HUMFREY GIFFORD, Of whom I know no more than that he was author of " A "Poesie of Gilliflowers, eche differing from other in colour " and odour, yet all sweete," London, 1580, 4to. b. l. This scarce volume contains prose translations from the Italian and French, and a collection of poems, devotional, moral, and narrative. Gifford wrote with great facility, as will appear from the following specimens. Something made of Nothing, at a Gentlewoman's request. YE gladly would have me to make you some toy, If I should write rashly what comes in my brain, It might be such matter as likes you not best: And rather I would great sorrow sustain Than not to fulfill your lawful request. Two dangers most doubtful oppress me alike, Wherefore, by perforce, I am forced to seek This slender device to serve for my shield. Since nothing ye give me to busy my brain, No thing but your nothing of me can ye crave. Wherefore now receive your nothing again; Of nothing, but nothing, what else would ye have? SONG. A WOMAN's face is full of wiles, Her tongue still chats of this and that, Thou far dost take thy mark amiss, If thou think faith in them to find; I know some pepper-nosed dame And lay such slanders on their back: What though on me they pour their spite: I may not use the gloser's trade, I cannot say the crow is white, But needs must call a spade a spade. A DREAM. LAID in my quiet bed to rest, When sleep my senses all had drown'd, Such dreams arose within my breast As did with fear my mind confound. Methought, I wander'd in a wood, Which was as dark as pit of hell; In midst whereof such waters stood, That where to pass I could not tell. The lion, tyger, wolf, and bear, There thunder'd forth such hideous cries, As made huge echoes in the air, And seem'd almost to pierce the skies. Long vex'd with care I there abode, I fear'd some beast would me devour. Abiding thus perplex'd with pain, This case within myself I scan'd; That human help was all in vain, Unless the Lord with us do stand. Then, falling flat upon my face, Arising then, a wight with wings, "That God, whose aid thou didst implore, "Hath sent me hither for thy sake: "Pluck up thy sprites, lament no more, "With me thou must thy journey take.” Against a huge and lofty hill, With swiftest pace methinks we go: Where such a sound mine ears did fill, Methought I heard a woeful wight In doleful sort pour forth great plaints, Whose cries did so my mind-affright, That even with fear each member faints. "Fie! (quoth my guide, what means this change? "Pass on apace, with courage bold: "Hereby doth stand a prison strange, "Where wondrous things thou may'st behold.") Then came we to a fort of brass, Where, peering through great iron grates, We saw a woman sit, alas, Which ruthfully bewail'd her fates. Her face was far more white than snow, Beset with stones, that glister'd so As thousand torches had been there. Her song was "Woe! and wel-away! "What torments here do I sustain !" A new mishap did her dismay Which more and more increased her pain. |