"Thus shall you show that him you do not doubt,

"And as for me, sweet husband, I must bear !" Glad was the man when he had heard her out, And did the same, although with mickle fear; For fear he did, lest he the young man might In choler put, with whom he would not fight.

The courtly shepherd, much aghast at this,
Not seeing erst such token in the wife,
Though full of scorn, would not his duty miss,
Knowing that ill becomes a household strife,
Did go his way; but sojourn'd near thereby,
That yet the ground hereof he might espy.

The wife, thus having settled husband's brain,

Who would have sworn his spouse Diana was, Watched when she a farther point might gain,

Which little time did fitly bring to pass : For to the court her man was call'd by name, Whither he needs must go for fear of blame.

Three days before that he must sure depart,
She written had, but in a hand disguis'd,
A letter such, which might from either part
Seem to proceed, so well it was devis'd;
She seal'd it first, then she the sealing brake,
And to her jealous husband did it take.

With weeping eyes (her eyes she taught to weep) She told him that the courtier had it sent: "Alas," quoth she, "thus women's shame doth 66 creep!"

The good man read, on both sides, the content: It title had "Unto my only Love:"

Subscription was, "Yours most, if you will prove."

Th' epistle self such kind of words it had :

"My sweetest joy! the comfort of my sprite! "So may thy flocks increase, thy dear heart glad, "So may each thing, e'en as thou wishest, light, "As thou wilt deign to read, and gently read, "This mourning ink, in which my heart doth bleed.

"Long have I lov'd, alas, thou worthy art! "Long have I lov'd, alas, love craveth love! "Long have I lov'd thyself! alas, my heart "Doth break, now tongue unto thy name doth " move!

"And think not that thy answer answer is, "But that it is my doom of bale or bliss.

"The jealous wretch must now to court be

“Ne can he fail, for prince hath for him

"Now is the time we may be here alone,
"And give a long desire a sweet content.

gone:

sent :

"Thus shall you both reward a lover true, "And eke revenge his wrong-suspecting you."

And this was all, and this the husband read
With chafe enough, till she him pacified;
Desiring that no grief in him be bred,

Now that he had her words so truly tried:
But that he would to him the letter show,
That with his fault he might her goodness know.

That straight was done; with

threat

many a boisterous

That to the king he would his sin declare; But now the courtier 'gan to smell the feat,

And, with some words which showed little care, He staid until the good man was departed; Then gave he him the blow which never smarted.

Thus may you see the jealous wretch was made
The pander of the thing he most did fear:
Take heed, therefore, how you ensue that trade:
Lest the same marks of jealousy you bear!
For sure, no jealousy can that prevent,
Whereto two parties once be full content.

A DITTY.

[From Puttenham's "Art of Poesy."]

My true love hath my heart, and I have his,

By just exchange one for another given; I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven : My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

His heart in me keeps him and me in one,
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own,
I cherish his, because in me it bides;

My true love hath my heart, and I have his.

LORD BROOK.

Fulk Greville, Lord Brook, descended from the ancient family of the Grevilles, was born at Alcaster in Warwickshire, 1554, was educated both at Oxford and Cambridge, and introduced very early to the court of Elizabeth, with whom he effectually ingratiated himself; and though, like all her favourites, he had often reason to complain of her political coquetry, and was disappointed by her caprice in his projects of obtaining military distinction, he was rewarded by her with many important and lucrative employments. He had also the address to acquire and preserve the favour of her successors, James and Charles, by the former of whom he was created Lord Brook, in 1620. He was at last assassinated by one of his own retainers, Ralph Heywood, and died of the wound on the 30th of September, 1628.

Lord Brook, like his friend and relation Sir P. Sidney, was a liberal patron of literature; and his poetry, particularly his matchless Mustapha, as Bolton calls it, was much admired by his contemporaries.

I,

WITH whose colours Myra drest her head, I, that wore posies of her own hand-making, I, that mine own name in the chimnies read, By Myra finely wrought ere I was waking, Must I look on, in hope time coming may With change bring back my turn again to play?