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of Epitaphs, Epigrams, Songs and Sonnets, 1567, and some prose Tragical Tales, translated from the Italian, 1576. He spent some time in Russia, where he held the post of Secretary to Sir Thomas Randolph, the Queen's Ambassador to the Russian Emperor; and his poetical epistles, descriptive of Russian customs and manners, published in 1568, are contained in Hakluyt's Voyages, vol. i., p. 384, etc.1 He also translated the Eclogues of Mantuan, and the Heroical Epistles of Ovid. His Epitaphs, etc., are reprinted in Chalmers's edition of the Poets.

A LOVER'S vow.

When Phoenix shall have many makes,2
And fishes shun the silver lakes,

When wolves and lambs y-fere3 shall play,
And Phoebus cease to shine by day,
When grass on marble stone shall grow,
And every man embrace his foe,

When moles shall leave to dig the ground,
And hares accord with hateful hound,
When Pan shall pass Apollo's skill,
And fools of fancies have their fill,
When hawks shall dread the silly fowl,
And men esteem the nightish owl,
When pearl shall be of little price,
And golden virtue friend to vice,
When fortune hath no change in store,-
Then will I false, and not before!
Till all these monsters come to pass,
I am Timetus, as I was.

My love as long as life shall last,
Not forcing any fortune's blast;
No threat, no thraldom, shall prevail
To cause my faith one jot to fail;
But, as I was, so will I be,

A lover, and a friend to thee.

THE PINE TO THE MARINER.

O Man of little wit,

What means this frantic fit?
To make thy ship of me,
That am a slender tree.

Whom every blast that blows
Full lightly overthrows.
Doth this not move thy mind,

That rage of roaring wind
Did beat my boughs agood

When erst I grew in wood?
How can I here avoid

The foe that there annoy'd?
Think'st thou, now I am made
A vessel for thy trade,

I shall be more at ease

Amid the flashing seas?

I fear, if Æole1 frown,

Both thou and I shall drown.

THE LOVER TO HIS LADY, WHO GAZED MUCH UP TO THE SKIES.

My girl, thou gazest much

Upon the golden skies:

Would I were Heaven! I would behold
Thee then with all mine eyes!

SIR EDWARD DYER.

(1540-1607.)

SIR EDWARD DYER, born in the reign of Henry VIII., lived till some years after King James's accession to the English throne. He was a friend of Sir Philip Sidney, and of Sir Philip's sister, the Countess of Pembroke. His verses are found scattered in the Paradise of Dainty Devices, 1578, the Phoenix Nest, 1593, in various contemporary manuscripts, and in England's Helicon. This last was by far the most valuable of the Elizabethan Miscellanies. It was published in London in 1600, and again in 1614, and contained specimens from all the favourite poets and sonneteers of the sixteenth century. A complete collection of Dyer's writings in verse and prose has been edited by Mr. Grosart for the Fuller Worthies Library, 1872.

1 Æolus, the god of winds

TO PHILLIS THE FAIR SHEPHERDESS.

My Phillis hath the morning sun

At first to look upon her;

And Phillis hath morn-waking birds
Her risings still to honour.

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My Phillis hath prime-feathered flowers,
That smile when she treads on them;

And Phillis hath a gallant flock,

That leaps since she doth own them.

But Phillis hath too hard a heart
Alas, that she should have it!
It yields no mercy to desert,

Nor grace to those that crave it.

Sweet Sun, when thou lookest on,
Pray her regard my moan!
Sweet Birds, when you sing to her,
To yield some pity woo her!
Sweet Flowers, that she treads on,
Tell her her beauty deads one!

And, if in life her love she nill2 agree me,
Pray her before I die she will come see me !

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS!

My mind to me a kingdom is!
Such present joys therein I find
That it excels all other bliss

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That earth affords or grows by kind :3

Though much I want which most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

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For why? My mind doth serve for all.

1 From England's Helicon. Mr. Grosart doubts whether this is Dyer's.

I see how plenty suffers oft,
And hasty climbers soon do fall;
I see that those which are aloft
Mishap doth threaten most of all.

They get with toil, they keep with fear :
Such cares my mind could never bear.

Content I live, this is my stay;

I seek no more than may suffice;
I press to bear no haughty sway;
Look, what I lack my mind supplies.
Lo, thus I triumph like a king,

Content with that my mind doth bring.

Some have too much, yet still do crave;
I little have, and seek no more:

They are but poor though much they have,
And I am rich with little store:

They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I leave; they pine, I live!

I laugh not at another's loss;
I grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly waves my mind can toss ;
My state at one doth still remain.

I fear no foe, I fawn no friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread my end.

Some weigh their pleasure by their lust,
Their wisdom by their rage of will;
Their treasure is their only trust,
A cloaked craft1 their store of skill:
But all the pleasure that I find
Is to maintain a quiet mind.

My wealth is health and perfect ease ;
My conscience clear my choice defence;
I neither seek by bribes to please,
Nor by deceit to breed offence:
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did so well as I !

EDWARD VERE, EARL OF OXFORD.
(1541-1604.)

EDWARD VERE, seventeenth Earl of Oxford, was a contributor to England's Helicon of 1600, as well as to the Paradise of Dainty Devices of 1576, to Breton's Bower of Delights of 1597, and to other contemporary publications. This nobleman married a daughter of Lord Burleigh, and, because of his rank and his talents, was highly popular among the literary men of his day.

THE SHEPHERD'S COMMENDATION OF HIS NYMPH.

What shepherd can express
The favour of her face,
To whom, in this distress,
I do appeal for grace?
A thousand Cupids fly
About her gentle eye,

From which each throws a dart,
That kindleth soft sweet fire

Within my sighing heart,
Possessed by desire:

No sweeter life I try1

Than in her love to die!

The lily in the field,
That glories in his2 white,
For pureness now must yield
And render up his right:

Heaven pictured in her face
Doth promise joy and grace.

Fair Cynthia's silver light,
That beats on running streams,
Compares not with her white,
Whose hairs are all sunbeams :

So bright my Nymph doth shine,
As day unto my eyne!

With this, there is a red
Exceeds the damask-rose,

Which in her cheeks is spread,
Whence every favour grows :
In sky there is no star,
But she surmounts it far.

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