LIKE as a ship, that through the ocean wide,
By conduct of some star, doth make her way,
Whenas a storm hath dimm'd her trusty guide
Out of her course doth wander far astray;
So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray
Me to direct, with clouds is overcast,
Do wander now, in darkness and dismay,
Through hidden perils round about me plast:
Yet hope I well that, when this storm is past,

My Helice, the lodestar of my life,
Will shine again, and look on me at last,
With lovely light to clear my cloudy griet.
Till then I wander careful, comfortless,

In secret sorrow and sad pensiveness.

THE SHEPHERD'S COMMENDATION OF

HIS NYMPH.

BY EDWARD VERE, EARL OF OXFORD.

[EDWARD VERE, EARL OF OXFORD, was born about the year 1534, and after having been educated in Cambridge, spent some time on the Continent, from which he returned a perfect coxcomb. He took an active part in the destruction of the Spanish Armada, and sat on the trial of Mary, Queen of Scots. His poems, which are full of conceits, have never been collected. He died in 1604.]

WHAT shepherd can express

The favour of her face?

To whom in this distress

I do appeal for grace;

A thousand Cupids fly
About her gentle eye;

From which each throws a dart

That kindleth soft sweet fire

Within my sighing heart;

Possessed by desire,

No sweeter life I try

Than in her love to die.

Compares not with her white,

Whose hairs are all sunbeams.

So bright my nymph doth shine

As day unto my eyne.

With this there is a red,

Exceeds the damask rose :

Which in her cheeks is spread

Where every favour grows;

In sky there is no star

But she surmounts it far.

When Phoebus from the bed

Of Thetis doth arise,

The morning blushing red,

In fair carnation wise;

He shows in my nymph's face,

As queen of every grace.

This pleasant lily white,

This taint of roseate red,

This Cynthia's silver light,

This sweet fair Dea spread,

These sunbeams in mine eye,

These beauties make me die.

BY THOMAS SACKVILLE.

[THOMAS SACKVILLE, EARL OF DORSET, the son of Sir Richard Sackville, was born at Withyam in Sussex, in 1536, and was educated at Oxford and Cambridge. He became a student of the Inner Temple, and while there composed the first tragedy ever written in the English language. After having published that and the "Mirrour for Magistrates," he bade adieu to the Muses, and became a statesman. His integrity and vigour procured him many important appointments from Elizabeth, and caused his elevation to the highest honours and dignities. He died suddenly at the Council Board in 1608, and was buried in Westminster Abbey.]

THE wrathful winter 'proching on apace,

With blust'ring blasts had all ybared the treen,

And old Saturnus with his frosty face

With chilling cold had pierced the tender green;

The mantles wrent, wherein enwrapped been
The gladsome groves that now lay overthrown,

The tapets torn, and every bloom down blown.