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SAMUEL DANIEL.

SAMUEL DANIEL was born in Somersetshire, in / of James he held an office about the court, and 1562. He was the son of a music-master, and, died in October, 1619. · His poems are numer. under the patronage of the Pembroke family, ous, including one in six books on the “Wars was educated at Oxford, where he devoted him of the Roses,” several plays, and many short self to the study of history and poetry. He re- | poems. They were for a long time neglected, sided for some time with the Earl of Pembroke, but Wordsworth and other recent poets have and, after the death of Spenser, became “volun- praised them for their grace of language, in tary laureate" to Queen Elizabeth, but was soon which respect he ranks among the best writers superseded by Ben Jonson. During the reigu 'of his time.

TO THE LADY MARGARET, COUNTESS | Charged with more crying sins than those he OF CUMBERLAND.

checks.

The storms of sad confusion, that may grow He that of such a height hath built his mind,

Up in the present for the coming times, And reared the dwelling of his thoughts so

| Appall not him, that hath no side at all,

But of himself, and knows the worst can fall. strong, As neither fear nor hope can shake the frame Of his resolved powers ; nor all the wind

Although his heart (so near allied to earth) Of vanity or malice pierce to wrong

Cannot but pity the perplexed state His settled peace, or to disturb the same;

Of troublous and distressed mortality, What a fair seat hath he, from whence he may

That thus make way unto the ugly birth The boundless wastes and weilds of man survey ! Of their own sorrows, and do still beget

Affliction upon imbecility; And with how free an eye doth he look down Yet seeing thus the course of things must run, Upon these lower regions of turmoil !

He looks thereon not strange, but as foredone. Where all the storms of passions mainly beat On flesh and blood, where honor, power, renown, And whilst distraught ambition compasses Are only gay afflictions, golden toil;

And is encompassed ; whilst as craft deceives, Where greatness stands upon as feeble feet And is deceived ; whilst man doth ransack man, As frailty doth; and only great doth seem And builds on blood, and rises by distress, To little minds, who do it so esteem.

And the inheritance of desolation leaves

To great-expecting hopes; he looks thereon, . He looks upon the mightiest monarcb's wars As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye, But only as on stately robberies ;

And bears no venture in impiety. Where evermore the fortune that prevails Must be the right; the ill-succeeding Mars Thus, madam, fares that man, that hath preThe fairest and the best-faced enterprise. Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails; A rest for his desires, and sees all things Justice, be sees (as if seduced), still fill. Beneath him; and bath learned this book of man, Conspires with power, whose cause must not be Full of the notes of frailty; and compared

The best of glory with her sufferings; He sees the face of right to appear as manifold By whom, I see, you labor all you can [near As are the passions of uncertain man;

To plant your heart; and set your thoughts as Who puts it in all colors, all attires,

His glorious mansion as your powers can bear. To serve his ends, and make his courses hold. He sees, that let deceit work what it can, Which, madam, are so soundly fashioned Plot and contrive base ways to high desires : By that clear judgment that hath carried you That the all-guiding providence doth yet Beyond the feebler limits of your kind, All disappoint, and mocks the smoke of wit. As they can stand against the strongest head

Passion can make; inured to any hue Nor is he moved with all the thunder-cracks | The world can cast; that cannot cast that mind Of tyrants' threats, or with the surly brow | Out of her form of goodness, that doth see Of power, that proudly sits on others' crimes ; Both what the best and worst of earth can be.

pared

Which makes that whatsoever here befalls, I
You in the region of yourself remain,
Where no vain breath of th' impudent molests,
That hath secured within the brazen walls
Of a clear conscience, that (without all stain)
Rises in peace, in innocency rests;
Whilst all what malice from without procures,
Shows her own ugly heart, but hurts not

yours.

And whereas none rejoice more in revenge,
Than woman used to do; yet you well know,
That wrong is better checked by being con-

temned,
Than being pursued ; leaving to him to avenge
To whom it appertains. Wherein you show
How worthily your clearess hath condemned
Base malediction, living in the dark,
That at the rays of goodness still doth bark.

LOVE IS A SICKNESS. .
Love is a sickness full of woes,

All remedies refusing ;
A plant that most with cutting grows,
Most barren with best using.

Why so ?
More we enjoy it, more it dies;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries

Heigh-ho!
Love is a torment of the mind,

A tempest everlasting :
And Jove hath made it of a kind,
Not well, nor full, nor fasting.

Why so ?
More we enjoy it, more it dies ;
If not enjoyed, it sighing cries

Heigb-ho!

Knowing the heart of man is set to be
The centre of this world, about the which
These revolutions of disturbances
Still roll; where all the aspects of misery
Predominate ; whose strong effects are such
As he must bear, being powerless to redress;
And that unless above himself he can
Erect himself, how poor a thing is man!

ODE.
Now each creature joys the other,

Passing happy days and hours;
One bird reports unto another,

In the fall of silver showers ;
Whilst the Earth, our common mother,

Hath her bosom decked with flowers.

And how turmoiled they are that level lie
With earth, and cannot lift themselves from

thence;
That never are at peace with their desires,
But work beyond their years; and even deny
Dotage ner rest, and hardly will dispense
With death : that when ability expires,
Desire lives still—so much delight they have
To carry toil and travel to the grave.

Whose ends you see; and what can be the

best
They reach unto, when they have cast the sum
And reckonings of their glory? And you

know,
This floating life hath but this port of rest,
A heart prepared, that fears no ill to come;
And that man's greatness rests but in his

show,
The best of all whose days consumed are,
Either in war, or peace-conceiving war.

