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earl of Richmond (after Henry VII.) at Bosworth field, a brave and gallant gentleman, who was slain by Richard there; this was father to this Charles Brandon, duke of Suffolk.

HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY, TO THE LADY GERALDINE.

THE ARGUMENT.

The earl of Surrey, that renowned lord,
Th' old English glory bravely that restor'd,
That prince and poet (a name more divine)
Falling in love with beauteous Geraldine,
Of the Geraldi, which derive their name
From Florence: whither, to advance her fame,
He travels, and in public jousts maintain'd
Her beauty peerless, which by arms he gain'd:
But staying long, fair Italy to see,
To let her know him constant still to be,
From Tuscany this letter to her writes;
Which her rescription instantly invites.

FROM (') learned Florence (long time rich in fame)
From whence thy race, thy noble grandsires came
To famous England, that kind nurse of mine,
Thy Surrey sends to heav'nly Geraldine.
Yet let not Tuscan think I do it wrong,
That I from thence write in my native tongue;
That in these harsh-tun'd cadences I sing,
Sitting so near the Muses' sacred spring;
But rather think itself adorn'd thereby,
That England reads the praise of Italy.
Though to the Tuscans I the smoothness grant,
Our dialect no majesty doth want,
To set thy praises in as high a key,
As France, or Spain, or Germany, or they.

What day I quit the fore-land of fair Kent,
And that my ship her course for Flanders bent,
Yet think I with how many a heavy look
My leave of England and of thee I took,
And did entreat the tide (if it might be)
But to convey me one sigh back to thee.
Up to the deck a billow lightly skips,
Taking my sigh, and down again it slips,
Into the gulph itself it headlong throws,
And as a post to England-ward it goes.
As I sat wond'ring how the rough sea stirr'd,
I might far off perceive a little bird,

Which as she fain from shore to shore would fly,
Had lost herself in the broad vasty sky,
Her feeble wing beginning to deceive her,
The seas of life still gaping to bereave her:
Unto the ship she makes, which she discovers,
And there (poor fool!) a while for refuge hovers;
And when at length her flagging pinion fails,
Panting she hangs upon the rattling sails,
And being forc'd to loose her hold with pain,
Yet beaten off, she straight lights on again,
And toss'd with flaws, with storms, with wind, with
weather,

Yet still departing thence, still turneth thither:
Now with the poop, now with the prow doth bear,
Now on this side, now that, now here, now there.
Methinks these storms should be my sad depart,
The silly helpless bird is my poor heart

The ship, to which for succour it repairs,
That is yourself, regardless of my cares.
Of every surge doth fall, or wave doth rise,
To some one thing I sit and moralize.

When for thy love I left the Belgic shore,
Divine Erasmus and our famous Mòre,
Whose happy presence gave me such delight,
As made a minute of a winter's night;
With whom awhile I staid at Roterdame,
Now so renowned by Erasmus' name:
Yet every hour did seem a world of time,
Till I had seen that soul-reviving clime,
And thought the foggy Netherlands unfit,
A wat'ry soil to clog a fiery wit.

And as that wealthy Germany I pass'd,
Coming unto the emperor's court at last,
(2) Great-learn'd Agrippa, so profound in art,
Who the infernal secrets doth impart,
When of thy health I did desire to know,
Me in a glass my Geraldine did show,
Sick in thy bed; and, for thou could'st not sleep
By a wax taper set the light to keep;

I do remember thou didst read that ode,
Sent back whilst I in Thanet made abode,
Where when thou cam'st unto that word of love,
Ev'n in thine eyes I saw how passion strove:
That snowy lawn which covered thy bed,
Methought look'd white, to see thy cheek so red;
Thy rosy cheek oft changing in my sight,
Yet still was red, to see the lawn so white:
The little taper which should give thee light,
Methought wax'd dim, to see thy eyes so bright;
Thine eye again supply'd the taper's turn,
And with his beams more brightly made it burn:
The shrugging air about thy temples hurls,
And wrapp'd thy breath in little clouded curls;
And as it did ascend, it straight did seize it,
And as it sunk, it presently did raise it.
Canst thou by sickness banish beauty so,
Which if put from thee, knows not where to go
To make her shift, and for her succour seek
To every rivel'd face, each bankrupt cheek?
"If health preserv'd, thou beauty still dost cherish;
If that neglected, beauty soon doth perish."
Care draws on care, woe comforts woe again,
Sorrow breeds sorrow, one grief brings forth twain.
If live or die, as thou dost, so do I;
If live, I live; and if thou die, I die:
Ône heart, one love, one joy, one grief, one troth,
One good, one ill, one life, one death to both.

