 | "Songes and Sonettes written by the ryght honorable
Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other" |  |
Tottel — Songes and Sonettes — 1557. Songes written by Nicolas Grimald. by Nicolas Grimald
What sweet releef
A trueloue.
What sweet releef the showers to thirstie plants we see:What dere delite, the blooms to beez: my trueloue is to mee.
As fresh, and lusty vere foule winter doth exceed:
As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth passe the euenings weed:
As melow peares aboue the crabs esteemed be:
So doth my loue surmount them all, whom yet I hap to se.
The oke shall oliues bear: the lamb, the lion fray:
The owle shall match the nightingale, in tuning of her lay:
Or I my loue let slip out of mine entiere hert:
So deep reposed in my brest is she, for her desert.
For many blessed giftes, O happy, happy land:
Where Mars, and Pallas striue to make their glory most to stand
Yet, land, more is thy blisse: that, in this cruell age,
A Venus ymp, thou hast brought forth, so stedfast, and so sage.
Among the Muses nyne, a tenth yf Ioue would make:
And to the Graces three, a fourth: her would Apollo take.
Let some for honour hoont, and hourd the massy golde:
With her so I may liue, and dye, my weal cannot be tolde.
Phebe twise took her horns
The louer to his dear, of his exceding loue.
Phebe twise took her horns, twise layd them by:I, all the while, on thee could set no yie.
Yet doo I liue: if life you may it call,
Which onely holds my heauy hert, as thrall.
Certesse for death doo I ful often pray,
To rid my wo, and pull these pangs away.
So plaines Prometh, his womb no time to faile:
And, ayelife left, had leefer, he might quaile.
I erre, orels who this deuise first found,
By that gripes name he cleped loue vnsound.
In all the town, what streat haue I not seen?
In all the town, yet hath not Carie been.
Eyther thy sier restraines thy free outgate,
O woman, worthy of farre better state:
M3v
Or peeplepesterd London lykes thee nought,
But pleasant ayr, in quiet countrie sought.
Perchaunce, in olds our loue thou doest repeat,
And in sure place woldst euery thing retreat.
Forth shall I go, ne will I stay for none,
Vntyll I may somwhere finde thee alone.
Therwhile, keep you of hands, and neck the heew:
Let not your cheeks becoom or black, or bleew.
Go with welcouerd hed: for you incase
Apollo spied, burn wold he on your face.
Daphne, in groue, clad with bark of baytree:
Ay mee, if such a tale should ryse of thee.
Calisto found, in woods, Ioues force to fell:
I pray you, let him not like you so well.
Eigh, how much dreed? Here lurks of theeus a haunt:
Whoso thou beest, preyseeker prowd, auaunt.
Acteon may teach thee Dictynnaes ire:
Of trouth, this goddesse hath as fiers a fire.
What doo I speak? O chief part of my minde,
Vnto your eares these woords no way doo finde.
Wold god, when you read this, obserue I might
Your voyce, and of your countinaunce haue sight,
Then, for our loue, good hope were not to seek:
I mought say with myself, she will be meek.
Doutlesse I coom, what euer town you keep,
Or where you woon, in woods, or mountanes steep:
I coom, and if all pear not in my face,
Myself will messenger be of my case.
If to my prayer all deaf, you dare saye, no:
Streight of my death agilted shall you go.
Yet in mid death, this same shall ease my hart:
That Carie, thou wert cause of all the smart.
Louers men warn the corps
The louer asketh pardon of his dere, for fleeyng from her.
M4r
From the blinde fire in case they wold liue free.
Ay mee, how oft haue I fled thee, my Day?
I flee, but loue bides in my brest alway.
Lo yet agayn, I graunt, I gan remoue:
But both I could, and can say still, I loue.
If woods I seek, cooms to my thought Adone:
And well the woods do know my heauy mone.
In gardens if I walk: Narcissus there
I spy, and Hyacints with weepyng chere:
If meads I tred, O what a fyre I feel?
In flames of loue I burn from hed to heel.
Here I behold dame Ceres ymp in flight:
Here bee, methynk, black Plutoes steeds in sight.
Stronds if I look vpon, the Nymphs I mynde:
And, in mid sea, oft feruent powrs I fynde.
The hyer that I clyme, in mountanes wylde,
The nearer mee approcheth Venus chylde.
Towns yf I haunt: in short, shall I all say?
There soondry fourms I view, none to my pay.
Her fauour now I note, and now her yies:
Her hed, amisse: her foot, her cheeks, her guyse.
In fyne, where mater wants, defautes I fayn:
Whom other, fayr: I deem, she hath soom stayn.
What boots it then to flee, sythe in nightyde,
And daytyme to, my Day is at my side?
A shade therfore mayst thou be calld, by ryght:
But shadowes, derk, thou, Day, art euer bright.
Nay rather, worldly name is not for thee:
Sithe thou at once canst in twoo places bee.
Forgiue me, goddesse, and becoom my sheeld:
Euen Venus to Anchise herself dyd yeeld.
Lo, I confesse my flight: bee good therfore:
Ioue, oftentimes, hath pardond mee for more.
Next day, my Day, to you I coom my way:
And, yfyou suffer mee, due payns wyll pay.
Sythe, Blackwood
N. Vincent. to G. Black wood, agaynst wedding.
M4v
I pray you, tell, wherefore you like that life.
What? that henceforth you may liue more in blisse?
I am beguylde, but you take mark amisse.
Either your fere shall be defourmd: (and can
You blisful be, with flower of frying pan?
Orels, of face indifferent: (they say,
Face but indifferent will soone decay.)
Or faire: who, then, for many men semes fine:
Ne can you say, she is all holly mine.
And be she chaste (if noman chaunce to sew)
A sort of brats she bringes, and troubles new:
Or frutelesse will so passe long yeres with thee,
That scant one day shall voyd of brawlyng bee.
Hereto heap vp vndaunted hed, stif hart,
And all the rest: eche spouse can tell a part.
Leaue then, this way, to hope for happy life:
Rather be your bed sole, and free from strife.
Of blessed state if any path be here:
It lurketh not, where women wonne so nere.
Sythe, Vincent
G. Blackwood to. N. Vincent, with weddyng.
Sythe, Vincent, I haue minde to wed a wife:You bid me tell, wherfore I like that life.
Foule will I not, faire I desire: content,
If faire me fayle, with one indifferent.
