They shall not miss to have the bliss

Good ale doth bring men to;

And all poor souls that have scoured bowls, Or have them lustily troul'd,

God save the lives of them and their wives, Whether they be young or old.

Back and side go bare, &c.

ROBERT GREEN

Was born, perhaps, about 1550, and died in 1592. He is said to have been equally famous for his wit and profligacy'; and his life forms a melancholy epocha in the history of our literature, if it be true, as the well-informed authors of the Biographia Dramatica have asserted, that he was the first English poet who wrote for bread. Not less than 35 different pamphlets, in most of which are interspersed small pieces of poetry, are ascribed to Green; and he was the undoubted author of five plays. The best account of his life was compiled by the late Mr. Steevens, from the MS. notes of Oldys; and is to be found in Berkenhout's "Bio66 graphia Literaria.”

SONG.

[From his "Farewell to Folly," 1617.]

SWEET are the thoughts that savour of content;
The quiet mind is richer than a crown:
Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent ;
The poor estate scorns Fortune's angry frown.
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such
bliss,

Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.

The homely house that harbours quiet rest,
The cottage that affords no pride nor care,
The mean, that 'grees with country music best,
The sweet consort of mirth and music's fare.
Obscured life sets down a type of bliss ;
A mind content both crown and kingdom is.

Melicertus Description of his Mistress.
[From his "Arcadia,” 1589, and 1610.]

TUNE on my pipe the praises of my love,
And, midst thy oaten harmony, recount
How fair she is that makes thy music mount,
And every string of thy heart's harp to move.

Shall I compare her form unto the sphere

Whence sun-bright Venus vaunts her silver shine?

Ah, more than that, by just compare, is thine, Whose chrystal looks the cloudy heavens do clear.

How oft have I descending Titan seen

His burning locks couch in the sea-queen's lap; And beauteous Thetis his red body wrap In watry robes, as he her lord had been?

When as my nymph, impatient of the night,
Bade bright Atreus with his train give place,
Whiles she led forth the day with her fair face,
And lent each star a more than Delian light.

Not Jove, or Nature (should they both agree
To make a woman of the firmament
Of his mix'd purity) could not invent
A sky-born form so beautiful as she.

The penitent Palmer's Ode.

[From "Francesco's Fortunes," or the second part of Greene's "Never too late," 1590, 4to.]

WHILOM, in the winter's rage,

A Palmer old and full of age,
Sat, and thought upon his youth,
With eyes' tears, and heart's ruth,
Being all with cares y-blent,
When he thought on years mispent ;
When his follies came to mind,
How fond love had made him blind,
And wrapp'd him in a field of woes,
Shadowed with pleasure's shows;
Then he sigh'd, and said, "Alas,
"Man is sin, and flesh is grass,

VOL. II.

"I thought my mistress' hairs were gold,
"And in their locks my heart I fold;
"Her amber tresses were the sight
"That wrapped me in vain delight;

"Her ivory front, her pretty chin,
"Were stales that drew me on to sin.

"Her face was fair, her breath was sweet,
"All her looks for love was meet:
"But love is folly: this I know:
"And beauty fadeth like to snow.
"O why should man delight in pride,
"Whose blossom like a dew doth glide?
"When these supposes touch'd my thought,
"That world was vain, and beauty nought,
"I'gan sigh, and say, alas,

"Man is sin, and flesh is grass P

SONNET.

[From Greene's " Orpharion," 1599, 4to.].

CUPID abroad was 'lated in the night,

His wings were wet with ranging in the rain:
Harbour he sought: to me he took his flight,
To dry his plumes: I heard the boy complain;

I op'd the door, and granted his desire;
I rose myself, and made the wag a fire.