mark of a romance), is an English Bohemian of the most unmistakable stamp, who, in the course of his rambles on the Continent, pretends to have met Surrey in Germany; to have entered his service; and to have witnessed the adventures above mentioned. That Drayton, being a poet, should have adopted Nash's fiction, is not to be wondered at, considering the poetical requirements of his subject, and the little that was then known of Surrey and his supposed passion; but that the prosaic Anthony should have been deceived by it, if he was deceived, and should have suppressed all mention of Nash, is not at all to his credit. The nonsense of Wood and Nash stood a fair chance of becoming an essential part of all future biographies of Surrey-Winstanley, Cibber, Walpole, Warton, and others repeating it, until Dr. Nott proved its absurdity. In his biography of Surrey, published in 1815, he showed that Erasmus was at Basle, when Nash, alias Jack Wilton, pretended that Surrey visited him in Rotterdam; that More was beheaded in England the previous year, and that "THE PRAISE OF FOLLY," and the "UTOPIA," both of which were said to be then unwritten, were written in 1509, and 1516! Besides this, he showed that it was doubtful whether Surrey was ever in Italy at all! He was betrothed to his cousin, the Lady Frances Vere, in 1532, his sixteenth year, and was married to her in 1535. His eldest son, Thomas, was born on the 10th of March, 1536, the year in which he was said to be wandering over the continent in search of madcap adventures in honor of the fair Geraldine! So much being proved false, the reader may doubt the existence of the lady herself; but he will be mistaken if he does so, for she was a real personage. She was the Lady Elizabeth Gerald, daughter of Gerald FitzGerald, ninth Earl of Kildare. The family is said to have descended from the Geraldi, as Drayton states in his epistles. She was born in Ireland, probably at Maynooth, the seat of the Geralds. Her earliest years were passed in England, principally at Hunsdon, in attendance on the Princess Mary, with whom she seems to have been a favourite, and to whom she was related. She became one of the Ladies of the Chamber in 1542, or thereabouts; was married to Sir Anthony Brown in 1543; and after his death, which took place in 1549, she became the third wife of Henry Clinton, Earl of Lincoln. She died in 1589, and was followed to her grave by sixty-one old women, one, we are told, for each year of her age. If she was sixty-one at her death, as this would seem to indicate, she was born in 1528, and was a mere child when Surrey is said to have fallen in love with her. She was only seven years old at his marriage, and fifteen at her own! Dates are awkward things, but I do not see what we can do in this case, unless we suppose the old Countess to have dropped a few years from her age. (Could she have done so without detection?) We must otherwise suppose Surrey to have been in love with a child. That he met the Lady Elizabeth Gerald, or Garrat, as she was more commonly called, at Hunsdon, and admired her, we have no reason to doubt; but that he had a passion for her, I do not believe. She happened to come in his way when he was fresh from the reading of Petrarch, and, as he wanted some lady to celebrate, she became for the nonce his Laura. Such, at least, is my opinion, after a careful consideration of the whole matter.

Surrey's poems were first published in Tottel's Miscellany.

The only original portrait of Geraldine, is in the gallery of the Duke of Bedford, at Woburn. It was probably painted when she was Countess of Lincoln.

DESCRIPTION AND PRAISE OF HIS LOVE GERALDINE.

From Tuscane came my lady's worthy race;
Fair Florence was sometime their ancient seat.
The western isle, whose pleasant shore doth face
Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat.
Fostered she was with milk of Irish breast;
Her sire an earl, her dame of prince's blood.
From tender years in Britain doth she rest,
With king's child, where she tasteth costly food.
Hunsdon did first present her to mine eyen:
Bright is her hue, and Geraldine she hight.
Hampton me taught to wish her first for mine;
And Windsor, alas! doth chase me from her sight.
Her beauty of kind; her virtues from above;
Happy is he that can obtain her love!

COMPLAINT,

THAT HIS LADY, AFTER SHE KNEW HIS LOVE, KEPT HER FACE ALWAYS HIDDEN FROM HIM.

I never saw my lady lay apart

Her cornet black, in cold, nor yet in heat,

Sith first she knew my grief was grown so great;
Which other fancies driveth from my heart,
That to myself I do the thought reserve,

The which unwares did wound my woeful breast;
But on her face mine eyes might never rest.
Yet since she knew I did her love and serve,
Her golden tresses clad alway with black,
Her smiling looks that hid thus evermore,
And that restrains which I desire so sore.
So doth this cornet govern me, alack!

In summer, sun, in winter's breath, a frost;
Whereby the light of her fair looks I lost.

REQUEST TO HIS LOVE TO JOIN BOUNTY WITH BEAUTY.

The golden gift that Nature did thee give,
To fasten friends, and feed them at thy will,
With form and favour, taught me to believe,
How thou art made to show her greatest skill,
Whose hidden virtues are not so unknown,
But lively dooms might gather at the first
Where beauty so her perfect seed hath sown,
Of other graces follow needs there must.
Now certes, Garret, since all this is true,
That from above thy gifts are thus elect,
Do not deface them then with fancies new;
Nor change of minds, let not the mind infect :

But mercy him thy friend that doth thee serve,
Who seeks alway thine honour to preserve.

A PRAISE OF HIS LADY.

WHEREIN HE REPROVETH THEM THAT COMPARE THEIR LADIES

WITH HIS.

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 she saith, ye may it trust,

As it by writing sealéd were:

And virtues hath she many mo'

Than I with pen have skill to show.

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

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."

Sith Nature thus gave her the praise,
To be the chiefest work she 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.

JOHN HARRINGTON.

1534-1582.

ISABELLA MARKHAM.

OF John Harrington and Isabella Markham but little is known, except that the former was the son of Sir James Harrington, who was attainted in the reign of Henry the Seventh, for bearing arms at the battle of Towton, and taking Henry the Sixth prisoner, and that the latter was one of the maids of honor of the Princess Elizabeth. The poems below are copied from the "NUGE ANTIQUE," where they bear the dates of 1549, and 1564, both of which dates I believe to be erroneous; the first, because Harrington was only fifteen years old at the time-if the year of his birth be given correctly--the last, because he was then more than ten years married to the fair Isabella, who was confined with him in the Tower by Queen Mary, in 1554, for carrying a letter to the Princess Elizabeth. I should place the first poem some years later, the last some years earlier.

TO ISABELLA MARKHAM.

QUESTION.

Alas! I love you overwell,

Mine own sweet dear delight;

Yet, for respects, I fear to tell

What moves my troubled sprite :

What works my woe, what breeds my smart,
What wounds mine heart and mind,

Reason restrains me to impart

Such perils as I find.