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HENRY HOWARD, Earl of Surrey, is considered as the firs
Englifo classic. His Poems, together with those of Sir Thomas Wyat, the elder, and those of uncertain authors, were published by Tottel, in 1557, and 1565. A very satisfactory account of the contributors to this curious miscellany may be found in the third volume of Warton's History of Englise Poetry. Tottel's editions are now extremely scarce, and even the copy of them printed in 1717, in Octavo, is not very common.
Give place, ye lovers; here before
And thereto hath a truth as juft,
moe Than I with pen have skill to show.
I could rehearse, if that I would,
I know she swore, with raging mind,
fo near her heart; And this was chiefly all her pain, She could not make the like again,
Sith Nature thus gave her the praise,
OD E. The foote season, that bud and bloom forth brings, With green hath clad the hill, and eke the vale ; The nightingale, with feathers new, she sings, The turtle to her mate hath told her tale. Summer is come: for every spray now springs. The hart hath hung his old head on the pale ; The buck in brake his winter coat he Alings, The fishes float, with new repaired scale ; The adder all her slough away she fings; The swift swallow pursueth the flies small; The busy bee, her honey now the mings, Winter is
the flower's bale; And thus I see, among these pleasant things, Each care decays, and yet my forrow springs !
gone, that was
SIR THOMAS WYAT.
Your looks so often cast,
Fain would ye find a cloak
Since love will needs that I must love,