If Howard's blood thou hold'st as but too vile,
Or not esteem'st of Norfolk's princely style;
If Scotland's coat no mark of fame can lend,
(3) That lion plac'd in our bright silver bend,
Which as a trophy beautifies our shield,
(*) Since Scottish blood discolour'd Floden field;
When the proud Cheviot our brave ensign bare,
As a rich jewel in a lady's hair,

And did fair Bramston's neighbouring vallies choke
With clouds of cannons' fire-disgorged smoke:
Or Surrey's earldom insufficient be,
And not a dower so well contenting thee:
Yet I am one of great Apollo's heirs,
The sacred Muses challenge me for theirs.
By princes my immortal lines are sung,
My flowing verses grac'd with ev'ry tongue:
The little children when they learn to go,
By painful mothers daded to and fro,
Are taught by sugar'd numbers to rehearse,
And have their sweet lips season'd with my versa

When Heav'n would strive to do the best it can, And put an angel's spirit into man, The utmost pow'r it hath, it then doth spend, When to the world a poet it doth intend. That little diff'rence 'twixt the gods and us, (By them confirm'd) distinguish'd only thus: Whom they in birth ordain to happy days, The gods commit their glory to our praise; T eternal life when they dissolve their breath, We likewise share a second pow'r by death. When time shall turn those amber locks to gray, My verse again shall gild and make them gay, And trick them up in knotted curls anew, And to thy autumn give a summer's hue: That sacred pow'r, that in my ink remains, Shall put fresh blood into thy wither'd veins, And on thy red decay'd, thy whiteness dead, Shall set a white more white, a red more red: When thy dim sight thy glass cannot descry, Nor thy craz'd mirror can discern thine eye; My verse, to tell th' one what the other was, Shall represent them both, thine eye and glass : Where both thy mirror and thine eye shall see, What once thou saw'st in that, that saw in thee; And to them both shall tell the simple truth, What that in pureness was, what thou in youth. If Florence once should lose her old renown, As famous Athens, now a fisher town; My lines for thee a Florence shall erect, Which great Apollo ever shall protect, And with the numbers from my peu that falls, Bring marble mines to re-erect those walls. (") Nor beauteous Stanhope, whom all tongues To be the glory of the English court, Shall by our nation be so much admir'd, If ever Surrey truly were inspir'd. (*) And famous Wyat, who in numbers sings To that enchanting Thracian harper's strings, To whom Phoebus (the poets' god) did drink A bowl of nectar, fill'd up to the brink; And sweet-tongu'd Bryan (whom the Muses kept, And in his cradle rockt him whilst he slept) In sacred verses (most divinely penu'd) Upon thy praises ever shall attend.

[report

What time I came into this famous town, And made the cause of my arrival known, Great Medices a list for triumphs built; Within the which upon a tree of gilt, (Which was with sundry rare devices set) I did erect thy lovely counterfeit, To answer those Italian dames' desire, Which daily came thy beauty to admire : By which, my lion in his gaping jaws Held up my lance, and in his dreadful paws Reacheth my gauntlet unto him that dare A beauty with my Geraldine's compare. Which, when each manly valiant arm assays, After so many brave triumphant days, The glorious prize upon my lance I bear, By herald's voice proclaim'd to be thy share. The shiver'd staves here for thy beauty broke, With fierce encounters past at ev'ry shock, When stormy courses answer'd cuff for cuff, Denting proud beavers with the counter-buff, Upon an altar, burnt with holy flame, I sacrific'd, as incense to thy fame: Where, as the phenix from her spiced fume Renews herself, in that she doth consume; So from these sacred ashes live we both, Ev'n as that one Arabian wonder doth,

VOL. IV.

