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And some do love the common sort,
And common folk use common sport.

Look not too high,
Lest that a chip fall in thine eye.

But, high or low,
Ye may be sure she is a shrew.

But, sirs, I use to tell no tales;

Each fish that swims doth not bear scales.

In every hedge I find not thorns;

Nor every beast doth carry horns.

I say not so,
That every woman causeth wo:

That were too broad:
Who lov'th not venom must shun the toad.

Who useth still the truth to tell
May blamed be, though he say well.
Say crow is white, and snow is black:
Lay not the fault on woman's back:

Thousands were good;
But few scap'd drowning in Noah's flood.

Most are well bent; I must say so, lest I be shent. The Herdman's Happy Life. *

[From "Sonets and Pastorales" included in "Psalmes, "Sonets, and Songs of Sadnes and Pietic, made into "musicke of five partes." By W. Byrd, 1588.]

What pleasure have great princes

More dainty to their choice
Than herd-men wild, who careless

In quiet life rejoice,
And fortune's favours scorning *

Sing sweet in summer-morning?

* » * » »

All day their flocks each tendeth,

At night they take their rest; More quiet than who sendeth His ship into the east, . . Where gold and pearl are plenty, '" But getting very dainty.

For lawyers and their pleading,

They 'steem it not a straw;
They think that honest meaning

Is of itself a law:

* This title is from England's Helicon, in which the poem is said to be taken " out of M. Bird's Set Songs." *" fate not fearing." Eng. Hel. Vol. ii. D d

Where conscience judgeth plainly
They spend no money vainly.

O happy who thus liveth,
Not caring much for gold;

With clothing, which sufficeth
To keep him from the cold.

Though poor and plain his diet,

Yet merry it is and quiet.

[At an annual Triumph, held in honour of Oucen Ehzabeth, Nov. 17, 1590, in the Tilt-yard, Westminster, the following verses were " pronounced and sung by M. Hales, her « Majesty's servant.a gentleman in that art excellent, and « for his voice both commendable andadmirable." Segar's « Honor, Military and Civill," 1602. foj.c 54. p. 198.]

My golden locks time hath to silver turn'd,

(Oh time too swift, and swiftness never ceasing!) My youth 'gainst age, and age at youth hath spurn'd, But spurn'd in vain: youth waneth by increasing. Beauty.and strength, and youth.flowers fading been, Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green.

My helmet now shall make an hive for bees,
And lovers' songs shall turn to holy psalms:

A man at arms must now sit on his knees,

And feed on prayers, that are old age's alms. And so from court to cottage I depart; My saint is sure of mine unspotted heart.

And when I sadly sit in homely cell,

I'll teach my swains this carol for a song:

"Blest be the hearts that think my sovereign well, "Curs'd be the souls that think to do her "wrong."

Goddess! vouchsafe this aged man his right,

To be your beadsman now, that was your knight.

Wodenfride's Song in praise of Amargana,

[From England's Helicon.]

The sun, the season, in each thing
Revives new pleasures; the sweet spring
Hath put to flight the winter keen,
To glad our lovely summer queen.

The paths where Amargana treads
With flowery tapestries Flora spreads,
And nature clothes the ground in green,
To glad our lovely summer queen.

The groves put on their rich array,
With hawthorn-blooms embroider'd gay,

And sweet perfum'd with eglantine,
To glad our lovely summer queen.

The silent river stays his course,
Whilst playing on the chrystal source
The silver-scaled fish are seen,
To glad our lovely summer queen.

The woods at her fair sight rejoices,
The little birds with their loud voices
In concert on the briars been,
To glad our lovely summer queen.

• » • * *

Great Pan, our god, for her dear sake,
This feast and meeting bids us make,
Of shepherds, lads, and lasses sheen,
To glad our lovely summer queen.

And every swain his chance doth prove,
To win fair Amargana's love,
In sporting strifes, quite void of spleen,
To glad our lovely summer queen.

All happiness let heaven her lend,
And all the graces her attend;
Thus bid me pray the Muses nine,
Long live our lovely summer queen.

W. H[unnis?].

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