Page:Tristram of Lyonesse and other poems (IA tristramoflyonesswinrich).pdf/315



Author:Robert Greene, garlanded with February’s few flowers, Ere March came in with Marlowe’s rapturous rage: Peele, from whose hand the sweet white locks of age Took the mild chaplet woven of honoured hours: Nash, laughing hard: Lodge, flushed from lyric bowers: And Lilly, a goldfinch in a twisted cage Fed by some gay great lady’s pettish page Till short sweet songs gush clear like short spring showers Kid, whose grim sport still gambolled over graves: And Chettle, in whose fresh funereal verse Weeps Marian yet on Robin’s wildwood hearse: Cooke, whose light boat of song one soft breath saves, Sighed from a maiden’s amorous mouth averse: Live likewise ye: Time takes not you for slaves.