$B 250 =126 A *-- TH UNIY6RS1TY Of CALIFORNIA LIBRARY COLLECTION OP BRITISH AUTHORS TAUCHNITZ EDITION. VOL. 1701. A POETKY-BOOK OF ELDER PO (FIR .S- T K E K 1 E i'; SELECTED AND ARRANGED BY AMELIA B. EDWARDS. TAUCHNITZ EDITION". By Miss Amelia B. Edwards. BARBARA'S HISTORY 2 vols. MISS CAREW 2 vols. HAND AND GLOVE 1 vol. HALF A MILLION OF MONEY 2 vols. DEBENHAM'S vow 2 vols. IN THE DAYS OF MY YOUTH 2 vols. UNTRODDEN PEAKS AND UNFREQUENTED VALLEYS 1 vol. MONSIEUR MAURICE 1 vol. BLACK FOREST . . . . . ;. . . 1 vol. A THOUSAND MILES UP THE NILE 2 vols. A POETRY-BOOK OF ELDER POETS CONSISTING OF SONGS & SONNETS, ODES & LYRICS SELECTED AND ARRANGED, WITH NOTES, FROM THE WORKS OF THE ELDER ENGLISH POETS, DATING FROM THE BEGINNING OF THE FOURTEENTH CENTURY TO THE MIDDLE OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY; BY AMELIA B. EDWARDS. COPYRIGHT EDITION. LEIPZIG BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ 1878. TO THE READER. THESE series each in itself complete and separate have been compiled expressly for the Tauchnitz Collection. The First Series consists of poems, chiefly lyrical, selected from the works of the elder English Poets, beginning with Chaucer and ending with the school of Gray and Cowper. The Second Series, con- ceived on the same plan, will begin with Burns and end with the younger poets of to-day. Taken separately, it is hoped that each little volume may be found attractive and companionable; while taken together, they will, if they fulfil the design of Editor and Publisher, afford a pleasant bird's-eye view ranging over nearly five- hundred years of English Song. With regard to this First Series, it has seemed above all things important that the contents of the book should be choice and various; that no short poem (such as Milton's Lycidas or Gray's Elegy) which comes down to us stamped with the approval of generations, should be omitted; that fragments, political verses, and everything of a polemic or dramatic character VI TO THE READER. should be deemed foreign to the general plan of the work; and that no poem, however beautiful, which could be supposed to have an objectionable tendency, should find a place in its pages. It is hoped that in so far as care and patience may be trusted to ensure the fulfilment of a long-cherished plan, these con- ditions have been scrupulously observed. Concerning the order in which the poems are presented, it must be remembered that a question of arrangement is in fact a question of taste, and that a question of taste will always be open to dispute. Campbell's seven learned volumes of "Specimens of English Poetry" follow a chronological order. The well-known "Elegant Extracts" are classified under headings "Didactic," "Pastoral," "Amatory," and the like. "The Golden Treasury" unapproachable for exquisite taste and scholarship, is divided into four parts designated as the Books of Shakespeare, Milton, Gray and Wordsworth. The Editor of this present collection has, however, preferred to consider English Poetry under only two aspects, and broadly to separate it into only two epochs namely the Past and the Present. The Past is held to begin at that critical period when our language, having just passed as it were from the fluid to the crystalline stage, found an exponent in the author of The Canterbury Tales; while the Present is dated from the advent of Robert Burns. TO THE READER. VII Except, then, as the poems in this Series belong to the elder school of English verse, every chrono- logical consideration has been put aside, and the position of each piece determined solely by its relation to that which goes before and after it. Hence Waller and Ben Jonson, William Blake and Beaumont will be found side by side, according as each may illustrate or contrast with the other; while readers who care to observe the attitude of contemporary thought on certain universal subjects, such as Love, or Death, or the Influences of Nature, will elsewhere find grouped together poems which treat of a common theme. These groups, again, are for the most part linked with other groups in such wise as to carry on slight chains of connection between subjects far apart. To the few who may be interested in tracing them, these lines of association will perhaps convey an added sense of harmony; while for those who prefer dipping into the book wherever it may chance to open, each poem will have its individual and unassisted charm. Here and there, to suggest the intended sequence, the Editor, following the precedent of Mr. W. G. Palgrave,* has ventured, though with all diffidence, to give or alter a title. It may be as well to observe, however, that readers who desire to take the poets in strict order of * Some few of the titles here given are adopted from The Golden Treasury, and some of Mr. W. G. Palgrave's Notes, with due acknowledgment, have been quoted. VIII TO THE READER. succession, may do so by referring to the Table of Authors which has been chronologically arranged for that purpose. The notes at the end of the volume are given, not in the vain hope of offering anything new in the way of criticism, but in order to assist foreign readers, and to supply the place of those classical and other dictionaries which travellers are obliged to leave at home. Lastly, as regards the title of the book, some apology should perhaps be offered for its exceeding homeliness. But the taste for high-sounding titles has passed away; and the changes have been rung so long and so often upon "Gems," "Beauties," "Wreaths," "Caskets," and the like, that it is believed the old, plain, familiar nursery-name by which we have all designated the "poetry-books" of our childhood will find more favour, and call up pleasanter associations, than a more fanciful or elaborate title. AMELIA B. EDWARDS. Westbury on Trym, Gloucestershire, Novr 1877. CONTENTS. Pago Preface v Contents ix Elder English Poets i Love-Longing Anonymous . . . 