By which my Lion in his gaping Jawes
Held up my Lance, and in his dreadfull Pawes
Reacheth my Gauntlet unto him that dare
A Beautie with my Geraldines compare.
Which when each Manly valiant Arme assayes,
After so many brave triumphant dayes
The glorious Prize upon my Lance I bare,
By Heralds voice proclaim'd to be thy share.
The shiver'd Staves here for thy Beautie broke
With fierce encounter past at ev'ry shocke,
When stormier Courses answer'd Cuffe for Cuffe,
Denting proud Bevers with the Counter-buffe,
Upon an Altar burnt with holy Flame
I sacrific'd as Incense to thy Fame:
Whereas the Phoenix from her spiced fume
Renues her selfe in that she. doth consume,
So from these sacred Ashes live we both
Ev'n as that one Arabian Wonder doth.

When to my Chamber I my selfe retire,
Burnt with the Sparkes that kindled all this fire,
Thinking of England which my Hope containes,
The happie Ile where Geraldine remaines;
Of Hunsdon, where those sweet celestiall Eyne
At first did pierce this tender Brest of mine;
Of Hampton Court and Windsor, where abound
All pleasures that in Paradise were found.
Neere that faire Castle is a little Grove
With hanging Rocks all cover'd from above,
Which on the Banke of goodly Thames doth stand,
Clipt by the Water from the other Land;

Whose bushie Top doth bid the Sunne forbeare

And checks his proud Beames that would enter there;
Whose leaves still mutt'ring, as the Ayre doth breathe,
With the sweet bubbling of the Streame beneath,
Doth rocke the Senses (whilst the small Birds sing)
Lulled asleepe with gentle murmuring.

Where light-foot Fayries sport at Prison-Base
(No doubt there is some Pow'r frequents the place)
There the soft Poplar and smooth Beech doe beare
Our Names together carved ev'ry where,
And Gordian knots doe curiously entwine
The Names of Henry and of Geraldine.
O let this Grove in happy times to come
Be call'd The Lovers bless'd Elizium;
Whither my Mistres wonted to resort

In Summers heat in those sweet shades to sport.
A thousand sundry Names I have it given
And call'd it Wonder-hider, Cover-Heaven;
The Roofe where Beautie her rich Court doth keepe,
Under whose compasse all the Starres doe sleepe.
There is one Tree, which now I call to minde,
Doth beare these Verses carved in his Rinde:
When Geraldine shall sit in thy faire shade,
Fanne her sweet Tresses with perfumed Aire,
Let thy large Boughes a Canopie be made
To keepe the Sunne from gazing on my Faire;
And when thy spreading branched Armes be sunke
And thou no Sap nor Pith shalt more retaine,
Ev'n from the dust of thy unweldie Trunke
I will renue thee Phenix-like againe,
And from thy dry decayed Root will bring
A new-borne Stem, another Aesons spring.

I find no cause nor judge I reason why
My Countrey should give place to Lumbardy.
As goodly flow'rs on Thamesis doe growe
As beautifie the Bankes of wanton Po;
As many Nymphs as haunt rich Arnus strand
By silver Severne tripping hand in hand.
Our shade's as sweet, though not to us so deere,
Because the Sunne hath greater power there ;
This distant place doth give me greater woe,-
Farre off, my Sighes the farther have to goe.

Ah, absence! why thus should'st thou seeme so long?
Or wherefore should'st thou offer Time such wrong,
Summer, so soone to steale in Winters Cold,

Or Winters Blasts so soone make Summer old?
Love did us both with one-selfe Arrow strike;
Our Wound's both one, our Cure should be the like,
Except thou hast found out some meane by Art,
Some pow'rfull Med'cine to withdraw the dart :
But mine is fixt, and absence being proved
It stickes too fast, it cannot be removed.

Adiew, adiew! From Florence when I goe,
By my next Letters Geraldine shall know,
Which, if good fortune shall by course direct,
From Venice by some messenger expect;
Till when I leave thee to thy hearts desire:
By him that lives thy vertues to admire.

T

From "Heroicall Epistles," ed. 1619.

The Lady Geraldine to Henry Howard, Earle of Surrey.

what place ever did the Court remove

But that the House gives matter to my Love?
At Windsor still I see thee sit and walke,

There mount thy Courser, there devise, there talke;
The Robes, the Garter, and the state of Kings
Into my Thoughts thy hoped Greatnesse brings;
None-such, the Name imports (me thinkes) so much,
None-such as it nor as my Lord none such;

In Hamptons great Magnificence I find
The lively Image of thy Princely Mind;

Faire Richmonds Tow'rs like goodly Trophies stand
Rear'd by the pow'r of thy victorious Hand;
White-Halls triumphing Galleries are yet
Adorn'd with rich Devices of thy Wit;
In Greenwich still, as in a Glasse, I view
Where last thou bad'st thy Geraldine adiew.

With ev'ry little perling breath that blowes

How are my Thoughts confus'd with Joyes and Woes
As through a gate so through my longing Eares
Passe to my Heart whole multitudes of Feares.
O in a Map that I might see thee show
The place where now in danger thou do'st goe!
Whilst we discourse, to travell with our Eye
Romania, Tuscan and faire Lumbardy,
Or with thy penne exactly to set downe
The modell of that Temple or that Towne ;

And to relate at large where thou hast beene,

As there and there, and what thou there has seene,
Expressing in a Figure by thy Hand

How Naples lyes, how Florence faire doth stand;
Or as the Grecians finger dip'd in Wine
Drawing a River in a little Line,

And with a drop a Gulfe to figure out
To modell Venice moted round about,
Then, adding more, to counterfeit a Sea
And draw the Front of stately Genoa.

Till thou returne the Court I will exchange
For some poore Cottage or some Country Grange,
Where to our Distaves as we sit and Spin
My Maide and I will tell what things have bin;
Our Lutes unstrung shall hang upon the Wall,
Our Lessons serve to wrap our Towe withall;
And passe the Night whiles Winter Tales we tell
Of many things that long agoe befell,
Or tune such homely Carrols as were sung
In Country sport when we ourselves were yong,
In pretty Riddles to bewray our Loves
In questions, purpose, or in drawing Gloves.
The Noblest Spirits to Vertue most inclin'd,
These here in Court thy greatest want doe find;
Others there be on which we feed our Eye
Like Arras-worke or such like magerie :
Many of us desire Queene Kathrine's state
But very few her Vertues imitate.

Then, as Vlysses's Wife, write I to thee,-
Make no reply but come thy selfe to mee.