What have you done, O you our friends, you Chiapanecs and Otomis, why have you grieved, that you were drunken with the wine which you took, that you were drunken? Come hither and sing; do not lie stretched out; arise, O friends, let us go to our houses here in this land of spring; come forth from your drunkenness, see in what a difficult place you must take it.

To the most noble and vallerous knight, Sr Robert Mauncell

Glory of Wales, and splendor of thy name,
True Valors home; whose more then manly heart
Still death out dares; whose earnest is thy game
By sea or land and ioy'st but in his smart
Hold Muse, no more, to tell what all he is,
Would aske a volume greater farre then this.

I, the singer, have entered many flower gardens, places of pleasaunce, favored spots, where the dew spread out its glittering surface, where sang various lovely birds, where the coyol birds let fall their song, and spreading far around, their voices rejoiced the Cause of All, He who is God, ohuaya! ohuaya!

I am wondering where I may gather some pretty, sweet flowers. Whom shall I ask? Suppose that I ask the brilliant humming-bird, the emerald trembler; suppose that I ask the yellow butterfly; they will tell me, they know, where bloom the pretty, sweet flowers, whether I may gather them here in the laurel woods where dwell the tzinitzcan birds, or whether I may gather them in the flowery forests where the tlauquechol lives. There they may be plucked sparkling with dew, there they come forth in perfection.

To my right noble pupill and ioy of my heart Aulgernoun Lord Percy

T H Italian hand I teach you; but their tricks
I cannot teach; for they are politicks
Yet if their politicks you do not learne,
Do not so much as once but touch the sterne
Of any state, though you be putt to it;
For then it wracks that want No Want of Witt.

To the right honorable councellor of councellors Robert Earle of Satisbury, Lord Treasurer of England

A CHILLES to his friend, Patroclus had;
Aeneas his Achates; Phillip's sonne
Had his Ephestion; and Darius made
Zopirus sterne of his dominion;
Scipio had Laelius: but the best of them
Steeded much lesse then thou, their king and realme.

Wattle blossoms, bright as gold,
Perfume wafting, fold on fold;
Gilding with their yellow sheen
Granite hills and gullies green,
Warm and sweet as Love, I ween.

The cards you tear in value rise;
So do the wounded by your eyes.
Who to celestial things aspire,
Are by that passion raised the higher.

WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM .

Muse's gifts are sweet — but doubly sweet
When to adorn the brow of Truth they're given;
To scatter flow'rs round lovely woman's feet,
And deok the path that leads her up to heaven.

I LOVE those spirits
That men stand off and point at,
Or shudder and hood up their souls —
Those ruined ones,
Where Liberty has lodged an hour
And passed like flame,
Bursting asunder the too small house.