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Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play

Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow-
Such as creation's dawn beheld, thou rollest now.

Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests; in all time,
(Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving,)--boundless, endless, and sublime-
The image of Eternity—the throne
Of the Invisible; even from out thy slime

The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeysthee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone.

And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy
Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be
Borne, like thy bubbles, onward: from a boy
I wanton'd with thy breakers—they to me
Were a deltght; and if the freshening sea
Made them a terror—'twas a pleasing fear,
For I was as it were a child of thee,

And trusted to thy billows far and near,
And laid


upon thy mane—as I do here.

ON SINCERITY. FROM ABP. TILLOTSON, (ABRIDGED.) Truth and sincerity have all the advantages of appearance,

If the show of any thing be good, I am sure the reality is better: for why does any man dissemble, or seem to be that which he is noty-but because he thinks it good to have the qualities he pretends to? Now the best way for a man to seem to be any thing, is to be in reality what he would seem to be: besides,—it is often as troublesome to support the pretence of a good quality, as to have it: and, if a man have it not, it is most likely he will be discovered to want it; and, then, all his labour to seem to have it, is lost. There is something unnatural in painting, which a skilful eye will easily discern from native beauty and complexion.

and many more.

Therefore, if any man think it convenient to seem good, let him be so indeed: and then his goodness will appear to every one's satisfaction. Particularly, as to the affairs of this world, integrity hath many advantages over all the artificial modes of dissimulation and deceit. It is much the plainer and easier, much the safer, and more secure way of dealing in the world; it has less of trouble and difficulty, of entanglement and perplexity, of danger and hazard in it. The arts of deceit and cunning continually grow weaker, and less serviceable to those that practice them; whereas integrity gains strength by use; and the more and longer any man practiseth it, the greater service it does him; by confirming his reputation, and encouraging those with whom he hath to do, to repose the greatest confidence in him: which is an unspeakable advantage in business and the affairs of life.

But insincerity is very troublesome to manage. A hypocrite hath so many things to attend to, as make his life a very perplexed and intricate thing. A liar hath need of a good memory, lest he contradict at one time what he said at another; but truth is always consistent, and needs nothing to help it out: it is always near at hand, and sits upon our lips; whereas a lie is troublesome, and needs a great many more to make it good.

In a word, whatsoever convenience may be thought to be in falsehood and dissimulation, it is soon over: but the inconvenience of it is perpetual; because it brings a man under an everlasting jealousy and suspicion; so that he is not believed when he speaks the truth; nor trusted when, perhaps, he means honestly. When a man hath once forfeited the reputation of his integrity, nothing will then serve his turn: neither truth nor falsehood.

Indeed, if a man were only to deal in the world for a day, and should never have occasion to converse more with mankind, it were then nio great matter (as far as respects the affairs of this world) if he spent his reputation all at once; or ventured it at one throw. But if he be to continue in the world, and would have the advantage of reputation whilst he is in it, let him make use of truth and sincerity in all his words and actions; for nothing but this will hold out to the end. All other arts may fail; but truth and integrity will carry a man thro', and bear him out to the last.



Henry iv. Part 1.-Act iv. Scene 4. If I be not asham’d of my soldiers, I am a souc'd gurnet. I have misus'd the king's press damnably. I have got in exchange of an hundred and fifty soldiers, three hundred and odd pounds. I

press me good householders-yeomen's sons; inquire me out contracted bachelors, such as had been ask'd twice on the banns; such a commodity of warm slaves, as had as lief hear the devil as a drum; such as fear the report of a caliver, worse than a stuck fowl, or a hurt wild duck. I press me none but such toasts and butter, with hearts in their bellies no bigger than pins' heads; and they have bought out their services. And now my whole charge consists of ancients, corporals, lieutenants, gentlemen of companies!-slaves as ragged as Lazarus, in the painted cloth; and such as, indeed, were never soldiers; but discarded unjust servingmen, younger sons to younger brothers, revolted tapsters, and ostlers trade-fallen; the cankers of a calm world and a long peace; and such have I to fill up the room of them that have bought out their services; that you would think, I had a hundred and fifty tatter'd prodigals, lately come from swine-keeping, from eating draff and husks. A mad fellow met me on the way, and told me, I had unloaded all the gibbets, and press'd the dead bodies. No eye has seen such scare-crows. I'll not march through Coventry with them, that's flat. Nay, and the villains march wide betwixt the legs, as if they had gyves on; for, indeed, I had the most of them out of prison.

There's but a shirt and a half in all my company: and the half shirt is two napkins tack'd together, and thrown over the shoulders, like a herald's coat without sleeves; and the shirt, to say the truth, stolen from my host of St. Albans, or the red-nos’d inn-keeper of Daintry. But that's all one, they'll find linen enough on every hedge,—“And as for the rest”-Tut, tut, “they're good enough to toss-Mortal men-mortal men!—“fair” food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well as better;

stand as well in the mouth of a cannon.



Thou lingering star, with lessening ray,

That lov'st to greet the early morn,
Again thou usherest in the day

My Mary from my soul was torn. Oh Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast? That sacred hour can I forget,

Can I forget the hallowed grove, Where by the winding Ayr we met,

To live one day of parting love! Eternity will not efface

Those records dear of transports past; Thy image at our last embrace;

Ah! little thought we 'twas our last! Ayr gurgling kissed his pebbled shore,

O'erhung with wild woods, thick’ning green; The fragrant birch, and hawthorn hoar,

Twined amorous round the raptured scene. The flowers sprang wanton to be prest,

The birds sang love on every spray, Till too, too soon, the glowing west

Proclaimed the speed of winged day. Still o'er these scenes my memory wakes,

And fondly broods with miser care;

Time but the impression stronger makes,

As streams their channels deeper wear. My Mary! dear departed shade!

Where is thy place of blissful rest? See'st thou thy lover lowly laid?

Hear'st thou the groans that rend his breast?




Then Agrippa said unto Paul, Thou art permitted to speak for thyself. Then Paul stretched forth the hand, and answered for himself:

I think myself happy, king Agrippa, because I shall answer for myself this day before thee, touching all the things whereof I am accused of the Jews. Especially, because I know thee to be expert in all customs and questions which are among the Jews; wherefore I beseech thee to hear me patiently. My manner of life from my youth, which was at the first among mine own nation at Jerusalem, know all the Jews; which knew me from the beginning, if they would testify, that after the most straitest sect of our religion, I lived a Pharisee. And now I stand and am judged for the hope of the promise made of God unto our fathers: unto 'which promise our twelve tribes, instantly serving God day and night, hope to

For which hope's sake, king Agrippa, I am 'accused of the Jews. Why should it be thought a thing incredible with you, that God should raise the dead? I verily thought with myself, that I ought to do many things contrary to the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Which thing I also did in Jerusalem: and many of the saints did I shut up in prison, having received authority from the chief Priests; and when they were put to death, I gave my voice against them. And I punished them oft in every synagogue, and compelled them to blaspheme; and being exceedingly mad against them, I persecuted them even unto


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