Were her tresses angel-gold,*
If a stranger may be bold,
Unrebuked, unafraid,

To convert them to a braid;
And with little more ado
Work them into bracelets, too!

If the mine be grown so free,
What care I how rich it be?

Were her hands as rich a prize
As her hairs or precious eyes;
If she lay them out to take
Kisses, for good-manners sake;
And let every lover skip
From her hand unto her lip;

If she seem not chaste to me
What care I how chaste she be?

No; she must be perfect snow,
In effect as well as show,
Warming but as snow-balls do
Not like fire, by burning too;
But when she by change hath got
To her heart a second lot;

Then, if others share with me,
Farewell her, whate'er she be !

[Sir Egerton Brydges has admitted this piece into his edition of Raleigh's poems, but says he has strong doubts whether it should be attributed to Sir Walter's pen. It looks certainly more like one of

George Wither's conceits.]

* Gold coined into Angels was so termed, being of a finer kind than own gold. PARK.

THE SILENT LOVER.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH,

Wrong not sweet mistress of my heart!
The merit of true passion,
With thinking that he feels no smart,
Who sues for no compassion!

Since, if my plaints were not t'approve
The conquest of thy beauty,
It comes not from defect of love,
But fear t'exceed my duty.

For, knowing that I sue to serve
A saint of such perfection,
As all desire, but none deserve
A place in her affection.

I rather choose to want relief
Than venture the revealing :
Where glory recommends the grief,
Despair disdains the healing!

Thus those desires that boil so high
In any mortal lover,

When Reason cannot make them die,
Discretion them must cover.

Yet when Discretion doth bereave
The plaints that I should utter,
Then your Discretion may perceive
That Silence is a suitor.

Silence in Love bewrays more woe
Than words, though ne'er so witty;
A beggar that is dumb, you know,
May challenge double pity!

Then wrong not! dearest to my heart!
My love for secret passion;

He smarteth most that hides his smart,
And sues for no compassion!

[This is a most extraordinary pocm; terse, harmonious, pointed, full of ingenious turns, and often admirably expressed. It seems to have anticipated a century in its style. SIR EGERTON BRYDGES.]

WHENCE COMES MY LOVE?

JOHN HARINGTON,

Whence comes my love?-O heart! disclose:
'Twas from her cheeks that shame the rose,
From lips that spoil the rubys praise,
From eyes that mock the diamonds blaze.
Whence comes my love, as freely own:
Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone.

The blushing cheek speaks modest mind;
The lips, befitting words most kind;
The eyes does tempt to love's desire,
And seems to say-'tis Cupid's fire!
Yet all so fair, but speak my moan,
Sith nought doth say the heart of stone.

Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak
Sweet lip, sweet eye, sweet blushing cheek;

Yet

not a heart to save my pain?

0 Venus! take thy gifts again :

Make not so fair, to cause our moan,
Or make a heart thats like our own.

[Supposed to have been written by the father of the celebrated Sir John Harington. See Park's Edition of Ritson's English Songs, vol. i. P. 165. Dr. Aikin in his " Vocal Poetry," 8vo. 1810, and Geo. Ellis in his "Early English Poets," vol. 2, p. 284, have printed it as Sir John

Harington's.]

A WOMAN'S FACE.

HUMFREY GIFFORD.

Born about 1550.

A woman's face is full of wiles,
Her tears are like the crocodil :
With outward cheer on thee she smiles,
When in her heart she thinks thee ill.

Her tongue still chats of this and that,
Than aspine leaf it wags more fast;
And as she talks she knows not what,
There issues many a truthless blast.

Thou far dost take thy mark amiss,

If thou think faith in them to find:
The weather-cock more constant is,
Which turns about with every wind.

I know some pepper-nosed dame
Will term me fool and saucy jack,
That dare their credit so defame,

And lay such slanders on their back:

What though on me they pour their spite :
I may not use the gloser's trade,

I cannot say the crow is white,

But needs must call a spade a spade.

[From "A Poesie of Gilliflowers, eche differing from other in colour and odour, yet all sweete," London, 1580. 4to. Black Letter. See Ellis's Specimens, vol. 2, p. 173.]

O FOR A BOWL OF FAT CANARY.

JOHN LYLIE [or LILLY.]

Born about 1553-Died 1600.

O for a bowl of fat Canary,
Rich Palermo, sparkling sherry,
Some nectar else from Juno's dairy;
O these draughts would make us merry!

O for a wench (I deal in faces

And in other daintier things),
Tickled am I with her embraces;
Fine dancing in such fairy rings.
O for a plump fat leg of mutton,
Veal, lamb, capon, pig and coney;
None is happy but a glutton,

None an ass but who wants money.