Whereat full oft I smiled,

To see how all these three,

From boy to man, from man to boy, Would chop and change degree.

And musing thus, I think

The case is very strange,

That man from weal to live in woe Doth ever seek to change.

Whereat I sighed and said:

"Farewell, my wonted joy;

Truss up thy pack, and trudge from me To every little boy;

And tell them thus from me,

Their time most happy is,

If, to their time, they reason had
To know the truth of this."

For many have been harmed by speech,
Through thinking, few or none.
Fear oftentimes restraineth words,
But makes not thought 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.

Thomas, Lord Vaux.

Thomas, Lord Vaux (circa 1510-1557) of Harrowden, in Northamptonshire, was Captain of the Isle of Jersey under Henry VIII. The following lines were first printed in "The Paradise of Dainty Devices," 1576. In neatness and literary skill they are far above most of the contemporary productions.

OF A CONTENTED MIND. When all is done and said,

In the end thus shall you find, He most of all doth bathe in bliss, That bath a quiet mind; And, clear from worldly cares,

To deem can be content

The sweetest time in all his 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;

When as the mind, which is divine,
Runs never to decay.

Companion none is like

Unto the mind alone;

Anne Askew.

If her poetry be not of the first order, Anne Askew (burned at the stake, 1546) deserves to be enrolled among the poets for showing that she could practise, in a heroic death, what she had preached in verse. She was cruelly tortured by the minions of Henry VIII. for denying the real presence in the eucharist. Prevailed on by Bonner's menaces to make a seeming recantation, she qualified it with some reserves, which did not satisfy that zealous prelate. She was thrown into Newgate, and there wrote her poem of "The Fight of Faith." She was condemned to be burned alive; but being so dislocated by the rack that she could not stand, she was carried to the stake in a chair, and there burned. Pardon had been offered her if she would recant; this she refused, and submitted to her fate with the utmost intrepidity.

FROM "THE FIGHT OF FAITH."

Like as the arméd knight,

Appointed to the field,

With this world will I fight,

And faith shall be my shield.

Faith is that weapon strong, Which will not fail at need; My foes therefore among Therewith will I proceed.

Thou sayst, Lord, whoso knock, To them wilt thou attend, Undo, therefore, the lock,

And thy strong power send.

More enemies now I have

Than hairs upon my head;

Let them not me deprave,
But fight thou in my stead.

Not oft I use to write

In prose, nor yet in rhyme; Yet will I show one sight,

That I saw in my time:

I saw a royal throne,

Where Justice should have sit;

But in her stead was one

Of moody, cruel wit.

Absorpt was rightwisness,
As by the raging flood;
Satan, in his excess,

Sucked up the guiltless blood.

Then thought I,-Jesus, Lord,

When thou shalt judge us all, Hard is it to record

On these men what will fall!

Yet, Lord, I thee desire,

For that they do to me,

Let them not taste the hire Of their iniquity.

Sir Edward Dyer.

Born in the reign of Henry VIII. (circa 1540–1607), Dyer lived till some years after King James's accession to the English throne. He was a friend of Sir Philip Sidney, who, in his verses, celebrates their intimacy. Dyer was educated at Oxford, and was employed in several foreign embassies by Elizabeth. He studied chemistry, and was thought to be a Rosicrucian. Puttenham, in his "Art of English Poesie" (1589), commends "Master Edward Dyer for elegy most sweet, solemn, and of high conceit." The popular poem, "My Mind to Me a Kingdom Is," with additions, is credited in some collections to William Byrd (1543-1623), an eminent composer of sacred music, and who published in 1588 a volume of "Psalms, Sonnets," etc. Both Byrd and Joshua Sylvester seem to have laid claim to the best parts of Dyer's poem. A collection of Dyer's writings was printed as late as 1872.

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.

My mind to me a kingdom is!

Such present joys therein I find,

That it excels all other bliss

That earth affords or grows by kind:

Though much I want which most would have, Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

No princely pomp, no wealthy store,
No force to win the victory,
No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to feed a loving eye;
To none of these I yield as thrall:
For why, my mind doth serve for all.

I see how plenty surfeits oft,

And hasty climbers soon do fall; I see that those which are aloft, Mishap doth threaten most of all; These get with toil, they keep with fear: Such cares my mind could never bear.

Content I live, this is my stay;

I seek no more than may suffice;

I press to bear no haughty sway;
Look, what I lack my mind supplies:
Lo, thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.

Some have too much, yet still do crave:
I little have, and seek no more.
They are but poor, though much they have,
And I am rich with little store:
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I leave; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's loss;

I grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly waves my mind can toss;
My state at one doth still remain:

I fear no foe, I fawn no friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread my end.

Some weigh their pleasure by their lust, Their wisdom by their rage of will; Their treasure is their only trust,

A cloaked craft' their store of skill: But all the pleasure that I find Is to maintain a quiet mind.