When to my chamber I myself retire, Burnt with the sparks that kindled all this fire, Thinking of England, which my hope contains, The happy isle where Geraldine remains : (') Of Hunsdon, where those sweet celestial eyne At first did pierce this tender breast of mine: (*) Of Hampton-court and Windsor, where abound All pleasures that in Paradise were found: Near that fair castle is a little grove, With hanging rocks all cover'd from above, Which on the bank of goodly Thames doth stand, Clipt by the water from the other land, Whose bushy top doth bid the Sun forbear, And checks his proud beams that would enter there; Whose leaves still mutt'ring, as the air doth breathe,

With the sweet bubbling of the stream beneath, Doth rock the senses (whilst the small birds sing) Lulled asleep with gentle murmuring; Where light-foot Fairies sport at prison base, (No doubt there is some pow'r frequents the place) There the soft poplar and smooth beach do bear Our names, together carved every where, And Gordian knots do curiously entwine The names of Henry and of Geraldine. O let this grove, in happy times to come, Be call'd the lovers' bless'd Elysium, Whither my mistress wonted to resort, In summer's heat, in those sweet shades to sport: A thousand sundry names I have it given, And call'd it Wonder-hider, Cover-heav'n, The roof where Beauty her rich court doth keep, Under whose compass all the stars do sleep. There is one tree, which now I call to mind, Doth bear these verses carved in the rind: "When Geraldine shall sit in thy fair shade, Fan her fair tresses with perfumed air, Let thy large boughs a canopy be made, To keep the Sun from gazing on my fair: And when thy spreading branched arms be sunk, And thou no sap nor pith shalt more retain, Ev'n from the dust of thy unwieldy trunk I will renew thee, phenix-like, again, And from thy dry decayed root will bring A new-born stem, another Eson's spring."

I find no cause, nor judge I reason why,
My country should give place to Lombardy.
(") As goodly flow'rs on Thamesis do grow,
As beautify the banks of wanton Po;
As many nymphs as haunt rich Arnus' strand,
By silver Severn tripping hand in hand:
Our shade's as sweet, though not to us so dear,
Because the Sun hath greater power there.
This distant place doth give me greater woe;
Far off, my sighs the farther have to go.
Ah, absence! why thus should'st thou seem są
long?

Or wherefore should'st thou offer time such wrong,
Summer so soon to steal on winter's cold,
Or winter blasts so soon make summer old?
Love did us both with one self-arrow strike,
Our wounds both one, our cure should be the like;
Except thou hast found out some mean by art,
Some pow'rful medicine to withdraw the dart;
But mine is fixt, and absence being proved,
It sticks too fast, it cannot be removed.

Adieu, adieu! from Florence when I go,
By my next letters Geraldine shall know,
Which if good fortune shall by course direct,
From Venice by some messenger expect ;

H

Till when, I leave thee to thy heart's desire,
By him that lives thy virtues to admire.

ANNOTATIONS OF THE CHRONICLE HISTORY.

(1) From learned Florence, long time rich in fame.
Florence, a city of Tuscany, standing upon the
river Arnus (celebrated by Dante, Petrarch, and
other the most noble wits of Italy) was the original
of the family out of which this Geraldine did
spring, as Ireland the place of her birth, which is
intimated by these verses of the earl of Surrey:

From Tuscan came my lady's worthy race,
Fair Florence was sometime her ancient seat;
The Western isle, whose pleasant shore doth face
Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat.
(2) Great learn'd Agrippa, so profound in art.

Cornelius Agrippa, a man in his time so famous
fo magic, (which the books publish'd by him con-
cerning that argument do partly prove) as in this
Howbeit,
place needs no farther remembrance.
as those abstruse and gloomy arts are but illusions,
so in the honour of so rare a gentleman as this
earl (and therewithal so noble a poct, a quality
by which his other titles receive their greatest
lustre) invention may make somewhat more bold
with Agrippa above the barren truth.

(3) That lion set in our bright silver bend, The blazon of the Howards' honourable' armour "Gules between six crosslets fitchy a bend was, argent," to which afterwards was added by achievement, "In the canton point of the bend an escutcheon or, within the Scottish pressure a demilion rampant gules," &c. as Mr. Camden, now Never shall Clarencieux, from authority noteth.

time or bitter envy be able to obscure the brightness of so great a victory as that for which this addition was obtained. The historian of Scotland, George Buchanan, reporteth, that the earl of Surrey gave for his badge "a silver lion," (which from antiquity belonged to that name) "tearing in pieces a lion prostrate gules;" and withal, that this, which he terms insolence, was punished in him and his posterity; as if it were fatal to the conqueror to do his sovereign such loyal service, as a, thousand such severe censurers were never able to perform.

(*) Since Scotish blood discolour'd Floden field.

The battle was fought at Bramston, near Flodenhill, being a part of the Cheviot, a mountain that exceedeth all the mountains in the North of England for highness; in which the wilful perjury of James V. was punished from Heaven by the earl of Surrey, being left by king Henry VIII. (then in France before Turwin) for the defence of his realm.

