stain)

Rises in peace, in innocency rests; Whilst all that Malice from without pro

cures

Shows her own ugly heart, but hurts not yours.

And whereas none rejoice more in revenge, Than women use to do; yet you well know,

That wrong is better checked by being contemned,

Than being pursued; leaving to him to avenge,

To whom it appertains. Wherein you show How worthily your clearness hath condemned

Base malediction, living in the dark, That at the rays of goodness still doth bark.

Knowing the heart of man is set to be
The centre of this world, about the which
These revolutions of disturbances
Still roll; where all the aspects of misery
Predominate whose strong effects are
such,

As he must bear, being powerless to redress:

And that unless above himself he can Erect himself, how poor a thing is man.

WILLIAM BYRD.

[1540-1623.]

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.

My mind to me a kingdom is;
Such perfect joy therein I find
As far exceeds all earthly bliss

That God or Nature hath assigned; Though much I want that most would have,

Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live; this is my stay,

I seek no more than may suffice. I press to bear no haughty sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Lo! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring.

And hasty climbers soonest fall; I see that such as sit aloft

15

Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toil, and keep with fear; Such cares my mind could never bear.

No princely pomp nor wealthy store,
No force to win the victory,
No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a lover's eye, -
To none of these I yield as thrall;
For why, my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave;
I little have, yet seek no more.
They are but poor, though much they
have;

And I am rich with little store.
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I lend; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's loss,

I grudge not at another's gain; No worldly wave my mind can toss; I brook that is another's bane. I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend; I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly bliss;
I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw;
For care, I care not what it is;

I fear not fortune's fatal law;
My mind is such as may not move
For beauty bright, or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;
I wander not to seek for more;
I like the plain, I climb no hill;

In greatest storms I sit on shore, And laugh at them that toil in vain To get what must be lost again.

I kiss not where I wish to kill;

I feign not love where most I hate; I break no sleep to win my will; I wait not at the mighty's gate. I scorn no poor, I fear no rich; I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court nor cart I like nor loathe;

Extremes are counted worst of all; The golden mean betwixt them both

Doth surest sit, and fears no fall; This is my choice; for why, I find No wealth is like a quiet mind.

My wealth is health and perfect ease; My conscience clear my chief defence; I never seek by bribes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence. Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I!

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE.

[1564-1616.]

SONGS.

ARIEL'S SONG.

WHERE the bee sucks, there lurk I;

In a cowslip's bell I lie;

There I couch when owls do cry;
On the bat's back I do fly.

After summer merrily,

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,

Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

THE FAIRY TO PUCK.

OVER hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moon's sphere.
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners be,
In their gold coats spots you see,
Those be rubies, fairy favors;
In those freckles live their savors.
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

AMIENS'S SONG.

BLOW, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot:

Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great,
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke;
Care no more to clothe, and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning flash,
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan:
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have;
And renownéd be thy grave.

17

And with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:

Then can I drown an eye, unused to flow, For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,

And weep afresh love's long-since-cancelled woe,

And moan the expense of many a vanished sight.

Then can I grieve at grievances foregone, And heavily from woe to woe tell o'er The sad account of fore-bemoanéd moan, Which I new pay as if not paid before. But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,

All losses are restored, and sorrows end.

THAT time of year thou mayst in me behold

When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang

Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,

Bare ruined choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day, As after sunset fadeth in the west, Which by and by black night doth take away,

Death's second self, that seals up all in rest.

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,

That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,

As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,

To love that well which thou must leave erelong.

THEY that have power to hurt and will do none, That do not do the thing they most do show,

Who, moving others, are themselves as stone,

Unmovéd, cold, and to temptation slow; They rightly do inherit heaven's graces, And husband nature's riches from ex

pense;

do change:

Thy pyramids built up with newer might To me are nothing novel, nothing strange; They are but dressings of a former sight. Our dates are brief, and therefore we admire

What thou dost foist upon us that is old;
And rather make them born to our desire,
Than think that we before have heard
them told.

Thy registers and thee I both defy,
Not wondering at the present nor the past;
For thy records and what we see do lie,
Made more or less by thy continual haste:

This I do vow, and this shall ever be,
I will be true, despite thy scythe and
thee.

BEN JONSON.

[1574-1637.]

THE NOBLE NATURE.

IT is not growing like a tree

In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,

To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: A lily of a day

Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night, It was the plant and flower of Light. In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures life may perfect be.

SONG OF HESPERUS.

QUEEN, and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heaven to clear, when day did close:
Bless us then with wished sight,
Goddess excellently bright.

The rock, the spindle, and the shears control

Of Destiny, and spin her own free hours. Such when I meant to feign, and wished

HOW NEAR TO GOOD IS WHAT IS FAIR!

How near to good is what is fair!

Which we no sooner see,

But with the lines and outward air
Our senses taken be.

We wish to see it still, and prove

What ways we may deserve; We court, we praise, we more than love, We are not grieved to serve.

EPITAPH ON ELIZABETH L. H.

WOULDST thou hear what man can say
In a little?-reader, stay!
Underneath this stone doth lie

As much beauty as could die,—
Which in life did harbor give
To more virtue than doth live.
If at all she had a fault,
Leave it buried in this vault.
One name was Elizabeth,
The other, let it sleep with death.
Fitter where it died to tell,

Than that it lived at all. Farewell!

UNKNOWN.

[Before 1649.]

LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY.

OVER the mountains,

And under the waves,

Over the fountains,

And under the graves,
Under floods which are deepest,
Which Neptune obey,
Over rocks which are steepest,
Love will find out the way.

Where there is no place

For the glow-worm to lie, Where there is no place

For the receipt of a fly,

Where the gnat dares not venture,
Lest herself fast she lay,

If Love come he will enter,
And find out the way.

If that he were hidden,

And all men that are, Were strictly forbidden

That place to declare;