Fair, you alledge, a thousand will applie:
But, nere so oft requirde, she will denie.
Meane beautie doth soone fade: therof playn hee,
Who nothing loues in woman, but her blee.
Frute if she bring, of frute is ioyfull sight:
If none, what then? our burden is but light.
The rest, you ming, certesse, we graunt, be great:
Stif hert, vndaunted hed cause soom to freat.
But, in all thinges, inborne displeasures be:
Yea pleasure we, full of displeasure, se.
And maruail you, I looke for good estate,
Hereafter if a woman be my mate?
N1r
Oh straight is vertues path, if sooth men say:
And likewise, that I seek, straight is the way.
Imps of king Ioue
The Muses.
Imps of king Ioue, and quene Remembrance lo,The sisters nyne, the poets pleasant feres.
Calliope doth stately style bestow,
And worthy prayses payntes of princely peres.
Clio in solem songes, reneweth old day,
With present yeres conioynyng age bypast.
Delitefull talke loues Comicall Thaley:
In fresh green youth, who dothe like laurell last.
With voyces Tragicall sowndes Melpomen,
And, as with cheyns, thallured eare shee bindes.
Her stringes when Terpsichor dothe touche, euen then
Shee toucheth hartes, and raigneth in mens mindes.
Fine Erato, whose look a liuely chere
Presents, in dauncyng keeps a comely grace.
With semely gesture doth Polymnie stere:
Whose wordes holle routes of renkes doo rule in place,
Vranie, her globes to view all bent,
The ninefolde heauen obserues with fixed face.
The blastes Euterpe tunes of instrument,
With solace sweet hence heauie dumps to chase.
Lord Phebus in the mids (whose heauenly sprite
These ladies dothe enspire) embraceth all.
The graces in the Muses weed, delite
To lead them forth, that men in maze they fall.
In workyng well
Musonius the Philosophers saiyng.
In workyng well, if trauell you sustaine:Into the winde shall lightly passe the payne:
But of the deed the glory shall remaine,
And cause your name with worthy wightes to raigne.
In workyng wrong, if pleasure you attaine:
The pleasure soon shall vade, and uoide, as vaine:
N1v
But of the deed, throughout the life, the shame
Endures, defacyng you with fowl defame:
And stil torments the minde, bothe night and daye:
Scant length of time the spot can wash awaye.
Flee then ylswading pleasures baits vntreew:
And noble vertues fayr renown purseew.
Who wold beleeue mans life
Marcus Catoes comparison of mans life with yron.
Who wold beleeue mans life like yron to bee,But proof had been, great Cato, made by thee?
For if, long time, one put this yron in vre,
Folowing ech day his woork, with bysye cure:
With dayly vse, hee may the metall wear,
And bothe the strength, and hardnesse eke impaire.
Again, in case his yron hee cast aside,
And carelesse long let it vntoucht abide:
Sythe, cankerd rust inuades the mettall sore,
And her fowl teeth there fastneth more and more.
So man, incase his corps hee tyre, and faint
With labor long: his strength it shall attaint.
But if in sluggard slothe the same dothe lye:
That manly might will fall away, and dye:
That bodies strength, that force of wit remooue:
Hee shall, for man, a weaklyng woman prooue.
Wherfore, my childe, holde twene these twaine the waye:
Nother with to much toyl thy lyms decaye,
In idle ease nor giue to vices place:
In bothe who measure keeps, hee hath good grace.
One is my sire
Cleobulus the Lydians riddle.
One is my sire: my soons, twise six they bee:Of daughters ech of them begets, you see,
Thrise ten: wherof one sort be fayr of face,
The oother doth vnseemly black disgrace.
Nor this holl rout is thrall vnto deathdaye,
Nor worn with wastful time, but liue alwaye:
N2r
And yet the same alwaies (straunge case) do dye.
The sire, the daughters, and the soons distry.
Incase you can so hard a knot vnknit:
You shall I count an Edipus in wit.
By heauens hye gift
Concerning Virgils Eneids.
By heauens hye gift, incase reuiued wereLysip, Apelles, and Homer the great:
The moste renowmd, and ech of them sance pere,
In grauyng, paintyng, and the Poets feat:
Yet could they not, for all their vein diuine,
In marble, table, paper more, or lesse,
With cheezil, pencil, or with poyntel fyne,
So graue, so paynt, or so by style expresse
(Though they beheld of euery age, and land
The fayrest books, in euery toung contriued,
To frame a fourm, and to direct their hand)
Of noble prince the liuely shape descriued:
As, in the famous woork, that Eneids hight,
The naamkouth Virgil hath set forth in sight.
A heauy hart
Of mirth.
A Heauy hart, with wo encreaseth euery smart:A mirthfull minde in time of need, defendeth sorowes dart.
The sprite of quicnesse seems, by drery sadnesse slayn:
By mirth, a man to liuely plight, reuiued is agayn.
Dolour dryeth vp the bones: the sad shall sone be sick:
Mirth can preserue the kyndly helth, mirth makes the body quick.
Depe dumps do nought, but dull, not meet for man but beast:
A mery hert sage Salomon countes his continuall feast.
Sad soll, before thy time, brings thee vnto deaths dore:
That fond condicions haue bereft, late daye can not restore.
As, when the couered heauen, showes forth a lowryng face,
Fayr Titan, with his leam of light, returns a goodly grace:
So, when our burdened brest is whelmd with clowdy thought,
A pleasant calm throughout the corps, by chereful hart is brought
Enioye we then our ioyes, and in the lorde reioyce:
Faith makyng fast eternall ioye, of ioyes while wee haue choyce.
N2v
Charis the fourth
To L. I. S.
Charis the fourth, Pieris the tenth, the second Cypris, Iane,One to assemblies thre adioynd: whom Phebus fere, Diane,
Among the Nymphs Oreades, might wel vouchsafe to place:
But you as great a goddesse serue, the quenes most noble grace:
Allhayle, and while, like Terpsichor, much melody you make:
Which if the field, as doth the court, enioyd, the trees wold shake:
While latine you, and french frequent: while English tales you tel:
Italian whiles, and Spanish you do hear, and know full well:
Amid such peares, and solemne sightes, in case conuenient tyme
You can (good Lady) spare, to read a rurall poets ryme:
Take here his simple sawes, in briefe: wherin no need to moue
Your Ladishyp, but thus lo speakes thabundance of his loue.
The worthy feates that now so much set forth your noble name,
So haue in vre, they still encreast, may more encrease your fame.