My wealth is health and perfect ease;
My conscience clear my chief defense;

I neither seek by brites to please,
Nor by deceit to breed offense:
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did so, as well as I!

1 A hidden craftiness.

George Gascoigne.

Gascoigne (circa 1535-1577), besides being notable as one of the earliest English dramatists, was one of the earliest writers of English blank verse. He was a native of Essex, became a lawyer, was disinherited by his father, took foreign military service in Holland under the Prince of Orange, and displayed great bravery in action. His best known work is "The Steel Glass," a satire in rather formal blank verse.

THE LULLABY.

Sing lullabies, as women do,

With which they charm their babes to rest; And lullaby can I sing too,

As womanly as can the best.
With lullaby they still the child,
And, if I be not much beguiled,
Full many wanton babes have I
Which must be stilled with lullaby.

First lullaby my youthful years,
It is now time to go to bed;
For crooked age and hoary hairs
Have wore the haven within mine head.
With lullaby, then, Youth, be still,
With lullaby content thy will;
Since courage quails and comes behind,
Go sleep, and so beguile thy mind.

Next lullaby my gazing Eyes,
Which wonted were to glance apace;
For every glass may now suffice

To show the furrows in my face.
With lullaby, then, wink awhile;
With lullaby your looks beguile;
Let no fair face or beauty bright
Entice you eft' with vain delight.

And lullaby my wanton Will,

Let Reason's rule now rein thy thought, Since all too late I find by skill

How dear I have thy fancies bought.
With lullaby now take thine ease,
With lullaby thy doubt appease;
For, trust in this, if thou be still,
My body shall obey thy will.

Thus lullaby, my Youth, mine Eyes,
My Will, my ware and all that was;
I can no more delays devise,

But welcome pain, let pleasure pass.

1 Again.

With lullaby now take your leave, With lullaby your dreams deceive: And when you rise with waking eye, Remember then this lullaby.

Edmund Spenser.

The circumstances which prevent our reading Chaucer with that facility which is indispensable to pleasure, arise from the time in which he lived. But a poet of far greater genius, not more than ten years older than Shakspeare, and who lived when English literature had passed into its modern form, deliberately chose, by adopting Chaucer's obsolete language, to place similar obstacles in the way of studying his works.

Edmund Spenser (circa 1553-1599), the son of a gentleman of good family, but of small estate, was a native of London. Educated at Cambridge, he began, almost from the moment of his leaving the university, to publish poems. His first book, "The Shepherd's Calendar," helped to popularize pastoral poetry in England. His sonnets are still among the best in the language. The patronage of Sidney and the friendship of the Earl of Leicester obtained for him the appointment of Secretary to Grey, Lord-lieutenant of Ireland. Thus he was fated to spend many years of his life in Ireland, in various official posts, among a race of people with whom he had but few interests in common. Not the romantic beauty of Kilcolman Castle, in County Cork, with its three thousand surrounding acres of forfeited lands of the Earls of Desmond, granted to him by Queen Elizabeth, could compensate the poet for the loss of more familiar if less lovely English scenes; and a prevailing melancholy and discontent may be observed in most of his allusions to his own life-story.

In 1590 Sir Walter Raleigh persuaded him to accompany him to England, and presented him to Queen Elizabeth, who accepted the dedication of that marvellously beautiful poem, "The Faery Queene," of which the first three books were just finished. During a second visit to London, in 1595, the fourth, fifth, and sixth books were published, together with a re-issue of the preceding books. Of the remaining six books needed to complete the work, only one canto and a fragment of another canto exist.

Spenser had long been on ill terms with his Irish neighbors. In those days Ireland was not a residence propitious for a literary student in quest of tranquillity. In 1598 insurrections broke out, and as Spenser was Sheriff of the County of Cork for that year, he was rendered by his office a conspicuous mark for the enmity of the insurgents. They attacked and burned Kilcolman, and his infant child perished in the flames. These were evils too terrible to be borne by one of Spenser's sensitive temperament. He returned to England, and at the beginning of the next year died of a broken heart, and in extreme indigence.

Of Spenser, as a poet, Campbell says: "We shall nowhere find more airy and expansive images of visionary things, a sweeter tone of sentiment, or a finer flush in

Wake now, my Love, awake; for it is time!
The rosy morn long since left Tithon's bed,
All ready to her silver coach to climb,
And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head.
Hark how the cheerful birds do chant their lays,
And carol of Love's praise!

The merry lark her matins sings aloft,
The thrush replies, the mavis descant plays,
The ousel shrills, the ruddock' warbles soft;
So goodly all agree, with sweet consent,
To this day's merriment.

Ah! my dear Love, why do ye sleep thus long,
When meeter were that ye should now awake,
T' await the coming of your joyous make,
And hearken to the birds' love-learnéd song
The dewy leaves among?

For they of joy and pleasance to you sing,
That all the woods them answer, and their echo
ring.

