Such as silly shepherds use When they will not Love abuse, And Phillida, with garlands gay, FROM THE SOUL'S HARMONY. THE SOUL'S HEAVEN. The worldly prince doth in his Sceptre hold Makes up her Heaven but in her baby-clouts.1 FROM MELANCHOLY HUMOURS. A POET'S COMPLAINT OF HIS POVERTY. While epicures are over-glut, I lie and starve for food; Because my conscience cannot thrive upon ill-gotten good... Some have their houses stately built and gorgeous to behold, While in a cottage bare and poor I bide the bitter cold. Some have their chariots and their horse to bear them to and fro, While I am glad to walk on foot, and glad I can do so. They, like the weilders of the world, command and have their will. While I, a weakling in the world, am slave to sorrow still. The owl, that makes the night her day, delights yet in the dark; But I am forced to play the owl, that have been bred a lark. 1 Childish rags. The eagle from the lowest vale can mount the lofty sky; But I am fallen down from the hill, and in the vale must die. The horse, the ox, the silly ass, that tug out all the day, At night come home and take their rest, and lay their work away; While my poor heart, both day and night, in passions overtoiled, By over-labour of my brain doth find my spirit spoiled. The winds do blow away the clouds that would obscure the sun; And how all glorious is the sky, when once the storms are done! But in the heaven of my heart's hope, where my love's light doth shine, I nothing see but clouds of cares, or else my sun decline. The earth is watered, smoothed, and drest, to keep her gardens gay; While my poor heart in woeful thoughts must wither all away. ... So that I see each bird and beast, the sea, the earth, the sky, All sometime in their pleasure live, while I alone must die. FROM THE WILL OF WIT. THE SONG OF CARE.1 Come, all the world, submit yourselves to Care, His house a head where reason rules the wit, His bed the brain that feels no frantic fit, 1 "Care" is a personified virtue, offspring of Wisdom and Devise (another word for forethought or good sense), whose mission it is "to glean the good from ill," and "to comfort Misery." "Care," says Wit to Will, is both a curse and a comfort; all is in the use of it. Care is such a thing as has a great a-do in all things; why, Care is a king in his kind. Did you never hear my discourse of Care in verse?" and proceeds to rehearse the same to his friend Will. * Concept, thinking. 3 Dainties. His kingdom is the whole world round about, Oh courteous king, oh high and mighty Care, Thy royal state and thy immortal fame. Care is the king of kings, when all is done. THOMAS LODGE. (1556?-1625.) THOMAS LODGE was the son of a grocer who was at one time Lord Mayor of London. He was educated at Trinity College, Oxford, and afterwards led a life of varied occupation and adventure. At successive periods he studied law in Lincoln's Inn, joined in two privateering expeditions to the Pacific, earned his living in London as an actor, and studied physic at Avignon. There he graduated as Doctor in Medicine; and finally he established himself as a Roman Catholic physician in London, with a considerable practice among his co-religionists. He died of the Plague in 1625. Lodge's literary works comprised both verse and prose. He wrote two dramas, one of them in company with Greene; a series of Pastoral Sonnets to Phyllis, published in 1593; also Satires in prose, and Histories, being stories in both prose and verse. The plot of Shakespeare's As You Like It is found in Lodge's pastoral tale of Rosalind, written during one of his voyages, and published in London in 1592. This was a prose idyll, with songs and sonnets interspersed, and had the following fanciful title :— ROSALYNDE. EUPHUES' GOLDEN LEGACIE: found after his Death in his Cell at Silexedra. Bequeathed to Philautus Sonnes, noursed up with their Father in England. Fetcht from the Canaries by T. L. Gent. FROM EUPHUES' GOLDEN LEGACY.1 ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL. Love in my bosom like a bee Doth suck his sweet: Now with his wings he plays with me, Within mine eyes he makes his nest, And if I sleep, then percheth he And makes his pillow of my knee Strike I my lute, he tunes the string; He lends me every lovely thing; Else I with roses every day And bind you, when you long to play, I'll shut my eyes to keep you in, I'll make you fast it for your sin, I'll count your power not worth a pin : If he gainsay me? What if I beat the wanton boy He will repay me with annoy, Then sit thou safely on my knee, 1 Included in Mr. J. P. Collier's "Shakespeare's Library," a collection of Romances, etc., used by Shakespeare as the foundation of his dramas. ROSALIND. Her eyes are saphires set in snow, Heigh-ho, would she were mine! Her cheeks are like the blushing cloud Or like the silver-crimson shroud Her lips are like two budded roses Heigh-ho, would she were mine! Her neck, like to a stately tower, LOVE IN SUMMER-TIME. The earth, late choked with showers, The heavens laugh at her glory, The woods are decked with leaves, Where I am clad in black, The token of my wrack. The birds upon the trees Do sing with pleasant voices, And chant in their degrees Their loves and lucky choices; 1 When. |