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Divided, with but half a heart,
The Angler's Wish.
I in these flowery meads would be,
Sit here, and see the turtle-dove
Or, on that bank, feel the west wind
Here, hear my kenna sing a song:
Or a laverock build her nest;
Thus, free from lawsuits, and the noise
Or, with my Bryan and a book,
And angle on; and beg to have
Death's final Conquest.
THE glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down
Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill; But their strong nerves at last must yieldThey tame but one another still;
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
The garlands wither on your brow
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
All heads must come
To the cold tomb
FROM A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING.
The maid, and thereby hangs a tale,
Could ever yet produce:
No grape that 's kindly ripe could be
Nor half so full of juice.
Her finger was so small
, the ring
It was too wide a peck;
About our young colt's neck.
Her feet beneath her petticoat,
As if they feared the light;
Is half so fine a sight.
Her cheeks so rare a white was on,
Who sees them is undone;
The side that 's next the sun.
Her lips were red; and one was thin,
Some bee had stung it newly;
Than on the sun in July.
Her mouth so small, when she does speak, Thou 'dst sw her teeth her words did break,
That they might passage get; But she so handled still the matter, They came as good as ours, or better, And are not spent a whit.
Sir JOAN SUOKLING.
Ve Gentlemen of England.
Ye gentlemen of England
That live at home at ease, Ah! little do you think upon
The dangers of the seas. Give ear unto the mariners,
And they will plainly show All the cares and the fears
When the stormy winds do blow.
If enemies oppose us
When England is at war With any foreign nation,
We fear not wound or scar; Our roaring guns shall teach 'em
Our valor for to know, Whilst they reel on the keel,
And the stormy winds do blow.
Then courage, all brave mariners,
And never be dismay'd;
We ne'er shall want a trade :
To fetch them wealth, we know;
Love still has something of the sean
From whence his mother rose;
Nor give their thoughts repose.
They are becalmed in clearest days,
And in rough weather tossed; They wither under cold delays,
Or are in tempests lost.
One while they seem to touch the porty
Then straight into the main Some angry wind, in cruel sport,
The vessel drives again.
At first disdain and pride they fear,
Which if they chance to 'scape, Rivals and falsehood soon appear,
In a more cruel shape.
By such degrees to joy they come,
And are so long withstood; So slowly they receive the sun,
It hardly does them good.
'T is cruel to prolong a pain;
And to defer a joy,
Offends the winged boy.
An hundred thousand oaths your fears,
Perhaps, would not remove; And if I gazed a thousand years, I could not deeper love.
SIR CHARLES SEDLEY.
My Dear and Only Love.
My dear and only love, I pray,
This noble world of thee
But purest monarchie.