Imatges de pÓgina
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Then as a bee, which among weeds doth | There is she crowned with garlands of

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This honey tasted still, is ever sweet; OF this fair volume which we World do The pleasure of her ravished thought is such,

As almost here she with her bliss doth meet.

But when in heaven she shall his essence see,

This is her sovereign good, and perfect bliss,

Her longings, wishings, hopes, all finished be,

Her joys are full, her motions rest in this.

name

If we the sheets and leaves could turn
with care,

Of him who it corrects, and did it frame,
We clear might read the art and wisdom

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- LADY ELIZABETH CAREW. Untied unto the worldly care Of public fame, or private breath;

SIR HENRY WOTTON. But silly we, like foolish children, rest Well pleased with colored vellum, leaves of gold,

Fair dangling ribbons, leaving what is best,

On the great writer's sense ne'er taking hold;

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Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

Who hath his life from rumors freed,

Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who God doth late and early pray,
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend:

This man is freed from servile bands,
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.

LADY ELIZABETH CAREW. [About 1613.]

REVENGE OF INJURIES.

THE fairest action of our human life
Is scorning to revenge an injury;
For who forgives without a further strife,
His adversary's heart to him doth tie;
And 't is a firmer conquest truly said,
To win the heart, than overthrow the head.

If we a worthy enemy do find,

To yield to worth it must be nobly done; But if of baser metal be his mind,

In base revenge there is no honor won. Who would a worthy courage overthrow? And who would wrestle with a worthless foe?

We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield;

Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor:

Great hearts are tasked beyond their power but seld;

The weakest lion will the loudest roar. Truth's school for certain doth this same allow; High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow.

A noble heart doth teach a virtuous | He looks upon the mightiest monarch's

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WILLIAM BYRD.

Of a clear conscience, that (without all I see how plenty surfeits oft,

stain)

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And hasty climbers soonest fall; I see that such as sit aloft

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Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toil, and keep with fear; Such cares my mind could never bear.

No princely pomp nor wealthy store,
No force to win the victory,
No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a lover's eye,
To none of these I yield as thrall;
For why, my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave;
I little have, yet seek no more.
They are but poor, though much they
have;

And I am rich with little store.

They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I lend; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's loss,

I grudge not at another's gain; No worldly wave my mind can toss;

I brook that is another's bane. I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend; I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly bliss;

I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is;

I fear not fortune's fatal law; My mind is such as may not move For beauty bright, or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;
I wander not to seek for more;
I like the plain, I climb no hill;

In greatest storms I sit on shore, And laugh at them that toil in vain To get what must be lost again.

I kiss not where I wish to kill;

I feign not love where most I hate; I break no sleep to win my will; I wait not at the mighty's gate. I scorn no poor, I fear no rich; I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court nor cart I like nor loathe;

Extremes are counted worst of all; The golden mean betwixt them both

Doth surest sit, and fears no fall; This is my choice; for why, I find No wealth is like a quiet mind.

My wealth is health and perfect ease; My conscience clear my chief defence; I never seek by bribes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence. Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I!

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

[1564-1616.]

SONGS.

ARIEL'S SONG.

WHERE the bee sucks, there lurk I;

In a cowslip's bell I lie;

There I couch when owls do cry;
On the bat's back I do fly.

After summer merrily,

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

THE FAIRY TO PUCK.

OVER hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere.
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green ;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be,
In their gold coats spots you see,
Those be rubies, fairy favors;
In those freckles live their savors.
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

AMIENS'S SONG.

BLOW, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot:

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