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RICHARD CRASHAW.

Whoe'er she be,

WISHES.

That not impossible she,

That shall command my heart and me;

I wish her beauty,

That owes not all its duty

To gaudy tire, or glistering shoe-tie,

A face, that's best

By its own beauty drest . . .

A cheek, where grows

More than a morning rose.

Eyes, that displaces

The neighbour diamond; and out-faces That sunshine by their own sweet graces.

A well-tamed heart,

For whose more noble smart

Love may be long choosing a dart.

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[Who now reads Cowley? if he pleases yet,
His moral pleases, not his pointed wit;
Forgot his epic, nay, Pindaric art,

But still I love the language of his heart.

Pope. Imitations of Horace.]

From ODE ON WIT.

Tell me, O tell, what kind of thing is Wit,
Thou who Master art of it? .

A thousand different shapes it bears,
Comely in thousand shapes appears.

'Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest,
Admired with laughter at a feast,
Nor florid talk, which can that title gain;
The proofs of Wit for ever must remain.

'Tis not to adorn and gild each part;
That shows more cost than art.

'Tis not when two like words make up one noise, Jests for Dutch men, and English boys;

What is it, then, which, like the Power divine, We only can by negatives define? . . .

THE CHANGE.

Love in her sunny eyes does basking play; Love walks the pleasant mazes of her hair; Love does on both her lips for ever stray, And sows and reaps a thousand kisses there! In all her outward parts Love's always seen ; But oh! he never went within.

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To-morrow I will live, the fool does say ;-
To-day itself's too late, the wise lived yesterday.

From THE BAGFORD BALLADS.

Surely now I'm out of danger!
I'll defy blind Cupid's dart !
Love to me is grown a stranger,
Therefore I'll not break my heart.

For all the graces of their faces,
They may keep, since I am free;
Some are witty, some are pretty,
Yet I'll keep my liberty.

To a dainty new tune which if you can't hit, There's another tune which doth as well fit.

SCRAPS FROM THE ROXBURGH BALLADS. [Printed between 1560 and 1700.]

From THE MAID'S ANSWER.

Falling out of faithful friends
Renewing be of love.

The silver moon shall shine by day,
The golden sun by night,
Ere I will go that heedless way
Wherein some take delight.

From COME, BUY THIS NEW BALLAD.

It is an old saying

That few words are best,

And he that says little

Shall live most at rest;

And I by experience do find it right so ; Therefore I'll spare speech :

But I know what I know.

LOVE'S SOLACE.

The damask rose, nor lily fair,
The cowslip nor the pansy,
With my true love cannot compare
For beauty, love, and fancy.
She doth excel the rarest dame
In all the world that may be,
Which makes me thus extol her fame,
So sweet's the lass that loves me.

THE LOVER'S DELIGHT.

Come, Love, let's walk into the Spring,
Where we will hear the Blackbird sing,
The Robin-Redbreast and the Thrush,
The Nightingale on thorny bush;
Their music sweetly carolling,
That to my Love content may bring.

O YES, O YES.

If any man or woman
In country or in city,
Can tell where liveth Charity,
Or where abideth Pity,
Bring news unto the Cryer,

And their reward shall be

The prayers of poor folks every day
Upon the humble knee.

1608-1674]

JOHN MILTON.

[An inward prompting now grew daily upon me, that by labour and intent study, (which I take to be my portion in this life,) joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to after-times, as they should not willingly let it die... -MILTON Against Prelaty, B. II., Introduction.]

From PARADISE LOST.

The Opening, Book I., line 1.

Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,—
Sing, heavenly Muse,-that on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire

That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed,
In the beginning, how the Heavens and Earth
Rose out of Chaos; or, if Sion hill

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.

And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples the upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou knowest; thou from the first
Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast abyss,
And mad'st it pregnant; what in me is dark
Illumine; what is low raise and support;
That to the heighth of this great argument
I may assert eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.

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