THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE.

HRICE, oh! thrice happy shepherd's life and state,

When courts are happiness' unhappy

pawns;

His cottage low, and safely humble gate, Shuts out proud fortune, with her scorns and fawns:

No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep, Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep; Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep.

No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread Draw out their silken lines; nor silken pride: His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need, Not in that proud Sidonian tincture dyed:

No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright, Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite : But sweet content exiles both misery and spite.

Instead of music and base flattering tongues,
Which wait to first salute my lord's uprise,
The cheerful lark wakes him with early songs,
And birds' sweet whistling notes unlock his eyes:

In country plays is all the strife he uses,

Or sing or dance unto the rural Muses,
And, in soft music's sports, all difference refuses.

His certain life, that never can deceive him,

Is full of thousand sweets and rich content; The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him, With coolest shades, till noontide's rage is spent: His life is neither tost in boisterous seas

Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease; Pleased and full bless'd he lives, when he his God can please.

His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps,
While by his side his faithful spouse hath place;
His little son into his bosom creeps,

The lively picture of his father's face:

Never his humble house or state torment him; Less he could like, if less his God had sent him; And when he dies, green turf with grassy tomb

content him.

PHINEAS FLETCHER.

1584-1656.

GREY HAIRS.

(The first four stanzas omitted.)

HESE hairs of age are messengers,
Which bid me fast, repent, and pray ;
They be of death the harbingers,
That do prepare and dress the way:

Wherefore I joy that you may see
Upon my head such hairs to be.

They be the lines that lead the length
How far my race is for to run;
They say my youth is fled with strength,
And how old age is weak begun :
The which I feel, and you may see
Upon my head such lines to be.

They be the strings of sober sound,
Whose music is harmonical;
Their tunes declare a time from ground
I came, and bow thereto I shall :
Wherefore I joy that you may see
Upon my head such strings to be.

God grant to those that white hairs have,
No worse them take than I have meant ;
That after they be laid in grave,

Their souls may joy their lives well spent:
God grant likewise that you may see
Upon your head such hairs to be.

W. HARRIS.

THE LIE.

O, soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand;

Fear not to touch the best,
The truth shall be thy warrant-
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.

Go, tell the court it glows

And shines, like rotten wood;
Go, tell the church it shows
What's good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie,

Tell potentates they live,
Acting by others' actions,
Not loved unless they give-

Not strong but by their factions:
If potentates reply,

Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition,
That rule affairs of state,

Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate :

And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell zeal it lacks devotion,
Tell love it is but lust,

Tell time it is but motion,
Tell flesh it is but dust:

And wish them not reply,

For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wasteth,
Tell honour how it alters,
Tell beauty how she blasteth,
Tell favour how she falters:

And as they shall reply,
Give each of them the lie.