A gown of grief my body shall attire,

And broken Hope shall be my strength and stay; And late Repentance, link'd with long Desire,

Shall be the couch whereon my limbs I'll lay.
And at my gate Despair shall linger still,

To let in Death when Love and Fortune will."

MENAPHON'S SONG.

From "Robert Greene's Arcadia." *

SOME say love,

Foolish love,

Doth rue and govern all the gods;

I say love,

Inconstant love,

Sets mens' senses far at odds.

Some swear love,

Smooth'd face love,

Is sweetest sweet that men can have:

I say love,

Sour love,

Makes Virtue yield as Beauty's slave.

A bitter sweet, a folly worst of all,

That forceth Wisdom to be Folly's thrall.

* Edition 1616.

Love is sweet,

Wherein sweet,

In fading pleasure that do fain:

Beauty sweet,

Is that sweet,

That yields sorrow for a gain:

If Love's sweet,

Herein sweet,

That minute's joys are monthly woes;

'Tis not sweet,

That is sweet,

No where but where repentance grows;
Then love who list, if beauties be so sour,

Labour for me, Love rest in prince's bower!

SEPHESTIA'S SONG TO HER CHILD.

From the same.

WEEP not my wanton, smile upon my knee;

When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee!
Mother's wag, pretty boy,

Father's sorrow, father's joy,
When thy father first did see

Such a boy by him and me,

He was glad, I was woe,

Fortune's change made him so:

When he had left his pretty boy,

Last his sorrow, first his joy.

Weep not my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee!

Streaming tears that never stint,

Like pearl drops from a flint,

Fell by course from his eyes,

That one another's place supplies:

Thus he griev'd in every part,

Tears of blood fell from his heart,

When he left his pretty boy,

Father's sorrow, father's joy.

Weep not my wanton, smile upon my knee;

When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee!

The wanton smil'd, father wept,

Mother cry'd, baby leapt;

More he crow'd, more he cry'd,

Nature could not sorrow hide.

He must go, he must kiss
Child and mother, baby bliss:
For he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.

Weep not my wanton, smile upon my knee;
When thou art old, there's grief enough for thee!

A PLEASANT ECLOGUE BETWEEN

MONTANUS AND CORIDON.

From "Dr. Lodge's Euphues' Golden Legacy."

CORIDON.

SAY, Shepherd's Boy, what makes thee greet so sore?
Why leaves thy pipe his pleasure and delight?

Young are thy years, thy cheeks with roses dight;
Then sing for joy, sweet swain, and sigh no more.

This milk-white poppy, and this climbing pine, Both promise shade; then sit thee down and sing, And make these woods with pleasant notes to ring, Till Phoebus deign all westward to decline.

MONTANUS.

Ah, Coridon, unmeet is melody

To him whom proud contempt hath overborne:
Slain are my joys by Phebe's bitter scorn;

Far hence my weal, and near my jeopardy.

Love's burning brand is couched in my breast,
Making a Phoenix of my faithful heart;
And though his fury do inforce my smart,
Ah, blithe am I to honour his behest.

Prepar'd to woes since so my Phebe wills,
My looks dismay'd since Phebe will disdain,
I banish bliss and welcome home my pain;
So streams my tears as showers from Alpine hills.

In Error's mask I blindfold Judgment's eye;

I fetter Reason in the snares of Lust:

I seem secure, yet know not how to trust:

I live by that which makes me living die.

Devoid of rest, companion of distress,

Plague to myself, consumed by my thought, How may my voice or pipe in tune be brought, Since I am reft of solace and delight?

CORIDON.

A laurel lad, what makes thee here to love,

A sugar'd harm, a poison full of pleasure:
A painted shrine full fill'd with rotten treasure,
A heaven in shew, a hell to them that prove.