For though diuine your doings be, yet thews w[ith] yeres may grow:
And if you stay, streight now adayes fresh wits will ouergo.
Wherfore the glory got maintayne, maintayne the honour great.
So shal the world my doom approue, and set you in that seat,
Where Graces, Muses, and Ioues ymp, the ioyful Venus, raigne:
So shall the bacheler blessed bee, can such a Nymph obtaine.
What cause, what reaso[n]
To maistres D. A.
What cause, what reaso[n] moueth me: what fansy fils my brainsThat you I minde of virgins al, who[m] Britan soile sustains
Bothe when to lady Mnemosynes dere daughters I resort,
And eke whe[n] I [that] season slow deceaue, w[ith] glad disport?
What force, what power haue you so great, what charms haue you late fon[n]d,
To pluck, to draw, to rauish hartes, & stirre out of ther stownd?
To you, I trow, Ioues daughter hath the louely gyrdle lent,
That Cestos hight: wherin there bee all maner graces blent,
Allurementes of conceits, of wordes the pleasurable taste:
That same, I gesse, hath she giuen you, and girt about your waste
Beset with sute of precious pearl, as bright as sunny day.
But what? I am beguilde, and gone (I wene) out of the way.
These causes lo do not so much present your image prest,
That will I, nill I, night and day, you lodge within this brest:
Those gifts of your right worthy minde, those golde[n] gifts of mind
N3r
Of my fast fixed fansiefourm first moouing cause I finde:
Loue of the one, and threefold powr: faith sacred, sound, sincere:
A modest maydens mood: an hert, from clowd of enuy clere:
Wit, fed with Pallas food diuine: will, led with louely lore:
Memorie, conteining lessons great of ladies fiue, and fowr:
Woords, sweeter, than the sugar sweet, with heauenly nectar drest:
Nothing but coomly can they carp, and wonders well exprest.
Such damsels did the auncient world, for Poets penns, suffise:
Which, now a dayes, welnye as rare, as Poets fyne, aryse.
Wherfore, by gracious gifts of god, you more than thrise yblest:
And I welblest myself suppose: whom chastefull loue imprest,
In frendships lace, with such a lasse, doth knit, and fast combine:
Which lace no threatning fortune shall, no length of tyme vntwine:
And I that daye, with gem snowwhite, will mark, & eke depaynt
With pricely pen: which, Awdley, first gan mee with you acquaint.
Deserts of Nymphs
Of m. D. A.
Deserts of Nymphs, that auncient Poets showe,Ar not so kouth, as hers: whose present face,
More, than my Muse, may cause the world to knowe
A nature nobly giuen: of woorthy race:
So trayned vp, as honour did bestowe.
Cyllene, in sugerd speech, gaue her a grace.
Excell in song Apollo made his dere.
No fingerfeat Minerue hid from her sight.
Exprest in look, she hath so souerain chere,
As Cyprian once breathed on the Spartan bright.
Wit, wisdom, will, woord, woork, and all, I ween,
Dare nomans pen presume to paint outright.
Lo luyster and light: which if old tyme had seen,
Entroned, shyne she should, with goddesse Fame.
Yeeld, Enuie, these due prayses to this dame.
Now flaming Phebus
A neew yeres gift, to the l. M. S.
Now flaming Phebus, passing through his heauenly regio[n] hye,The vttrest Ethiopian folk with ferueut beams doth frye:
And with the soon, the yere also his secret race doth roon:
And Ianus, with his double face, hath it again begoon:
N3v
O thou, that art the hed of all, whom mooneths, and yeres obey:
At whose commaund bee bothe the sterres, and surges of the sea:
By powr diuine, now prosper vs this yere with good successe:
This well to lead, and many mo, vs with thy fauour blesse.
Graunt, with sound soll in body sound that here we dayly go:
And, after, in that conntrey lyue, whence bannisht is all wo:
Where hoonger, thirst, and sory age, and sicknesse may not mell:
No sense perceius, no hert bethinks the ioyes, that there do dwel.
So happy bee
An other to. l.M.S.
So happy bee the course of your long life:So roon the yere intoo his circle ryfe:
That nothyng hynder your welmeanyng minde:
Sharp wit may you, remembrans redy fynde,
Perfect intelligence, all help at hand:
Styll stayd your thought in frutefull studies stand.
Hed framed thus may thother parts well frame,
Diuine demeanour wyn a noble name:
By payzed doom with leasure, and good heed:
By vpright dole, and much auayling deed:
By hert vnthirld, by vndiscoomfite chere,
And brest discharged quite of coward fere:
By sobermood, and orders coomly rate:
In weal, and wo, by holdyng one estate.
And to that beauties grace, kynde hath you lent,
Of bodies helth a perfite plight bee blent.
Dame fortunes gifts may so stand you in sted,
That well, and wealfully your lyfe be led.
And hee, who giues these graces not in vayn,
Direct your deeds, his honour to maintain.
To you, madame, I wish
To. l. K. S.
To you, madame, I wish, bothe now, and eke from yere to yere,Stre[n]gth w[ith] Debore, w[ith] Iudith faith, w[ith] Maudle[n] zeal, Anns chere
With blessed Mary modest moode: like Sibill, life full long:
A mynde with sacred sprite enspired, wit fresh, and body strong:
And, when of your forepointed fate you haue outroon the race:
Emong all these, in Ioues hye raygn of blisses full, a place.
N4r
As this first daye of Ianus
To. l. E. S.
As this first daye of Ianus youthe restores vnto the yere:So bee your minde in coorage good reuiued, and herty chere.
And as dame Tellus labreth now her frutes conceiued to breed:
Rightso of your most forward wit may great auail proceed.
So lucky bee the yere, the mooneths, the weeks, [the] dayes, [the] howrs
That them, with long recours, you may enioy in blisfull bowrs.
Gorgeous attire
To. m. D. A.
Gorgeous attire, by art made trym, and clene,Cheyn, bracelet, perl, or gem of Indian riuer,
To you I nil, ne can (good Damascene)
This time of Ianus Calends, here deliuer.
But, what? My hert: which, though long sins certain
Your own it was, aye present at your hest:
Yet here itself doth it resigne agayn,
Within these noombers closde. Where, think you best
This to repose? There, I suppose, where free
Minerue you place. For it hath you embraste,
As thHeliconian Nymphs: with whom, euen hee,
That burn for soom, Apollo liueth chaste.