(') Nor beauteous Stanhope, whom all tongues
To be the glory, &c.
[report

Of the beauty of that lady he himself testifies, in an elegy which he writ of her, refusing to dance with him, which he seemeth to allegorize under a lion and wolf. And of himself he saith:

A lion saw I late, as white as snow,

And of her:

I might perceive a wolf, as white as a whale's bone,
A fairer beast of fresher hue beheld I ́never none,
But that her looks were coy, and froward was her
grace.

(") And famous Wyat, who in numbers sings.

Sir Thomas Wyat the elder, a most excellent poet, as his poems extant do witness; besides certain encomiums, written by the earl of Surrey upon some of David's Psalms, by him translated: What holy grave, what worthy sepulchre,

To Wyat's Psalm shall Christians purchase then? And afterward, upon his death, the said earl writeth thus:

What virtues rare were temper'd in thy breast!
Honour that England such a jewel bred,
And kiss the ground whereas thy corpse did rest.
(7) Of Hunsdon, where those sweet celestial eyne.

It is manifest by a sonnet written by this noble earl, that the first time he beheld his lady was at Hunsdon :

Hunsdon did first present her to mine eyne. Which sonnet being altogether a description of his love, I do allege in divers places of this gloss as proofs of what I write.

(*) Of Hampton-court and Windsor, where abound All pleasures, &c.

That he enjoy'd the presence of his fair and virtuous mistress at those two places, by reason of queen Katharine's usual abode there (on whom this lady Geraldine was attending) I prove by these verses of his:

Hampton me taught to wish her first for mine;
Windsor (alas!) doth chase me from her sight.
And in another sonnet following:

When Windsor walls sustain'd my weary'd arın,
My hand, my chin, to ease my restless head.

And that his delight might draw him to compare Windsor to Paradise, an elegy may prove; where he remembreth his passed pleasures in that place.

With a king's son my childish years I pass'd,
T
In greater feasts than Priam's son of Troy.
And again in the same elegy:

Those large green courts, where we were wont to
With eyes cast up unto the Maidens Tower [rove,
With easy sighs, such as men draw in love.
And again in the same:

The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue,
The dances short, long tales of sweet delight.
And for the pleasantness of the place, these
verses of his may testify, in the same elegy before
cited:

The secret groves which we have made resound, With silver drops the meads yet spread for ruth. () As goodly flow'rs on Thamesis do grow, &c.

I had thought in this place not to have spoken of Thames, being so oft remember'd by me before in sundry places on this occasion: but thinking of that excellent epigram, which I judge either to be

done by the said earl or sir Francis Brian, for the
worthiness thereof I will here insert: which, as it
seems to me, was compiled at the author's being
in Spain.

Tagus, farewel, which westward with thy streams
Turn'st up the grains of gold, already try'd;
For I with spur and sail go seek the Thames,
Against the Sun that shows his wealthy pride,
And to the town that Brutus sought by dreams,
Like bended Moon that leans her lusty side,
To seek my country now, for whom I live;
O mighty Jove, for this the winds me give!

THE LADY GERALDINE TO HENRY
HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY.

SUCH greeting as the noble Surrey sends,
The like to thee thy Geraldine commends;
A maiden's thoughts do check my trembling hand,
On other terms or compliments to stand,
Which (might my speech be as my heart affords)
Should come attired in far richer words :
But all is one, my faith as firm shall prove,
As her's that makes the greatest show of love.

In Cupid's school I never read those books,
Whose lectures oft we practise in our looks,
Nor ever did suspicious rival eye
Yet lie in wait my favours to espy;
My virgin thoughts are innocent and meek,
As the chaste blushes sitting on my cheek:
As in a fever I do shiver yet,

Since first my pen was to the paper set.

If I do err, you know my sex is weak,

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Airs to asswage the bloody soldier's mind,
Poor women, we are naturally kind.
Perhaps you'll think, that I these terms enforce,
For that in court this kindness is of course :
Or that it is that honey-steeped gall,
We oft are said to bait our loves withal;
That in one eye we carry strong desire,
In th' other drops, which quickly quench that fire.
Ah! what so false can envy speak of us,
But it shall find some vainly credulous?
I do not so, and to add proof thereto,
1 love in faith, in faith, sweet lord, I do:
Nor let the envy of envenom'd tongues,
Which still is grounded on poor ladies' wrongs,
Thy noble breast disasterly possess,
By any doubt to make my love the less.