3 Rondeau ....... Geoffrey Chaucer . 3 To Life's Pilgrim Ibid. .... 5 To Maistres Margarete .... John Skelton . . 5 My Swete Swetyng Anonymous ... 7 A Carol of Spring Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey ... 8 Madrigal James I. (of Scotland) . 8 Spring ....... Thomas Nash . . 9 The Passionate Shepherd to his Love . Christopher Marlowe . 10 The Shepherdess's Reply .... Sir Walter Raleigh . n Samela ....... Robert Greene . . 13 To his Lady ...... Thomas Carevu . . 14 Cupid and Campaspe .... John Lylye . . . 15 To Celia Ben Jonson ... 16 Kissing the Air Robert Herrick . . 17 A Ditty Sir Philip Sidney . 17 The Lover groweth Old .... William Shakespeare . 18 Love seeth no Change .... Ibid, . . . , 19 The Lover promiseth Immortality . . Ibid. .... 20 Love in Absence Edmund Spenser . . 21 The Nightingale Richard Barnefield . 22 Love's Perjuries W. Shakespeare . . 23 The Lover's Appeal ..... Sir Thomas Wyatt . 24 CONTENTS. Love's Last Moments .... Michael Dray ton . To the Moon Sir P. Sidney To the Nightingale John Milton To his Lute William, Drummond . The Lover to his Lyre .... Abraham Cowley . . Lament for Astrophel .... Edtmind Spenser . The Shepherd's Elegy .... William Browne . Lycidas J. Milton The Dirge of Imogen W. Shakespeare . A Sea Dirge Ibid. .... A Land Dirge John Webster The Happy Life Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey The Quiet Life Alexander Pope . The Lord of Self Sir Henry Wotton The Moderate Wisher .... Abraham Cowley . The Stedfast Life George Herbert . The Perfect Life Benjonson . The Virtuous Soul . . . . . G. Herbert . The Sweetness of Content .... Thomas Dekker . Sweet Obscurity R. Greene Life Lord Bacon . Life a Bubble W. Drummond The Life of Man Francis Beaumont Man's Mortality Simon Wastell Life's Brevity A. Cowley Sic Vitae Dr. Henry King Sweet and Bitter E. Spenser . Illusions . - . . . . . W. Drummond . . Death's Bounties Sir T. Wyatt The Last Conqueror James Shirley Death's Triumph Ibid. . . Chances and Changes .... Robert Southwell The Golden Age Henry Vaughan . Song of the Emigrants in Bermuda . . Andrew Marvell . Pastoral ....... William Shenstone May-Day . . . . . . R. Herrick . . The Faithless Shepherd .... Sir Gilbert Elliot Winter W. SJtakespeare . June and January T. Carew CONTENTS. Page Love's Springtime .... W. SJiaJtespeare 75 A Spring Idyll SirH. Wotton 76 May Morning . . . ... J. Milton . 77 L' Allegro Ibid. .... 77 Ibid 82 Robert Burton 87 F. Beaumont . . 89 Memory and Melancholy . William Blake 90 Love and Death .... John Ford . 9 1 Sorrow-Song Samuel Rowley 92 Slumber-Song John Fletcher 93 To Echo J. Milton 93 W. Shakespeare 94 Praise of Music ..... William Strode . 95 A Bridal Song F. Beaumont 96 A Forest-Ditty W. Shakespeare . 97 Archers Three Anonymous . 98 To Diana Thomas Heywood 99 Invocation to Diana .... Ben Jonson . IOO To Apollo . J.Lylye . . . IOI To Bacchus F. Beaumont IO2 Dancing Chorus .... Ibid. .... 102 Holiday in Arcadia . . J. Shirley . 103 Song of a Satyr J.FletcJter . 104 Even Sone 1 Ibid. Matin-Song W. Shakespeare IO 5 106 Dawn-Song Sir William Davenant 107 T. Heyioood . 1 08 Serenade to Sylvia .... W. Shakespeare . 109 Serenade to Julia .... R. Herrick . no The Lover to the Glow-worms . A. Marvell . ITT To Elizabeth of Bohemia . SirH. Wotton 112 The Roses in Castara's Bosom . William Habington 113 Go, Happy Rose ! R. Herrick . 114 The Rose's Message . . . . Edmund Waller . "5 The Lover and the Rose . John Gay 116 To Althea Colonel Lovelace . 117 Beauty Concealed .... Sir Francis Kinaston . 118 Tears of Price Richard Crashaw 120 TJiomas Lodge 121 XII CONTENTS. The Silent Lover .... Sir W. Raleigh . To Anthea R. Herrick . Love's Unselfishness .... Sir Charles Sedley To his Love (on going a Journey) Dr. John Donne . To Lucasta (on going to the Wars) . Colonel Lovelace . The Battle of Agincourt Michael Dray ton . Sir Patrick Spence .... Anonymous . Burd Helen .... Ibid. Edward of the Bloody Brand Sir David Dalrymple, Lord Hailes . A Song of Indifference . . . W. Shakespeare . All or None Sir W. Raleigh . Love's Requirements George Wither Love, Love's Due .... F. Greville, Lord Brooke The Boldness of Humility . A. Cov>ley . Sweet-and-Twenty .... W. Shakespeare . Counsel to Girls R. Herrick . Fair and False Dr. J. Donne Advice to a Lover .... Sir John Suckling Love or Disdain .... T. Careiv Little but Long Anonymous . Love brooks no Rival James Grahame, Mar- quis of Montrose T. Lodge The Nobler Love .... Beaumont and Fletcher The Poetry of Dress .... R. Herrick . The Sweet Neglect .... Ben Jonson . On a Girdle E. Waller To Daffodils R. Herrick . Life and the Flowers .... G. Herbert . To Blossoms ..... K. Herrick , The Sunflower W.Blake . IV. Shakespeare . J. Fletcher . Inconstancy ..... W. Shakespeare . Love Unreturned .... W.Blake The Mad Maiden's Song . R. Herrick . Mad Song W. Blake Ariel's Song W. Shakespeare . A Fairy's Song . . . . W. Shakespeare , CONTENTS. XIII The Fairy Queen . Song of an Enchantress A Vision of " the Faery Queen " Herself all Treasure .... To his Love ..... The Lover Unbeloved laments by Night Love's Shadow Love's Omnipresence ... Truth the Soul of Beauty . The Pains of Memory On his Blindness .... To Mr. Lawrence .... In Praise of Daphne .... Her Golden Hair .... A Warning to Beauty Against Weeping .... A Welcome To Chloe Love's Omnipotence .... Tell me, my Heart .... To his Dead Love .... Friends Departed .... The Dying Man in his Garden . The Wisdom of Age .... The Gift of Rest .... Man the Microcosm . . . The Hermit Alexander Selkirk .... Ode to Leven Water .... A Rural Picture . Morning ...... Evening ....... Elegy, written in a Country Churchyard , The Poplar Field The Birks of Invermay . . . . To the Cuckoo The Bird The Tiger The Fly Page Anonymous . . . 169 Giles Fletcher . . 171 Sir W. Raleigh . . 