So earth falls down, and fire doth mount Who ever ceased to wish when he had above, Till both their proper elements do touch. wealth? Or having wisdom was not vexed in mind? Then as a bee, which among weeds doth | There is she crowned with garlands of So while the virgin soul on earth doth stay, content; There doth she manna eat, and nectar drink: That presence doth such high delights present, As never tongue could speak, nor heart could think. THOMAS NASH. [1564-1600.] CONTENTMENT. Or thrust my hand too far into the fire, She, wooed and tempted in ten thou-To be in heaven sure is a blessed thing, But, Atlas-like, to prop heaven on one's back sand ways, By these great powers which on the earth bear sway, The wisdom of the world, wealth, pleasure, praise: Cannot but be more labor than delight. With these sometimes she doth her time High trees that keep the weather from beguile, These do by fibs her fantasy possess; But she distastes them all within a while, And in the sweetest finds a tedious ness; But if upon the world's Almighty King She once doth fix her humble, loving thought; Who by his picture drawn in every thing, And sacred messages, her love hath sought; Of him she thinks she cannot think too much; This honey tasted still, is ever sweet; OF this fair volume which we World do The pleasure of her ravished thought is SIR HENRY WOTTON. But silly we, like foolish children, rest Well pleased with colored vellum, leaves of gold, Fair dangling ribbons, leaving what is best, On the great writer's sense ne'er taking hold; Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught, It is some picture on the margin wrought. SIR HENRY WOTTON. [1568 - 1639.] TO HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA. You meaner beauties of the night, You curious chanters of the wood, That warble forth dame Nature's lays, Thinking your voices understood By your weak accents! what's your praise When Philomel her voice shall raise ? You 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? So, when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind; By virtue first, then choice, a Queen! Tell me, if she were not designed The eclipse and glory of her kind? THE GOOD MAN. How happy is he born and taught, That serveth not another's will; Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill! Whose passions not his masters are, Whose soul is still prepared for death, LADY ELIZABETH CAREW. Untied unto the worldly care 13 Who envies none that chance doth raise, Who hath his life from rumors freed, 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, LADY ELIZABETH CAREW REVENGE OF INJURIES. THE fairest action of our human life Is scorning to revenge an injury; For who forgives without a further strife, His adversary's heart to him doth tie; And 't is a firmer conquest truly said, To win the heart, than overthrow the head. If we a worthy enemy do find, To yield to worth it must be nobly done; But if of baser metal be his mind, In base revenge there is no honor won. Who would a worthy courage overthrow? And who would wrestle with a worthless foe? We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield; Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor: Great hearts are tasked beyond their power but seld; The weakest lion will the loudest roar. Truth's school for certain doth this same allow; High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow. A noble heart doth teach a virtuous | He looks upon the mightiest monarch's HE that of such a height hath built his mind, And reared the dwelling of his thoughts so strong, As neither fear nor hope can shake the frame Of his resolvéd powers; nor all the wind you Beyond the feeble limits of your kind, The boundless wastes and wilds of man As they can stand against the strongest survey? And with how free an eye doth he look down Upon these lower regions of turmoil? Where all the storms of passions mainly beat On flesh and blood: where honor, power, renown, Are only gay afflictions, golden toil; Where greatness stands upon as feeble feet, As frailty doth; and only great doth seem To little minds, who do it so esteem. head Passion can make; inured to any hue The world can cast: it cannot cast that mind Out of her form of goodness, that doth see Both what the best and worst of earth can be. Which makes, that whatsoever here be falls, You in the region of yourself remain: Where no vain breath of the impudent molests That hath secured within the brazen walls |