THE SECOND PART. „Of the Jews crueltie: setting foorth the mercifulnesse of the Judge towards the Marchant." Some offered for his hundred crownes Five hundred for to pay; And some a thousand, two or three, And at the last ten thousand crownes "A pound of fleshe is my demand, Then sayd the judge, "Yet, good my friend, Let me of you desire, "To take the flesh from such a place, As yet you let him live: Do so, and lo! and hundred crownes To thee here will I give." "No, no," quoth he, "no, judgment here; For this it shall be tride; For I will have my pound of fleshe From under his right side." It grieved all the companie His crueltie to see, For neither friend nor foe could helpe But he must spoyled bee. The bloudie Jew now ready is And as he was about to strike "Stay" (quoth the judge) "thy crueltie; "Sith needs thou wilt thy forfeit have, See that thou shed no drop of bloud, "For if thou doe, like murderer, "For if thou take either more or lesse, As is both law and right." Gernutus now waxt franticke mad, "And so I graunt to set him free." The judge doth answere make; "You shall not have a penny given; Your forfeyture now take." At the last he doth demaund But for to have his owne: "No," quoth the judge, "doe as you list, Thy judgement shall be showne. "Either take your pound of flesh," quoth he, "Or cancell me your bond:" "O cruell judge," then quoth the Jew, "That doth against me stand!" And so with griping grieved mind Then all the people prays'd the Lord, Good people, that doe heare this song, That many a wretch as ill as hee That seeketh nothing but the spoyle From whome the Lord deliver me, And send to them like sentence eke Who is Silvia? what is she, That all our swains commend her? Holy, fair, and wise is she; The heaven such grace did lend her, That she might admired be. Is she kind as she is fair? For beauty lives with kindness. Love doth to her eyes repair, To help him of his blindness, And, being helped, inhabits there. Then to Silvia let us sing, THE LARK. Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, His steeds to water at those springs And winking Mary-buds begin With everything that pretty is, MAN'S INGRATITUDE. Blow, blow, thou winter wind, As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, As friend remembered not. BEAUTY. Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good, A flower that dies when first it 'gins to bud; A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, And as goods lost are seld or never found, So beauty, blemish'd once, for ever's lost, SONNET. LXXI. No longer mourn for me when I am dead The hand that writ it; for I love you so, That I in your sweets thoughts would be forgot, |