"But leave he did his snow-white flocke,

To seeke a nymphe as fayre As is the dew be-sprinkled rose, Or brightnes of the ayre.

"And first he sought the rivers sweet,
Whose runnings, every where,

In silent murmure did complaine
That Phillis was not there.

"And as he saw the fishes leape Before him for the flye,

Soe did the shephards harte for hope

That Phillis should be nye.

"But finding that his hopes were vaine,

And but as dreames to him;

He lean'd upon a tree that grew

Fast by the river's brim :

"And there he writt his fancye's thought,

'Love is a sweet intice,

Gainst whom the wisest witts as yett

Have never found devise.'

"And thus he left the streames to hide

The kisses they did hold,

And went awaye, as whoe should saye

Love cannot be contrould.

"His thoughts were swifter then his feete,

Yet they did slowness shunn,

But mens desires have wings to flye,

Whose leggs can only runne.

"Loe, thus drawne on by spedy pace,
Ledd forth with Phillis fame,
Unto a wood that grew thereby
The gentle shepheard came.

"Where hee, approching shady groves,
Sweet groves for moonshine night,
Where as the sunne was bar'd his force,
But not debar'd his light;

"Where as the birds, the pretty birds,
That or could chirp or singe,
In consort of well tuned noats
Did make the woods to ringe.

"Even double pleased in the place,
Soe long he there did staye
As night grewe on, which forced him
To tarrye for the daye.

"When not a bird stir'd in a bush,
But still the shepheard demed
The sweet comander of his thoughts
Was neerer then shee seemed.

"Thus wearye with his former toyle,
He could no further goe,

But rested there, as they doe rest
Whome love possesseth soe.

"Possest he was with thoughts of love,
High thoughts for shepheards brest,

Were not there shepheards in their love
As well as monarchs blest.

"Blessed he was, but 'twas in thoughts,
And thoughts be blessings hidd,
And hidden blessings are noe blisse :—
And then he slumber did.

"Whome length of time and high desires In such a dumpe had cast,

As, ravisht with his thoughts, he slept
As he had slept his last.

"But as all quiets have their dead,

And every slepe his wake;

Now here to hope, now there to feare,

Now fancye, then forsake:

"Soe had this shepheard restles dreames

Amyd his tyme or rest,

Which forced him to wake for feare,
And prove his dreames a jest.

"And though that feare be nothing else

But as the fearefull deme,

Yet waking, every bush to him

A savage beast doth seeme.

"Which made him start, as men doe start

Whose resolucions breed

A quicknes, yet a carelesnes

"Which his faint eyes did quickelye fynd

Fill'd full with faithfull streams,

And soe he layd him by his dogg
That barkt not at his dreames.

"And there he rested till the daye, And only said thus much

'My dogg is happyer than my selfe, Whom theis cares cannot touche.'"]

ELIZABETH,

LADY RUSSEL,

Or a family as learned as the Fitz-Alans, was third daughter of sir Anthony Cooke, and sister of the ladies Burleigh and Bacon, whose erudition is sufficiently known. She was married, first to sir Thomas Hobby, embassador from queen Elizabeth at Paris, where he died, 1566; and secondly, to John lord Russel, son of Francis, the second earl of Bedford. She survived both her husbands, and wrote Greek, Latin, and English epitaphs in verse, for them and others of her relations. It is her daughter", by her second husband, whose effigy is foolishly shown in Westminster Abbey as killed by the prick of a needle.

Lady Russel translated out of French into English

"A Way of Reconciliation of a good and learned Man, touching the true Nature and

[In notes, by H. W. to the portraits at Woburn Abbey, this lady is said to have been the sister-in-law of lady Russel, and that her pointing to a death's head gave rise to the vulgar notion of her having bled to death by pricking her finger.]