RICHARD EDWARDS

[Born, 1523. Die, 1566.]

WAS a principal contributor to the Paradise of Dainty Devices, and one of our earliest dramatic authors. He wrote two comedies, one entitled Damon and Pythias, the other Palamon and Arcite, both of which were acted before Queen Elizabeth. Besides his regular dramas, he appears to have contrived masques, and to have written verses for pageants; and is described as having

been the first fiddle, the most fashionable sonneteer, and the most facetious mimic of the court. In the beginning of Elizabeth's reign he was one of the gentlemen of her chapel, and master of the children there, having the character of an excellent musician. His pleasing little poem,the Amantium Iræ, has been so often reprinted, that, for the sake of variety, I have selected another specimen of his simplicity.

HE REQUESTETH SOME FRIENDLY COMFORT, AFFIRMING HIS CONSTANCY. THE mountains high, whose lofty tops do meet the haughty sky;

The craggy rock, that to the sea free passage doth deny;

The aged oak, that doth resist the force of blustring blast;

The pleasant herb, that everywhere a pleasant smell doth cast;

The lion's force, whose courage stout declares a prince-like might;

The eagle, that for worthiness is born of kings in fight.

Then these, I say, and thousands more, by tract of time decay,

And, like to time, do quite consume, and fade from form to clay;

But my true heart and service vow'd shall last time out of mind,

And still remain as thine by doom, as Cupid hath assigned;

My faith, lo here! I vow to thee, my troth thou know'st too well;

My goods, my friends, my life, is thine; what need I more to tell?

I am not mine, but thine; I vow thy hests I will
obey,

And serve thee as a servant ought, in pleasing if
I may;

And sith I have no flying wings, to serve thee as
I wish,

Ne fins to cut the silver streams, as doth the
gliding fish;

Wherefore leave now forgetfulness, and send again to me,

And strain thy azure veins to write, that I may

greeting see.

And thus farewell! more dear to me than chiefest friend I have,

Whose love in heart I mind to shrine, till Death his fee do crave.