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Prefatory Note

THE three poets represented in the accompanying pages may not unfairly be regarded as having, within certain limitations, enough in common to warrant their inclusion in a single booklet, where a more or less obvious similarity in style and in the treatment of literary themes is made the uniting bond. In the first place, two of them-Thomas Lodge and Samuel Daniel-belong to that notable band of Elizabethans for whom Sir Philip Sidney was one of the earliest in England to set a fashion in verse, the impulse towards which he had himself caught from the sonneteers of Italy and France. Daniel, indeed-as Mr Sidney Lee has pointed out 'may be reckoned Sidney's first successor on the throne' which the author of Astrophel and Stella, conjointly with Edmund Spenser and Thomas Watson, had set up. The inspiration in each case was, directly or indirectly, the same, and consequently the imitative quality of the work of all is clearly manifest, though the debt-whether the borrowed verse be sonnet or lyric-was not always, so far as the present writers are concerned, as freely and frankly acknowledged.

It is not, however, in the Sonnet-in regard either to its subject-matter or its structure-that the "common denominator" of the present booklet's verse is to be found, but rather in the lyric note which pervades and characterises it. And here it is that such of the poetic work of the remaining member of our trio of singers as is represented in the following pages touches that of his two gifted contemporaries. Robert Greene shares with his literary comrade and coadjutor, Lodge, the distinction which belongs to the two most famous

1 Elizabethan Sonnets: Introduction, vii.

disciples of John Lyly, the Euphuist, and in this connection claims affinity with the author of the most famous “novel" of the period—the Arcadia of Sidney, Scattered throughout the romances which Lodge and Greene wrote in imitation of their master, are some of the daintiest lyrics which Elizabethan poetry on its lighter side has given us.

Though the critics mostly agree in placing the Songs of Lodge above those of his unhappy associate, it is probable that the latter had the more original and creative mind, a nimbler and more facile fancy-for much of the verse of Lodge is flagrantly derivative.1 Nevertheless, that the author of Rosalind possessed the lyrical faculty in an exceptional degree, and used it with graceful and commanding skill, no reader of the well-known “Madrigal,” e.g., can deny; and, despite their imitative character, some of his more tuneful numbers remain among the rarest treasures of Elizabethan song.

It is, perhaps, scarcely necessary to remark that the somewhat disproportionate space accorded here to the three poets represented is not to be taken as indicating the present editor's appraisement of either their comparative importance in the hierarchy of letters or the relative value of their poetical achievement. If, however, the inclusion of Daniel's stately Epistle to the Countess of Cumberland appear to call for justification in view of what has been said as to the dominance, in the following pages, of the lyric note, such justification may surely be found in the fact that this noble poem represents one of the loftiest expressions of its author's contemplative and "well-languaged” muse.

H. KELSEY WHITE. ASHTON-UNDER-LYNE,

MAY, 1906. 1 “There is probably no French lyrist of his generation whose work Lodge did not assimilate in greater or less degree. Most of his sonnets to Phillis were written with the first book of Ronsard's Amours at his elbow."-Sidney Lee (ibid.).

Thomas Lodge

Rosalind's Madrigal

a

Love in my bosom like a bee

Doth suck his sweet :
Now with his wings he plays with me,

Now with his feet.
Within mine eyes he makes his nest,
His bed amidst my tender breast,
My kisses are his daily feast;
And he robs me of my rest :- -

“Ah, wanton, will ye ?"

yet

And if I sleep, then percheth he

With pretty flight,
And makes his pillow of my knee

The livelong night.
Strike I my lute, he tunes the string,
He music plays if so I sing,
He lends me every lovely thing ;
Yet cruel he my heart doth sting :-

“Whist, wanton, still ye ! " Else I with roses every day

Will whip you hence,
And bind you, when you long to play,

For your offence ;
I'll shut mine eyes to keep you in,
I'll make you fast it for your sin,
I'll count your power not worth a pin.”
Alas, what hereby shall I win,
If he gainsay me?

What if I beat the wanton boy

With many a rod ?
He will repay me with annoy,

Because a god.
“ Then sit you safely on my knee,

And let thy bower my bosom be,
Lurk in mine eyes,- I like of thee ;
O Cupid, so thou pity me,
Spare not, but play thee."

(Rosalind.)

Montanus' Protestation of

his Love

FIRST shall the heavens want starry light,
The seas be robbed of their waves,
The day want sun, the sun want bright,
The night want shade, the dead men graves,

The April, flowers and leaf and tree,
Before I false my faith to thee.

First shall the tops of highest hills
By humble plains be overpried,
And poets scorn the Muses' quills,
And fish forsake the water-glide,

And Iris lose her coloured weed,
Before I fail thee at thy need.

First direful hate shall turn to peace,
And love relent in deep disdain,
And Death his fatal stroke shall cease,
And envy pity every pain,

And Pleasure mourn, and Sorrow smile,
Before I talk of any guile.

First Time shall stay his stayless race,
And Winter bless his boughs with corn,

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