How just unto thy joints this circlet sitteth,
So just thy face and shape my fancies fitteth:
The touch will try this ring of purest gold,
My touch tries thee, as pure though softer mould:
That metal precious is, the stone is true,
As true as (then how much more precious) you!
The gem is clear, and hath, nor needs, no foil;
Thy face, nay more, thy fame is free from soil:
You'll deem this dear because from me you have it,
I deem your faith more dear, because you gave it.
This pointed diamond cuts glass and steel,
Your love's like force in my firm heart I feel:
But this, as all things else, time wastes with wearing,
Where you my jewels multiply with bearing.

SAMUEL DANIEL,

The son of a music-master, was born in 1562 near Taunton, in Somersetshire, and admitted a commoner of Magdalenhall, Oxford, which he quitted at the end of three years without taking a degree. He seems to have been early distinguished by his poetical talents, and to have received either a pension, or some valuable presents, from Queen Elizabeth; to whom he acknowledges his obligations in the dedication to his works, 1602. In the following reign, he was Gentleman - extraordinary, and Groom of the Chamber to Anne, the consort of James. Towards the close of his life, he retired to a farm at Beckington, where he died in 1619.

His “Delia,” and “Complaint of Rosamond,” were published in 1592; the first four books of his "Civil Wars," in 1595; the fifth, in 1599; the sixth, in 1602, and the seventh and eighth, in 1609. Many other pieces are included in his poetical works, which were collected by his brother, and printed in 1623.

Daniel's sonnets are very beautiful. His "Civil Wars" are rather distinguished by elegance, than sublimity of expression; but they contain many curious and some highly poetical passages. His prose History of England" was once much esteemed for the purity and conciseness of its style. Headley considers him as the Atticus of his day.

66

SONNET.

Look, Delia, how w'esteem the half-blown rose, The image of thy blush and summer's honour;

Whilst yet her tender bud doth undisclose* I That full of beauty 2 Time bestows upon her. No sooner spreads her glory in the air,

But straight her wide-blown pomp comes to
decline; 3

She then is scorn'd that late adorn'd the fair;
So fade the roses of those cheeks of thine. +
No April can revive thy wither'd flowers,

Whose springing 5 grace adorns thy glory now; Swift speedy Time, feather'd with flying hours,

Dissolves the beauty of the fairest brow: Then do not thou such treasure 6 waste in vain, But love now whilst 7 thou may'st be lov'd again.

SONNET.

If this be love, to draw a weary breath,

*

* As Daniel, like Drayton, Sidney, and several others of our early poets, made considerable changes in the successive editions of his works, it may be curious to subjoin the variations of the first impression of this author's sonnets, by way of enabling the reader to compare the original and after thoughts. The text of the specimens (all but the very last being taken from "Delia") is that of ed. 1602, since which no alterations appear to have been introduced. It may be worth while to add, that the text of ed. II. of "Delia," in 1594, corresponds exactly with that of ed. I.

"in her tender green she doth inclose."
"The pure sweet beauty."

"full-blown pride is in declining."

"So clouds thy beauty after fairest shining."

♪ "blooming."

7" whilst that."

"O let not then such riches."

2

With downward looks, still reading on the earth

The sad memorials of my love's despair ; If this be love, to war against my soul,

Lie down to wail, rise up to sigh and grieve,' The never-resting stone of care to roll,

Still to complain my griefs, whilst none relieve;2 If this be love, to clothe me with dark thoughts, Haunting untrodden paths to wail apart; My pleasures, horror-music, tragic notes,Tears in mine eyes, and sorrow at my heart; If this be love, to live a living death; Then do I love, 3 and draw this weary breath.

SONNET.

[First printed in ed. 1602.]

I ONCE may see when years shall wreak my wrong, When golden hairs shall change to silver wire; And those bright rays that kindle all this fire Shall fail in force, their working not so strong. Then Beauty (now the burthen of my song) Whose glorious blaze the world doth so admire, Must yield up all to tyrant Time's desire;

Then fade those flowers that deck'd her pride se long.

1 "grieve me."

2❝ and none relieve me."

3 "O then love 1."

When, if she grieve to gaze her in her glass,

Which then presents her winter-wither'd hue, Go you, my verse, go tell her what she was; For, what she was she best shall find in you. Your fiery heat lets not her glory pass,

But (Phenix-like) shall make her live anew.

SONNET.

BEAUTY, Sweet love, is like the morning dew, Whose short refresh upon the tender green Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth shew, And straight 'tis gone as it had never been. Soon doth it fade that makes the fairest flourish, Short is the glory of the blushing rose;

The hue which thou so carefully dost nourish,

Yet which at length thou must be forc'd to lose. When thou, surcharg'd with burthen of thy years, Shalt bend thy wrinkles homeward to the earth, And that in beauty's lease, expir'd, appears '

2

The date of age, the calends of our deathBut ah! no more—this must not be foretold, 3 For,4 women grieve to think they must be old.

"When time hath made a passport for thy fears."
"Dated in.”

*" hath been often told."

✦ "And.”

2