173 E. Spenser . . . 174 W. Shakespeare . . 175 Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey . . . 176 W. Shakespeare . . 177 Joshua Sylvestre . . 178 W. Shakespeare . . 179 W. Drummond . . 180 J. Milton 181 Ibid. . . . . 182 J.Lylye ... 183 Colonel Lovelace . . 183 R. Herrick . . . 184 Dr. H. King . . 184 W. Browne . . . 185 William. Cartwright . 186 Owen Feltham . . 188 Lord Lyttle ton . . 189 James Thomson . . 190 H. Vaughan . . 191 George Sew ell . . 193 E. Waller . . . 194 G. Herbert . . . 195 Ibid. . . . . 196 James Seattle . . 198 William Cowper . . 200 Tobias Smollett . . 202 Oliver Goldsmith . . 203 J. Beattie . . . 204 William Collins . . 205 TJwmas Gray . . 207 M^. Cowper . . . 212 David Mallet . . 213 John Logan . . . 214 H. Vaughan . . . 215 W. Blake ... 217 Anonymous . . . 218 XIV CONTENTS. The Bird's Message T. Heyitiood Exchange no Robbery .... Sir J. Stickling Phillis Sir Charles Sedley Ungrateful Nanny ..... Chas. Hamilton, Lord Binney . The Plague of Love Anonymous . On the Death of a Favourite Cat . . T. Gray Cupid's Mistake Matthew Prior How to make a Beauty .... Jonathan Sivift . Love's Patience , Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey Love's Might Beaumont and Fletcher The Heart of Stone Sir John Harrington . Cruel and Fair Thomas Stanley . Love's Prisoner W. Blake To Nancy Thomas Percy , Bishop of Dromore Sally in our Alley Henry Carey Black-eyed Susan J. Gay Ye Gentlemen of England . . . Martyn Parker To all you Ladies now on Land . . Charles Sackville , Earl of Dorset The Loss of the Royal George W. Cowper . The Death of the Brave W. Collins . A Dirge Thomas Chatterton Yarrow Stream J, Logan Bonnie George Campbell . . . . Anonymous . Love's Lamentation ..... Ibid. .... Auld Robin Gray Lady Anne Barnard . To Mary Unwin W. Cowper . To the Muses W. Blake Alexander's Feast . . . . John Dryden Ode on St. Cecilia's Day . . . . A. Pope .... Ode on the Universe .... Joseph Addison Ode on the Morning of Christ's Nativity . J. Milton Notes Index of Authors and Subjects Chronological Table of Authors , r ELDER ENGLISH POETS. Elder Poets. LOVE-LONGING. [AUTHOR UNKNOWN: CIRCA A.D. 1300.] FOR hir loue I carke and care For hir loue I droope and dare For hir alle my blisse is bare, And I wex wan. For hir loue in slepe I slake, For hir loue alle nighte I wajce, For hir loue I mournynge make More than any man. RONDEAU. I. i. YOURE two eyn will sle me sodenly, I may the beaute of them not sustene, So wendeth it thorowout my herte kene 2. And but your words will helen hastely My hertis wound, while that it is grene, Youre two eyn will sle me sodenly. 3. Upon my trouth I sey yow feithfully, That ye ben of my liffe and deth the quene ; For with my deth the trouth shal be sene. Youre two eyn, &c. i* RONDEAU. II. So hath youre beaute fro your herte chased Pitee, that me n'availeth not to pleyn : For daunger halt youre mercy in his cheyne. 2. Giltless my deth thus have ye purchased; I sey yow soth, me nedeth not to fayn: So hath youre beaute fro your herte chased. 3. Alas, that nature hath in yow compassed So grete beaute that no man may atteyn To mercy, though he sterve for the peyn. So hath youre beaute &c. III. i. Syn I fro love escaped am so fat, I nere thinke to ben in his prison lene; Syn I am fre, I count hym not a bene. 2. He may answere, and sey this and that, I do no fors, I speke ryght as I mene ; Syn I fro love escaped am so fat. 3. Love hath my name i-strike out of his sclat, And he is strike out of my bokes clene : For ever mo ther is non other mene, Syn I fro love escaped &c. Geoffrey Chaucer. TO LIFE S PILGRIM. TO LIFE'S PILGRIM. FLY from the press, and dwell with soothfastness; Suffice unto thy good, though it be small, For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness ; Preise hath envie, and weal is blent o'er all. Savor no more than thee behoven shall, Rede well thy self that other folk can'st rede, And Truth thee shalt deliver 'tis no drede. That thee is sent receive in buxomness : The wrestling of this world, asketh a fall. Here is no home, here is but wilderness. Forth, pilgrim, forth on, best out of thy stall; Look up on high, and thank the God of all! Weivith thy lust, and let thy ghost thee lead, And Truth thee shalt deliver 'tis no drede. G. Chaucer. TO MAISTRES MARGARETE. MlRRY Margaret As midsomer flowre, Genti] as faucoun Or hauke of the towre; With solace and gladnes Moch mirth and no madnes All good and no badnes TO MAISTRES MARGARETE. So joyously, So maydenly, So womanly Her demenynge In every thynge, Far, far passynge That I can endite Or suffice to write Of mirry Margarete As midsomer flowre Gentil as faucoun Or hauke of the towre ! As pacient and as styll And as ful of good wil As fayre Isiphill, Coliander, Swete Pomaunder, Good Cassander, Stedfast of thought, Wei made, wel wrought, Far may be soughte Erst ye can fynde So curteise, so kynde As mirry Margarete This midsomer flowre, Gentil as faucoun Or hauke of the towre ! John Skelton. MY SWETE SWETYNG. MY SWETE SWETYNG. (TEMPO HENRY vm.) AH! my swete swetyng, My lytyl pretie swetyng! My swetyng wyl I loue whereuer I goe : She is soe proper and pure, Stedfaste, stabyll, and demure, There is nonne suche, ye may be sure, As my swete swetyng. In all thys world e, as thynketh mee, Is nonne soe plesaunte to my 'ee, That I am gladde soe ofte to see, As my swete swetynge. When I beholde my swetyng swete, Her face, her haundes, her minion fete, They seeme to mee ther is nonne soe mete As my swete swetynge. Above alle others prayse must I, And loue my pretie pigsnye; For nonne I finde so womanlie As my swete swetynge. She is soe proper and pure, Stedfaste, stabyll, and demure, There is nonne suche, ye may be sure, As my swete swetynge. Anonymous. A CAROL OF SPRING. A CAROL OF SPRING, WHEREIN ECHE THING RENEWES SAUE ONELY THE LOVER. THE soote season, that bud and blome