ttage, or a grave.

From THOMAS CAMPION's _Third Book Of Airs_ (circ. 1613).

Were my heart as some men's are, thy errors would not move me,
But thy faults I curious find and speak because I love thee;
Patience is a thing divine, and far, I grant, above me.

Foes sometimes befriend us more, our blacker deeds objecting,
Than th' obsequious bosom-guest with false respect affecting;
Friendship is the Glass of Truth, our hidden stains detecting.

While I use of eyes enjoy and inward light of reason,
Thy observer will I be and censor, but in season;
Hidden mischief to conceal in state and love is treason.

From _Pammelia_, 1609.

What hap had I to marry a shrow!
For she hath given me many a blow,
And how to please her alack I do not know.

From morn to even her tongue ne'er lies,
Sometimes she brawls, sometimes she cries,
Yet I can scarce keep her talents[23] from mine eyes.

If I go abroad and late come in,--
"Sir knave," saith she, "Where have you been?"
And do I well or ill she claps me on the skin.

[23] Old form of "talons."

From ORLANDO GIBBONS' _First Set Of Madrigals_, 1612. (Ascribed to Sir
Walter Raleigh.)

What is our life? a play of passion:
Our mirth? the music of division.
Our mothers' wombs the tyring-houses be
Where we are drest for this short comedy:
Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is
That sits and marks whoe'er doth act amiss:
Our graves, that hide us from the searching sun,
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done:
Thus march we playing to our latest rest,
Only we die in earnest,--that's no jest.

From JOHN WILBYE's _Madrigals_, 1598.

What needeth all this travail and turmoiling,
Short'ning the life's sweet pleasure
To seek this far-fetched treasure
In those hot climates under Ph[oe]bus broiling?

O fools, can you not see a traffic nearer
In my sweet lady's face, where Nature showeth
Whatever treasure eye sees or heart knoweth?
Rubies and diamonds dainty
And orient pearls such plenty,
Coral and ambergreece sweeter and dearer
Than which the South Seas or Moluccas lend us,
Or either Indies, East or West, do send us!

From WILLIAM BYRD's _Psalms, Sonnets, and Songs_, 1588.

What pleasure have great princes
More dainty to their choice
Than herd