We now reach a group of elegies (pp. 271-318) by various hands on Sir Philip Sidney, printed as an Appendix to Spenser's _Colin Clouts Come Home Againe_, 1595, with a dedication to Sidney's widow, who by her second marriage had become Countess of Essex. There was no man more generally beloved than Sidney, and none whose loss was more sincerely deplored. Numberless were the tributes paid in verse and prose to his memory. The present collection embraces 'Astrophel,' by Spenser; the 'Dolefull Lay of Clorinda,' by Sidney's sister, the Countess of Pembroke; 'The Mourning Muse of Thestylis' and 'A Pastorall Æglogue,' both by Lodowick Bryskett; 'An Elegie, or Friends Passion, for his Astrophel,' by Matthew Roydon; 'An Epitaph,' probably by Sir Walter Ralegh; and 'Another of the same' (_i.e._ on the same subject), which Malone was inclined to attribute to Sir Edward Dyer, while Charles Lamb ascribed it on internal evidence to Fulke Greville. Although _Colin Clouts Come Home Againe_ was first published in 1595, the dedicatory epistle to Sir Walter Ralegh is dated from Kilcolman, 27th December 1591. All the elegies were doubtless written soon after Sidney's death. Lodowick Bryskett's two poems had been entered in the Stationers' Register on 22nd August 1587, but are not known to have been separately published. Matthew Roydon's elegy had appeared in the _Phœnix Nest_, 1593, where also are found the 'Epitaph' and 'Another of the Same. Excellently written by a most woorthy gentleman.' In _The Ruines of Time_ (1591) there are some fine stanzas to Sidney's memory; but if the literary public expected an elaborate elegy from Spenser, 'Astrophel' must have disappointed their hopes. When we recall Moschus' lament over Bion, or Ovid's tribute to Tibullus, or _Lycidas_, or _Adonais_, Spenser's elegy on Sidney seems thin and colourless. Scores of poets who had not a tithe of Spenser's genius have left elegies that far transcend 'Astrophel.' Lady Pembroke's sisterly tribute of affection will be read with respect; but however much we may commend the pious intentions of the naturalised Italian Ludowick Bryskett, it is impossible to find a word of praise for such 'rude rhymes' as 'Come forth, ye Nymphes, come forth, forsake your watry boures! Forsake your mossy caves and help me to lament; Help me to tune my dolefull notes to gurgling sound Of Liffies tumbling streames; come, let salt teares of ours Mix with his waters fresh,' etc. Matthew Roydon's elegy is too diffuse, but has some most happy and memorable stanzas. As we gaze at Isaac Oliver's beautiful miniature of Sidney, in the Windsor Palace collection, those oft-quoted lines of Roydon inevitably leap to the lips:-- 'A sweet attractive kind of grace, A full assurance given by lookes, Continuall comfort in a face, The lineaments of Gospell bookes: I trowe that countenance cannot lie Whose thoughts are legible in the eie.'