. * Companion. 5 Agreeable.

Description and Praise of his Love Geraldine. From Tuscan' came my lady's worthy race; Fair Florence was some time their ancient seat; The western isle, whose pleasant shore doth face Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat: Fostered she was with milk of Irish breast;

Her sire, an earl; her dame of princes' blood: From tender years, in Britain she doth rest With king's child, where she tasteth costly food. Hunsdon did first present her to mine een:

Bright is her hue, and Geraldine she hight: Hampton me taught to wish her first for mine: And Windsor, alas, doth chase me from her sight. Her beauty of kind, her virtues from above; Happy is he that can obtain her love!

How no age is content with his own estate, and how the age of children is the happiest, if they had skill to understand it.

Laid in my quiet bed,

In study as I were,

I saw within my troubled head,

A heap of thoughts appear.

And every thought did show

So lively in mine eyes, That now I sighed, and then I smiled, As cause of thoughts did rise.

I saw the little boy,

In thought how oft that he Did wish of God, to scape the rod, A tall young man to be.

The young man eke that feels

His bones with pains opprest, How he would be a rich old man, To live and lie at rest:

The rich old man that sees
His end draw on so sore,
How he would be a boy again,
To live so much the more.
Whereat full oft I smiled,

To see how all these three,
From boy to man, from man to boy,
Would chop and change degree:

And musing thus, I think,

The case is very strange, That man from wealth, to live in woe, Doth ever seek to change.

Thus thoughtful as I lay,

I saw my withered skin, How it doth show my dented thws, The flesh was worn so thin; And eke my toothless chaps,

The gates of my right way, That opes and shuts as I do speak, Do thus unto me say:

The white and hoarish hairs,
The messengers of age,
That show, like lines of true belief,
That this life doth assuage;

Bids thee lay hand, and feel

Them hanging on my chin. The which do write two ages past, The third now coming in.

Hang up, therefore, the bit

Of thy young wanton time; And thou that therein beaten art, The happiest life define:

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The Means to attain Happy Life. Martial, the things that do attain

The happy life, be these, I find, The riches left, not got with pain; The fruitful ground, the quiet mind, The equal frend; no grudge, no strife No charge of rule, nor governance; Without disease, the healthful life;

;

The household of continuance: The mean diet, no delicate fare;

True wisedom joined with simpleness; The night discharged of all care;

Where wine the wit may not oppress. The faithful wife, without debate;

Such sleeps as may beguile the night; Contented with thine own estate,

Ne wish for death, ne fear his might.

SIR THOMAS WYATT.

In amorous poetry, which may be said to have taken its rise in this age, Surrey had a fellow-labourer in SIR THOMAS WYATT (1503–1541), another distinguished figure in the court of Henry VIIL Wyatt was a man highly educated for his age, a great traveller, and generally accomplished. He died of a fever caught by riding too fast on a hot day from Falmouth, while engaged on a mission to conduct the ambassador of the emperor, Charles V., to court. The songs and sonnets of this author, in praise of his mistress, and expressive of the various feelings he experienced while under the influence of the tender passion, though conceited, are not without refinement, and some share of poetical feeling.

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Blame but thyself that hast misdone,

And well deserved to have blame; Change thou thy way, so evil begone, And then my Lute shall sound that same; But if till then my fingers play, By thy desert their wonted way, Blame not my Lute!

Farewell! unknown; for though thou break
My strings in spite with great disdain,
Yet have I found out for thy sake,

Strings for to string my Lute again : And if perchance this silly rhyme, Do make thee blush at any time, Blame not my Lute.

The re-cured Lover exulteth in his Freedom, and voweth to remain free until Death.

I am as I am, and so will I be ;

But how that I am none knoweth truly. Be it ill, be it well, be I bond, be I free, I am as I am, and so will I be.

I lead my life indifferently;

I mean nothing but honesty ;
And though folks judge full diversely,
I am as I am, and so will I die.

I do not rejoice, nor yet complain,
Both mirth and sadness I do refrain,
And use the means since folks will feign;
Yet I am as I am, be it pleasant or pain.

Divers do judge as they do trow,
Some of pleasure and some of woe,
Yet for all that nothing they know;
But I am as I am, wheresoever I go.
But since judgers do thus decay,
Let every man his judgment say;
I will it take in sport and play,
For I am as I am, whosoever say nay.
Who judgeth well, well God them send;
Who judgeth evil, God them amend ;
To judge the best therefore intend,
For I am as I am, and so will I end.

Yet some there be that take delight,
To judge folk's thought for envy and spite;
But whether they judge me wrong or right,
I am as I am, and so do I write.

Praying you all that this do read, To trust it as you do your creed; And not to think I change my weed, For I am as I am, however I speed.

But how that is I leave to you;
Judge as ye list, false or true,
Ye know no more than afore ye knew,
Yet I am as I am, whatever ensue.

And from this mind I will not flee,
But to you all that misjudge mc,
I do protest, as ye may see,
That I am as I am, and so will be.

That Pleasure is mixed with every Pain. Venomous thorns that are so sharp and keen

Bear flowers, we see, full fresh and fair of hue, Poison is also put in medicine,

And unto man his health doth oft renew. The fire that all things eke consumeth clean,

May hurt and heal: then if that this be true, I trust some time my harm may be my health, Since every woe is joined with some wealth.

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THOMAS TUSSER,

Amongst the poets dating towards the conclusion of the present period, may be ranked THOMAS TUSSER, author of the first didactic poem in the language. He was born about 1523, of an ancient family had a good education; and commenced life at court, under the patronage of Lord Paget. Afterwards he practised farming successively at Ratwood in Sussex, Ipswich, Fairsted in Essex, Norwich, and other places; but not succeeding in that walk, he betook himself to other occupations, amongst which were those of a chorister, and, it is said, a fiddler. As might be expected of one so inconstant, he did not prosper in the world, but died poor in London, in 1580.

Tusser's poem, entitled a Hondreth Good Points of Husbandrie, which was first published in 1557, is a series of practical directions for farming, expressed in simple and inelegant, but not always dull verse. It was afterwards expanded by other writers, and published under the title of Five Hundreth Points of Good Husbandrie: the last of a considerable number of editions appeared in 1710.

[Directions for Cultivating a Hop-Garden.] Whom fancy persuadeth, among other crops, To have for his spending sufficient of hops, Must willingly follow, of choices to choose, Such lessons approved, as skilful do use. Ground gravelly, sandy, and mixed with clay, Is naughty for hops, any manner of way. Or if it be mingled with rubbish and stone, For dryness and barrenness let it alone. Choose soil for the hop of the rottenest mould, Well dunged and wrought, as a garden-plot should; Not far from the water, but not overflown, This lesson, well noted, is meet to be known.

The sun in the south, or else southly and west,
Is joy to the hop, as a welcomed guest;
But wind in the north, or else northerly east,
To the hop is as ill as a fay in a feast.
Meet plot for a hop-yard once found as is told,
Make thereof account, as of jewel of gold;
Now dig it, and leave it, the sun for to burn,
And afterwards fence it, to serve for that turn.
The hop for his profit I thus do exalt,
It strengtheneth drink, and it favoureth malt;
And being well brewed, long kept it will last,
And drawing abide-if ye draw not too fast.

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