We spent them not in toys, in lusts, or wine,
But search of deep philosophy,

Wit, eloquence, and poetry;

Arts which I lov'd, for they, my friend, were thine.

On the Death of Mr. William Harvey.

His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might
Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right.1

On the Death of Crashaw..

The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks, and gapes for drink again;
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.

From Anacreon, ii. Drinking..

Fill all the glasses there, for why
Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why?

1 For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight,
He can't be wrong whose life is in the right.

Ibid.

POPE: Essay on Man, epilogue iii. line 303..

A mighty pain to love it is,

And 't is a pain that pain to miss;
But of all pains, the greatest pain
It is to love, but love in vain.

Hope, of all ills that men endure,
The only cheap and universal cure.
Th' adorning thee with so much art
Is but a barb'rous skill;

'Tis like the pois'ning of a dart,
Too apt before to kill.

From Anacreon, vii. Gold.

The Mistress. For Hope.

The Waiting Maid.

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past,
But an eternal now does always last.1

When Israel was from bondage led,
Led by the Almighty's hand
From out of foreign land,

The great sea beheld and fled.

Davideis. Book i. Line 25.

An harmless flaming meteor shone for hair,
And fell adown his shoulders with loose care.2

The monster London laugh at me.

Let but thy wicked men from out thee go,
And all the fools that crowd thee so,
Even thou, who dost thy millions boast,
A village less than Islington wilt grow,
A solitude almost.

The fairest garden in her looks,
And in her mind the wisest books.

Line 41

Book ii. Line 95.

Of Solitude, xi,

Ibid. vii.

The Garden, i

God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.

8

Ibid. ii.

1 One of our poets (which is it?) speaks of an everlasting now. -SOUTHEY:

The Doctor, chap. xxv. p. 1.

2 Loose his beard and hoary hair
Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air.

* See Bacon, page 167.

GRAY: The Bard, i. 2

Hence, ye profane! I hate ye all,
Both the great vulgar and the small.

Horace. Book iii. Ode 1.

Charm'd with the foolish whistling of a name.1

Virgil, Georgics. Book ii. Line 72.

Words that weep and tears that speak.2

The Prophet.

We griev'd, we sigh'd, we wept; we never blush'd before. Discourse concerning the Government of Oliver Cromwell.

Thus would I double my life's fading space;

For he that runs it well, runs twice his race.3

Discourse xi. Of Myself. St. xi.

RALPH VENNING. 1620(?)-1673.

All the beauty of the world, 't is but skin deep.4
Orthodoxe Paradoxes. (Third edition, 1650.) The Triumph of
Assurance, p. 41.

They spare the rod, and spoyle the child."

Mysteries and Revelations, p. 5. (1649.)

2 Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. - GRAY: Progress of

Poesy, iii. 3, 4.

3 For he lives twice who can at once employ

The present well, and ev'n the past enjoy.

POPE: Imitation of Martial.

4 Many a dangerous temptation comes to us in fine gay colours that are but skin-deep. HENRY: Commentaries. Genesis iii.

See Skelton, page 8.

In busy companies of men.

Annihilating all that's made

To a green thought in a green shade.

The Garden. (Translated.)

The world in all doth but two nations bear,

The good, the bad; and these mixed everywhere.

Ibid.

Man's life is like unto a winter's day,-
Some break their fast and so depart away;
Others stay dinner, then depart full fed;
The longest age but sups and goes to bed.
O reader, then behold and see!
As we are now, so must you be.

Hora Sucissive (1631).

HENRY VAUGHAN. 1621-1695.

But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.

I see them walking in an air of glory
Whose light doth trample on my days, —

1 Bishop of Peterborough, 1663.

The Retreat

My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.

They are all gone.

Dear, beauteous death, the jewel of the just!
Shining nowhere but in the dark;

What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust,
Could man outlook that mark!

And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,

Ibid.

So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.

Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch
At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb;

Keep clean, be as fruit, earn life, and watch
Till the white-wing'd reapers come!

Ibid.

The Seed growing secretly.

ALGERNON SIDNEY. 1622-1683.

Manus haec inimica tyrannis

Ense petit placidam sub libertate quietem.1

From the Life and Memoirs of Algernon Sidney.

Liars ought to have good memories.

Discourses on Government. Chap. ii. Sect. xv.

Men lived like fishes; the great ones devoured the small.

Sect. xviii.

1 His father writes to him, Aug. 30, 1660: "It is said that the University of Copenhagen brought their album unto you, desiring you to write something; and that you did scribere in albo these words." It is said that the first line is to be found in a patent granted in 1616 by Camden (Clarencieux). Notes and Queries, March 10, 1866.

2 He who has not a good memory should never take upon him the trade of lying. MONTAIGNE: Book i. chap. ix. Of Liars.

8 See Shakespeare, page 161.