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XXXI. EDWARD FAIRFAX.
Of fair and fruitful trees a forest stood;
Ray, smilax, myrtle (Cupid's arrow-wood,) Grew there; and cypress with his kiss-sky tops, And Ferrea's tree, whence pure rose-water drops. The golden bee, buzzing with tinsel wings,
Sucked amber honey from the silken flower ; The dove sad love-groans on her sackbut sings,
The throstle whistles from his oaken tower ; And sporting lay the nymphs of woods and hills, On beds of heart's-ease, rue, and daffodils.
XXXII. MICHAEL DRAYTON.
1. SUMMER'S EVE.
All chequered was the sky,
Veil'd heaven's most glorious eye.
That leisurely it blew,
That closely by it grew.
Looked as they most desired
Most curiously was tired.
Might now be heard at will";
Else every thing was still.
Such sovereignty assumes,
And was the first of ours that ever broke
pass for current, and so much as then
3. TIE DEER-HUNT.
Now, when the hart doth hear
Whom when the ploughman meets, his team he letteth
stand, To assail him with his goad; so, with his hook in hand, The shepherd him pursues, and to his dog doth hollo, When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and hunts
men follow; Until the noble deer, through toil bereaved of strength, His long and sinewy legs then failing him at length, The villages attempts, enraged, not giving way To any thing he meets now at his sad decay. The cruel ravenous hounds and bloody hunters near, This noblest beast of chace, that vainly doth not fear, Some bank or quick-set finds; to which his haunch op
posed, He turns upon his foes, that soon have him inclosed, The churlish-throated hounds then holding him at bay; And, as their cruel fangs on his harsh skin they lay, With his sharp-pointed head he dealeth deadly wounds. The hunter, coming in to help his wearied hounds, He desperately assails; until, oppressed by force, He who the mourner is to his own dying corse, Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears lets fall.
XXXIII. SIR HENRY WOTTON.
1. PRAISE OF A COUNTRY LIFE. Mistaken mortals ! did
know Where joy, heart’s-ease, and comforts grow,
You'd scorn proud towers,
And seek them in these bowers; Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake, But blustering care could never tempest trake,
Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us,
Save of fountains that glide by us. Here's no fantastic masque or dance, But of our kids that frisk and prance;
Nor wars are seen,
Unless upon the green
And wounds are never found,
Save what the ploughshare gives the ground.
gems hid in some forlorn creek ;
Save when the dewy morn
And gold ne'er here appears,
2. HAPPY LIFE. How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his almost skill. Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose Bual is still prepared for death, Ontied unto the worldly care
Of public fame or private breath;
Or vice; who never understood
Nor rules of state, but rules of good.
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.
3. SONNET ON THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA. You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes
More by your number than your light;
You common people of the skies,
What aro you when the moon shall rise Ye violets that first appear
By your pure purple mantles known, Like the proud virgins of the year,
As if the Spring were all your own;
What are you when the rose is blown ? Ye'curious chaunters of the wood,
That warble forth dame Nature's lays, Thinking your passions understood
By your weak accents : what's your praise,
When Philomel her voice shall raise ? So when
mistress shall be seen
Tell me, if she was not designed
XXXIV. JOHN DONNE.
1. THE CROSS. Since Christ embraced the Cross itself, dare I His image, th' image of his Cross, deny ? Would I have profit by the sacrifice, And dare the chosen altar to despise ? It bore all other sins, but is it fit That it should bear the sin of scorning it? From me no pulpit, nor misguided law, Nor scandal taken, shall the Cross withdraw. Who can blot out this Cross, which th' instrument Of God dew'd on him in the sacrament ? Who can deny me power and liberty To stretch mine arms and mine own Cross to be ? Swim-and at every stroke thou art thy Cross; The mast and yard are theirs whom seas do toss. Look down; thou see'st our Crosses in small things; Look up; thou see'st birds fly on crosséd wings.