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Since, then, thy lookes my life have so in thrall,
As I can like none other lookes but thine,
Loe! here I yeelde my life, my love, and all
Into thy hands, and all things els resigne,
But libertie to gaze upon thine eyen:

Which when I doe, then thinke it were thy part
To looke again, and linke with me in heart.

THE CONSTANCIE OF A LOVER.

THAT selfe same tongue which first did thee intreate To lynke thy lyking with my lucky love;

That trusty tongue must nowe these words repeate,
I love thee still, my fancy cannot move.

That dreadlesse hart which durst attempt the thought
To win thy will with mine for to consent,
Maintains that vow which love in me first wrought,
I love thee still, and never shall repent.

That happy hand which hardily did touch
Thy tender body to my deepe delight,

Shall serve with sword to prove my passion such
As loves thee still, much more than it can write.
Thus love I still with tongue, hand, hart, and all;
And, when I change, let vengeance on me fall.

FRANCIS KINDLEMARSH, OR KYNWELMERSH.

There is no memorial of the time of this writer's birth or death. Ritson says that he was of Gray's Inn, and that he united with George Gascoigne in translating the Jocasta of Euripides, in 1566.

A VERTUOUS GENTLEWOMAN IN PRAISE OF HER LOVE.

I AM a virgin faire and free, and freely do rejoyce;
I sweetly warble sugred notes from silver voice;
For which delightful joyes yet thanke I courteous love,
By whose almightie power such sweet delights I prove.

I walke in pleasant fieldes adorned with lively greene,
And view the fragrant flowers most lovely to be seene;
The purple columbine, the cowslippe, and the lillie,
The violet sweet, the daisie, and yellow daffadillie;

The woodbine in the hedge, the red rose and the white,
And each fine flower else that rendreth sweet delight;
Amongst the which I chuse all those of seemliest grace,
In thought resembling them to my deare lover's face.

His lovely face I mean, whose golden flowring giftes
His ever living fame to loftie skye upliftes;
Whom loving me I love onley for vertue's sake,
Whom vertuously to love all onely care I take.

Of all which fresh faire flowers, that flower which doth appeare

In my conceit most like to him I holde so deere,

I gather it, I kisse it, and eke devise with it
Such kinde of lovely speech as is for lovers fit.

And then of all my flowers I make a garland fine,
With which my golden-wire haires together I do twine;
And set it on my head, so taking that delight
That I would take, had I my lover still in sight.

For as in goodly flowers mine eyes great pleasure finde,
So are my lover's gifts most pleasant to my minde.
Upon which vertuous giftes I make more repast

Than they that for love sportes the sweetest joyes do taste.

EDMUND SPENSER,

Born about 1553, died 1598-9.

SONNET.

MARK when she smiles with amiable cheer,

And tell me whereto ye can liken it;
When on each eye-lid sweetly do appear
An hundred Graces as in shade to sit.
Likest it seemeth, in my simple wit,
Unto the fair sun-shine in summer day,

That, when a dreadful storm away is flit,

Through the broad world doth spread his goodly ray;

At sight whereof each bird that sits on spray,

And every beast that to his den was fled,
Comes forth afresh out of their late dismay,
And to the light lift up their drooping head:
So my storm-beaten heart likewise is cheered
With that sun-shine, when cloudy looks are cleared.

SONNET.

FRESH Spring, the herald of Love's mighty king,
In whose coat-armour richly are displayed
All sorts of flowers, the which on earth do spring,
In goodly colours gloriously arrayed;

Go to my love, where she is careless laid,
In winter's bower yet not well awake;
Tell her the joyous time will not be stay'd,
Unless she do him by the forelock take.
Bid her, therefore, herself soon ready make,
To wait on Love amongst his lovely crew;
Where every one that misseth then her make *,
Shall be by him amerced with penance due.

Make haste therefore, sweet love, whilst it is prime,
For none can call again the passed time.

* Mate or partner.

SONNET.

ONE day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away;
Again I wrote it with a second hand,

But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.
"Vain man," said she, "that dost in vain assay
A mortal thing so to immortalise;

For I myself shall like to this decay,

And eke my name be wiped out likewise."
Not so, quoth I; let baser things devise
To die in dust, but you shall live by fame :
My verse your virtues rare shall eternise,
And in the heavens write your glorious name;
Where, when as death shall all the world subdue,
Our love shall live, and later life renew.

EPITHALAMION.

YE learned sisters, which have oftentimes

Been to the aiding others to adorn,

Whom ye thought worthy of your graceful rhymes,

That even the greatest did not greatly scorn
To hear their names sung in your simple lays,
But joyed in their praise;

And when ye list your own mishaps to mourn,

Which death, or love, or fortune's wreck, did raise,

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