SONNET.

Sure, if that long with love acquainted eyes
Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case;
I read it in thy looks, thy languish'd grace
To me that feel the like thy state descries.
Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me,
Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit?
Are beauties there as proud as here they be?
Do they above love to be lov'd, and yet

Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess?
Do they call virtue there ungratefulness?

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

SONG.

HAVE I caught my heav'nly jewel,
Teaching sleep most fair to be?
Now will I teach her that she,
When she wakes, is too too cruel.

Since sweet sleep her eyes hath charm'd,

The two only darts of Love;

Now will I, with that boy, prove
Some play, while he is disarm'd.

SONG.

Her tongue, waking, still refuseth,
Giving frankly niggard no:

Now will I attempt to know,

What no her tongue, sleeping, useth.

See the hand which, waking, guardeth,
Sleeping, grants a free resort:
Now will I invade the fort;
Cowards Love with loss rewardeth.

Yet those lips, so sweetly swelling,
Do invite a stealing kiss:

Now will I but venture this,

Who will read, must first learn spelling.

O! sweet kiss! but ah! she's waking;
Low'ring beauty chastens me:

Now will I away hence flee:

Fool! more fool! for no more taking.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.

SAMELA.

LIKE to Diana in her summer weed,

Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye,

Goes fair Samela;

Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed,
When washed by Arethusa faint they lie,
Is fair Samela;

As fair Aurora in her morning grey,
Decked with the ruddy glister of her love,
Is fair Samela ;

Like lovely Thetis on a calmèd day,
Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancy move,
Shines fair Samela ;

Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams,
Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory
Of fair Samela ;

Her cheeks, like rose and lily yield forth gleams,
Her brows' bright arches framed of ebony;

Thus fair Samela

Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue,
And Juno in the show of majesty,

For she's Samela :

Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view,
For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity

CONTENT-A SONNET.

SWEET are the thoughts that savour of content :
The quiet mind is richer than a crown:

Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent:
The poor estate scorns Fortune's angry frown.
Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.

The homely house that harbours quiet rest,
The cottage that affords no pride nor care,
The mean, that 'grees with country music best,
The sweet consort of mirth's and music's fare.
Obscured life sets down a type of bliss ;
A mind content both crown and kingdom is.

ROBERT GREENE.