My Love is now awake out of her dreams,
And her fair eyes, like stars that dimméd were
With darksome cloud, now shew their goodly
beams,

More bright than Hesperus his head doth rear.
Come now, ye damsels, daughters of delight,

Help quickly her to dight:

But first come ye fair Hours, which were begot,
In Jove's sweet paradise, of day and night;
Which do the seasons of the year allot,
And all that ever in this world is fair

Do make and still repair.

And ye three handmaids of the Cyprian queen,3
The which do still adorn her beauty's pride,
Help to adorn my beautifullest bride;
And as ye her array, still throw between

Some graces to be seen:

Redbreast. First English "rudduc," from "rude," red.

* Goddesses of the changing seasons of the year or day. In Greek mythology they were three Eunomia, Good Order; Dike, Natural Justice; and Eirene, Peace.

3 The Graces-Aglaia, Radiant Beauty; Euphrosyne, Cheerful Sense; Thalia, Abounding Joy.

And as ye use to Venus, to her sing, The whiles the woods shall answer, and your echo ring.

Now is my Love all ready forth to come,
Let all the virgins therefore well await;
And ye fresh boys that tend upon her groom,
Prepare yourselves, for he is coming strait.
Set all your things in seemly good array,

Fit for so joyful day:

The joyful'st day that ever sun did see!
Fair Sun, shew forth thy favorable ray,
And let thy lifeful heat not fervent be,
For fear of burning her sunshiny face,

Her beauty to disgrace.

O fairest Phoebus, father of the Muse,
If ever I did honor thee aright,

Or sing the thing that mote thy mind delight,
Do not thy servant's simple boon refuse,
But let this day, let this one day be mine,
Let all the rest be thine!

Then I thy sovereign praises loud will sing,
That all the woods shall answer, and their echo
ring.

Hark! How the minstrels 'gin to shrill aloud
Their merry music that resounds from far,
The pipe, the tabor, and the trembling croud,
That well agree withouten breach or jar.
But most of all the damsels do delight

When they their timbrels smite,
And thereunto do dance and carol sweet,
That all the senses they do ravish quite;
The whiles the boys run up and down the street,
Crying aloud with strong confuséd noise,

As if it were one voice:

"Hymen, Io Hymen, Hymen," they do shout,
That even to the heavens their shouting shrill
Doth reach, and all the firmament doth fill;
To which the people standing all about,
As in approvance do thereto applaud,
And lond advance her laud,

And evermore they "Hymen, Hymen" sing,
That all the woods them answer, and their echo
ring.

Lo! where she comes along with portly' pace,
Like Phoebe, from her chamber of the east,
Arising forth to run her mighty race,
Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.

1 Of good carriage.

2 A name of Diana, sister of Phoebus; the Moon, sister of the Sun. The word means "the pure shining one."

So well it her beseems, that ye would ween

Some angel she had been;

Her long loose yellow locks like golden wire,
Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween,
Do like a golden mantle her attire,

And being crowned with a garland green,
Seem like some maiden queen.
Her modest eyes abashéd to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixéd are:
Ne dare lift up her countenance too bold,
But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,

So far from being proud.

Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see
So fair a creature in your town before?
So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,
Adorned with beauty's grace and virtue's store?

But if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her lively spright,
Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,
And stand astonished, like to those which red'
Medusa's mazeful head.

There dwells sweet Love and constant Chastity,
Unspotted Faith, and comely Womanhood,
Regard of Honor, and mild Modesty;
There Virtue reigns as queen in royal throne,
And giveth laws alone,

The which the base affectious do obey,
And yield their services unto her will;
Ne thought of things uncomely ever may
Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill.
Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures,
And unrevealed pleasures,

Then would ye wonder, and her praises sing,
That all the woods should answer, and your echo
ring.

Open the temple-gates unto my Love,
Open them wide, that she may enter in,
And all the posts adorn as doth behove,
And all the pillars deck with garlands trim,
For to receive this saint with honor due,
That cometh in to you.

With trembling steps and humble reverence
She cometh in, before th' Almighty's view:
Of her, ye virgins, learn obedience,

1 Saw.

Wheuso ye come into those holy places,

To humble your proud faces.

Bring her up to th' high altar, that she may
The sacred ceremonies there partake,
The which do endless matrimony make:
And let the roaring organs loudly play
The praises of the Lord in lively notes;
The whiles, with hollow throats,
The choristers the joyous anthem sing,
That all the woods may auswer, and their echo ring.

Behold, whiles she before the altar stands,
Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks
And blesses her with his two happy hands,
How the red roses flush up in her cheeks,
And the pure snow with goodly vermeil stain,
Like crimson dyed in grain:
That even the angels, which continually
About the sacred altar do remain,
Forget their service and about her fly,
Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair
The more they on it stare!

But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,
Are governéd with goodly modesty
That suffers not one look to glance awry,
Which may let in a little thought unsound.
Why blush ye, Love, to give to me your hand,
The pledge of all our band?

Sing, ye sweet angels, Alleluya sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your echo
ring.