The Golden Treasury. Unknown

confound,

           And make your joys redound

           Upon your bridal day, which is not long:

             Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song."

           So ended she; and all the rest around

           To her redoubled that her undersong,

           Which said their bridal day should not be long:

           And gentle Echo from the neighbour ground

           Their accents did resound.

           So forth those joyous birds did pass along

           Adown the lee that to them murmur'd low,

           As he would speak but that he lack'd a tongue,

           Yet did by signs his glad affection show,

           Making his stream run slow.

           And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell

           'Gan flock about these twain, that did excel

           The rest, so far as Cynthia doth shend

           The lesser stars. So they, enrangéd well,

           Did on those two attend,

           And their best service lend

           Against their wedding day, which was not long:

             Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

           At length they all to merry London came,

           To merry London, my most kindly nurse,

           That to me gave this life's first native source,

           Though from another place I take my name,

           An house of ancient fame:

           There when they came whereas those bricky towers

           The which on Thames' broad agéd back do ride,

           Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers,

           There whilome wont the Templar-knights to bide,

           Till they decay'd through pride:

           Next whereunto there stands a stately place,

           Where oft I gainéd gifts and goodly grace

           Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell,

           Whose want too well now feels my friendless case;

           But ah! here fits not well

           Old woes, but joys to tell

           Against the bridal day, which is not long:

             Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

           Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer,

           Great England's glory and the world's wide wonder,

           Whose dreadful name late thro' all Spain did thunder,

           And Hercules' two pillars standing near

           Did make to quake and fear:

           Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry!

           That fillest England with thy triumphs' fame

           Joy have thou of thy noble victory,

           And endless happiness of thine own name

           That promiseth the same;

           That through thy prowess and victorious arms,

           Thy country may be freed from foreign harms,

           And great Eliza's glorious name may ring

           Through all the world, fill'd with thy wide alarms

           Which some brave Muse may sing

           To ages following,

           Upon the bridal day, which is not long:

             Sweet Thames! run softly till I end my song.

           From those high towers this noble lord issúing,

           Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair

           In th' ocean billows he hath bathéd fair,

           Descended to the river's open viewing

           With a great train ensuing.

           Above the rest were goodly to be seen

           Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature,

           Beseeming well the bower of any queen,

           With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature,

           Fit for so goodly stature,

           That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight

           Which deck the baldric of the Heavens bright;

           They two, forth pacing to the river's side,

           Received those two fair brides, their love's delight;

           Which, at th' appointed tide,

           Each one did make his bride

           Against their bridal day, which is not long:

             Sweet Thames! run softly, till I end my song.

E. SPENSER.

      54. THE HAPPY HEART

           Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?

                O sweet content!

           Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexéd?

                O punishment!

           Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexéd

           To add to golden numbers, golden numbers?

           O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!

           Work apace, apace, apace, apace;

           Honest labour bears a lovely face;

           Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

           Canst drink the waters of the crispéd spring?

                O sweet content!

           Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?

                O punishment!

           Then he that patiently want's burden bears,

           No burden bears, but is a king, a king!

           O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content!

           Work apace, apace, apace, apace;

           Honest labour bears a lovely face;

           Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

T. DEKKER.

      55

           This Life, which seems so fair,

           Is like a bubble blown up in the air

           By sporting children's breath,

           Who chase it everywhere

           And strive who can most motion it bequeath.

           And