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AN EPITAPH ON CLERE, SURREY'S FAITHFUL FRIEND AND

FOLLOWER.

Norfolk sprung thee, Lambeth holds thee dead;
Clere, of the Count of Cleremont, thou hight;
Within the womb of Ormond's race thou bred,
And saw'st thy cousin' crowned in thy sight.
Shelton for love, Surrey for lord thou chase2;
(Aye me! whilst life did last that league was tender)
Tracing whose steps thou sawest Kelsal blaze,
Landrecy burnt, and battered Boulogne render.
At Montreuil gates, hopeless of all recure,
Thine Earl, half dead, gave in thy hand his will;
Which cause did thee this pining death procure,
Ere summers four times seven thou couldst fulfill.
Ah! Clere! if love had booted, care, or cost,
Heaven had not won, nor earth so timely lost.

ON THE DEATH OF SIR THOMAS WYATT.
Wyatt resteth here that quick could never rest:
Whose heavenly gifts increased by disdain,
And virtue sank the deeper in his breast;
Such profit he by envy could obtain.

A head where wisdom mysteries did frame,
Whose hammers beat still in that lively brain,
As on a stithe where that some work of fame
Was daily wrought, to turn to Britain's gain.
A visage stern and mild: where both did grow
Vice to contemn, in virtue to rejoice;
Amid great storms whom grace assured so

To live upright, and smile at fortune's choice.

A hand that taught what might be said in rhyme;
That reft Chaucer the glory of his wit;

A mark, the which (unperfected for time)

Some may approach, but never none shall hit.

1 Thomas Clere was first cousin of Anne Boleyn.

2 Didst choose.

A tongue that served in foreign realms his king;

Whose courteous talk to virtue did inflame
Each noble heart: a worthy guide to bring
Our English youth by travail unto fame.

An eye whose judgment none affect1 could blind,
Friends to allure and foes to reconcile,
Whose piercing look did represent a mind
With virtue fraught reposed void of guile.

A heart where dread was never so imprest

To hide the thought that might the truth advance; In neither fortune loft2, nor yet represt,

To swell in wealth, or yield unto mischance.

A valiant corpse, where force and beauty met,
Happy alas, too happy but for foes,

Lived, and ran the race that nature set;

Of manhood's shape where she the mould did lose.

But to the heavens that simple soul is fled,
Which left, with such as covet Christ to know,

Witness of faith that never could be dead;
Sent for our health, but not received so.

Thus for our guilt this jewel have we lost;
The earth his bones, the heavens possess his ghost.

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GEORGE GASCOIGNE.

[GEORGE GASCOIGNE was born circ. 1536; died 1577. The dates of his poems are:

1572. A hundred Sundry Flowers bound up in one small Posy.

1575. The Posies corrected, perfected, and augmented by the Author.

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1576. The Steel Glass, with the Complaint of Philomene.

1587. The Pleasantest Works of George Gascoigne, newly compiled into one volume.]

Amongst the poets that immediately preceded the great Elizabethan Period, which may be said to begin with the publication of The Shepherd's Calendar in 1580, Gascoigne occupied, and occupies, a notable place. Bolton indeed, in his Hypercritica, speaks slightingly of him: 'Among the lesser late poets George Gascoigne's Works may be endured'; but for the most part he is mentioned with high respect and praise. Raleigh commends The Steel Glass in what are his earliest known verses. Puttenham distinguishes him for 'a good metre and for a plentiful vein.' Webbe calls him 'a witty gentleman, and the very chief of our late rimers'; 'gifts of wit,' he says, ' and natural promptness appear in him abundantly.' Amongst other eulogists may be named Nash, Gabriel Harvey, Whetstone.

He was a man of family and position, well known to and amongst the 'Inns of Court men,' who, in the Elizabethan age, as in that of Queen Anne, passed for the arch wits and critics as well as the first gentlemen of the day; and when campaigning in the Low Countries he met with adventures which added to his personal prestige. Thus he was a conspicuous figure in the society of his time, and for this reason, if for nothing else, his verses would win esteem and circulation.

Gascoigne, then, is interesting as a poet who was popular during Shakspere's boyhood and Spenser's adolescence. But he is yet more important as one who did real service in the way of extending and improving the form of literature-as a pioneer of the

Elizabethan Period. 'Whoever,' says Nash, 'my private opinion condemns as faulty, Master Gascoigne is not to be abridged of his deserved esteem, who first beat the path to that perfection which our best poets have aspired to since his departure; whereto he did ascend by comparing the Italian with the English, as Tully did Græca cum Latinis. He is the author of our earliest extant comedy in prose-possibly the earliest written-The Supposes, a translation of Ariosto's Suppositi, and in part the author of one of our earliest tragedies, of Jocasta—a paraphrase rather than a translation of the Phoinissai of Euripides; he is one of our earliest writers of formal satire and of blank verse, and in his 'Certain Notes of Instruction concerning the making of verse or rime in English written at the request of Master Edouardo Donati,' one of the earliest essayists, if not the earliest, on English metres.

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Happily, we can add, his works have not only these historical claims on our attention; they have intrinsic merits. His lyrics are occasionally characterised by a certain lightness and grace, which give and will give them a permanent life. Singing of all a lover's moods and experiences-how he passions, laments, complains, recants, is refused, is encouraged-he is never a mere mimic of his Italian masters, or, though somewhat monotonous, wanting in vigour and sincerity. His style is clear and unaffected. The crude taste of his age is often enough apparent; and in this respect his 'poor rude lines,' if we compare them with the bettering of the times,' may sometimes make but little show; but here too he rises aboye his fellows, who are often simply grotesque when they mean to be fervent, and are dull when they are not grotesque. He writes in various metres with various facility and skill. Of blank verse his mastery is imperfect; he is like a child learning to walk, whose progress is from chair to chair; he lacks freedom and fluency. The metre of his Complaint of Philomene is ill chosen for its purpose. It is a jig, not a movement of 'even step and musing gait.' Much of his work is autobiographical. We can trace him 'from gay to grave,' perhaps we may add 'from . lively to severe'; for in his later years, by a reaction that is common enough, it would seem he took a somewhat morbid view of the life he was leaving, under-prizing it, after the manner of zealots, even as in his youth he had prized it too highly.

JOHN W. HALES.

THE ARRAIGNMENT OF A LOVER.

At Beauty's bar as I did stand,
When false Suspect accused me,

George (quoth the Judge), hold up thy hand,
Thou art arraigned of flattery:

Tell therefore how thou wilt be tried:
Whose judgement here wilt thou abide?

My Lord (quoth I) this Lady here,
Whom I esteem above the rest,
Doth know my guilt if any were:
Wherefore her doom shall please me best.
Let her be Judge and Juror both,
To try me guiltless by mine oath.

Quoth Beauty, no, it fitteth not,
A prince herself to judge the cause:
Will is our Justice well you wot,
Appointed to discuss our laws :
If you will guiltless seem to go,
God and your country quit you so.

Then Craft the crier call'd a quest,
Of whom was Falsehood foremost fere,
A pack of pickthanks were the rest,
Which came false witness for to bear,
The jury such, the judge unjust,
Sentence was said I should be trussed.

Jealous the jailer bound me fast,
To hear the verdict of the bill,

George (quoth the Judge) now thou art cast,
Thou must go hence to Heavy Hill,

And there be hanged all but the head,

God rest thy soul when thou art dead.

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