A True Love

WHAT sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see,

What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true Love is to me!

As fresha dn lusty Ver* foul winter doth exceed,           [Spring]

As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening's weed*,          [garment]

As mellow pears above the crabs* esteemed be,--          [crabapples]

So doth my Love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see.

The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray*,          [frighten]

The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay,

Or I my Love let slip out of mine entire heart,

So deep reposed in my breast is she for her desert.

For many blessed gifts, O happy, happy land!

Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand!

Yet, land, more is thy bliss, that, in this cruel age,

A Venus' imp thou hast brought forth, so steadfast and so sage:

Among the Muses nine, a tenth if Jove would make,

And to the Graces three, so fourth her would Apollo take.

Let some for honour hunt, and hoard the massy gold;

With her so may I live and die, my weal can not be told.

Nicholas Grimald

Man's Life After Posidonius or Crates

WHAT path list you to tread? What trade will you assay?

The courts of plea by brawl and bate drive gentle peace away.

In house, for wife and child, there is but cark and care;

With travail and with toil enough in fields we used to fare.

Upon the seas lieth dread, the rich in foreign land

Do fear the loss; and there the poor like misers poorly stand.

Strife with a wife; without, your thrift full hard to see.

Young brats a trouble; none at all, a maim it seems to be.

Youth fond*; age hath no heart and pincheth all too nigh.        [foolish]

Choose, then, the liefer* of these two: no life, or soon to die.        [more desirable]

Nicholas Grimald

The Garden

THE issue of great Jove, draw near, you Muses nine!

Help us to praise the blissful plot of garden ground so fine.

The garden gives good food and aid for leech's* cure;        [doctor]

The garden, full of great delight, his master doth allure.

Sweet sallet* herbs be here, and herbs of every kind;*        [salad]

The ruddy grapes, the seemly fruits, be here at hand to find.

Here pleasance wanteth not to make a man full fain;

Here marvelous the mixture is of solace and of gain.

To water sundry seeds, the furrow by the way

A running river, trilling down with liquor, can convey.

Behold, with lively hue fair flow'rs that shine so bright;

With riches, like the orient gems, they paint the mould* in sight.        [soil]

Bees, humming with soft sound (their murmur is so small),

Of blooms and blossoms suck the tops; on dewed leaves they fall.

The creeping vine holds down her own bewedded elms,

And, wandering out with branches thick, reeds folded overwhelms.

Trees spread their coverts wide with shadows fresh and gay;

Full well their branched bows defend the fervent sun away.

Birds chatter, and some chirp, and some sweet tunes do yield;

All mirthful, with their songs so blithe, they make both air and field.

The garden it allures, it feeds, it glads the sprite*;        [spirit]

From heavy hearts all doleful dumps the garden chaseth quite.

Strength it restores to limbs, draws and fulfills the sight;

with cheer revives the senses all and maketh labour light.

O, what deights to us the garden ground doth bring!

Seed, leaf, flow'r, fruit, herb, bee, and tree, and more than I may sing!

Nicholas Grimald