meete;
If at hir virginals, tell her I can beare no mirth.

Asked why? Waking love suffereth no sleepe;
Say that raging love doth appall the weake stomacke,
Say that lamenting love marreth the musicall.

Tell hir that hir pleasures were wonte to lull me
asleepe,
Tell her that hir beauty was wonte to feede mine
eyes,
Tell hir that hir sweete tongue was wonte to make me
mirth.

Now doe I nightly waste, wanting my kindlie rest,
Now doe I dayly starve, wanting my daily food,
Now doe I always dye wanting my timely mirth.

And if I waste who will bewaile my heavy chance?
And if I starve, who will record my cursed end?
And if I dye, who will saye, This was Immerito?

Spenser of the sensitive ear wrote these lines. When
the pedantic phantasy which had for a while seduced and
corrupted him had gone from him, with what remorse he
must have remembered these strange monsters of his
creation! Let us conclude our glance at this sad fall
from harmony by quoting the excellent words of one who
was a bitter opponent of Harvey in this as in other
matters. 'The hexameter verse,' says Nash in his