forth brings, With grene hath clad the hill, and eke the vale : The nightingale with fethers newe she sings : The turtle to her mate hath tolde her tale : Somer is come, for euery spray now springs : The hart hath hong his old hed on the pale; The bucke in brake his winter coate he flings : The fishes flete with new repaired scale : The adder all her slough away she flings ; The swift swalow pursueth the flies smale; The busy bee her honey now she mings ; Winter is worne, that was the floures bale ; And thus I see among these pleasaunt things Eche care decayes; and yet my sorow springs. Henry Howard (Earl of Surrey). MADRIGAL. WORSHIP, O ye that lovers be, this May ! For of your bliss the Calends are begun; And sing with us, 'Away! winter, away! Come, summer, come, the sweet season and sun;' Awake for shame that have your heavens won; And amorously lift up your heades all, Thank Love that list you to his mercy call! King James I, (of Scotland), SPRING. SPRING. SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo ! The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo. The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring! the sweet Spring! Thomas Nosh. 10 THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE. COME live with me and be my Love, And we will all the pleasures prove That hills and valleys, dale and field, And all the craggy mountains yield. There will we sit upon the rocks And see the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. There will I make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold. A belt of straw and ivy buds With coral clasps and amber studs : And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my Love. ,THE SHEPHERDESS'S REPLY. n Thy silver dishes for thy meat As precious as the gods do eat, Shall on an ivory table be Prepared each day for thee and me. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May-morning : If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my Love. ChristopJier Marlowe. THE SHEPHERDESS'S REPLY. IF all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love ; But time drives flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold, Then Philomel becometh dumb, And age complains of cares to come. The flowers do fade, and wanton fields To wayward winter reckoning yields ; A honey tongue, a heart of gall, Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall. 12 THE SHEPHERDESS'S REPLY. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies, Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten; In folly ripe, in reason rotten. Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds, Thy coral clasps and amber studs, All these in me no means can move, To come to thee and be thy love. What should we talk of dainties, then, Of better meat than's fit for men? . These are but vain: that's only good Which God hath blessM and sent for food. But could youth last, and love still breed, Had joys no date, nor age no need; Then those delights my mind might move, To live with thee and be thy love. Sir Walter Raleigh. SAMELA. 13 SAMELA. LIKE to Diana in her summer weed, Girt with a crimson robe of brightest dye, Goes fair Samela! Whiter than be the flocks that straggling feed, When washed by Arethusa faint they lie, Is fair Samela! As fair Aurora in her morning gray, Decked with the ruddy glister of her love, Is fair Samela! Like lovely Thetis on a calmed day, Whenas her brightness Neptune's fancies move, Shines fair Samela! Her tresses gold, her eyes like glassy streams ; Her teeth are pearl, the breasts are ivory Of fair Samela! Her cheeks, like rose and lily, yield forth gleams ; Her brows' bright arches framed of ebony : Thus fair Samela Passeth fair Venus in her bravest hue, And Juno in the show of majesty, For she's Samela! Pallas in wit, all three, if you will view, For beauty, wit, and matchless dignity, Yield to Samela. Robert Greene. 14 TO HIS LADY. TO HIS LADY. ASK me no more where Jove bestows, When June is past, the fading rose; For in your beauties' orient deep, These flow'rs, as in their causes, sleep. Ask me no more, whither do stray The golden atoms of the day; For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Those powders to enrich your hair. Ask me no more, whither doth haste The nightingale, when May is past; For in your sweet dividing throat She winters, and keeps warm her note. Ask me no more, where those stars light, That downwards fall in dead of night; For, in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere. Ask me no more, if east or west, The phoenix builds her spicy nest; For unto you at last she flies, And in your fragrant bosom dies. Thomas Carew). CUPID AND CAMPASPE. 15 CUPID AND CAMPASPE. CUPID and my Campaspe play'd At cards for kisses; Cupid paid: He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows ; Loses them too ; then down he throws The coral of his lip, the rose Growing on's cheek (but none knows how) ; With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple on his chin; All these did my Campaspe win: At last he set her both his eyes She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas! become of me? John Lylye. 1 6 TO CELIA, TO CELIA. DRINK to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine ; Or leave a kiss within the cup, And HI not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise, Doth ask a drink divine : But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee, As giving it a hope, that there It could not withered be; But thou thereon didst only breathe, And sent'st it back to me, Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee. Ben Jonson. KISSING THE AIR. IJ KISSING THE AIR. I DARE not ask a kiss, I dare not beg a smile; Lest, having that or this, I might grow proud the while. No, no ! the utmost share Of my desire shall be, Only to kiss the air That late kissed thee. Robert Herrick. A DITTY. MY true-love hath my heart, and I have his, By just exchange one to the other given: I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss, There never was a better bargain driven: My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. His heart in me keeps him and me in one, My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides : He loves my heart, for once it was his own, I cherish his because in me it bides: My true-love hath my heart, and I have his. Sir Philip Sidney. Eider Poets. 