Whilst the greatest torch of heaven

With bright ray warms Flora's lap,
Making nights and days both even,

Cheering plants with fresher sap;
My field of Howers, quite bereaven,

Wants refresh of better hap.
Echo, daughter of the air,

Babbling guest of rocks and hills,
Knows the name of my fierce fair,

And sounds the accents of my ills :
Each thing pities my despair,

Whilst that she her lover kills.
Whilst that she, O cruel maid !

Doth me and my love despise,
My life's flourish is decayed,

That depended on her eyes;
But her will must be obeyed,

And well he ends for love who dies.

This concord, madam, of a well-tuned mind,
Hath been so set by that all-working hand

SONNET.
Of heaven, that though the world hath done his
worst

I must not grieve my love, whose eyes would To put it out by discords most unkind,

read Yet doth it still in perfect union stand

Lines of delight whereon her youth might smile; With God and man; nor ever will be forced Flowers have a time before they come to seed, From that most sweet accord, but still agree, And she is young, and now must sport the while, Equal in fortunes in equality.

And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years,

And learn to gather flowers before they wither, And this note, madam, of your worthiness And where the sweetest blossom first appears, Remains recorded in so many hearts,

Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures As time nor malice cannot wrong your right,

thither. In th' inheritance of fame you must possess; Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, You that have built you by your great deserts And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise ; (Out of small means) a far more exquisite Pity and smiles do best become the fair; And glorious dwelling for your honored name Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise. Than all the gold that leaden minds can Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone, frame.

| Happy the heart that sighed for such a one!

MICHAEL DRAYTON.

MICHAEL DRAYTON was born in Warwickshire, 1 quarians. Among his other works are “Harmo. in 1563, the year before Shakespeare saw the ny of the Church," a collection of hymns; “ Paslight in the same county. Very little is known torals," “ The Barons' Wars," "England's Heroof his life, except that in 1626 he was poet laure- ical Epistles," "The Legend of Great Cromwell,” ate. Nor is it known in what order his poems “The Muses' Elysium," "Nymphidia, the Court were published. The most important and best of Fairy," and "The Ballad of Agincourt." He known is the “Polyolbion," in thirty books, de- died in 1631, and was buried in Westminster scribing England, her legends, antiquities, and Abbey, where a monument was erected to his productions. It is full of fine passages, and is memory. An edition of his works was published 60 accurate as to be quoted as authority by anti- 1 in London in 1752-53, in four volumes 8vo.

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With Spanish yew so strong,

| Be it not seen, on either of our brows,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,

That we one jot of former love retain.
That like to serpents stung,

Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath,
Piercing the weather;

When, his pulse failing, passion speechless,
None from his fellow starts,
But playing manly parts,

When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,
And like true English hearts,

And innocence is closing up his eyes ;
Stuck close together.

Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him

over,
When down their bows they threw, From death to life thou might'st him yet recover.
And forth their bilbows drew
And on the French they flew,

Not one was tardy:
Arms were from shoulders sent;

Love in a humor played the prodigal,
Scalps to the teeth were rent;

And bade my senses to a solemn feast;
Down the French peasants went;

Yet more to grace the company withal,
Our men were hardy.

Invites my heart to be the chiefest guest:

No other drink would serve this glutton's turn
This while our noble king,

But precious tears distilling from mine eyne,
His broadsword brandishing,

Which with my sighs this epicure doth burn,
Down the French host did ding,

Quaffing carouses in this costly wine;
As to o'erwhelm it;

Where, in his cups o'ercome with foul excess,
And many a deep wound lent,

Straightways he plays a swaggering ruftian's His arms with blood besprent,

part,
And many a cruel dent

And at the banquet in his drunkenness,
Bruised his helmet. .

Slew his dear friend, my kind and truest heart:

A gentle warning (friends) thus may you see,
Glo'ster, that duke so good,

What 't is to keep a drunkard company.
Next of the royal blood,
For famous England stood,

With his brave brother-
Clarence, in steel so bright,

If he, from heaven that filched that living fire,
Though but a diaiden knight,

Condemned by Jove to endless torment be,
Yet in that furious fight

I greatly marvel how you still go free,
Scarce such another.

That far beyond Prometheus did aspire :

The fire he stole, although of heavenly kind,
Warwick in blood did wade;

Which from above he craftily did take,
Oxford the foe invade,

Of lifeless clods, us living men to make,
And cruel elaughter made,

He did bestow in temper of the mind :
Still as they ran up.

But you broke into heaven's immortal store,
Suffolk his axe did ply;

Where virtue, honor, wit, and beauty lay ;
Beaumont and Willoughby

Which taking thence you have escaped away,
Bare them right doughtily,

Yet stand as free as e'er you did before:
Ferrers and Fanhope.

Yet old Prometheus punished for his rape :

Thus poor thieves suffer, when the greater
Upon Saint Crispin's day

'scape.
Fought was this noble fray,
Which fame did not delay
To England to carry;

Love banished heaven, in earth was held in
Oh, when shall Englishmen

scorn, .
With such acts fill a pen,

Wand'ring obroad in need and beggary;
Or England breed again

And wanting friends, though of a goddess born,
Such a King Harry ?

Yet craved the alms of such as passed by:
I like a man devout and charitable,
Clothed the naked, lodged this wand'ring guest.

With sighs and tears still furnishing his table
SONNETS.

With what might make the miserable blest:

But this ungrateful, for my good desert,
SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part! | Enticed my thoughts against me to conspire,
Nay, I have done ; you get no more of me; Who gave consent to steal away my heart,
And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart, And set my breast his lodging on a fire.
That thus so clearly I myself can free.

Well, well, my friends, when beggars grow thus Shake hands forever, cancel all our vows,

bold, And when we meet at any time again

| No marvel then though charity grow cold.

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