My house from Florence I do not pretend,
Nor from those Geralds claim I to descend;
Nor hold those honours insufficient are,
That I receive from Desmond, or Kildare:
Nor better air will ever boast to breathe,
Than that of Lemster, Munster, or of Meath:
Nor crave I other foreign far allies,

(1) Than Windsor's, or Fitz-Gerald's families:
It is enough to leave unto my heirs,
If they but please t' acknowledge me for theirs
To what place ever did the court remove,
But that the house gives matter to my love?
At Windsor still I see thee sit, and walk,
There mount thy courser, there devise, there talk.
The robes, the garter, and the state of kings,
Into my thoughts thy hoped greatness brings:
None-such, the name imports (methinks) so much,
None such as it, nor as my lord, none such:
In Hampton's great magnificence I find

Fear proves a fault where maids are forc'd to speak. The lively image of thy princely mind:

Do I not ill? Ah, soothe me not herein;

O, if I do, reprove me of my sin!
Chide me in faith, or if my fault you hide,
My tongue will teach myself, myself to chide.
Nay, noble Surrey, blot it, if thou wilt,
Then too much boldness should return my guilt:
For that should be ev'n from ourselves conceal'd,
Which is disclos'd, if to our thoughts reveal'd;
For the least motion, more the smallest breath,
That may impeach our modesty, is death.

The page that brought thy letters to my hand,
(Methinks) should marvel at my strange demand:
For till he blush'd, I did not yet espy
The nakedness of my immodesty,
Which in my face he greater might have seen,
But that my fan I quickly put between ;
Yet scarcely that my inward guilt could hide,
"Fear seeing all, fears it of all is spy'd."
Like to a taper lately burning bright,
But wanting matter to maintain his light,
The blaze ascending, forced by the smoke,
Living by that which seeks the same to choke;
The flanie still hanging in the air, doth burn,
Until drawn down, it back again return: [closeth,
Then clear, then dim, then spreadeth, and then
Now getteth strength, and now his brightness
As well the best-discerning eye may doubt, [loseth;
Whether it be yet in, or whether out:
Thus in my cheek my sundry passions show'd,
Now ashy pale, and now again it glow'd.

If in your verse there be a pow'r to move,
It's you alone, who are the cause I love,
It's you bewitch my bosom by mine ear;
Unto that end I did not place you there:

Fair Richmond's tow'rs like goodly trophies stand,
Rear'd by the power of thy victorious hand:
White-hall's triumphing galleries are yet
Adorn'd with rich devices of thy wit:
In Greenwich still, as in a glass, I view,
Where last thou bad'st thy Geraldine adieu.

With ev'ry little perling breath that blows, How are my thoughts confus'd with joys and woes!

As through a gate, so through my longing ears
Pass to my heart whole multitudes of fears.
O! in a map that I might see thee show
The place where now in danger thou dost go!
Whilst we discourse, to travel with our eye
Romania, Tuscan, and fair Lombardy;
Or with thy pen exactly to set down
The model of that temple, or that town:
And to relate at large where thou hast been,
As there, and there, and what thou there hast seen;
Expressing in a figure, by thy hand,
How Naples lies, how Florence fair doth stand:
Or as the Grecian's finger dipp'd in wine,
Drawing a river in a little line,
And with a drop, a gulf to figure out,
To model Venice moated round about;
Then adding more to counterfeit a sea,
And draw the front of stately Genoa.
These from thy lips were like harmonious tones,
Which now do sound like mandrakes' dreadful

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Their leg, their thigh, their back, their neck, their
As they had been in sev'ral countries bred; [head,
In their attire, their gesture, and their gait,
Found in each one, all Italianate.
So well in all deformity in fashion,
Borrowing a limb of ev'ry sev'ral nation;
And nothing more than England hold in scorn,
So live as strangers whereas they were born.
But thy return in this I do not read,
Thou art a perfect gentleman indeed :
O God forbid that Howard's noble line,
From ancient virtue should so far decline!
The Muses' train (whereof yourself are chief)
Only to me participate their grief:

To soothe their humours, I do lend them ears.
"He gives a poet, that his verses hears."
Till thy return, by hope they only live;
Yet had they all, they all away would give:
The world and they so ill according be,
That wealth and poets never can agree.
Few live in court that of their good have care,
The Muses' friends are every-where so rare.