1 8 THE LOVER GROWETH OLD, THE LOVER GROWETH OLD. THAT time of year thou may'st in me behold When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang Upon those boughs which shake against the cold, Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang. In me thou seest the twilight of such day As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away, Death's second self, that seals up all in rest. In me thou seest the glowing of such fire, That on the ashes of his youth doth lie As the deathbed whereon it must expire, Consumed with that which it was nourished by: This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong, To love that well which thou must leave ere long. William Shakespeare, LOVE SEETH NO CHANGE, IQ LOVE SEETH NO CHANGE. To me, fair Friend, you never can be old, For as you were when first your eye I eyed Such seems your beauty still. Three winters cold Have from the forests shook three summers' pride; Three beauteous springs to yellow autumn turnM In process of the season have I seen, Three April perfumes in three hot Junes burn'd, Since first I saw you fresh which yet are green. Ah! yet doth beauty, like a dial hand, Steal from his figure, and no pace perceived; So your sweet hue, which methinks still doth stand, Hath motion, and mine eye may be deceived: For fear of which, hear this, thou age unbred, Ere you were born, was beauty's summer dead. W. SJiakespeare. 2O THE LOVER PROMISETH IMMORTALITY. THE LOVER PROMISETH IMMORTALITY. SHALL I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate : Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date : Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd : And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance, or nature's changing course, untrimnVd. But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall death brag thou wanderest in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. W, Shakespeare. LOVE IN ABSENCE. 21 LOVE IN ABSENCE. LIKE as the culver on the bared bough Sits mourning for the absence of her mate, And in her songs sends many a wishful vow For his return, that seems to linger late ; So I alone, now left disconsolate, Mourn to myself the absence of my love, And wandering here and there all desolate, Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove. Ne joy of aught that under heaven doth hove Can comfort me, but her own joyous sight Whose sweet aspect both god and man can move In her unspotted pleasance to delight: And in the heavens write your glorious name, Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue, Our love shall live, and later life renew. Edmund Spenser. 22 THE NIGHTINGALE. THE NIGHTINGALE. As it fell upon a day In the merry month of May, Sitting in a pleasant shade Which a grove of myrtles made, Beasts did leap and birds did sing, Trees did grow and plants did spring, Every thing did banish moan Save the nightingale alone. She, poor bird, as all forlorn, Lean'd her breast against a thorn, And there sung the dolefullest ditty That to hear it was great pity. Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry; Tereu, tereu, by and by : That to hear her so complain Scarce I could from tears refrain; For her griefs so lively shown Made me think upon mine own. Ah, thought I, thou mournst in vain, None takes pity on thy pain : Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, Ruthless beasts, they will not cheer thee ; King Pandion, he is dead, All thy friends are lapp'd in lead : All thy fellow birds do sing Careless of thy sorrowing: Even so, poor bird, like thee None alive will pity me. R ichard Bawfield* LOVES PERJURIES. 23 LOVE'S PERJURIES. ON a day, alack the day ! Love, whose month is ever May, Spied a blossom passing fair Playing in the wanton air: Through the velvet leaves the wind All unseen 'gan passage find; That the lover, sick to death, WishM himself the heaven's breath. Air, quoth he, thy cheeks may blow; Air, would I might triumph so ! But, alack, my hand is sworn Ne'er to pluck thee from thy thorn : Vow, alack, for youth unmeet; Youth so apt to pluck a sweet. Do not call it sin in me That I am forsworn for thee : Thou for whom e'en Jove would swear Juno but an Ethiope were, And deny himself for Jove, Turning mortal for thy love. W. Shakespeare. 24 THE LOVER S APPEAL. THE LOVER'S APPEAL. AND wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay ! say nay ! for shame, To save thee from the blame Of all my grief and grame. And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! And wilt thou leave me thus, That hath loved thee so long In wealth and woe among: And is thy heart so strong As for to leave me thus? Say nay! say nay! And wilt thou leave me thus, That hath given thee my heart Never for to depart Neither for pain nor smart : And wilt thou leave me thus? Say nay ! say nay ! And wilt thou leave me thus, And have no more pity Of him that loveth thee? Alas ! thy cruelty ! And wilt thou leave me thus ? Say nay ! say nay ! Sir Thomas Wyatt. LOVE J S LAST MOMENTS. 