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NEW ELEGANT EXTRACTS.
Though in the utmost Peak
Awhile we do remain,
Amongst the mountains bleak
Expos’d to sleet and rain,
No sport our hours shall break
To exercisı our vein.
What though bright Phæbus' beams
Refresh the southern ground,
And though the princely Thames
With beauteous nymphs abound,
And by old Camber's streams
Be many wonders found :
Yet many rivers clear
Here glide in silver swathes,
Buxton's delicious baths,
T'assuage breem winter's scathes. pretty Wye,
Those grim and horrid caves,
Whose looks affright the day,
Wherein nice Nature saves
What she would not bewray,
Our better leisure craves,
And doth invite our lay.
In places far or near,
Or famous, or obscure,
Where wholesome is the air,
Or where the most impure,
[east, Brown Ecclesborne comes in, then Amber from the
All times, and every where,
The Muse is still in ure.
THE BALLAD OF AGINCOURT.
Fair stood the wind for France,
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry;
But putting to the main,
Landed King Harry.
And taking many a fort,
Marched towards Agincourt
In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopp'd his way,
Where the French gen’ral lay
With all his power.
Which in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide
To the king sending ;
And Boreas 'gins to frown,
Great Brute's first builded town.
Which he neglects the while,
And turning to his men,
With Spanish yew so strong, Quoth our brave Henry then,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather;
None from his fellow starts, Battles so bravely won
But playing manly parts, Have ever to the sun
And like true English hearts, By fame been raised.
Stuck close together. And for myself, quoth he,
When down their bows they threw, This my full rest shall be,
And forth their bilbows drew, England ne'er mourn for me,
And on the French they flew; Nor more esteem me.
Not one was tardy; Victor I will remain,
Arms were from shoulders sent, Or on this earth lie slain,
Scalps to the teeth were rent, Never shall she sustain
Down the French peasants went, Loss to redeem me.
Our men were hardy.
Poitiers and Cressy tell,
No less our skill is,
Lopp'd the French lilies.
This while our noble king,
As to o'erwhelm it;
Bruised his helmet.
SAMUEL DANIEL-A.D. 1562-1619.
TO THE LADY MARGARET, COUNTESS
As neither fear por hope can.stong
And with how free an eye doth he look down
He looks upon the mightiest monarch's wars
He sees the face of right t appear as manifold
Nor is he mov'd with all the thunder-cracks
Although his heart (so near ally'd to earth)
And whilst distraught ambition compasses,
Thus, madam, fares thr*and compard A rest for his do
u glory with her sufferings:
Which, madam, are so fondly fashioned
Which makes, that whatsoever here befals,
And whereas none rejoice more in revenge,
Knowing the heart of man is set to be
And how turmoild they are that level lie
Whose ends you see ; and what can be the best They reach unto, when they have cast the sum And reck’nings of their glory. And you know,
This floating life hath but this port of rest,
This concord, madam, of a well-tun'd mind Hath been so set by that in-working hand
Of heav'n, that though the world hath done his worst That set thee there to testify their right;
And art become a traitor to their name, z aut it out by discords most unkind,
That trusted thee with all the best they might;
Thou shalt stand still bely'd and slandered,
The only gazing-stock of ignorance,
And by thy guile the wise admonished, The inheritance of fame you must possess :
I tramover more desire such hopes t'advance,
Consid’ring tirno glory with the dead You that have built you by your great deserts And yet lie safe (as fresh as their fame to chance. (Out of small means) a far more exquisite
All those great worthies of antiquity, And glorious dwelling for your
Which long fore-liv'd thee, and shall long survive; Than all the gold that leaden minds can frame. Who stronger tombs found for eternity,
Than could the pow'rs of all the earth contrive. DESCRIPTION OF STONE-HENGE.
Where they remain these trifles to upbraid,
Out of the reach of spoil, and And whereto serves that wondrous trophy now
Though time with all his pow'r of years hath laid That on the goodly plain near Walton stands?
Long batt’ry, back'd with undermining age; That huge dumb heap, that cannot tell us how, Yet they make head only with their own aid, Nor what, nor whence it is; nor with whose hands, And war with his all-conqu’ring forces wage; Nor for whose glory-it was set to shew,
Pleading the heaven's prescription to be free,
And have a grant t' endure as long as he.
LOVE IN INFANCY.
Ah! I remember well (and how can I Inquires and asks his fellow traveller
But evermore remember well) when first What he had heard, and his opinion.
Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was And he knows nothing. Then he turns again, The flame we felt; whenas we sat and sigh'd And looks and sighs; and then admires afresh, And look'd upon each other, and conceiv'd And in himself with sorrow doth complain
Not what we ail'd, yet something we did ail ; The misery of dark forgetfulness:
And yet were well, and yet we were not well, Angry with time that nothing should remain, And what was our disease we could not tell. Our greatest wonders' wonder to express.
Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look: And thus Then ignorance, with fabulous discourse, In that first garden of our simpleness Robbing fair art and cunning of their right,
We spent our childhood: But when years began Tells how those stones were by the devil's force To reap the fruit of knowledge; ah, how then From Afric brought to Ireland in a night;
Would she with graver looks, and sweet stern brow, And thence to Brittany, by magic course,
Check my presumption and my forwardness; From giants' hands redeem'd by Merlin's sleight. Yet still would give me flowers, still would me show And then near Ambri plac'd, in memory
What she would have me, yet not have me know. Of all those noble Britons murder'd there, By Hengist and his Saxon treachery, Coming to parley, in peace at unaware.
THE STORY OF ISULLA. With this old legend then credulity
- There was sometime a nymph, Holds her content, and closes up her care.
Isulia named, and an Arcadian born, But is antiquity so great a liar?
Whose mother dying left her very young Or do her younger sons her age abuse ;
Unto her father's charge, who carefully Seeing after-comers still so apt t’ admire
Did breed her up until she came to years The grave authority that she doth use,
Of womanhood, and then provides a match That rev'rence and respect dares not require
Both rich and young, and fit enough for her. Proof of her deeds, or once her words refuse ?
But she, who to another shepherd had, Yet wrong they did us, to presume so far
Call's Sirthis, vow'd her love, as unto one Upon our early credit and delight;
Her heart esteem'd more worthy of her love, For once found false, they straight became to mar
Could not by all her father's means be wrought Our faith, and their own reputation quite;
To leave her choice, and to forget her vow. That now her truths hardly believed are; [right.
This nymph one day, surcharg'd with love and grief, And though she avouch the right, she scarce bath
Which commonly (the more the pity) dwell And as for thee, thou huge and mighty frame,
As inmates both together, walking forth That standst corrupted so with time's despite,
With other maids to fish upon the shore ; And giv’st false evidence against their fame
Estrays apart, and leaves her company,
Her husband to bestow on her that prize,
With safeguard of her body at her will.
The captain seeing his wife, the child, the nymph,
All crying to him in this piteous sort,
Felt his rough nature shaken too, and grants
His wife's request, and seals his grant with tears;
And so they wept all four for company:
And some beholders stood not with dry eyes ;
Such passion wrought the passion of their prize.
Never was there pardon, that did take
Seem'd nothing to the comfort she receiv’d,
And from the woman's feet she would not part,
Nor trust her hand to be without some hold
Within the ship, which in few days arrives
At Alexandria, whence these pirates were;
And there this woeful maid for two years' space
(Who would not lose the benefit of her
Attendance, for her profit otherwise)
To trust herself in woman's habit, crav'd
That she might be apparel'd like a boy;
And so she was, and as a boy she serv’d.
Unto the port for some commodities,
Which whilst she sought for, going up and down,
To them, all rapt with passion, down she kneels,
Tells them she was a poor distressed boy,
Born in Arcadia, and by pirates took,
And made a slave in Egypt: and besought
Them, as they fathers were of children, or
Did hold their native country dear, they would
Take pity on her, and relieve her youth
From that sad servitude wherein she liv'd:
For which she hoped that she had friends alive And crave her to have pity on my case,
Would thank them one day, and reward them too;
The merchants mov'd with pity of her case,
Being ready to depart, took her with them,
And landed her upon her country coast:
Where, when she found herself, she prostrate falls,
Kisses the ground, thanks gives unto the gods, And then it cries, and then on either looks:
Thanks them who had been her deliverers, Which she perceiving;“ blessed child,” (said she) And on she trudges through the desart woods, " Although thou can’st not speak, yet dost thou cry
Climbs over craggy rocks, and mountains steep, Unto thy mother for me. Hear thy child,
Wades thorough rivers, struggles thorough bogs,
Sustained only by the force of love ;
Until she came unto her native plains,
Unto the fields where first she drew her breath.
There she lifts up her eyes, salutes the air,
Salutes the trees, the bushes, flow'rs and all: The woman, tho' by birth and custom rude,
And," Oh, dear Sirthis, here I am," said she, Yet having veins of nature, could not be
“ Here, notwithstanding all my miseries, But pierceable, did feel at length the point
I am, the same I ever was to thee; a pure, of pity enter so, as out gush'd tears,
A chaste, and spotless maid." (Not usual to stern eyes) and she besought