Presents in case by raarnesse you esteem:
O Lord, how great a gift shall this then seem?
To you this present yere
To. m. S. H.
To you this present yere full fayre, and fortunable fall,Returning now to his prime part: and, good luck therwithall,
May it proceed: and end, and oft return, to glad your hert:
O Susan, whom among my frendes I count, by your desert.
Ioy may your heauenly sprite: endure fresh wit, in [that] fyne brayn:
Your knowledge of good things encreas: your body, safe remain:
A body, of such shape, as showeth a worthy wight by kynde:
A closet, fit for to contein the vertues of that minde.
What shall I yet moreouer add? God graunt, w[ith] pleasaunt mate
A pleasaunt life you lead. Well may that man reioyse his fate.
N4v
No image carued
To his familiar frend.
No image carued with coonnyng hand, no cloth of purple dye,No precious weight of metall bright, no siluer plate gyue I:
Such gear allures not heue[n]ly herts: such gifts no grace they bring:
I lo, [that] know your minde, will send none such what then? nothing.
What one art thou
Description of Vertue.
What one art thou, thus in torn weed yclad?Vertue, in price whom auncient sages had.
Why, poorely rayd? For fadyng goodes past care.
Why doublefaced? I mark eche fortunes fare.
This bridle, what? Mindes rages to restrain.
Tooles why beare you? I loue to take great pain.
Why, winges? I teach aboue the starres to flye.
Why tread you death? I onely cannot dye.
The auncient time commended
Prayse of measure-kepyng.
The auncient time commended, not for nought,The mean: what better thing can ther be sought?
In mean, is vertue placed: on either side,
Bothe right, and left, amisse a man shall slide.
Icar, with sire hadst thou the mid way flown,
Icarian beck by name had no man known.
If middle path kept had proud Phaeton,
No burning brand this erth had falln vpon.
Ne cruell powr, ne none to soft can raign:
That keeps a mean, thesame shall styll remain.
Thee, Iulie, once did toomuch mercy spill:
Thee, Nero stern, rigor extreem did kill.
How could August so many yeres well passe?
Nor onermeek, nor ouerferse he was.
Worship not Ioue with curious fansies vain,
Nor him despise: hold right atween these twayn.
O1r
No wastefull wight, no greedy goom is prayzd.
Stands largesse iust, in egall balance payzd.
So Catoes meal surmountes Antonius chere,
And better fame his sober fare hath here.
To slender buildyng, bad: as bad, to grosse:
One, an eyesore, the tother falls to losse.
As medcines help, in measure: so (God wot)
By ouermuch, the sick their bane haue got.
Vnmeet mee seems to vtter this, mo wayes:
Measure forbids vnmeasurable prayse.
What path list you to tred?
Mans life after Possidonius, or Crates.
What path list you to tred? what trade will you assaye?The courts of plea, by braul, & bate, driue gentle peace away.
In house, for wife, and childe, there is but cark, and care:
With trauail, and with toyl ynough, in feelds wee vse to fare.
Vpon the seas lieth dreed: the riche, in foraine land,
Doo fear the losse: and there, the poore, like misers poorly stand.
Strife, with a wife, without, your thrift full hard to see:
Yong brats, a trouble: none at all, a maym it seems to bee:
Youth, fond: age hath no hert, and pincheth all to nye.
Choose then the leefer of these twoo, no life, or soon to dye.
What race of life ronne you?
Metrodorus minde to the contrarie.
What race of life ronne you? what trade will you assaye?In courts, is glory gott, and witt encreased daye by daye.
At home, wee take our ease, and beak our selues in rest:
The feelds our nature doo refresh with pleasures of the best.
On seas, is gayn to gett: the straunger, hee shall bee
Esteemed, hauing much: if not, none knoweth his lack, but hee.
A wife will trym thy house: no wife? then art thou free.
Brood is a louely thing: without, thy life is loose to thee.
Yong bloods be strong: old sires in double honour dwell.
Doo waye that choys, no life, or soon to dye: for all is well.
O1v
When princes lawes
Of lawes.
When princes lawes, w[ith] reuerend right, do keep [the] co[m]mons vnderAs meek as la[m]bes, thei do their charge, & scatter not asunder.
But if they raise their heades aloft, and lawe her brydle slake:
Then, like a tyger fell, they fare, and lust for law they take.
Where water dothe preuail, and fire, no mercy they expresse:
But yet the rage of that rude rout is much more mercilesse.
Of all the heauenly gifts
Of frendship.
Of all the heauenly gifts, that mortall men commend,What trusty treasure in the world can cou[n]teruail a frend?
Our helth is soon decayd: goodes, casuall, light, and vain:
Broke haue we seen the force of powr, and honour suffer stain.
In bodies lust, man doth resemble but base brute:
True vertue gets, and keeps a frend, good guide of our pursute:
Whose harty zeal with ours accords, in euery case:
No terme of time, no space of place, no storme can it deface.
When fickle fortune fayls, this knot endureth still:
Thy kin out of their kinde may swarue, when fre[n]ds owe thee good wil.
What sweeter solace shall befall, than one to finde,
Vpon whose brest thou mayst repose the secrets of thy minde?
Hee wayleth at thy wo, his tears with thine be shed:
With thee dothe hee all ioyes enioye: so leef a life is led.
Behold thy frend, and of thy self the pattern see:
One soull, a wonder shall it seem, in bodies twain to bee.
In absence, present, riche in want, in sickenesse sownd,
Yea, after death aliue, mayst thou by thy sure frend be found.
Ech house, ech towne, ech realm by stedfast loue dothe stand:
Where fowl debate breeds bitter bale, in eche diuided land.
O frendship, flowr of flowrs: O liuely sprite of life,
O sacred bond of blisfull peace, the stalworth staunch of strife:
Scipio with Lelius didst thou conioyn in care,
At home, in warrs, for weal and wo, with egall faith to fare.
Gesippus eke with Tite, Damon with Pythias,
And with Menetus sonne Achill, by thee combined was.
Euryalus, and Nisus gaue Virgil cause to sing:
Of Pylades doo many rymes, and of Orestes ring.
O2r
Down Theseus went to hell, Pirith, his frend to finde:
O [that] the wiues, in these our dayes, were to their mates so kinde.
Cicero, the frendly man, to Atticus, his frend,
Of frendship wrote: such couples lo dothe lott but seeldom lend.
