For though hard rocks among
She seems to have been bred,
And of the tiger long

Been nourishèd and fed;
Yet shall that nature change,

If Pity once take place! Whom, as unknown and strange, She now away doth chase.

And as the water soft,

Without forcing or strength, Where that it falleth oft,

Hard stones doth pierce at length;

So, in her stony heart,

My plaints, at last, shall grave!

And, rigour set apart,

With grant of that I crave!

Wherefore, my plaints! present
Still so to her my suit,
As ye, through her assent,
May bring to me some fruit!
And as she shall me prove;

So bid her me regard,
And render love for love!

Which is a just reward.

A FACE, that should content me wondrous well,
Should not be fair; but lovely to behold!
Of lively look, all grief for to repel!

With right good grace, so would I that it should Speak without words, such words as none can tell! The tress also should be of crispèd gold!

With wit, and these, perchance, I might be tied;
And knit again with knot that should not slide!

DESCRIPTION OF A GUN.

VULCAN begat me.

MINERVA me taught.

Nature, my mother. Craft nourished me year by year. Three bodies are my food. My strength is in nought. Anger, Wrath, Waste, and Noise are my children dear. Guess, friend! what I am? and how I am wrought? Monster of sea, or of land, or of elsewhere.

Know me, and use me; and I may thee defend!
And if I be thine enemy, I may thy life end!

WYATT BEING IN PRISON, TO BRYAN.
SIGHS are my food: my drink is bitter tears.
Clinking of fetters would such music crave.
Stink and close air away my life it wears.
Pure Innocence is all the hope I have!
Rain, wind, or weather judge I by mine ears!
Malice assaults that Righteousness should have!
Sure I am, BRYAN! this wound shall heal again;
But yet, alas! the scar shall still remain!

O, GOODLY hand!
Wherein doth stand

My heart distract in pain.
Dear hand! alas!

In little space

My life thou dost restrain!

O, fingers slight,

Departed right,

So long! so small! so round!

Goodly begun ;

And yet alone

Most cruel in my wound!

With lilies white,

And roses bright,

Doth stain thy colour fair!
Nature did lend

Each finger's end,

A pearl for to repair.

Consent, at last,

Since that thou hast

My heart in thy demain,

For service true,

On me to rue;

And reach me love again!

And if not so

Then, with more woe,
Enforce thyself to strain
This simple heart,
That suff'reth smart;

And rid it out of pain!

HEAVEN, and Earth, and all that hear me plain,
Do well perceive what care doth cause me cry;
Save you alone, to whom I cry, in vain,
Mercy! Madam! alas! I die! I die!'

If that you sleep, I humbly you require
Forbear a while; and let your rigour slake!
Since that by you I burn thus in this fire;
To hear my plaint, dear Heart! awake! awake!

Since that so oft ye have made me to wake
In plaint, and tears, and in right piteous case;
Displease you not, if force do now me make
To break your sleep, crying 'Alas! Alas!'

It is the last trouble that ye shall have
Of me, Madam! to hear my last complaint!
Pity, at least, your poor unhappy slave!

For, in despair, alas! I faint! I faint!

It is not now, but long and long ago,

I have you served, as to my power and might, As faithfully as any man might do;

Claiming of you nothing of right! of right!

Save, of your grace, only to stay my life;
That fleeth as fast as cloud afore the wind!
For since that first I entered in this strife,

An inward death hath fret my mind! my mind!

If I had suffered this, to you un'ware,

Mine were the fault, and you nothing to blame! But since you know my woe and all my care, Why do I die? alas! for shame! for shame!

I know right well, my face, my look, my tears,
Mine eyes, my words, and eke my dreary cheer,
Have cried my death full oft unto your ears!
Hard of belief it doth appear! appear!

A better proof I see that ye would have
How I am dead! Therefore, when ye hear tell,
Believe it not, although ye see my grave!
Cruel! unkind! I say, Farewell! Farewell!