XIX.

MONTANUS' FANCY.

GRAVEN UPON THE BARK OF A TALL BEECH TREE.

F

IRST shall the heavens want starry light,

The seas be robbed of their waves;

The day want sun, and sun want bright,

The night want shade, the dead men graves.
The April, flowers and leaf and tree,
Before I false my faith to thee.

First shall the tops of highest hills
By humble plains be overpride:
And poets scorn the Muses' quills,
And fish forsake the water glide;
And Iris loose her coloured weed,
Before I fail thee at thy need.

First direful hate shall turn to peace,

And love relent in deep disdain;
And death his fatal stroke shall cease,

And envy pity every pain,

And pleasure mourn, and sorrow smile,
Before I talk of any guile.

First time shall stay his stayless race,

And winter bless his brows with corn:

And snow bemoisten Julia's face,

And winter, spring, and summer mourn,
Before my pen by help of fame,

Cease to recite thy sacred name.

XX.

MONTANUS' PRAISE OF HIS FAIR PHOEBE.

PHEBE sat,

Sweet she sat,

Sweet sat Phoebe when I saw her;

White her brow,

Coy her eye,

Brow and eye, how much you please me!

Words I spent,

Sighs I sent,

Sighs and words could never draw her.

Oh my love,

Thou art lost,

Since no sight could ever ease thee.

Phoebe sat

By a fount,

Sitting by a fount I spied her :

Sweet her touch,

Rare her voice;

Touch and voice, what may distain you?

As she sung,

I did sigh,

And by sighs whilst that I tried her,

Oh mine eyes,

You did lose

Her first sight whose want did pain you. Phoebe's flocks

White as wool,

Yet were Phoebe's locks more whiter.

Phoebe's eyes,

Dove-like mild,

Dove-like eyes both mild and cruel.

Montan swears

In your lamps

He will die for to delight her.

Phoebe yield,

Or I die :

Shall true hearts be fancy's fuel?

XXI.

A

VIRELAY.

CCURST be love, and they that trust his trains;
He tastes the fruit, whil'st others toil :

He brings the lamp, we lend the oil:
He sows distress, we yield him soil:
He wageth war, we bide the foil.

Accurst be love, and those that trust his trains :
He lays the trap, we seek the snare:
He threatneth death, we speak him fair:
He coins deceits, we foster care:

He favoureth pride, we count it rare.

Accurst be love, and those that trust his trains;
He seemeth blind, yet wounds with art:
He vows content, he pays with smart:
He swears relief, yet kills the heart:

He calls for truth, yet scorns desert.

Accurst be love, and those that trust his trains. Whose heaven is hell; whose perfect joys are pains.

XXII.

ROBERT GREENE, 1560?-1592.

DORON'S DESCRIPTION OF HIS FAIR

L

SHEPHERDESS SAMELA.

IKE to Diana in her summer weed,

Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,
Goes fair Samela.

Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed,
When washed by Arethusa fount they lie,

Is fair Samela.

As fair Aurora in her morning gray,

Decked with the ruddy glister of her love;

Is fair Samela.

Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day,

Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancies move;

Shines fair Samela.

Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,

Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory,

Of fair Samela.

Her cheeks, like rose and lily, yield forth gleams,

Her brows bright arches framed of ebony,

Thus fair Samela