contributing to Tottel's _Miscellany_, which
makes him a link between the old literature and the new.

The literary interests and tentative character of the time, together with
its absence of original genius, and the constant symptoms of not having
"found its way," are also very noteworthy in George Turberville and Barnabe
Googe, who were friends and verse writers of not dissimilar character.
Turberville, of whom not much is known, was a Dorsetshire man of good
family, and was educated at Winchester and Oxford. His birth and death
dates are both extremely uncertain. Besides a book on Falconry and numerous
translations (to which, like all the men of his school and day, he was much
addicted), he wrote a good many occasional poems, trying even blank verse.
Barnabe Googe, a Lincolnshire man, and a member of both universities,
appears to have been born in 1540, was employed in Ireland, and died in
1594. He was kin to the Cecils, and Mr. Arber has recovered some rather
interesting details about his love affairs, in which he was assisted by
Lord Burghley. He, too, was an indefatigable translator, and wrote some
original poems. Both poets affected the combination of Alexandrine and
fourteener (split up or not, as the printer chose, into six, six, eight,
six), the popularity of which has been noted, and both succumbed too often
to its capacities of doggerel. Turberville's best work is the following
song in a pretty metre well kept up:--

"The green that you did wish me wear
Aye for your love,
And on my helm a branch to bear
Not to remove,
Was ever you to have in mind
Whom Cupid hath my feire assigned.

"As I in this have done your will
And mind to do,
So I request you to fulfil
My fancy too;
A green and loving heart to have,
And this is all that I do crave.

"For if your flowering heart should change
His colour green,
Or you at length a lady strange
Of me be seen,
Then will my branch against his use
His colour change for your refuse.[9]

"As winter's force cannot deface
This branch his hue,
So let no change of love disgrace
Your friendship true;
You were mine own, and so be still,
So shall we live and love our fill.

"Then I may think myself to be
Well recompensed,
For wearing of the tree that is