Description and Praise of his Love Geraldine.

From Tuscan' came my lady's worthy race;
Fair Florence was some time their ancient seat;
The western isle, whose pleasant shore doth face
Wild Camber's cliffs, did give her lively heat:
Fostered she was with milk of Irish breast;

Her sire, an earl; her dame of princes' blood:
From tender years, in Britain she doth rest
With king's child, where she tasteth costly food.
Hunsdon did first present her to mine een:

Bright is her hue, and Geraldine she hight: Hampton me taught to wish her first for mine:

And Windsor, alas, doth chase me from her sight. Her beauty of kind, her virtues from above; Happy is he that can obtain her love!

How no age is content with his own estate, and how the age of children is the happiest, if they had skill to understand it.

Laid in my quiet bed,

In study as I were,

I saw within my troubled head,

A heap of thoughts appear.

And every thought did show

So lively in mine eyes,

That now I sighed, and then I smiled,

As cause of thoughts did rise.

I saw the little boy,

In thought how oft that he

Did wish of God, to scape the rod,
A tall young man to be.

The young man eke that feels

His bones with pains opprest, How he would be a rich old man, To live and lie at rest:

The rich old man that sees

His end draw on so sore, How he would be a boy again, To live so much the more.

Whereat full oft I smiled,

To see how all these three,
From boy to man, from man to boy,
Would chop and change degree:

And musing thus, I think,

The case is very strange,

That man from wealth, to live in woe, Doth ever seek to change.

Thus thoughtful as I lay,

I saw my withered skin,

How it doth show my dented thws,
The flesh was worn so thin;
And eke my toothless chaps,
The gates of my right way,
That opes and shuts as I do speak,
Do thus unto me say:
The white and hoarish hairs,
The messengers of age,
That show, like lines of true belief,
That this life doth assuage;
Bids thee lay hand, and feel

Them hanging on my chin.
The which do write two ages past,
The third now coming in.
Hang up, therefore, the bit

Of thy young wanton time;
And thou that therein beaten art,
The happiest life define:

Whereat I sighed, and said,
Farewell my wonted joy,
Truss up thy pack, and trudge from me,
To every little boy;

And tell them thus from me,

Their time most happy is,
If to their time they reason had,
To know the truth of this.

The Means to attain Happy Life.
Martial, the things that do attain

The happy life, be these, I find, The riches left, not got with pain;

The fruitful ground, the quiet mind, The equal frend; no grudge, no strife; No charge of rule, nor governance; Without disease, the healthful life; The household of continuance: The mean diet, no delicate fare; True wisedom joined with simpleness; The night discharged of all care;

Where wine the wit may not oppress. The faithful wife, without debate; Such sleeps as may beguile the night; Contented with thine own estate,

Ne wish for death, pe fear his might.

SIR THOMAS WYATT.

He

In amorous poetry, which may be said to have taken its rise in this age, Surrey had a fellow-labourer in SIR THOMAS WYATT (1503–1541), another distinguished figure in the court of Henry VIII. Wyatt was a man highly educated for his age, a great traveller, and generally accomplished. died of a fever caught by riding too fast on a hot day from Falmouth, while engaged on a mission to conduct the ambassador of the emperor, Charles V., to court. The songs and sonnets of this author, in praise of his mistress, and expressive of the various feelings he experienced while under the influence of the tender passion, though conceited, are not without refinement, and some share of poetical feeling.

The lover's lute cannot be blamed, though it sing
of his lady's unkindness.

Blame not my Lute! for he must sound
Of this or that as liketh me;

For lack of wit the Lute is bound

To give such tunes as pleaseth me;
Though my songs be somewhat strange,
And speak such words as touch my change,
Blame not my Lute!

My Lute, alas! doth not offend,
Though that per force he must agree
To sound such tunes as I intend,

To sing to them that heareth me;
Then though my songs be somewhat plain,
And toucheth some that use to feign,
Blame not my Lute!

My Lute and strings may not deny,
But as I strike they must obey;
Break not them then so wrongfully,

But wreak thyself some other way;
And though the songs which I indite,
Do quit thy change with rightful spite,
Blame not my Lute!

Spite asketh spite, and changing change,
And falsed faith, must needs be known;
The faults so great, the case so strange;
Of right it must abroad be blown:
Then since that by thine own desert
My songs do tell how true thou art,
Blame not my Lute!

The re-cured Lover exulteth in his Freedom, and voweth to remain free until Death.

I am as I am, and so will I be ;
But how that I am none knoweth truly.

Be it ill, be it well, be I bond, be I free,
I am as I am, and so will I be.

I lead my life indifferently;
I mean nothing but honesty ;

And though folks judge full diversely,
I am as I am, and so will I die.

I do not rejoice, nor yet complain,
Both mirth and sadness I do refrain,
And use the means since folks will feign;
Yet I am as I am, be it pleasant or pain.
Divers do judge as they do trow,
Some of pleasure and some of woe,
Yet for all that nothing they know ;
But I am as I am, wheresoever I go.
But since judgers do thus decay,
Let every man his judgment say;
I will it take in sport and play,
For I am as I am, whosoever say nay.
Who judgeth well, well God them send;
Who judgeth evil, God them amend ;
To judge the best therefore intend,
For I am as I am, and so will I end.

Yet some there be that take delight,
To judge folk's thought for envy and spite;
But whether they judge me wrong or right,
I am as I am, and so do I write.
Praying you all that this do read,
To trust it as you do your creed ;
And not to think I change my weed,
For I am as I am, however I speed.
But how that is I leave to you;
Judge as ye list, false or true,
Ye know no more than afore ye knew,
Yet I am as I am, whatever ensue.
And from this mind I will not flee,
But to you all that misjudge me,
I do protest, as ye may see,
That I am as
am, and so will be.

That Pleasure is mixed with every Pain. Venomous thorns that are so sharp and keen Bear flowers, we see, full fresh and fair of hue, Poison is also put in medicine,

And unto man his health doth oft renew. The fire that all things eke consumeth clean,

May hurt and heal: then if that this be true, I trust some time my harm may be my health, Since every woe is joined with some wealth.

The Courtier's Life.

In court to serve decked with fresh array,
Of sugared meats feeling the sweet repast,
The life in banquets and sundry kinds of play;
Amid the press the worldly looks to waste;
Hath with it joined oft times such bitter taste,
That whoso joys such kind of life to hold,
In prison joys, fettered with chains of gold.

Of the Mean and Sure Estate.

Stand whoso lists upon the slipper' wheel,
Of high estate, and let me here rejoice,
And use my life in quietness each deal,
Unknown in court that hath the wanton joys.
In hidden place my time shall slowly pass,
And when my years be passed without annoy,
Let me die old after the common trace,

For grips of death do he too hardly pass
That known is to all, but to himself, alas!
He dieth unknown, dased with dreadful face.

THOMAS TUSSER.

Amongst the poets dating towards the conclusion of the present period, may be ranked THOMAS TUSSER, author of the first didactic poem in the language. He was born about 1523, of an ancient family; had a good education; and commenced life at court, under the patronage of Lord Paget. Afterwards he practised farming successively at Ratwood in Sussex, Ipswich, Fairsted in Essex, Norwich, and other places; but not succeeding in that walk, he betook himself to other occupations, amongst which were those of a chorister, and, it is said, a fiddler. As might be expected of one so inconstant, he did not prosper in the world, but died poor in London, in 1580.

Tusser's poem, entitled a Hondreth Good Points of Husbandrie, which was first published in 1557, is a series of practical directions for farming, expressed in simple and inelegant, but not always dull verse. It was afterwards expanded by other writers, and published under the title of Five Hundreth Points of Good Husbandrie: the last of a considerable number of editions appeared in 1710.

[Directions for Cultivating a Hop-Garden.] Whom fancy persuadeth, among other crops, To have for his spending sufficient of hops, Must willingly follow, of choices to choose, Such lessons approved, as skilful do use. Ground gravelly, sandy, and mixed with clay, Is naughty for hops, any manner of way. Or if it be mingled with rubbish and stone, For dryness and barrenness let it alone. Choose soil for the hop of the rottenest mould, Well dunged and wrought, as a garden-plot should; Not far from the water, but not overflown, This lesson, well noted, is meet to be known. The sun in the south, or else southly and west, Is joy to the hop, as a welcomed guest; But wind in the north, or else northerly east, To the hop is as ill as a fay in a feast. Meet plot for a hop-yard once found as is told, Make thereof account, as of jewel of gold; Now dig it, and leave it, the sun for to burn, And afterwards fence it, to serve for that turn. The hop for his profit I thus do exalt, It strengtheneth drink, and it favoureth malt; And being well brewed, long kept it will last, And drawing abide-if ye draw not too fast.

[Housewifely Physic.]

Good huswife provides, ere a sickness do come,
Of sundry good things in her house to have some.
Good aqua composita, and vinegar tart,
Rose-water, and treacle, to comfort thine heart.
Cold herbs in her garden, for agues that burn,
That over-strong heat to good temper may turn.
White endive, and succory, with spinach enow;
All such with good pot-herbs, should follow the
plough.

Get water of fumitory, liver to cool,

And others the like, or else lie like a fool.
Conserves of barbary, quinces, and such,
With sirops, that easeth the sickly so much.
Ask Medicus' counsel, ere medicine ye take,
And honour that man for necessity's sake.
Though thousands hate physic, because of the cost,
Yet thousands it helpeth, that else should be lost.
Good broth, and good keeping, do much now and than:
Good diet, with wisdoin, best comforteth man.
In health, to be stirring shall profit thee best;
In sickness, hate trouble; seek quiet and rest.
Remember thy soul; let no fancy prevail;
Make ready to God-ward; let faith never quail:
The sooner thyself thou submittest to God,
The sooner he ceaseth to scourge with his rod.

fell far short of those effected in the literature of their southern neighbours. The most eminent of these writers was SIR DAVID LYNDSAY, born about 1490, who, after serving King James V., when that monarch was a boy, as sewer, carver, cup-bearer, purse-master, chief cubicular; in short, everything -bearing him as an infant upon his back, and dancing antics for his amusement as a boy-was appointed to the important office of Lord Lyon King at Arms, and died about the year 1555. He chiefly shone as a satirical and humorous writer, and his great fault is an entire absence of that spirit of refinement which graced the contemporary literature of England. The principal objects of Lyndsay's vituperations were the clergy, whose habits at this period (just before the Reformation) were such as to afford unusually ample scope for the pen of the satirist. Our poet, also, although a state officer, and long a servant to the king, uses little delicacy in exposing the abuses of the court. His chief poems are placed in the following succession by his editor, Mr George Chalmers:-The Dreme, written about 1528; The Complaynt, 1529; The Complaynt of the King's Papingo (Peacock), 1530; The Play (or Satire) of the Three Estates, 1535; Kitteis Confession, 1541; The History of Squire Meldrum, 1550; The Monarchie, 1553. The three first of these poems are moralisings upon the state and government of the kingdom, during two of its dismal minorities. The Play is an extraordinary performance, a satire upon the whole of the three political orders-monarch, barons, and clergy-full of humour and grossness, and curiously illustrative of the taste of the times. Notwithstanding its satiric pungency, and, what is apt to be now more surprising, notwithstanding the introduction of indecencies not fit to be described, the Satire of the Three Estates was acted in presence of the court, both at Cupar and Edinburgh, the stage being in the open air. Kitteis Confession is a satire on one of the practices of Roman Catholics. By his various burlesques of that party, he is said to have largely contributed to the progress of the Reformation in Scotland. The History of Squire Meldrum is perhaps the most pleasing of all this author's works. It is considered the last poem that in any degree partakes of the character of the metrical romance.

Of the dexterity with which Lyndsay could point a satirical remark on an error of state policy, we may judge from the following very brief passage of his Compluynt, which relates to the too early committal of the government to James V. It is given in the original spelling.

Imprudently, like witles fules,

Thay tuke the young prince from the scules,
Quhere he, under obedience,

Was learnand vertew and science,

And hastilie pat in his hand

The governance of all Scotland:

As quha wald, in ane stormie blast,
Quhen marinaris been all agast,
Throw danger of the seis rage,
Wald tak ane child of tender age,
Quhilk never had bin on the sey,
And gar his bidding all obey,
Geving him hail the governall,
To ship, marchand, and marinall,
For dreid of rockis and foir land,
To put the ruthir in his hand.

I give them to

Quhilk first devisit that counsell;
I will nocht say that it was tressoun,
But I dar sweir it was na ressoun.

Afore that time all spak Hebrew,
Then some began for to speak Grew,
Seme Dutch, some language Saracen,
And some began to speak Latin.
The maister men gan to ga wild,
Cryand for trees, they brocht them tyld.
Some said, Bring mortar here at ance,

Then brocht they to them stocks and stanes;
And Nimrod, their great champion,
Ran ragand like ane wild lion,
Menacing them with words rude,
But never ane word they understood. *
for final conclusion,
Constrained were they for till depart,
Ilk company in ane sundry airt.

* *

A Praise of his (the Poet's) Lady. Give place, you ladies, and be gone. Boast not yourselves at all! For here at hand approacheth one, Whose face will stain you all! The virtue of her lively looks

Excels the precious stone:

I wish to have none other books
To read or look upon.

In each of her two crystal eyes
Smileth a naked boy:

It would you all in heart suffice
To see that lamp of joy.

I think Nature hath lost the mould,
Where she her shape did take;

Or else I doubt if Nature could
So fair a creature make.

She may be well compared

Unto the phoenix kind,

Whose like was never seen nor 1 card,
That any man can find.

In life she is Diana chaste,
In troth Penelope,

In word and eke in deed steadfast:
What will you more we say?

*

*

Her roseal colour comes and goes
With such a comely grace,
More ruddier too than doth the rose,
Within her lively face.

At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet,
Ne at no wanton play;
Nor gazing in an open street,
Nor gadding as a stray.

The modest mirth that she doth use
Is mix'd with shamefac'dness;
All vice she doth wholly refuse,
And hateth idleness.

O Lord, it is a world to see
How virtue can repair,
And deck in her such honesty
Whom Nature made so fair!
Truly she doth as far exceed
Our women now-a-days,

As doth the gilly flower a weed,
And more a thousand ways.

'I marvel much, pardie,' quoth she, 'for to behold the rout,

To see man, woman, boy, and beast, to toss the world about;

Some kneel, some crouch, some beck, some check, and some can smoothly smile,

And some embrace others in arms, and there think many a wile.

Some stand aloof at cap and kuce, some humble, and some stout,

Yet are they never friends indeed until they once fall out.'

Thus ended she her song, and said, before she did

remove,

"The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love.'

[Characteristic of an Englishman.]

[By Andrew Bourd, physician to Henry VIII. The lines form an inscription under the picture of an Englishman, naked, with a roll of cloth in one hand, and a pair of scissors in the other.]

I am an Englishman, and naked I stand here, Musing in my mind what garment I shall wear, For now I will wear this, and now I will wear that, Now I will wear I cannot tell what :

All new fashions be pleasant to me,

I will have them whether I thrive or thee:
Now I am a fisher, all men on me look
What should I do but set cock on the hoop?
What do I care if all the world me fail,
I will have a garment reach to my tail.