In Love's passion, then, what pleasure,
Which is but a lunacy,

Where grief, fear, and jealousy,
Plague the senses out of measure?

Farewell, then, unkindly fancy,
In thy courses all too cruel :
Woe the price of such a jewel
As turns reason to a frenzy!

GEORGE CHAPMAN.

Born 1557, died 1634.

LOVE'S PANEGYRICS.

'Tis nature's second sun, Causing a spring of virtues where he shines. And as without the Sun, the world's Great Eye, All colours, beauties, both of art and nature, Are given in vain to man; so without Love, All beauties bred in women are in vain, All virtues born in men lie buried: For love informs them as the sun doth colours, And as the Sun, reflecting his warm beams Against the earth, begets all fruit and flowers, So Love, fair shining in the inward man, Brings forth in him the honourable fruits Of valour, wit, virtue, and haughty thoughts, Brave resolution, and divine discourse.

44

GEORGE CHAPMAN.

SONG OF LOVE AND BEAUTY.

Bright Panthea borne to Pan,
Of the noblest race of man,

Her white hand to Eros giving
"With a kiss, join'd heaven to earth,
And begot so fair a birth

As yet never grac'd the living:
A twin that all worlds did adorn,
For so were Love and Beauty born.

Both so lov'd they did contend
Which the other should transcend
Doing either grace and kindness:
Love from Beauty did remove
Lightness, call'd her stain in love,

Beauty took from Love his blindness.
Love sparks made flames in Beauty's eye,
And Beauty blew up Love as high.

Virtue then commixt her fire,
To which Beauty did aspire;

Innocence a crown conferring;
Mine and thine were then unused,
All things common, nought abused,
Freely earth her fruitage bearing.
Nought then was car'd for that could fade-
And thus the golden world was made.

THOMAS WATSON.

Born 1560, died about 1591.

LOVE UNREQUITED.

When Maye is in his prime, and the youthful spring Doth cloathe the tree with leaves, the ground with flowers,

And time of year reviveth ev'ry thing.

And lovely Nature smiles, and nothing lowers;
Then Philomela most doth strain her breast
With night complaints, and sits in little rest.
This bird's estate I may compare with mine,

To whom fond Love doth worke such wrongs by day, That in the night my heart must needs repine,

And storm with sighs to ease me as I may;
Whilst others are becalmed, or lye them still,
Or sayle secure with wind and tide at will.
And as all those that heare this bird complaine,
Conceive in all her tunes a sweet delight,
Without remorse or pitying her paine;

So she for whom I waite both daye and night,
Doth sport herself in hearing my complaint:
A just reward for serving such a saint.

THOMAS LODGE.

Born about 1560, died 1623.

ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL.

Love in my bosom, like a bee,

Doth suck his sweet;

Now with his wings he plays with me,
Now with his feet.

Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast;
My kisses are his daily feast,
And yet he robs me of my rest,-

Ah! wanton, will ye!

And if I sleep, then pierceth he
With pretty slight,

And makes his pillow of my knee
The live-long night.

Strike I my lute, he tunes the string;

He music plays if I but sing;

He lends me every lovely thing;

Yet, cruel he, my heart doth sting;

Ah, wanton!—will ye!

Else I with roses every day

Will whip ye hence,

And bind ye when ye long to play,

For your offence.

I'll shut my eyes to keep ye in;
I'll make you fast it for your sin;
I'll count your power not worth a pin :-
Alas! what hereby shall I win

If he gainsay me?

What if I beat the wanton boy
With many a rod ?

He will repay me with annoy,
Because a god.

Then sit thou safely on my knee,
And let thy bower my bosom be;
Lurk in mine eyes, I like of thee,
O Cupid! so thou pity me,-
Spare not, but play thee.

SAMUEL DANIEL.

Born 1562, died 1619.

AN 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 deck'd with flowers.