25 LOVE'S LAST MOMENTS. SINCE there's no help, come let us kiss and part,- Nay I have done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free ; Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of love's latest breath, When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies, When faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And innocence is closing up his eyes, Now if thou would'st, when all have given him over, From death to life thou might'st him yet recover! Michael Dray ton. 26 TO THE MOON. TO THE MOON. WITH how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies! How silently, and with how wan a face ! What! may it be, that ev'n in heavenly place That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? Sure, if that long-with-love-acquainted eyes Can judge of love, thou feePst a lover's case; I read it in thy looks ; thy languished grace, To me that feel the like, thy state descries. Then, ev'n of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, Is constant love deemed there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here they be? Do they above love to be loved, and yet Those lovers scorn, whom that love doth possess? Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? Sir P. Sidney. TO THE NIGHTINGALE. 2 7 TO THE NIGHTINGALE. O NIGHTINGALE, that on yon bloomy spray Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart does fill, While the jolly Hours lead on propitious May. Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill, Portend success in love ; O, if Jove's will Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, e'er the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeless doom in some grove nigh; As thou from year to year hast sung too late For my relief, yet hadst no reason why: Whether the muse, or love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I. John Milton 28 TO HIS LUTE. TO HIS LUTE. MY lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow With thy green mother in some shady grove, When immelodious winds but made thee move, And birds their ramage did on thee bestow. Since that dear Voice which did thy sounds approve, Which wont in such harmonious strains to flow, Is reft from Earth to tune those spheres above, What art thou but a harbinger of woe? Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, But orphans' waitings to the fainting ear; Each stroke a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear; For which be silent as in woods before : Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, Like widow'd turtle still her loss complain. William Drummond. THE LOVER TO KIS LYRE. 2 9 THE LOVER TO HIS LYRE. AWAKE, awake, my Lyre ! And tell thy silent master's humble tale In sounds that may prevail, Sounds that gentle thoughts inspire: Though so exalted she And I so lowly be, Tell her such different notes make all thy harmony. Hark ! how the strings awake ; And though the moving hand approach not near, Themselves with awful fear A kind of numerous trembling make. Now all thy forces try; Now all thy charms apply: Revenge upon her ear the conquests of her eye! Weak Lyre ! thy virtue sure Is useless here, since thou art only found To cure, but not to wound And she to wound, but not to cure. Too weak too wilt thou prove, My passion to remove : Physic to other ills, thou'rt nourishment to love. Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre ! For thou canst never tell my humble tale In sounds that will prevail, Nor gentle thoughts in her inspire. All thy vain mirth lay by, Bid thy strings silent lie: Sleep, sleep again, my Lyre, and let thy master die! Abraham Cmtiley. 3 LAMENT FOR ASTROPHEL. LAMENT FOR ASTROPHEL * "WOODS, hills, and rivers, now are desolate, Sith he is gone, the which them all did grace; And all the fields do wail their widow state, Sith death their fairest flower did late deface : The fairest flower in field that ever grew Was Astrophel; that was we all may rue. "What cruel hand of cursed foe unknown Hath cropt the stalk which bore so fair a flower? Untimely cropt, before it well were grown, And clean defaced in untimely hour; Great loss to all that ever him did see, Great loss to all, but greatest loss to me. "Break now your girlonds, O ye shepherds' lasses! Sith the fair flower which them adorn'd is gone; The flower which them adorn'd is gone to ashes, Never again let lass put girlond on: Instead of girlond wear sad cypress now, And bitter elder broken from the bough. "Ne ever sing the love-lays which he made; Who ever made such lays of love as he? Ne ever read the riddles which he said Unto yourselves to make you merry glee: Your merry glee is now laid all abed, Your merry maker now, alas ! is dead. * Sir Philip Sidney. LAMENT FOR ASTROPHEL. 3 I " Death, the devourer of all world's delight, Hath robbed you, and reft fro me my joy; Both you and me, and all the world, he quite Hath robb'd of joyance, and left sad annoy. Joy of the world, and shepherds' pride, was he ; Shepherds, hope never like again to see. " O Death ! that hast us of such riches reft, Tell us, at least, what hast thou with it done? What is become of him whose flower here left Is but the shadow of his likeness gone? Scarce like the shadow of that which he was, Nought like, but that he like a shade did pass. "But that immortal spirit, which was deck'd With all the dowries of celestial grace, By sovereign choice from th ? heavenly quires select, And lineally derived from angels' race, O what is now of it become? aread: Aye me ! can so divine a thing be dead : "Ah! no: it is not dead, ne can it die, But lives for aye in blissful paradise, Where like a new-born babe it soft doth lie In bed of lilies, wrapt in tender wise, And compass'd all about with roses sweet, And dainty violets from head to feet. "There thousand birds, all of celestial brood, To him do sweetly carol day and night, And with strange notes, of him well understood, Lull him asleep in angel- like delight; Whilst in sweet dream to him presented be Immortal beauties, which no eye may see. 32 LAMENT FOR ASTROPHEL. "But he them sees, and takes exceeding pleasure Of their divine aspects, appearing plain, And kindling love in him above all measure; Sweet love, still joyous, never feeling pain: For what so goodly form he there doth see He may enjoy, from jealous rancour free. " There liveth he in everlasting bliss, Sweet Spirit! never fearing more to die, Ne dreading harm from any foes of his, Ne fearing savage beasts' more cruelty, Whilst we here wretches wail his private lack, And with vain vows do often call him back. "But live thou there still, happy, happy Spirit! And give us leave thee here thus to lament; Not thee that dost thy heaven's joy inherit, But our own selves, that here in dole are drent. Thus do we weep and wail, and wear our eyes, Mourning in others our own miseries." E. Spenser. THE SHEPHERD'S ELEGY. 