But if thy beauty make thee proud,
Think then what is ordain'd:

The heavens have never yet allow'd
That Love should be disdain'd.

Then lest the fates that favour Love
Should curse thee for unkind,
Let me report, for thy behove,
The honour of thy mind.
Let Coridon, with full consent,
Set down what he hath seen:
That Phillida with Love's content,
Is sworn the Shepherd's Queen.

A SHEPHERD'S DREAM.

By the same.

A SILLY Shepherd lately sate

Among a flock of sheep:

Where musing long on this and that,

At last he fell asleep.

And in the slumber as he lay,

He gave a piteous groan:

He thought his sheep were run away;

And he was left alone.

He whoopt, he whistled, and he call'd;

But not a sheep came near him:

Which made the Shepherd sore appall'd

To see that none would hear him.

But as the swain amazed stood,

In this most solemn vein, Came Phillida forth of the wood,

And stood before the swain:

Whom when the Shepherd did behold,

He straight began to weep: And at the heart he grew a-cold,

To think upon his sheep.

For well he knew, where came the Queen,
The Shepherd durst not stay:

And where that he durst not be seen,
The sheep must needs away.
To ask her if she saw his flock,
Might happen patience move:
And have an answer with a mock,
That such demanders prove.
Yet, for because he saw her come

Alone out of the wood,

He thought he would not stand as dumb,
When speech might do him good:

And therefore falling on his knees,
To ask but for his sheep,

He did awake, and so did leese

The honour of his sleep.

When the sport was scarce begun:

But I awak't, and all was done.

They run,

ANOTHER OF THE SAME.

By the same.

SAY that I should say, I love ye?
Would ye say, 'tis but a saying?

But if Love in prayers move ye,
Will ye not be mov'd with praying?

Think I think that Love should know ye? Will ye think 'tis but a thinking?

But if Love the thought do show ye, Will ye loose your eyes with winking?

Write that I do write you blessed,

Will you write, 'tis but a writing? But if Truth and Love confess it,

Will ye doubt the true enditing?

No, I say, and think, and write it,

Write, and think, and say your pleasure:

Love, and Truth, and I endite it,

You are blessed out of measure.

NLESS the Editor labours under a long-continued error of taste, there is something in the character of the Lyric compositions of NICHOLAS BRETON, which exhibits peculiar traits of elegance and airiness. Mr. G. Ellis, in his "Specimens of early English Poets," has inserted eight pieces of this author in his second volume.

1. "A Farewell to Folly," beginning,

"Since secret spite hath sworn my woe."

2. "Lines abridged from Thirty-nine Stanzas," beginning,

"Not long ago, as I at supper sat."

3. "A Pastoral of Phillis and Coridon," here also printed, beginning,

"On a hill there grows a flower."

4. "Phillida and Coridon," also in these pages, beginning,

"In the merry month of May."

5. "The Shepherd's Address to his Muse," as here,

beginning,

"Good Muse, rock me asleep."

6. "A Quarrel with Love," beginning,
"O that I could write a story."