Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey.

[BORN 1516. DIED 1547.]

A Vow.

ET me where as the sun doth parch the

green,

Or where his beams do not dissolve the

ice,

In temperate heat, where he is felt and seen,
In presence prest of people, mad or wise;

Set me in high, or yet in low degree,

In longest night, or in the shortest day;
In clearest sky, or where clouds thickest be,
In lusty youth, or when my hairs are grey:

Set me in heaven, in earth, or else in hell,

In hill or dale, or in the foaming flood; Thrall, or at large, alive where so I dwell,

Sick, or in health, in evil fame, or good,—

Hers I will be, and only with this thought Content myself, although my chance be naught.

GIVE PLACE, YE LOVERS.

IVE place, ye lovers, here before

That spent your boasts and brags in vain; My lady's beauty passeth more

The best of years, I dare well sayen,
Than doth the Sun the candle-light,
Or brightest day the darkest night.

And thereto hath a troth as just,

As had Penelope the Fair;
For what she saith, ye may
it trust,

As it by writing sealed were:
And virtues hath she many mo'
Than I with pen have skill to show.

I could rehearse, if that I would,

The whole offset of Nature's plaint, When she had lost the perfect mould,

The like to whom she could not paint: With wringing hands, how did she cry, And what she said, I know it aye.

I knew she swore with raging mind,
Her kingdom only set apart,

There was no loss by law of kind

That could have gone so near her heart; And this was chiefly all her pain: "She could not make the like again."

Sith Nature thus gave her the praise,
To be the chiefest work she wrought,
In faith, methink, some better ways
your behalf might well be sought,
Than to compare as ye have done,

On

To match the candle with the Sun.

Elizabeth Tudor, Queen of England.

[BORN 1533. DIED 1603.]

ON MY OWN FEELINGS.

GRIEVE, and dare not show my discontent;
I love, and yet am forced to seem to hate;
I do, yet dare not say I ever meant ;

I seem stark mute, yet inwardly do prate.
I am, and not; I freeze, and yet am burned,
Since from myself my other self I turned.

My care is like my shadow in the sun,

Follows me flying, flies when I pursue it;
Stands and lies by me, does what I have done,
This too familiar care does make me rue it.
No means I find to rid him from my breast,
Till by the end of things it be suppressed.

Some gentler passions slide into my mind,
For I am soft and made of melting snow;
Or be more cruel, Love, and so be kind;

Let me or float or sink, be high or low,
Or let me live with some more sweet content,
Or die, and so forget what love e'er meant.

John Harrington.

[BORN 1534. DIED 1582.]

SONNET ON ISABELLA MARKHAM.

HENCE comes my love? O heart, disclose;
It was from cheeks that shamed the rose,
From lips that spoil the ruby's praise,
From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze:
Whence comes my woe, as freely own;
Ah, me! 'twas from a heart like stone.

The blushing cheek speaks modest mind,
The lips befitting words most kind,
The eye does tempt to love's desire,

And seems to say 'tis Cupid's fire;

Yet all so fair but speak my moan,

Sith naught doth say the heart of stone.

Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak

Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek-
Yet not a heart to save my pain?

Oh, Venus! take thy gifts again!

Make not so fair to cause our moan,

Or make a heart that's like our own.