Photogravure from a Painting by E Burne-Jones. [Illustration] THE HUNTED SQUIRREL From 'Britannia's Pastorals' Then as a nimble squirrel from the wood Ranging the hedges for his filbert food Sits pertly on a bough, his brown nuts cracking, And from the shell the sweet white kernel taking; Till with their crooks and bags a sort of boys To share with him come with so great a noise That he is forced to leave a nut nigh broke, And for his life leap to a neighbor oak, Thence to a beach, thence to a row of ashes; Whilst through the quagmires and red water plashes The boys run dabbling through thick and thin; One tears his hose, another breaks his shin; This, torn and tattered, hath with much ado Got by the briars; and that hath lost his shoe; This drops his band; that headlong falls for haste; Another cries behind for being last: With sticks and stones and many a sounding holloa The little fool with no small sport they follow, Whilst he from tree to tree, from spray to spray Gets to the woods and hides him in his dray. AS CAREFUL MERCHANTS DO EXPECTING STAND From 'Britannia's Pastorals' As careful merchants do expecting stand, After long time and merry gales of wind, Upon the place where their brave ships must land, So wait I for the vessel of my mind. Upon a great adventure is it bound, Whose safe return will valued be at more Than all the wealthy prizes which have crowned The golden wishes of an age before. Out of the East jewels of worth she brings; The unvalued diamond of her sparkling eye Wants in the treasures of all Europe's kings; And were it mine, they nor their crowns should buy. The sapphires ringèd on her panting breast Run as rich veins of ore about the mold, And are in sickness with a pale possessed; So true for them I should disvalue gold. The melting rubies on her cherry lip Are of such power to hold, that as one day Cupid flew thirsty by, he stooped to sip: And, fastened there, could never get away. The sweets of Candy are no sweets to me Where hers I taste: nor the perfumes of price, Robbed from the happy shrubs of Araby, As her sweet breath so powerful to entice. O hasten then! and if thou be not gone Unto that wicked traffic through the main, My powerful sigh shall quickly drive thee on, And then begin to draw thee back again. If, in the mean, rude waves have it opprest, It shall suffice, I ventured at the best. SONG OF THE SIRENS From 'The Inner Temple Masque'