nes, In aged accents, and untimely words, Paint shadowes in imaginarie lines, Which well the reach of their high wit records;
But I must sing of thee, and those faire eyes Autentique shall my verse in time to come, When yet th' vnborne shall say "Loe, where she lyes, Whose beauty made Him speak that els was dombe."
These are the arkes, the trophies I erect, That fortifie thy name against old age, And these thy sacred vertues must protect Against the Darke, & Times consuming rage. Though th' errour of my youth they shall discouer, Suffise, they shew I liu'd, and was thy louer.
But, to say nothing more, whatever wisdom there may be in allowing that love was the errour of his youth, there was no great gallantry in telling this melancholy truth to the lady.
Daniel is a multifarious writer, and will be mentioned again. I shall add nothing more of him here than the following anecdote. When he was a young student at Magdalen-Hall in Oxford, about the year 1580, notwithstanding the