And hurt his neck; out gushed the blood. Yet Hector ceased

not so,

But in his strong hand took a flint, as he did backwards go, Black, sharp, and big, laid in the field; the sevenfold targe it smit

Full on the boss, and round about the brass did ring with it.
But Ajax a far greater stone lift up, and, wreathing round,
With all his body laid to it, he sent it forth to wound,
And gave unmeasured force to it: the round stone broke within
His rundled target; his loved knees to languish did begin,
And he leaned, stretched out on his shield; but Phoebus raised
him straight.

Then had they laid on wounds with swords, in use of closer

fight,

Unless the heralds, messengers of gods and godlike men,

The one of Troy, the other Greece, had held betwixt them, then,
Imperial sceptres; when the one, Idaeus, grave and wise,
Said to them: "Now no more, my sons. The sovereign of the
skies

Doth love you both; both soldiers are, all witness with good

right.

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But now Night lays her mace on earth; 't is good t' obey the Night."

"Idaeus," Telamon replied, "to Hector speak, not me; He that called all our Achive peers to station-fight, 't was he. If he first cease, I gladly yield." Great Hector then began: "Ajax, since Jove, to thy big form, made thee so strong a man And gave thee skill to use thy strength, so much that for thy

spear

Thou art most excellent of Greece, now let us fight forbear.
Hereafter we shall war again, till Jove our herald be
And grace with conquest which he will. Heaven yields to
night, and we.

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Go thou and comfort all thy fleet, all friends and men of thine;
As I in Troy my favourers, who in the fane divine
Have offered orisons for me. And come, let us impart
Some ensigns of our strife, to show each other's suppled heart,
That men of Troy and Greece may say, 'Thus their high
quarrel ends:

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Those that, encount'ring, were such foes are now, being separate, friends.""

He gave a sword, whose handle was with silver studs through driven,

Scabbard and all, with hangers rich. By Telamon was given
A fair well-glossèd purple waist.

1598.

THOMAS CAMPION

FOLLOW THY FAIR SUN, UNHAPPY SHADOW

Follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow;
Though thou be black as night,

And she made all of light,

Yet follow thy fair sun, unhappy shadow.

Follow her whose light thy light depriveth;
Though here thou livest disgraced,
And she in heaven is placed,

Yet follow her whose light the world reviveth.

Follow those pure beams whose beauty burneth,
That so have scorched thee

As thou still black must be

Till her kind beams thy black to brightness turneth.

Follow her, while yet her glory shineth:

There comes a luckless night,

That will dim all her light;

And this the black unhappy shade divineth.

Follow still, since so thy fates ordainèd:

The sun must have his shade,

Till both at once do fade;

The sun still proved, the shadow still disdainèd.

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1601.

MY SWEETEST LESBIA, LET US LIVE AND LOVE

My sweetest Lesbia, let us live and love;

And though the sager sort our deeds reprove,

Let us not weigh them. Heaven's great lamps do dive
Into their west, and straight again revive;

But soon as once set is our little light,
Then must we sleep one ever-during night.

If all would lead their lives in love like me,
Then bloody swords and armour should not be;
No drum nor trumpet peaceful sleeps should move,
Unless alarm came from the camp of Love.
But fools do live and waste their little light,
And seek with pain their ever-during night.

When timely death my life and fortune ends,

Let not my hearse be vext with mourning friends;
But let all lovers, rich in triumph, come
And with sweet pastimes grace my happy tomb:
And, Lesbia, close up thou my little light,

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And crown with love my ever-during night.

JACK AND JOAN, THEY THINK NO ILL

Jack and Joan, they think no ill,

But loving live, and merry still;

Do their week-days' work, and pray

Devoutly on the holy-day;

Skip and trip it on the green,

And help to choose the Summer Queen;

Lash out at a country feast

Their silver penny with the best.

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Well can they judge of nappy ale,

And tell at large a winter tale;

ΙΟ

Climb up to the apple loft,

And turn the crabs till they be soft.

Tib is all the father's joy,
And little Tom the mother's boy.

All their pleasure is content;

And care, to pay their yearly rent.

Joan can call by name her cows,

And deck her windows with green boughs;
She can wreaths and tutties make,
And trim with plums a bridal cake.
Jack knows what brings gain or loss,
And his long flail can stoutly toss;
Makes the hedge which others break,
And ever thinks what he doth speak.

Now, you courtly dames and knights,
That study only strange delights,
Though you scorn the homespun gray
And revel in your rich array,

Though your tongues dissemble deep
And can your heads from danger keep,
Yet, for all your pomp and train,

Securer lives the silly swain.

About 1613.

NEVER WEATHER-BEATEN SAIL

Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore,

Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more,

Than my weary sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast.
O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest!

Ever blooming are the joys of heaven's high paradise:
Cold age deafs not there our ears, nor vapour dims our eyes;
Glory there the sun outshines, whose beams the blessed only see.
O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my sprite to thee!
About 1613.

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