TO

EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN,

POET, SCHOLAR, GENTLEMAN,

WITH THE LOVE OF HIS FRIEND

R. H. S.

"The courts of kings hear no such ftrains

As daily lull the ruftic swains."

England's Helicon.

"I would rather than forty fhillings I had my book of songs and sonnets here."

Merry Wives of Windsor.

"Mark it, Cesario; it is old and plain :

The spinsters and the knitters in the sun,

And the free maids, that weave their thread with bones,

Do use to chant it; it is filly sooth,

And dallies with the innocence of love,

Like the old age."

Twelfth Night.

"They were old-fashioned poetry, but choicely good, I think much better than the ftrong lines that are now in fashion in this

critical age."

Izaak Walton.

MELODIES AND MADRIGALS.

AN EARNEST SUIT

TO HIS UNKIND MISTRESS NOT TO FORSAKE HIM.

[1533?]

I.

AND wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay, say nay, for fhame!
To save thee from the blame

Of all my grief and grame.
And wilt thou leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay!

II.

And wilt thou leave me thus?
That hath loved thee so long,
In wealth and woe among?

And is thy heart so strong
As for to leave me thus?
Say nay, say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus?

That hath given thee my heart,
Never for to depart;

Neither for pain nor smart:

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay, say nay!

IV.

And wilt thou leave me thus?

And have no more pity

Of him that loveth thee?

Alas, thy cruelty!

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay, say nay!

SIR THOMAS WYATT.

A PRAISE OF HIS LOVE,

WHEREIN HE REPROVETH THEM THAT COMPARE THEIR LADIES WITH HIS.

[1535?]

I.

GIVE place, ye lovers, here before

That spent your boasts and brags in vain;

My lady's beauty passeth more

The best of yours, I dare well sayen,

Than doth the sun the candle light,

Or brightest day the darkest night.

And thereto hath a troth as just
As had Penelope the fair;

For what he saith, ye may it trust,
As it by writing sealed were:
And virtues hath fhe many mo

Than I with pen have skill to show.

III.

I could rehearse, if that I would,
The whole effect of Nature's plaint,
When he had lost the perfect mould
The like to whom she could not paint:
With wringing hands, how she did cry,
And what he said, I know it, aye.

IV.

I know she swore with raging mind,
Her kingdom only set apart,

There was no loss by law of kind
That could have gone so near her heart,

And this was chiefly all her pain:
"She could not make the like again."

V.

Sith Nature thus gave her the praise,
To be the chiefest work fhe wrought:
In faith, methink, some better ways
On your behalf might well be sought,
Than to compare, as ye have done,
To match the candle with the sun.

HENRY HOWARD, Earl of Surrey.