Recount thy race, now ronne: how few shalt thou there see,
Of whome to saye: This same is hee, that neuer fayled mee.
So rare a iewel then must nedes be holden dere:
And as thou wilt esteem thyself, so take thy chosen fere.
The tyrant, in dispayre, no lack of gold bewayls:
But, Out I am vndoon (sayth hee) for all my frendship fayls.
Wherfore sins nothing is more kindely for our kinde:
Next wisdome, thus that teacheth vs, loue we the frendful minde.
The issue of great Ioue
The Garden.
The issue of great Ioue, draw nere you, Muses nine:Help vs to praise the blisfull plott of garden ground so fine.
The garden giues good food, and ayd for leaches cure:
The garden, full of great delite, his master dothe allure.
Sweet sallet herbs bee here, and herbs of euery kinde:
The ruddy grapes, the seemly frutes bee here at hand to finde.
Here pleasans wanteth not, to make a man full fayn:
Here marueilous the mixture is of solace, and of gain.
To water sondry seeds, the forow by the waye
A ronning riuer, trilling downe with liquor, can conuay.
Beholde, with liuely heew, fayr flowrs that shyne so bright:
With riches, like the orient gems, they paynt the molde in sight.
Beez, humming with soft sound, (their murmur is so small)
Of blooms and blossoms suck the topps, on dewed leaues they fall
The creping vine holds down her own bewedded elms:
And, wa[n]dering out w[ith] branches thick, reeds folded ouerwhelms.
Trees spred their couerts wyde, with shadows fresh and gaye:
Full well their branched bowz defend the feruent sonne awaye.
Birds chatter, and some chirp, and some sweet tunes doo yeeld:
All mirthfull, w[ith] their songs so blithe, they make both ayre, & feeld.
The garden, it allures, it feeds, it glads the sprite:
Fro[m] heauy harts all doolfull dumps the garden chaseth quite.
Stength it restores to lims, drawes, and fulfils the sight:
With chere reuiues the senses all, and maketh labour light.
O, what delites to vs the garden ground dothe bring?
Seed, leaf, flowr, frute, herb, bee, and tree, & more, then I may sing.
O2v
The worthy Wilfords body
An epitaph of sir Iames wilford knight.
The worthy Wilfords body, which alyue,Made both the Scot, and Frenchman sore adrad:
A body, shapte of stomake stout to striue
With forein foes: a corps, that coorage had
So full of force, the like nowhere was ryfe:
With hert, as free, as ere had gentle knight:
Now here in graue (thus chaungeth ay, this lyfe)
Rests, with vnrest to many a wofull wight.
Of largesse great, of manhod, of forecast
Can ech good English souldiour bear record.
Speak Laundersey, tell Muttrel maruails past:
Crye Musselborough: prayse Haddington thy lord,
From thee that held both Scots, and frekes of Fraunce:
Farewel, may England say, hard is my chaunce.
For Wilford wept first men
An other, of the same knightes death.
For Wilford wept first men, then ayr also,For Wilford felt the wayters wayfull wo.
The men so wept: that bookes, abrode which bee,
Of moornyng meeters full a man may see.
So wayld the ayr: that, clowds consumde, remaynd
No dropes, but drouth the parched erth sustaynd.
So greeted floods: that, where ther rode before
A ship, a car may go safe on the shore.
Left were nomo, but heauen, and erth, to make,
Throughout the world, this greef his rigor take.
But sins the heauen this Wilfords goste dothe keep,
And earth, his corps: saye mee, why shold they weep?
Man, by a woman lern
An Epitaph of the ladye Margaret Lee. 1555.
O3r
Blod, fre[n]dship, beauty, youth, attire, welth, worship, helth & al
Take not for thine: nor yet thy self as thine beknow.
For hauing these, with full great prayse, this lady did but show
Her self vnto the world: and in prime yeres (bee ware)
Sleeps doolfull sister, who is wont for no respect to spare,
Alas, withdreew her hence: or rather softly led:
For with good will I dare well saye, her waye to him shee sped:
Who claymed, that he bought: and took that erst hee gaue:
More meet than any worldly wight, such heauenly gems to haue.
Now wold shee not return, in earth a queen to dwell.
As shee hathe doon to you, good frend, bid lady Lee, farewell.
Myrrour of matrones
Vpon the tomb of A. w.
Myrrour of matrones, flowr of spouslike loue,Of fayr brood frutefull norsse, poor peoples stay,
Neybours delite, true hert to him aboue,
In yeelding worlds encreas took her decaye:
Who printed liues yet in our hertes alway:
Whose closet of good thews, layd here a space,
Shall shortly with the soull in heauen haue place.
Now, blythe Thaley
Vpon the deceas of w. Ch.
Now, blythe Thaley, thy feastfull layes lay by:And to resound these doolfull tunes apply.
Cause of great greef the tyrant death imports:
Whose vgsoom idoll to my brayns resorts.
A gracefull ymp, a flowr of youth, away
Hath she bereft (alas) before his daye.
Chambers, this lyfe to leaue, and thy dear mates,
So soon doo thee constrayn enuyous fates?
Oh, with that wit, those maners, that good hert,
Woorthy to lyue olde Nestors yeres thou wert.
You wanted outward yies: and yet aryght
In stories, Poets, oratours had sight.
Whatso you herd, by liuely voyce, exprest,
Was soon reposde within that mindefull brest.
To mee more pleasant Plautus neuer was,
Than those conceits, that from your mouth did passe.
O3v
Our studiemates great hope did hold alway,
You wold be our schooles ornament, one day.
Your parents then, that thus haue you forgone,
Your brethren eke must make theyr heauy mone:
Your louyng feres cannot theyr teares restrayn:
But I, before them all, haue cause to playn:
Who in pure loue was so conioynd with thee,
An other Grimald didst thou seem to bee.
Ha lord, how oft wisht you, with all your hart,
That vs no chaunce a sonder might depart?
Happy were I, if this your prayer tooke place:
Ay mee, that it dothe cruell death deface.
Ah lord, how oft your sweet woords I repeat,
And in my mynde your woonted lyfe retreat?
O Chambers, O thy Grimalds mate moste dere:
Why hath fell fate tane thee, and left him here?
But wherto these complaintes iu vain make wee?
Such woords in wyndes to waste, what mooueth mee?
Thou holdst the hauen of helth, with blisfull Ioue:
Through many waues, and seas, yet must I roue.
