« ПретходнаНастави »
By the imprisoning of unruly wind
O England !-model to thy inward greatness,
England bound in with the triumphant sea,
Our sea-walled garden, the whole land, Is full of weeds, her fairest flowers choak'd
That pale, that white-fac'd shore,
from other lands her islanders.
England never did (nor never shall) Lie at the proud foot of a conqueror; But when it first did help to wound itself. Come the three corners of the world in arms, And we shall shock them : nought shall make us rue, If England to itself do rest but true. Hath Britain all the sun that shines ? Day, night, Are they not but in Britain ? l' the world's volume Our Britain seems as of it, but not in it; In a great pool, a swan's nest. Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull ? On whom, as in despight, the Sun looks pale, Killing their fruit with frowns ? Would I had never trod this English earth, Or felt the flatteries that grow upon it! Ye have angels' faces, but heaven knows your
hearts. O my poor kingdom, sick with civil blows ! When that my care could not with-hold thy riots, What wilt thou do, when riot is thy care ? O, thou wilt be a wilderness again, Peopled with wolves, thy old inhabitants !
Men, that make Envy, and crooked malice, nourishment, Dare bite the best.
Now I feel
your envious courses, men of malice ; You have christian warrant for them, and, no doubt, In time will find their fit rewards.
My heart laments that virtue cannot live
O hateful error, melancholy's child !
You few that lov'd me,
soul to heaven.-Lead on, o' God's name. 'Tis now dead midnight, and by eight to-morrow Thou must be made immortal.
Now sits expectation in the air, And hides a sword, from hilt unto the point With crowns imperial, crowns, and coronets, Promis'd to Harry and his followers.
EXPERIENCE. -EXTRAVAGANCE. -EYES.
So tedious is this day,
Women are angels, wooing :
To wilful men, The injuries, that they themselves procure, Must be their school-masters.
'Tis not unknown to you, Anthonio,
faint means would grant continuance.
From women's eyes this doctrine I derive ::
They are the books, the arts, the academies,
Faster than his tongue Did make offence, his eye did heal it
up: These eyes,
that now are dimm'd with death's black
veil, Have been as piercing as the mid-day sun, To search the secret treasons of the world.
Where the bee sucks, there suck I