33 THE SHEPHERD'S ELEGY. GLIDE soft ye silver floods. And every spring : Within the shady woods Let no bird sing! Nor from the grove a turtle dove Be seen to couple with her love; But silence on each dale and mountain dwell, Whilst Willy bids his friend and joy farewell. But (of great Thetis' train) Ye mermaids fair, That on the shores do plain Your sea-green hair, As ye in trammels knit your locks Weep ye; and so enforce the rocks In heavy murmurs through the broad shores tell How Willy bade his friend and joy farewell. Cease, cease, ye murmuring winds To move a wave ; But if with troubled minds You seek his grave, Know 'tis as various as yourselves, Now in the deep, then on the shelves, His coffin toss'd by fish and surges fell, Whilst Willy weeps and bids all joy farewell. Elder Poets. 3 34 THE SHEPHERD'S ELEGY. Had he, Arion like. Been judg'd to drown, He on his lute could strike So rare a swon; A thousand dolphins would have come, And jointly strove to bring him home. But he on shipboard dyM, by sickness fell, Since when his Willy bade all joy farewell. Great Neptune hear a swain ! His coffin take. And with a golden chain (For pity) make It fast unto a rock near land ! Where ev'ry calmy morn Pll stand, And ere one sheep out of my flock I tell, Sad Willy's pipe shall bid his friend farewell. William. Browne. LYCIDAS. 35 LYCIDAS. ELEGY ON A FRIEND DROWNED IN THE IRISH CHANNEL. YET once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come, to pluck your berries harsh and crude ; And, with forced fingers rude, Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint, and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due : For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer : Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear. Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring, Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string; Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favour my destined urn ; And as he passes, turn And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock by fountain, shade, and rill. 3* 36 LYCIDAS. Together both, ere the high lawns appeared Under the opening eye-lids of the morn, We drove a-field, and both together heard What time the gray fly winds her sultry horn. Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night; Oft till the star, that rose at evening bright, Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel. Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, Tempered to the oaten flute; Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not be absent long; And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. But, O the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods, and desert caves With wild thyme and the gadding vine o'ergrown, And all their echoes, mourn : The willows and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays: As killing as the canker to the rose, Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, When first the white-thorn blows ; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherds' ear. Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas ? For neither were ye playing on the steep Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream : Ay me! I fondly dream- Had ye been there for what could that have done? What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, LYCIDAS. 37 Whom universal nature did lament, When by the rout that made the hideous roar His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? Alas ! what boots it with incessant care To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done, as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights, and live laborious days ; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears And slits the thin-spun life. "But not the praise " Phoebus replied, and touch' d my trembling ears ; "Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad rumour lies : But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood Smooth- sliding Mincius, crown' d with vocal reeds! That strain I heard was of a higher mood : But now my oat proceeds, And listens to the herald of the sea That came in Neptune's plea; He ask'd the waves, and ask'd the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain? And questioned every gust of rugged wings 38 LYCIDAS. That blows from off each beaked promontory: They knew not of his story; And sage Hippotades their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon stray'd ; The air was calm, and on the level brine Sleek Panope with all her sisters play'd. It was that fatal and perfidious bark Built in the eclipse, and rigg'd with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge Inwrought with figures dim, nd on the edge Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe : "Ah! who hath reft", quoth he, "my dearest pledge!" Last came, and last did go The pilot of the Galilean lake; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain) ; He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake: 'How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, Enow of such, as for their bellies' sake Creep and intrude and climb into the fold ! Of other care they little reckoning make Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest; Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learn' d aught else the least That to the faithful herdman's art belongs ! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed, But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread: Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said: LYCIDAS. 39 But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once, and smite no more." Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks ; Throw hither all your quaint enamelPd eyes That on the green turf suck the honey'd showers And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freak'd with jet, The glowing violet, The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears : Bid amarantus all his beauty shed, And daffodillies fill their cups with tears To strew the laureat hearse where Lycid lies. For, so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise; Ay me! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurPd, Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide, Visitest the bottom of the monstrous world ; Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, Where the great Vision of the guarded mount Looks towards Namancos and Bayona's hold, Look homeward, Angel, now, and melt with ruth : And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth ! 40 LYCIDAS. Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor; So sinks the day-star in the ocean-bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves; Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the saints above In solemn troops, and sweet societies, That sing, and singing, in their glory move, And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more ; Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood. Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, While the still morn went out with sandals gray; He touch 7 d the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, And now was dropt into the western bay : At last he rose, and twitch' d his mantle blue : To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. J. Milton. THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN, 4! THE DIRGE OF IMOGEN. FEAR no more the heat o' the sun Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone and ta'en thy wages : Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe, and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak : The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash ; Thou hast finished joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. No exerciser harm thee ! Nor no witchcraft charm thee ! Ghost unlaid forbear thee! Nothing ill come near thee ! Quiet consummation have; And renowned be thy grave ! W. Shakespeare. 4-2 A SEA DIRGE. A SEA DIRGE. FULL fathom five thy father lies : Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes : Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange; Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell : Hark ! now I hear them, Ding, dong, Bell. W. Shakespeare. A LAND DIRGE. CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm; But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again. John Webster. THE HAPPY LIFE, 43 THE HAPPY LIFE. MARTIAL, the things that do attain The happy life, be these, I find, The riches left, not got with pain; The fruitful ground, the quiet mind; The equal friend; no grudge, no strife; No charge of rule, nor governance; Without disease, the healthful life; The household of continuance ; The mean diet, no delicate fare; The wisdom joined with simpleness; The night discharged of all care, Where wine the wit may not oppress. The faithful wife, without debate ; Such sleeps as may beguile the night ; Contented with thine own estate, Ne wish for death, ne fear his might. H. Howard (Earl of Surrey) . 44 THE QUIET LIFE, THE QUIET LIFE. HAPPY the man whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Whose flocks supply him with attire; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter, fire. Blest, who can unconcernedly find Hours, days, and years, slide soft away In health of body; peace of mind; Quiet by day; Sound sleep by night; study and ease Together mix'd; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die; Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie. Alexander Pope. 1HE LORD OF SELF. 45 THE LORD OF SELF. How happy is he born and taught That serveth not ano ther's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill! Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death, Not tied unto the world with care Of public fame, or private breath ; 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 rumours freed ; Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make accusers great; Who God doth late and early pray More of his grace than gifts to lend ; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen 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. Sir Henry Wotton. 46 THE MODERATE WISHER. THE MODERATE WISHER. THIS only grant me, that my means may lie Too low for envy, for contempt too high. Some honour I would have, Not from great deeds, but good alone; Th' unknown are better than ill-known. Rumour can ope the grave : Acquaintance I would have; but when't depends Not on the number, but the choice of friends. Books should, not business, entertain the light, And sleep, as undisturbed as death, the night. My house a cottage, more Than palace, and should fitting be For all my use ; no luxury. My garden painted o'er With Nature's hand, not Art's ; and pleasures yield, Horace might envy in his Sabine field. Thus would I double my life's fading space, For he that runs it well, twice runs his race. And in this true delight, These unbought sports, that happy state, I would not fear nor wish my fate, But boldly say each night, To-morrow let my sun his beams display, Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to-day. A. C