Not woorthy I, so soon with thee to go:
Mee styll my fates reteyn, bewrapt in wo.
Liue, our companion once, now lyue for aye:
Heauens ioyes enioy, whyle wee dye day by daye.
You, that of faith so sure signes here exprest,
Do triumph now, nodout, among the blest:
Haue changed sea for porte, darknesse for light,
An inn for home, exile for countrey right,
Trauail for rest, straunge way for citie glad,
Battail for peas, free raign for bondage bad.
These wretched erthly stounds who can compare
To heanenly seats, and those delites moste rare?
We frayl, you firm: we with great trouble tost,
You bathe in blisse, that neuer shall bee lost.
Wherfore, Thaley, reneew thy feastfull layes:
Her doolfull tunes my chered Muse now stayes.
Why, Nicolas
Of N. Ch.
Why, Nicolas, why doest thou make such hasteAfter thy brother? Why goest thou so? To taste
O4r
Of changed lyfe with hym the better state?
Better? yea best of all, that thought can rate.
Or, did the dreed of wretched world driue thee
Leste thou this afterfall should hap to see:
Mauortian moods, Saturnian furies fell,
Of tragicall turmoyls the haynous hell?
O, whose good thews in brief cannot be told,
The hartiest mate, that euer trod the mold:
If our farewell, that here liue in distresse,
Auayl, farewell: the rest teares do suppresse.
Yea, and a good cause
A funerall song, vpon the deceas of Annes his moother.
Yea, and a good cause why thus should I playn.For what is hee, can quietly sustayn
So great a grief, with mouth as styll, as stone?
My loue, my lyfe, of ioye my ieewell is gone.
This harty zeale if any wight disprooue,
As womans work, whom feeble minde doth mooue:
Hee neither knowes the mighty natures laws,
Nor touching elders deeds hath seen old saws.
Martius, to vanquish Rome, was set on fire:
But vanquisht fell, at moothers boon, his ire.
Into Hesperian land Sertorius fled,
Of parent aye cheef care had in his hed.
Dear weight on shoulders Sicil brethren bore,
While Etnaes gyant spouted flames full sore.
Not more of Tyndars ymps hath Sparta spoke,
Than Arge of charged necks with parents yoke.
Nor onely them thus dyd foretyme entreat:
Then, was the noorsse also in honour great.
Caiet the Phrygian from amid fireflame
Rescued, who gaue to Latine stronds the name.
Acca, in dubble sense Lupa ycleaped,
To Romane Calendars a feast hath heaped.
His Capra Ioue among the sterres hath pight:
In welkin clere yet lo she shineth bryght.
Hyades as gratefully Lyai did place,
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Whom, in primetide, supports the Bulls fayr face.
And should not I expresse my inward wo,
When you, most louyng dam, so soon hence go?
I, in your frutefull woomb conceyued, born was,
Whyle wanderyng moon ten moonths did ouerpasse.
Mee, brought to light, your tender arms sustaynd:
And, with my lips, your milky paps I straynd.
You mee embraced, in bosom soft you mee
Cherished, as I your onely chylde had bee.
Of yssue fayr with noombers were you blest:
Yet I, the bestbeloued of all the rest.
Good luck, certayn forereadyng moothers haue,
And you of mee a speciall iudgement gaue.
Then, when firm pase I fixed on the ground:
When toung gan cease to break the lispyng sound:
You mee streightway did too the Muses send,
Ne suffered long a loytervng lyfe to spend,
What gayn the wooll, what gayn the wed had braught,
It was his meed, that me there dayly taught.
When with Minerue I had acquaintance woon:
And Phebus seemd to loue mee, as his soon:
Browns hold I bad, at parents hest, farewell:
And gladly there in schools I gan to dwell:
Where Granta giues the ladies nyne such place,
That they reioyse to see theyr blisfull case.
With ioyes at hert, in this pernasse I bode,
Whyle, through his signes, fiue tymes great Titan glode:
And twyse as long, by that fayr foord, whereas
Swanfeeder Temms no furder course can passe.
O, what desire had you, therwhile, of mee?
Mid doutfull dreeds, what ioyes were wont to bee?
Now linnen clothes, wrought with those fyngers fyne,
Now other thynges of yours dyd you make myne:
Tyll your last thredes gan Clotho to vntwyne,
And of your dayes the date extreem assygne.
Hearyng the chaunce, your neybours made much mone:
A dearworth dame, they thought theyr coomfort gone.
Kinswoomen wept: your charge, the maydens wept:
Your daughters wept, whom you so well had kept.
But my good syre gaue, with soft woords, releef:
And clokes, with outward chere, his inward greef:
Leste, by his care, your sicknes should augment,
P1r
And on his case your thoughtfull hert be bent.
You, not forgetting yet a moothers mood,
When at the dore dartthirling death there stood,
Did saye: Adeew, dear spouse, my race is roon:
Wher so he bee, I haue left you a soon,
And Nicolas you naamd, and naamd agayn:
With other speech, aspiring heauenly raign:
When into ayre your sprite departed fled,
And left the corps a cold in lukewarm bed.
Ah, could you thus, deare mother, leaue vs all?
Now, should you liue: that yet, before your fall,
My songs you might haue soong, haue heard my voyce,
And in commodities of your own reioyce.
My sisters yet vnwedded who shall guide?
With whose good lessons shall they bee applyed?
Haue, mother, monumentes of our sore smart:
No costly tomb, areard with curious art:
Nor Mausolean masse, hoong in the ayre:
Nor loftie steeples, that will once appayre:
But waylful verse, and doolfull song accept.
By verse, the names of auncient peres be kept:
By verse, liues Hercules: by verse, Achil:
Hector, Ene, by verse, be famous still.
Such former yeres, such death hath chau[n]ced thee:
Closde, with good end, good life is woont to bee.
But now, my sacred parent, fare you well:
God shall cause vs agayn togither dwell,
What time this vniuersall globe shall hear
Of the last troomp the rynging voyce: great fear
To soom, to such as you a heauenly chear.
Til then, reposde rest you in gentle sleep:
While hee, whom to you are bequeathd, you keep.
The noble Henry
Vpon the death of the lord Mautrauers, out of doctor Haddons latine.
