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The complete works of John Lyly

now for the first time collected and edited from the earliest quartos with life, bibliography, essays, notes and index by R. Warwick Bond
Lyly, John (1554?-1606)

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VOL. I
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VOL. III
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CERTAINE ENGLISHE Verses, presented vnto the Queenes most excellent Maiestie, by a Courtier: In ioy of the most happie disclosing, of the most dangerous conspiracies pretended by the late executed Traitours, against her royall person, and the whole Estate.
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POEMS
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I. Early Autobiographical: 1575–1580?
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13. A Dittie, wherein is contained divers good and necessary documents, which beeing embraced and followed earnestly, may cause a man to shunne manie evilles and mischaunces, that may otherwise fall upon him, ere he can beware.
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14. A Dittie, wherein the brevitie of man's life is described, how soone his pompe vanisheth away, and he brought to his latest home.
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15. A Glasse for all Men to behold themselves in; especially such proude and prodigall-minded Men, and such delicate and daintie Women, ‘who building on the pride of their beautie and amiable complexion, thinke scorne to become aged; and that their sweete faces should be wrinckled, or their youthfulnes brought into subjection by age.
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II. Early Love-Poems: BEFORE 1580?
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III. Four Songs
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IV. Later Love-Poems.
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V. Later Autobiographical: 1595–1600?
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VI Epigrams.

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63.
[_]

The attribution of this poem is questionable.

[Ouer theis brookes, trustinge to ease myne eyes]

Ouer theis brookes, trustinge to ease myne eyes,
Mine eyes euen great, in laboure with their teares:
I layde my face, wherin (alas) ther lies,
Clusters of clowdes, wch no Sunne euer cleeres.
In watrie glasse, my watrie eyes I see:
Sorrowes ill easd, wher sorrowes paynted be.
My thoughtes imprisned in my secret woes,
With flamie breastes doe issue oft in sownde:
The sownde to this strange ayre no sooner goes,
But that it doth with Ecchôs force rebownde.
And makes me heare, ye playntes I would refrayne:
Thus outward helpes, my inward grifes mayntayne.
Now in this sand, I would discharge my mynde,
And cast from me, part of my burd'nous cares:
499

But in the sand, my Tales foretold I fynde,
And see therin, how well ye writer fares.
With streame, ayre, sand, myne eyes & ears conspire:
What hope to quench, wher ech thinge blowes ye fire.
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