Her

paps are centers of delight,

Her breasts are robes of heavenly frame,
Where Nature moulds the dew of light,
To feed Perfection with the same.

Heigh ho, would she were mine!

With orient pearl, with ruby red,
With marble white, with sapphire blue,

Her body every way is fed,

Yet soft in touch, and sweet in view:

Heigh ho, fair Rosalind!

Nature herself her shape admires,
The Gods are wounded in her sight,
And Love forsakes his heavenly fires,
And at her eyes his brand doth light.
Heigh ho, would she were mine!

Then muse not nymphs though I bemoan

The absence of fair Rosalind,

Since for a fair there is a fairer none,

Nor for her virtues so divine;

Heigh ho, fair Rosalind;

Heigh ho, my heart, would God that she were mine!

Periit quia deperibat.

SONNET, INSCRIBED ON THE BARK OF

A MYRRH TREE.

From the same.

Or all chaste birds the Phoenix doth excel;

Of all strong beasts the Lion bears the bell;
Of all sweet flowers the Rose doth sweetest smell;
Of all fair maids my Rosalind is fairest.

Of all pure metals Gold is only purest;
Of all high trees the Pine hath highest crest;

Of all soft sweets I like my mistress best;

Of all chaste thoughts my mistress' thoughts are rarest.

Of all proud birds the Eagle pleaseth Jove;
Of pretty fowls kind Venus likes the Dove;
Of trees Minerva doth the Olive love;

Of all sweet nymphs I honour Rosalind.

Of all her gifts her wisdom pleaseth most;
Of all her graces virtue she doth boast;
For all the gifts my life and joy is lost,
If Rosalind prove cruel and unkind.

THE CONTENTS OF THE SCHEDULE

WHICH

SIR JOHN OF BORDEUX GAVE HIS SONS.

From the same.

My sons, behold what portion I do give!

I leave you goods, but they are quickly lost;

I leave advice to school you how to live;

I leave you wit, but won with little cost:

But keep it well, for counsel still is one,

When father, friends, and worldly goods are gone.

In choice of thrift, let honour be your gain;
Win it by virtue and by manly might:

In doing good esteem thy trouble no pain;
Protect the fatherless and widow's right:

Fight for thy faith, thy country, and thy king;
For why? this thrift will prove a blessed thing.

In choice of wife prefer the modest, chaste!
Lillies are fair in shew, but foul in smell;
The sweetest looks by age are soon defac'd:
Then choose thy wife by wit, and living well.

Who brings thee wealth, and many faults withall,
Presents thee honey mix'd with bitter gall!

In choice of friends, beware of light belief;
A painted tongue may shroud a subtle heart:
The syren's tears do threaten mickle grief:
Foresee my sons, for fear of sudden smart;
Choose in your wants, and he that loves you then,
When richer grown befriend you him again.

Learn with the ant in summer to provide;
Drive with the bee the drone from out the hive;
Build like the swallow, in the summer tide:
Spare not too much, my sons, but sparing thrive.
Be poor in folly, rich in all but sin;

So by your death your glory shall begin.

MENAPHON'S ROUNDELAY.

From "Robert Greene's Arcadia."

WHEN tender ewes, brought home with evening sun,

Wend to their folds,

And to their holds

The shepherds trudge, when light of day is done:

Upon a tree,

The eagle, Jove's fair bird, did perch,

There resteth he:

A little fly his harbour then did search:

And did presume, (though others laugh'd thereat) To perch whereas the princely eagle sat.

The eagle frown'd and shook his royal wings,

And charg'd the fly

From thence to hie.

Afraid, in haste the little creature flings,
Yet seeks again,

Fearful to perk him by the eagle's side.
With moody vein

The speedy post of Ganimede replied:

"Vassel avaunt, or with my wings you die; Is't fit an eagle seat him with a fly?"

The fly crav'd pity; still the eagle frown'd:

The silly fly,

Ready to die,

Disgrac'd, displac'd, fell groveling to the ground.

The eagle saw,

And with a royal mind said to the fly,

"Be not in awe,

I scorn by me the meanest creature die!