Excerpt
When raging Love, with fierce assault, Strikes at fair Beauties gate,What army hath she to resist And keepe her court and state?
She calleth first on Chastitie To lende her help in time;And Prudence no lesse summons shee To meet her foe so trim.
And female Courage she alwaye Doth bring unto the walle,To blowe the trump in her dismaye, Fearing her fort may falle.
On force of wordes she much relies Her foe without to keepe,And parleyeth with her two bright eyes When they her dyke would leape.
Yet natheless the more she strives, The lesse she keepes him out,For she hath traitors in her camp That keepe her still in doubt.
The first and worst of these the Fleshe, Then womans VanitieThat still is caughte within the meshe Of guilefull Flatterie.
These traitors ope the gate at length; And in, with sword in hande,Came raging Love, and all her strength No longer can withstande.
Prudence and Chastitie both to Submit unto the foe;And female Courage nought can doe But down her walls must goe.
She needes must yield her castle strong, And Love triumphs once more;Its onely what the boy hath done A thousand times before.
None may resist his mightie power; And though a boy, and blinde,He knows to chase a happie hour When maidens must be kinde.
MY BONNY LASS! THINE EYE.By THOMAS LODGE, M.D.
[Footnote: The original of this poem not being within my reach at present, I have inserted Professor Arber's modern version.]
My bonny lass! thine eye, So sly,Hath made me sorrow so.Thy crimson cheeks, my dear! So clear,Have so much wrought my woe.
Thy pleasing smiles and grace, Thy face,Have ravished so my sprites,That life is grown to nought Through thoughtOf love, which me affrights.
For fancy's flames of fire AspireUnto such furious power,As but the tears I shed Make dead,The brands would me devour.
I should consume to nought Through thoughtOf thy fair shining eye,Thy cheeks, thy pleasing smiles, The wilesThat forced my heart to die,
Thy grace, thy face, the part Where artStands gazing still to seeThe wondrous gifts and power, Each hour,That hath bewitched me.
ANTHONY MUNDAY'S POEM ON THE CAPTIVITY OF JOHN FOX.Leeving at large all fables vainly us'd, all trifling toys that doe no truth import,Lo, here how the end (at length), though long diffus'd, unfoldeth plaine a rare and true report,To glad those minds who seek their countries wealth by proffer'd pains t'enlarge its happy health.
At Rome I was when Fox did there arrive; therefore I may sufficiently expressWhat gallant joy his deedes did there revive in the hearts of those which heard his valiantness.And how the Pope did recompense his pains, and letters gave to move his greater gains.
But yet I know that many doe misdoubt that those his pains are fables, and untrue;Not only I in this will bear him out, but divers more that did his Patents view,And unto those so boldly I dare say that nought but truth John Fox cloth here bewray....