The noble Henry, he, that was the lord Mautrauers named:Heyr to the house of thArundels, so long a time now famed:
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Who from Fitzalens doth recount discent of worthy race,
Fitzalens, earls of hye estate, men of a goodly grace:
Whom his renowmed father had seen florish, and excell,
In arms, in arts, in witt, in skill, in speaking wonders well:
Whose yeres, to timely vertue had, and manly grauenesse caught:
With soden ruine is downfalln, and into ashes braught:
While glory his coragious hert enflames to trauail great:
And, in his youthly brest ther raigns an ouerferuent heat.
The perelesse princesse, Mary quene, her message to present,
This Britan lord, as one moste meet, to Cesars broother sent.
On coursing steeds hee rids the waye: in ship hee fleeteth fast:
To royall Cesars court he comes, the payns, and perils past:
His charge enioynd perfourmeth hee, attaind exceeding prayse:
His name, and fame so fully spred, it dures for afterdayes.
But lo, a feruent feeuer doth, amid his triumphs, fall:
And, with hertgripyng greef, consumes his tender lyms and all.
O rufull youth, thy helth too far forgot, and too much heed
To countrie, and too parent yeuen: why makest thou such speed?
O, staye your self: your country so to serue dothe right require,
That often serue you may: and then, at length, succeed your sire.
But thee perchaunce it likes, thy life the price of praise to paye:
Nor deth doest dreed, where honor shines, as bright, as sonny day.
Certesse no greater glory could, than this, to thee betide:
Though Ioue, six hundred yeres, had made thy fatall thread abide
Of iourneys, and of trauails huge the cause thy country was:
Thy funerall to honour, forth great Cesars court gan passe.
And thus, O thus (good lord) this ymp, of heue[n] most worthy wight
His happy life with blisfull death concluded hath aright:
When, in fourt yere quene Maries raign proceeded: & what day,
Was last of Iulie moneth, the same his last took him awaye.
From yeres twise ten if you in count wil but one yere abate:
The very age then shall you finde of lord Mautrauers fate.
Likewise, was Titus Cesar hence withdrawn, in his prime yeres:
Likewise, the yong prince Edward went: and diuers other peres.
Father, forbear thy wofull tears, cease, England, too lament:
Fates fauour none, the enmie death to all alike is bent.
The onely mean, that now remains, with eloquence full fine,
Hath Shelley vsed, in setting forth this barons name diuine.
Your Haddon eke, who erst in your life time, bore you good hart,
Presenteth you this monument, of woonted zeal some part.
And now farewell: of English youth most chosen gem, farewell:
A worthyer wight, saue Edward, did in England neuer dwell.
P2r
Mee thought, of late
Vpon the sayd lord Mautrauers death.
Mee thought, of late when lord Mautrauers dyed,Our common weal, thus, by her self shee cryed:
Oft haue I wept for mine, so layd a sleep,
Yet neuer had I iuster cause to weep.
Now clattering arms
The death of Zoroas, an Egiptian Astronomer, in the first fight, that Alexander had with the Persians.
Now clattering arms, now ragyng broyls of warrGan passe the noyes of taratantars clang:
Shrowded with shafts, the heuen: with clowd of darts,
Couered, the ayre: against fulfatted bulls,
As forceth kindled ire the Lions keen:
Whose greedy gutts the gnawing hoonger pricks:
So Macedoins against the Persians fare.
Now corpses hide the purpurde soyl with blood:
Large slaughter, on ech side: but Perses more
Moyst feelds bebledd: their herts, and noombers bate.
Fainted while they giue back, and fall to flight:
The lightning Macedon, by swoords, by gleaus,
By bands, and trowps, of fotemen with his garde,
Speeds to Darie: but him, his nearest kyn,
Oxate preserues, with horsemen on a plump
Before his cart: that none the charge could giue.
Here grunts, here grones, echwhere strong youth is spent:
Shaking her bloody hands, Bellone, among
The Perses, soweth all kindes of cruel death.
With throte ycutt, hee roores: hee lyeth along,
His entrails with a launce through girded quite:
Him down the club, him beats farstryking bowe,
And him the slyng, and him the shinand swoord:
Hee dieth, hee is all dedd, hee pants, hee rests.
Right ouer stood, in snowwhite armour braue,
P2v
The Memphite Zoroas, a cooning clerk:
To whom the heauen lay open, as his book:
And in celestiall bodyes hee could tell
The moouyng, meetyng, light, aspect, eclyps,
And influence, and constellations all:
What earthly chaunces wold betide: what yere
Of plenty storde, what signe forwarned derth:
How winter gendreth snow: what temperature
In the primetide dothe season well the soyl:
Why soomer burns: why autum hath ripe grapes:
Whether the circle, quadrate may becoom:
Whether our tunes heauens harmony can yeeld:
Of fowr begynns, among them selues how great
Proportion is: what swaye the erring lightes
Dothe send in course gayn that first moouing heauen:
What grees, one from an other distant bee:
What sterr dothe lett the hurtfull fire to rage,
Or him more mylde what opposition makes:
What fire dothe qualifie Mauorses fire:
What house echone doth seek: what planet raigns
Within this hemisphere, or that: small things
I speak: holl heauen hee closeth in his brest.
This sage then, in the starrs had spied: the fates
Threatned him death, without delaye: and sithe
Hee saw, hee could not fatall order change:
Forward hee preast, in battayl that hee might
Meet with the ruler of the Macedoins:
Of his right hand desirous to be slayn,
The boldest beurn, and worthiest in the feeld:
And, as a wight now weary of his life,
And seeking death: in first front of his rage,
Cooms desperatly to Alisanders face:
At him, with darts, one after other, throwes:
With reckles woords, and clamour him prouokes:
And sayth, Nectanabs bastard, shameful stain
Of mothers bed: why losest thou thy strokes,
Cowards emong? Turn thee to mee, in case
Manhod ther bee so much left in thy hert:
Coom fight with mee: that on my helmet wear
Apolloes laurel, bothe for learnings laude,
And eke for Martiall prayse: that, in my shield,
The seuenfold sophie of Minerue contein:
P3r
A match, more meet, sir king, than any here.
The noble prince amoued, takes ruthe vpon
The wilfull wight: and, with soft woords, ayen,
O monstrous man (quod he) whatso thou art
I praye thee, lyue: ne do not, with thy death,
This lodge of lore, the Muses mansion marr.
That treasure house this hand shall neuer spoyl:
My swoord shall neuer bruze that skylfull brayn,
Longgatherd heapes of science soon to spyll.
