PRISONER IN WINDSOR, HE RECOUNTETH

HIS PLEASURE THERE PASSED.

BY HENRY HOWARD, EARL OF SURREY.

So cruell prifon howe could betyde, alas!

*

As proude Windfor; where I, in luft and joy,
Wythe a Kynges fonne, my chyldyfhyeres dyd paffe,
In greater feast than Priams sonnes of Troye;
Where eche fwete place returnes a tastfull sower: 5
The large grene court where we were wont to hove,'
Wyth eyes caft up into the maydens tower,
And easy fighes, fuch as folkes draw in love;
The stately seates, the ladies brighte of hewe;
The daunces short, long tales of greate delight, 10
Wyth woordes and lookes, that tygers could but rewe,
Where eche of us dyd please the others ryghte;
The palme play, where defpoyled for the game,
With dared eyes oft we by gleames of love,

Have myft the ball, and gote fighte of our dame, 15
To bayte her eyes, whyche kept the leads above;
The gravel ground, wythe fleves tyde on the helme
On fomyng horse, with swordes and friendly hartes ;
Wythe chere as though one should another whelme,
Where we have fought, and chafed oft with dartes; 20

* Born 15..; beheaded 1546.

V. 6. trove.

With filver droppes the meade yet spreade for ruthe,
In active games of nimbleness and strength,
Where we did ftrayne, trayned wyth fwarmes of
youthe,

Our tender limmes, that yet fhot up in lengthe;
The fecrete groves which ofte we made refounde,
Of pleasant playnte, and of our ladies prayfe, 26
Recordyng oft what grace eche one had founde,
What hope of fpede, what dreade of long delayes;
The wylde forreste, the clothed 'holtes' with grene,
With raynes availed, and swiftly breathed horse; 30
Wyth cry of houndes and merry blastes betwene,
Where we did chafe the feareful hart of force;
The wyde vales eke, that harborde us eche nyghte:
Wherewyth (alas) reviveth in my brefte,
The fwete accorde, fuch flepes as yet delyght; 35
The pleasant dreames, the quyet bed of refte;
The fecret thoughtes imparted with such truft;
The wanton talke, the dyvers chaunge of playe;
The friendship fworne, eche promise kept so fast;
Wherewith we past the winter nyghte away. 40
And wyth thys thoughte, the bloud forfakes the face,
The teares berayne my chekes of deadly hewe,
The whyche as foone as fobbyng fighes (alas!)
Upfupped have, thus I my playnt renewe;
O place of bliffe! renewer of my woes!
Give me accompt where is my noble fère,

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Whom in thy walles thou doeft eche nyghte enclose, To other leefe,' but unto me moft deere :'

V. 48. lufe. cleere,

V. 29. holes.

Eccho (alas!) that doth my forrow rewe,
Returns thereto a hollowe founde of playnt;
Thus I alone, where all my freedome grewe,
In pryfon pyne, wythe bondage and restraynt:
And with remembrance of the greater griefe
To banishe the leffe I fynd my chief reliefe.

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DESCRIPTION AND PRAISE OF HIS LOVE

GERALDINE.

BY THE SAME.

FROM Tufcane came my

ladies worthy race,

5

Faire Florence was fometyme her auncient seate;
The Western yle whose pleasant shore doth face
Wild Cambers clifs, did geve her lyuely heate';
Foftered fhe was with milke of Irishe breft;
Her fire, an erle, her dame, of princes blood;
From tender yeres in Britaine she doth rest,
With Kinges childe, where she tasteth costly foode.
Honfdon did firft prefent her to myne yien :
Bright is her hewe, and Geraldine fhe hight; 10
Hampton me taught to wifhe her firft for mine,

And Windsor, alas, doth chase me from her fight.
Her beauty of kinde, her vertue from above;
Happy is he that can obtain her love!

ECLOGUE.

BY EDMUND SPENSER. *

ARGUMENT.

IN this Aeglogue, Colin Clout, a Shepheards boy, complaineth bimfelfe of his unfortunate loue, beeing but newly (as it feemeth) enamoured of a countrey laffe called Rofalind : with which ftrong affection being verie fore trauelled, hee compareth his carefull cafe to the fad feafon of the yeere, to the froftie ground, to the frozen trees, and to his owne winter-beaten flocke. And lastly, finding himselfe robbed of all former pleasance and delight, he breaketh his pipe in peeces, and cafteth himselfe to the ground.

A

COLIN CLOUT.

SHEPHEARDS boy (no better doe him call), When Winters waftefull spight was almost spent,

All in a sunshine day, as did befall,

Led forth his flocke, that had been long ypent. So faint they woxe, and feeble in the fold, That now vnnethes their feet could them vphold.

Born 1553; dyed 1598.

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All as the sheepe, fuch was the fhepheards looke,

For pale and wanne he was, (alas the while!) May seem he lov'd, or else fome care he tooke:

Well couth he tune his pipe, and frame his stile. Tho to a hill his fainting flock he led, And thus him plainde, the while his sheepe there fed.

Yee gods of loue, that pittie louers paine,

(If any gods the paine of louers pittie :)

II

Looke from aboue, where you in ioyes remaine, 15 And bow your eares vnto my dolefull dittie. And Pan, thou shepheards god, that once did loue, Pittie the paines that thou thyfelfe didft proue.

Thou barren ground whom Winters wrath hath wafted,

Art made a mirrour, to behold my plight: 20 Whilom thy fresh Spring flowr'd, and after hasted

Thy Sommer proude, with daffadillies dight; And now is come thy Winters ftormie state, Thy mantle mard, wherein thou maskedst late.

Such rage as Winters raigneth in my heart,

25

My life-blood freezing, with vnkindly cold: Such ftormie ftoures doe breed my balefull fmart,

As if my yeeres were wafte, and woxen old. And yet, alas, but now my fpring begonne, And yet, alas, it is already donne.

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