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And yet though he were every good man's joy, 5
And the alonely comfort of his own,
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;
Spain trembled ; and the most tempestuous sea,
(Where Behemoth, the Babylonish whale,
Keeps all his bloody and imperious plea)
Was swoln with rage, for fear he'd stop the tide
Of her o'er-daring and insulting pride.
XCIV 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,-
You common people of the skies,
What are you, when the Moon shall rise? 5
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?
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,
When Philomel her voice doth raise ?
15 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 ?
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 ;
Rain on his head a shower
Of honours, favour, wealth, and power ;
Then snatch it from him in an hour.
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.
Was he too bold,
Who needs would hold
With curbing reins the Day,
And make Sol's fiery steeds obey ?
Then, sure, as rash was I,
Who with ambitious wings did fly
In Charles's Wain too loftily.
I fall, I fall !
Whom shall I call ?
Alas can he be heard,
Who now is neither loved nor feared ?
You who have vowed the ground
To kiss, where my blest steps were found,
Come, catch me at my last rebound.
How each admires
Heaven's twinkling fires,
Whilst from their glorious seat
Their influence gives light and heat ;
But oh ! how few there are,
hough nger from the act be far, Will run to catch a falling star.
Now 'tis too late
Those lights whose pallidness
Argues no inward guiltiness ;
Their course one way is bent ;
Which is the cause there's no dissent
In Heaven's High Court of Parliament.
I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE.
My dear and only Love, I pray
That little world of thee
Be governed by no other sway
But purest monarchy:
For if confusion have a part,
Which virtuous souls abhor,
And hold a Synod in thy heart,
I'll never love thee more.
As Alexander I will reign,
And I will reign alone;
My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.
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,
And have each subject at my will,
And all to stand in awe :
But 'gainst my batteries if I find
Thou storm, or vex me sore,
As if thou set me as a blind,
I'll never love thee more.
And in the empire of thy heart,
Where I should solely be,
If others do pretend a part,
Or dare to share with me:
Or committees if thou erect,
Or go on such a score,
I'll smiling mock at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.
But if no faithless action stain
Thy love and constant word,
I'll make thee famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword.
I'll serve thee in such noble ways
As ne'er was known before;
I'll deck and crown thy head with bays,
And love thee more and more.
Marquis of Montrose.
When Love with unconfined 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,
Know no such liberty.
When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,
Our careless heads with roses crowned,
Our hearts with loyal flames;
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
With shriller throat shall sing The sweetness, mercy, majesty
And glories of my King;