O, how faire frutes may you to mortall men
From wisdoms garden, giue? How many may,
By you, the wyser, and the better proue?
What error, what mad moode, what phrenzey thee
Persuades to bee downsent to deep Auern:
Where no artes florish, nor no knowledge vails?
For all these sawes, when thus the souerain sayde,
Alighted Zoroas: with swoord vnsheathed,
The carelesse king there smote, aboue the greaue,
At thopening of his quishes: wounded him
So, that the blood down reyled on the ground
The Macedon, perceyuing hurt, gan gnash:
But yet his minde he bent, in any wyse,
Hym to forbear: set spurrs vnto his steed,
And turnd away: leste anger of the smart
Should cause reuenger hand deal balefull blowes.
But of the Macedonian chieftanes knights
One, Meleager, could not bear this sight:
But ran vpon the sayd Egyptian renk:
And cut him in both kneez: hee fell to ground:
Wherwith a hole route came of souldiours stern,
And all in peeces hewed the silly seg.
But happyly the soll fled to the sterres:
Where, vnder him, he hath full sight of all,
Wherat hee gazed here, with reaching looke.
The Persians wayld such sapience to forgo:
The very fone, the Macedonians wisht,
Hee wold haue lyued: kyng Alisander self
Deemd him a man, vnmeet to dye at all:
Who woon lyke prayse, for conquest of his ire,
As for stout men in feeld that daye subdeewd:
Who princes taught, how to discern a man,
P3v
That in his hed so rare a iewell beares.
But ouer all, those same Camenes, those same
Diuine Camenes, whose honour he procurde,
As tender parent dothe his daughters weal:
Lamented: aud, for thanks, all that they can,
Do cherish him deceast, and set hym free
From derk obliuion of deuouryng death.
Therfore, when restlesse rage
Marcus Tullius Ciceroes death.
Therfore, when restlesse rage of wynde, and waueHee saw: By fates, alas calld for (quod hee)
Is haplesse Cicero: sayl on, shape course
To the next shore, and bryng me to my death.
Perdie these thanks, reskued from ciuil swoord,
Wilt thou, my countrey, paye? I see mine end:
So powrs diuine, so bid the gods aboue,
In citie saued that Consul Marcus shend.
Speakyng nomore, but drawyng from deep hert
Great grones, euen at the name of Room reherst:
His yies, and cheeks, with showrs of teares, hee washt.
And (though a route in dayly daungers worn)
With forced face, the shipmen held theyr teares:
And, striuyng long the seas rough floods to passe,
In angry wyndes, and stormy stowrs made waye:
And at the last, safe anchord in the rode.
Came heauy Cicero a land: with payn,
His faynted lyms the aged sire dothe draw:
And, round about their master, stood his band:
Nor greatly with theyr own hard hap dismayd,
Nor plighted fayth, prone in sharp time to break:
Soom swoords prepare: soom theyr deare lord assist:
In littour layd, they lead hym vnkouth wayes:
If so deceaue Antonius cruell gleaus
They might, and threats of folowing routs escape.
Thus lo, that Tullie, went, that Tullius,
Of royall robe, and sacred Senate prince:
When hee afar the men approche espyeth,
And of his fone the ensignes dothe aknow:
And, with drawn swoord, Popilius threatnyng death:
Whose life, and holl estate, in hazard once,
P4r
Hee had preserud: when Room as yet to free
Herd hym, and at his thundryng voyce amazde.
Herennius eek, more eyger than the rest,
Present enflamde with furie, him purseews.
What might hee doo? Should hee vse in defense
Disarmed hands? or pardon ask, for meed?
Should hee with woords attempt to turn the wrath
Of tharmed knyght, whose safegard hee had wrought?
No, age, forbids, and fixt within deep brest
His countreys loue, and falling Rooms image.
The charret turn, sayth hee, let loose the rayns:
Roon to the vndeserued death: mee, lo,
Hath Phebus fowl, as messanger, forwarnd:
And Ioue desires a neew heauensman to make.
Brutus, and Cassius soulls, liue you in blisse:
In case yet all the fates gaynstriue vs not,
Neyther shall wee perchaunce dye vnreuenged.
Now haue I liued, O Room, ynough for mee:
My passed lyfe nought suffreth mee to dout
Noysom obliuion of the lothesom death.
Slea mee: yet all thofspring to coom shall know:
And this deceas shall bring eternall lyfe.
Yea and (onlesse I fayl, and all in vain
Room, I soomtyme thy Augur chosen was)
Not euermore shall frendly fortune thee
Fauour, Antonius: once the day shall coom:
When her deare wights, by cruell spight, thus slayn,
Victorious Room shall at thy hands require.
Mee likes, therwhyle, go see the hoped heauen.
Speech had he left: and therwith hee, good man,
His throte preparde, and held his hed vnmoued.
His hastyng too those fates the very knights
Be lothe to see: and, rage rebated, when
They his bare neck beheld, and his hore heyres:
Scant could they hold the teares, that forth gan burst:
And almost fell from bloody hands the swoords.
Onely the stern Herennius, with grym look,
Dastards, why stand you styll? he sayth: and streight,
Swaps of the hed, with his presumptuous yron.
Ne with that slaughter yet is hee not fild:
Fowl shame on shame to heap is his delyte.
Wherfore the hands also doth hee of smyte,
P4v
Which durst Antonius life so liuely paynt.
Him, yeldyng strayned goste, from welkin hye,
With lothly chere, lord Phebus gan behold:
And in black clowd, they saye, long hid his hed.
The latine Muses, and the Grayes, they wept:
And, for his fall, eternally shall weep.
And lo, hertpersyng Pitho (straunge to tell)
Who had to him suffisde bothe sense, and woords,
When so he spake: and drest, with nectar soote,
That flowyng toung: when his wyndpype disclosde,
Fled with her fleeyng frend: and (out alas)
Hath left the erth, ne wil nomore return.
Popilius flyeth, therwhyle: and, leauyng there
The senslesse stock, a gryzely sight doth bear
Vnto Antonius boord, with mischief fed.
For Tullie
Of M. T. Cicero.
For Tullie, late, a toomb I gan prepare:When Cynthie, thus, bad mee my labour spare:
Such maner things becoom the ded, quoth hee:
But Tullie liues, and styll alyue shall bee.
N. G.
Q1r
| "Songes and Sonettes written by the ryght honorable
Lorde Henry Haward late Earle of Surrey, and other" | |