Chaucer to Burns

Than to compare, as ye have done,
To match the candle with the sun.

DESCRIPTION OF SPRING.

Wherein each thing renews save only the Lover.

The sweet season, that bud and bloom forth brings,
With green hath clad the hill and eke the vale;
The nightingale with feathers new she sings;
The turtle to her make hath told her tale,-
Summer is come, for every spray now springs;
The hart hath hung his old head on the pale;
The buck in brake his winter coat he flings;
The fishes float with new repaired scale;
The adder all her slough away she slings;
The swift swallow pursueth the flowers smale;
The busy bee her honey now she mings;
Winter is worne that was the flowers' bale:
And thus I see among these pleasant things
Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs.

A VOW TO LOVE FAITHFULLY.

Set me whereas the sun doth parch the green,
Or where his beams do not dissolve the ice,
In temperate heat where he is felt and seen;
In presence press'd of people, mad or wise;
Set me in high, or yet in low degree;
In longest night, or in the shortest day;
In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be ;
In lusty youth, or when my hairs are grey;
Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell;
In hill or dale, or in the foaming flood;
Thrall or at large, alive whereso I dwell,
Sick or in health, in evil fame or good :
Hers will I be ; and only with this thought

Content myself, although my chance be nought.

THOMAS, LORD VAUX.
1511-1562.

OF A CONTENTED SPIRIT.

When all is done and said, in the end this shall you find :
He most of all doth bathe in bliss that hath a quiet mind;
And, clear from worldly cares, to dream can be content
The sweetest time in all this life in thinking to be spent.

The body subject is to fickle Fortune's power,
And to a million of mishaps is casual every hour;
And death in time doth change it to a clod of clay :
Whenas the mind, which is divine, runs never to decay.

Companion none is like unto the mind alone, [or none : For many have been harm'd by speech,-through thinking few, Fear oftentimes restraineth words, but makes not thoughts to

cease;

And he speaks best that hath the skill when for to hold his peace.

Our wealth leaves us at death, our kinsmen at the grave;
But virtues of the mind unto the heavens with us we have :
Wherefore, for Virtue's sake, I can be well content
The sweetest time of all my life to deem in thinking spent.

NICOLAS GRIMOALD.
1519 ?-1563?

A TRUE LOVE.

What sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see,
What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true Love is to me;
As fresh and lusty Ver foul Winter doth exceed,

As morning bright with scarlet sky doth pass the evening's weed,
As mellow pears above the crabs esteemed be,

So doth my Love surmount them all whom yet I hap to see.

The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray,

The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay,

Or I my Love let slip out of mine entire heart :

So deep reposed in my breast is She for her desert.

For many blessed gifts, O happy, happy land!

Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand;
Yet, land! more is thy bliss that in this cruel age

A Venus imp thou hast brought forth, so steadfast and so sage.
Among the Muses nine a tenth if Jove would make,
And to the Graces three a fourth, Her would Apollo take.
Let some for honour hunt, or hoard the massy gold:
With Her so I may live and die, my weal can not be told.

JOHN HEYWOOD.
1505?-1570-80.

A PRAISE OF HIS LADY.

Give place, you Ladies! and begone;
Boast not yourselves at all!
For here at hand approacheth One
Whose face will stain you all.

The virtue of her lively looks
Excels the precious stone;
I wish to have none other books
To read or look upon.

In each of her two crystal eyes
Smileth a naked boy :

It would you all in heart suffice
To see that lamp of joy.

I think Nature hath lost the mould
Where she her shape did take;
Or else I doubt if Nature could
So fair a creature make.

She may be very well compared

Unto the Phoenix kind,

Whose like was never seen or heard
That any man can find.

In life she is Diana chaste,

In truth Penelope ;

In word and eke in deed steadfast:
What will you more we say?

If all the world were sought so far,
Who could find such a wight?
Her beauty twinkleth like a star
Within the frosty night.

Her rosiall colour comes and goes
With such a comely grace,

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