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And yet though he were every good man's joy,
His very name with terror did annoy
His foreign foes so far as he was known.
Hell drooped for fear; the Turkey moon looked pale;
Was swoln with rage, for fear he'd stop the tide
ON HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA.
You meaner beauties of the night,
Which poorly satisfy our eyes,
More by your number than your light,-
What are you, when the Moon shall rise?
You violets that first appear,
By your pure purple mantles known,
As if the spring were all your own,—
You curious chanters of the wood,
That warble forth dame Nature's lays,
Thinking your passions understood
By your weak accents,-what's your praise,
So when my Mistress shall be seen
Sir Henry Wotton.
LORD STRAFFORD'S MEDITATIONS IN THE TOWER.
Go, empty joys,
With all your noise,
And leave me here alone,
In sweet sad silence to bemoan
The fickle worldly height,
Whose danger none can see aright,
Whilst your false splendours dim his sight.
Go, and ensnare
With your trim ware
Some other easy wight,
And cheat him with your flattering light;
Of honours, favour, wealth, and power;
Fill his big mind
With gallant wind
Of insolent applause ;
Let him not fear all-curbing laws,
Nor king, nor people's frown;
But dream of something like a crown,
Then, climbing towards it, tumble down.
Let him appear
In his bright sphere
Like Cynthia in her pride,
With starlike troops on every side;
For number and clear light
Such as may soon o'erwhelm him quite,
And blend them both in one dead night.
Welcome, sad night,
Grief's sole delight,
Thy mourning best agrees
With honour's funeral obsequies!
In Thetis' lap he lies,
Mantled with soft securities,
Whose too much sunshine dims his eyes.
To kiss, where my blest steps were found,
I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE.
My dear and only Love, I pray
That little world of thee
Which virtuous souls abhor,
As Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone;
My thoughts did evermore disdain
He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch,
To gain or lose it all.
But I will reign and govern still,
And always give the law,
I'll never love thee more.
If others do pretend a part,
I'll smiling mock at thy neglect,
But if no faithless action stain
Thy love and constant word,
And glorious by my sword.
As ne'er was known before;
When Love with unconfinèd wings
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at the grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered to her eye,
The birds, that wanton in the air,
When flowing cups run swiftly round
Our careless heads with roses crowned,
When thirsty grief in wine we steep,
When healths and draughts go free,
Fishes, that tipple in the deep,
Know no such liberty.
When, like committed linnets, I