That female miracle, proud Nature's wonder,

Lest Jove through heaven's clear windows should espy her
And for her beauty Juno's love neglect :

Down she descends, and as she walked by her
A branch of lilies Juno tears in sunder.

Then from her sphere did Venus down reflect,
Lest Mars by chance her beauty should affect;
And with a branch of roses

She beat upon her face. Then Juno closes
And with white lilies did her beauty chasten.
But lovely Graces in memorial

Let both the rose and lily's colours fall

Within her cheeks, which to be foremost hasten.

SIR JOHN DAVIES.
1570-1626.

TO THE LARK.

Early, cheerful, mounting Lark,
Light's gentle usher, morning's clerk,
In merry notes delighting!

Stint awhile thy song, and hark,
And learn my new inditing.

Bear up this hymn, to heaven it bear;
E'en up to heaven, and sing it there;
To heaven each morning bear it!
Have it set to some sweet sphere,
And let the angels hear it!

Renown'd Astrea, that great name,
Exceeding great in worth and fame,
Great worth hath so renown'd it,
It is Astrea's name I praise :

Now then, sweet Lark! do thou it raise,
And in high heaven resound it!

RICHARD BARNFIELD.

1574-1627.

AN ODE.

As it fell upon a day

In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade

Which a grove of myrtles made,

Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,

Trees did grow, and plants did spring:
Every thing did banish moan
Save the nightingale alone.
She, poor bird! as all forlorn,
Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn,
And there sung the dolefulst ditty,
That to hear it was great pity.

Fie! fie! fie! now would she cry;
Teru! Teru! by-and-by:

That to hear her so complain
Scarce I could from tears refrain,

For her griefs so lively shown
Made me think upon mine own.

Ah! thought I, thou mourn'st in vain ;
None takes pity on thy pain:

Senseless trees, they can not hear thee;
Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee;
King Pandion, he is dead;

All thy friends are lapp'd in lead.
All thy fellow birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing.

Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled,
Thou and I were both beguiled.
Every one that flatters thee

Is no friend to misery:

Words are easy, like the wind;

Faithful friends are hard to find:

Every man will be thy friend

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ;
But if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call,
And with such-like flattering
Pity but he were a king;
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
If to women he be bent,
They have at commandèment :
But if Fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown!
They that fawn'd on him before,
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he can not sleep :
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

THE CHIEFEST GOOD.

The Stoics think (and they come near the truth) That virtue is the chiefest good of all;

The Academics on Idea call;

The Epicures in pleasure spend their youth;

The Peripatetics judge felicity

To be the chiefest good above all other :

One man thinks this, and that conceives another;

So that in one thing very few agree.

Let Stoics have their Virtue if they will,

And all the rest their chief supposed good!
Let cruel martialists delight in blood,
And misers joy their bags with gold to fill!
My chiefest good, my chief felicity,
Is to be gazing on my Love's fair eye.

GANYMEDE.

Sometimes I wish that I his pillow were,
So might I steal a kiss, and yet not seen;
So might I gaze upon his sleeping eyne,
Although I did it with a panting fear :

But when I well conceive how vain my wish is,
Ah, foolish Bees! think I, that do not suck

His lips for honey, but poor flowers do pluck

Which have no sweet in them, when his sole kisses

Are able to revive a dying soul.

Kiss him!-but sting him not! for if you do

His angry voice your flying will pursue.

But, when they hear his tongue, what can controul Their back return? for then they plainly see

How honeycombs from his lips dropping be.

JOHN DONNE.

1573-1631.

BREAK OF DAY.

Stay, O Sweet! and do not rise!

The light that shines comes from thine eyes:
The day breaks not; it is my heart,

Because that you and I must part.

Stay! or else my joys will die,

And perish in their infancy.

'Tis true, 'tis day: what though it be?
O wilt thou therefore rise from me?

Why should we rise because 'tis light?

Did we lie down because 'twas night?

Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,
Should in despite of light keep us together.

Light hath no tongue, but is all eye :
If it could speak as well as spy,

This were the worst that it could say,
That being well I fain would stay,

And that I loved my heart and honour so
That I would not from him that had them go.

Must business thee from hence remove?
Oh, that's the worst disease of love.
The poor, the foul, the false, love can
Admit, but not the busied man.

He which hath business, and makes love, doth do
Such wrong as when a married man should woo.

THE FUNERAL.

Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm
Nor question much

That subtle wreath of hair about mine arm!
The mystery, the sign you must not touch :
For 'tis my outward soul,

Viceroy to that which, unto heaven being gone,
Will leave this to controul

And keep these limbs, her provinces, from dissolution.

For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall
Through every part

Can tie those parts and make me one of all,
Those hairs, which upward grew and strength and art
Have from a better brain,

Can better do't: except she mean'd that I

By this should know my pain,

As prisoners then are manacled, when they're condemn'd to die.