Some praise thy worth, (that it did never know)
Only because the better sort do so,
Whose judgment never further doth extend,
Than it doth please the greatest to commend;
So great an ill upon desert doth chance,
When it doth pass by beastly ignorance.
Why art thou slack, whilst no man puts his hand
(2) To raise the mount where Surrey's towers must
stand?

Or who the groundsil of that work doth lay,
Whilst like a wand'rer thou abroad dost stray,
Clipp'd in the arms of some lascivious dame,
When thou should'st rear an Ilion to thy name?
When shall the Muses by fair Norwich dwell,
To be the city of the learned well?
Or Phoebus' altars there with incense heap'd,
As once in Cyrrha, or in Thebe kept?
Or when shall that fair 'hoof-plough'd spring distil
From great Mount-Surrey, out of Leonard's-hill?
Till thou return, the court I will exchange
For some poor cottage, or some country grange,
Where to our distaves, as we sit and spin,
My maid and I will tell what things have been.
Our lutes unstrung shall hang upon the wall,
Our lessons serve to wrap our tow withal,
And pass the night, whiles winter-tales we tell,
Of many things, that long ago befell:
Or tune such homely carrols as were sung
In country sport, when we ourselves were young;
In pretty riddles to bewray our loves,
In questions, purpose, or in drawing gloves.
The noblest spirits, to virtue most inclin'd,
These here in court thy greatest want do find:
Others there be, on which we feed our eye,
(3) Like arras-work, or such like imag'ry.
Many of us desire queen Cath'rine's state,
But very few her virtues imitate.
Then, as Ulysses' wife, write I to thee,
Make no reply, but come thyself to me.

ANNOTATIONS OF THE CHRONICLE HISTORY.

(1) Than Windsor's or Fitzgerald's families. The cost of many kings, which from time to time have adorned the castle at Windsor with their princely magnificence, hath made it more noble than that it need to be spoken of now, as though obscure; and I hold it more meet to refer you to

our vulgar monuments for the founders and finishers thereof, than to meddle with matter nothing near the purpose. As for the family of the Fitzgeralds, of whence this lady was lineally des scended, the original was English, though the branches did spread themselves into distant places, and names nothing consonant, as in former times it was usual to denominate themselves of their manors, or fore-names, as may partly appear in that which ensueth; the light whereof proceeded from my learned and very worthy friend, Mr. Francis Thinn. Walter of Windsor, the son of Oterus, had to issue William, of whom Henry, now lord Windsor, is descended; and Robert of Windsor, of whom Robert, the now earl of Essex, and Gerald of Windsor, his third son, who married the daughter of Rees, the great prince of Wales, of whom came Nesta, paramour to Henry the first: which Gerald had issue Maurice Fitzgerald, ancestor to Thomas Fitzmaurice, justice. of Ireland, buried at Trayly; leaving issue John, his eldest son, first earl of Kildare, ancestor to | Geraldine, and Maurice, his second son, first earl of Desmond.

(2) To raise the mount where Surrey's tow'rs must stand,

Alluding to the sumptuous house which was afterward built by him upon Leonard's-hill, right against Norwich; which, in the rebellion of Norfolk under Ket, in king Edward the Sixth's time, was much defaced by that impure rabble. Betwixt the hill and the city, as Alexander Nevel describes it, the river of Yarmouth runs, having west and south thereof a wood, and a little vil lage called Thorpe; and on the north, the pas tures of Mousholl, which contain about six miles in length and breadth. So that besides the stately greatness of Mount-Surrey, which was the house's name, the prospect and site thereof was passing pleasant and commodious; and no where else did that increasing evil of the Norfolk fury unkennel itself then, but there, as it were for a manifest token of their intent to debase all high things, and to profane all holy.

(*) Like arras-work, or such like imag❜ry.

Such was he whom Juvenal taxeth in this man

ner:

-Truncoque simillimus Herme Nullo quippe alio vincis discrimine, quam quod Illi marmoreum caput est, tua vivit imago. Seeming to be born for nothing else but apparel, and the outward appearance, entitled complement with whom the ridiculous fable of the Ape in Esop sortoth fitly; who coming into a carver's house, and viewing many marble works, took up the head of a man very cunningly wrought: who greatly in praising did seem to pity it, that having so comely an outside, it had nothing within; like empty figures, walk and talk in every place: at whom noble Geraldine modestly glanceth.

THE LADY JANE GRAY TO THE LORD
GILFORD DUDLEY.

THE ARGUMENT.

Edward the Sixth, his timeless life bereft,
(Though doubtfully) yet his dominion left

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