The golden globe incontinent
Sets up his shining head,
And o'er the earth and firmament
Displays his beams abread.

For joy the birds with boulden throats
Against his visage sheen

Take up their kindly musick notes
In woods and gardens green.

The dew upon the tender crops,
Like pearlis white and round,
Or like to melted silver drops,
Refreshis all the ground.

The misty reek, the clouds of rain,
From tops of mountains skails,
Clear are the highest hills and plain,
The vapours take the vales.

The ample heaven of fabrick sure
In cleanness does surpass
The crystal and the silver pure,
Or clearest polisht glass.

The time so tranquil is and still
That nowhere shall ye find,
Save on a high and barren hill,
An air of peeping wind.

All trees and simples, great and small,

That balmy leaf do bear,

Than they were painted on a wall
No more they move or steir.

boulden] swollen.

sheen] bright. skails] clears.

herbs.

simples]

Calm is the deep and purple sea,
Yea, smoother than the sand;
The waves that weltering wont to be
Are stable like the land.

So silent is the cessile air

That every cry and call

The hills and dales and forest fair
Again repeats them all.

The flourishes and fragrant flowers,
Through Phoebus' fostering heat,
Refresht with dew and silver showers
Cast up an odour sweet.

The cloggit busy humming bees,
That never think to drone,
On flowers and flourishes of trees
Collect their liquor brown.

The Sun, most like a speedy post
With ardent course ascends;
The beauty of the heavenly host
Up to our zenith tends.

The burning beams down from his face

So fervently can beat,

That man and beast now seek a place
To save them from the heat.

The herds beneath some leafy tree
Amidst the flowers they lie;
The stable ships upon the sea

Tend up their sails to dry.

cessile] yielding, ceasing.

flourishes] blossoms.

With gilded eyes and open wings
The cock his courage shows;
With claps of joy his breast he dings,
And twenty times he crows.

The dove with whistling wings so blue
The winds can fast collect;
Her purple pens turn many a hue
Against the sun direct.

Now noon is went; gone is midday,
The heat doth slake at last;
The sun descends down West away,
For three of clock is past.

The rayons of the sun we see
Diminish in their strength;
The shade of every tower and tree
Extendit is in length.

Great is the calm, for everywhere
The wind is setting down;
The reek throws right up in the air
From every tower and town.

The gloming comes; the day is spent ;
The sun goes out of sight;

And painted is the occident
With purple sanguine bright.

Our west horizon circular

From time the sun be set Is all with rubies, as it were, Or roses red o'erfret.

107.

What pleasure were to walk and see,
Endlong a river clear,

The perfect form of every tree
Within the deep appear.

Ọ then it were a seemly thing,
While all is still and calm,
The praise of God to play and sing
With cornet and with shalm!
All labourers draw home at even,
And can to other say,

Thanks to the gracious God of heaven,
Which sent this summer day.

GEORGE CHAPMAN

Bridal Song

1560-1634

COME, soft rest of cares! come, Night!

Come, naked Virtue's only tire,

The reaped harvest of the light

Bound up in sheaves of sacred fire.

Love calls to war:

Sighs his alarms,
Lips his swords are,

The field his arms.

Come, Night, and lay thy velvet hand
On glorious Day's outfacing face;
And all thy crownèd flames command
For torches to our nuptial grace.
Love calls to war:

Sighs his alarms,
Lips his swords are,
The field his arms.

108.

ROBERT SOUTHWELL

Times go by Turns

HE loppèd tree in time may grow again,

THE

1561-95

Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower;
The sorest wight may find release of pain,

The driest soil suck in some moist'ning shower;
Times go by turns and chances change by course,
From foul to fair, from better hap to worse.

The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow,
She draws her favours to the lowest ebb;
Her time hath equal times to come and go,
Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web;
No joy so great but runneth to an end,
No hap so hard but may in fine amend.

Not always fall of leaf nor ever spring,
No endless night yet not eternal day;
The saddest birds a season find to sing,
The roughest storm a calm may soon allay:
Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all,
That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall.

A chance may win that by mischance was lost; The net that holds no great, takes little fish; In some things all, in all things none are crost, Few all they need, but none have all they wish; Unmeddled joys here to no man befall: Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. unmeddled] unmixed.