The modest mirth that she doth use
Is mixt with shamefastness;
All vice she doth wholly refuse,
And hateth idleness.

O Lord! it is a world to see
How virtue can repair
And deck in her such honesty,
Whom Nature made so fair!

How might I do to get a graffe
Of this unspotted tree?

For all the rest are plain but chaff,
Which seem good corn to be.
HEYWOOD.

THE TRIBUTE.

No splendor 'neath the sky's proud dome

But serves for her familiar wear; The far-fetch'd diamond finds its home

Flashing and smouldering in her hair;

For her the seas their pearls reveal; Art and strange lands her pomp supply

With purple, chrome, and cochineal, Ochre, and lapis lazuli;

The worm its golden woof presents; Whatever runs, flies, dives, or delves,

All doff for her their ornaments,

Which suit her better than themselves;

And all, by this their power to give Proving her right to take, proclaim

Her beauty's clear prerogative
To profit so by Eden's blame.
COVENTRY PATMORE.

ELIZABETH OF BOHEMIA.

You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes
More by your number than your
light,

You common people of the skies, What are you when the sun shall rise?

Ye violets that first appear,

By your pure purple mantles known,

And for my werk right nothing wol I axe;

My lord and I ben ful of one accord. I made her to the worship of my Lord. CHAUCER.

THE BRIDE.

Lo! where she comes along with portly pace,

Like Phoebe from her chamber of the east,

Arising forth to run her mighty race, Clad all in white, that seems a virgin best.

So well it her beseems, that ye would

ween

Some angel she had been. Her long, loose yellow locks, like golden wire,

Sprinkled with pearl, and pearling flowers atween,

Do like a golden mantle her attire; And being crownèd with a garland green,

Seem like some maiden queen.
Her modest eyes abashèd to behold
So many gazers as on her do stare,
Upon the lowly ground affixèd are;
Ne dare lift up her countenance too
bold,

But blush to hear her praises sung so loud,

So far from being proud. Nathless do ye still loud her praises sing,

That all the woods may answer, and your echo ring.

Tell me, ye merchants' daughters, did ye see

So fair a creature in your town before?

So sweet, so lovely, and so mild as she,

Adorned with Beauty's grace and Virtue's store?

Her goodly eyes like sapphires, shining bright,

Her forehead ivory white, Her cheeks like apples which the sun hath rudded,

Her lips like cherries charming men to bite,

Her breast like to a bowl of cream uncrudded,

Her paps like lilies budded,

And therefore little shall I grace my

cause

In speaking for myself. Yet, by your gracious patience,

I will a round unvarnished tale deliver

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,

What conjuration, and what mighty magic,

(For such proceeding I am charged withal,)

I won his daughter with.

Her father loved me, oft invited me; Still questioned me the story of my life,

From year to year; the battles, sieges, fortunes, That I have passed.

I ran it through, even from my boyish days,

To the very moment that he bade me tell it:

Wherein I spoke of most disastrous

chances,

Of moving accidents, by flood and

field;

Of hairbreadth scapes in the imminent deadly breach;

Of being taken by the insolent foe, And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,

And portance in my travel's history:

Wherein of antres vast, and deserts idle,

Rough quarries, rocks, and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak, such was the process:

And of the Cannibals that each other eat,

The Anthropophagi, and men whose heads

Do grow beneath their shoulders.
These things to hear
Would Desdemona seriously incline:
But still the house affairs would
draw her thence;

Which ever as she could with haste despatch,

She'd

come again, and with a greedy ear

Devour up my discourse: which, I

observing,

Took once a pliant hour, and found good means

But not intentively: I did consent; And often did beguile her of her tears,

When I did speak of some distressful stroke

That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs:

She swore,

in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; 'Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful:

She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished

That heaven had made her such a man; she thank'd me; And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,

I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. Upon this hint, I spake:

She loved me for the dangers I had passed,

And I loved her that she did pity them.

This only is the witchcraft I have used:

Here comes the lady, let her witness it.

SHAKSPEARE.

ATHULF AND ETHILDA.

Athulf.-Appeared The princess with that merry child Prince Guy:

He loves me well, and made her stop and sit,

And sate upon her knee, and it so chanced

That in his various chatter he denied That I could hold his hand within

my own

So closely as to hide it: this being tried

Was proved against him; he insisted

then

I could not by his royal sister's

hand

Do likewise. Starting at the random word,

And dumb with trepidation, there 1 stood

Some seconds as bewitched; then I looked up,

And in her face beheld an orient flush

Of half-bewildered pleasure: from which trance

She with an instant ease resumed herself,

And frankly, with a pleasant laugh, held out

Her arrowy hand.