The nimble dactyls, striving to outgo
The drawling spondees pacing it below:
The lingering spondees striving to delay
The breathless dactyls with a sudden stay!
Who ever saw a colt, wanton and wild,
Yoked with a slow-foot ox on fallow field,
Can right areed how handsomely besets
Dull spondees with the English dactylets.
If Jove speak English in a thundering cloud,
Thwick-thwack and riff-raff roars he out aloud.
Fie on the forged mint that did create
New coin of words never articulate!

UNCERTAIN AUTHORS.

The Lover deceived by his Lady's inconstancy, writeth as followeth.

[From a Gorgeous Gallery of gallant Inventions,” 1578.]

THE mist is gone that blear❜d mine eyes,
The low'ring clouds I see appear;
Though that the blind eat many flies,

I would you knew my sight is clear.
Your sweet deceiving, flattering face,
Did make me think that you were white;
I muse how you had such a grace
To seem a hawk, and be a kite.

Where precious ware is to be sold,
They shall it have that giveth most.
All things we see are won with gold;
Few things are had where is no cost:
And so it fareth now by me.

Because I press to give no gifts,
She takes my suit unthankfully,

And drives me off with many drifts.

Is this the end of all my suit,

For my good will to have a scorn? Is this of all my pains the fruit,

To have the chaff instead of corn? Let them that list possess such dross; For I deserve a better gain:

Yet had I rather leave with loss,

Than serve and sue, and all in vain.

A WARNING FOR WOOERS.

[From a Handful of Pleasant Delites," 1584.]

Where Cupid's fort hath made a way, There grave advice doth bear no sway. Where love doth reign and rule the roast There reason is exiled the coast.

Like all; love none;

Except ye use discretion:

First try, then trust;

Be not deceived with sinful lust.

Some love for wealth, and some for hue, And none of both these loves are true. For when the mill hath lost her sails, Then must the miller lose his vails.

Of grass comes hay,

And flowers fair will soon decay;

Of ripe comes rotten,

In age all beauty is forgotten.

Some love too high and some too low;
And of them both great griefs do grow:
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;

That every woman causeth woe;

That were too broad:

Who loves 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 scaped drowning in Noah's flood.

Most are well bent;

I must say so, lest I be shent.

[From Byrd's Sonnets and Pastorals, 1588.]

WHAT pleasures 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: