My thoughts I speak; and what I speak doth flow
In verse, and that my verse best wits doth please?
What, is it this? Fie, no.

Guess we the cause!

Or so? Much less.

How then? Sure thus it is,

My lips are sweet, inspired with Stella's kiss.

ETERNAL LOVE.

LEAVE me, O Love, which reachest but to dust;
And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things;
Grow rich in that which never taketh rust;
Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.
Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might
To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be;
Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light,
That doth both shine, and give us sight to see.

O take fast hold; let that light be thy guide

In this small course which birth draws out to death,
And think how ill becometh him to slide,

Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath.
Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see;
Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me!

SIR EDWARD DYER.

(1550?-1607.)

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS

This poem is found in MS. Rawl. 85 (date uncertain). Dyer's scanty poetic remains are included in vol. iv. of Dr. Grosart's edition of the Miscellanies of the Fuller Worthies Library.

MY mind to me a kingdom is,

Such present joys therein I find, b

That it excels all other bliss

a

That earth affords or grows by kind:

Though much I want which most would have, C
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.e

No princely pomp, no wealthy store, a
No force to win the victory, b
No wily wit to salve a sore, a
No shape to feed a loving eye; b
To none of these I yield as thrall:
For why? My mind doth serve for all..

I see how plenty surfeits oft,

And hasty climbers soon do fall; I see that those which are aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all;
They get with toil, they keep with fear;
Such cares my mind could never bear.
Content to live, this is my stay;

I seek no more than may suffice;
I press to bear no haughty sway;
Look, what I lack my mind supplies:
Lo, thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.

Some have too much, yet still do crave;
I little have, and seek no more.
They are but poor, though much they have,
And I am rich with little store;

They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I leave; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's loss;

I grudge not at another's pain;
No worldly waves my mind can toss;
My state at one doth still remain:
I fear no foe, I fawn no friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread my end.

Some weigh their pleasure by their lust,
Their wisdom by their rage of will;
Their treasure is their only trust;

A cloaked craft their store of skill:
But all the pleasure that I find
Is to maintain a quiet mind.

My wealth is health and perfect ease:
My conscience clear my chief defence;
I neither seek by bribes to please,
Nor by deceit to breed offence:
Thus do I live; thus will I die;
Would all did so as well as I!

JOHN LYLY.

(15542-1606.)

These are the first of the numerous songs from the Elizabethan Dramatists included in this volume. Mr. Bullen has edited a volume of such Lyrics from the Dramatists (London, 1889). The first and second occur in Alexander and Campaspe, 1584 (acted 1581). The Hymn to Apollo is in Midas, 1592 (acted 1590): Mr. Symonds compares this Hymn to the Processional Hymns of the Greek Parthenia, and says that it "might well have been used at such a festival". The Fairy Song is from Endymion, 1591 (acted circa 1580). The songs, however, were not included with the plays until the collective edition of 1632. There is a modern edition of Lyly's Dramatic Works edited by F. W. Fairholt (London, 1858, 2 vols.).

APELLES' SONG.

CUPID and my Campaspe played

At cards for kisses-Cupid paid.

He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,
His mother's doves and team of sparrows:
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose

Growing on's cheek (but none knows how);
With these the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin-
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes.
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love, has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?

SPRING'S WELCOME.

WHAT bird so sings, yet so does wail?

O't is the ravished nightingale.

"Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu," she cries,
And still her woes at midnight rise.
Brave prick-song! who is 't now we hear?
None but the lark so shrill and clear;
Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings,
The morn not waking till she sings.
Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat,
Poor robin redbreast tunes his note;
Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing,
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring;
Cuckoo, to welcome in the spring!

HYMN TO APOLLO.

ING to Apollo, god of day,

SING

Whose golden beams with morning play,

And make her eyes so brightly shine,

Aurora's face is called divine;

Sing to Phoebus and that throne

Of diamonds which he sits upon.
Io, pæans let us sing

To Physic's and to Poesy's king!

Crown all his altars with bright fire,
Laurels bind about his lyre,

A Daphnean coronet for his head,
The Muses dance about his bed;
When on his ravishing lute he plays,
Strew his temple round with bays.
Io, pæans let us sing

To the glittering Delian king!

FAIRY REVELS.

Omnes. PINCH him, pinch him black and blue ; Saucy mortals must not view

I Fairy.

2 Fairy.

3 Fairy.

What the queen of stars is doing,

Nor pry into our fairy wooing.

Pinch him blue

And pinch him black

Let him not lack

Sharp nails to pinch him blue and red,

Till sleep has rocked his addlehead.
4 Fairy. For the trespass he hath done,
Spots o'er all his flesh shall run.
Kiss Endymion, kiss his eyes,
Then to our midnight heydeguyes.