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AN HEROICAL POEM.

[From the same Collection.]

My wanton muse, that whilom used to sing

Fair beauty's praise, and Venus' sweet delight, Of late had changed the tenor of her string

To higher tunes than serve to Cupid's fight: Shrill trumpets' sound, sharp swords, and lances

strong, War, blood, and death, were matter of my song.

The god of love by chance had heard thereof,

That I was proved a rebel to his crown. “ Fit words for war! (quoth he, in angry scoff)

" A likely man to write of Mars's frown! 6 Well are they sped, whose praises he shall write, “ Whose wanton pen can nought but love indite !"

This said, he whisk'd his party-colour'd wings; And down to earth he comes, more swift than

thought: Then to my heart, in angry haste he flings, To see what change these news of war had

wrought. He pries, he looks, he ransacks every vein, Yet finds he nought, save love, and lover's pain.

Then I, that now perceived his needless fear,

With heavy smile began to plead my cause. “ In vain (quoth I) this endless grief I bear,

“ In vain I strive to keep thy grievous laws, “ If after proof, so often trusty found, “ Unjust suspect condemn me as unsound.-

“ My muse, indeed, to war inclines her mind;

“ The famous acts of worthy Brute to write ; “ To whom the gods this island's rule assign'd, " Which long he sought by seas, through Nep

« tune's spight. “ With such conceits my busy head doth swell, “ But in my heart nought else but love can dwell,

“ And in this war thy part is not the least;

“Here shall my muse Brute's noble love declare; “ Here shalt thou see thy double love increas'd

Of fairest twins that ever lady bare. “ Let Mars triumph in armour shining bright, “ His conquer'd arms shall be thy triumph’s light,

“ As he the world, so thou shalt him subdue ;

“ And I, thy glory through the world will ring; “ So, by' my pains, thou wilt consent to rue, “ And kill despair.” With that he whisk'd his wing,

1 For ?

And bade me write, and promised wished rest; But, sore I fear, false hope will be the best..

THE SOUL'S ERRAND.

Go, 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 lov'd 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 practise only hate.

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

Tell them that brave it most,

They beg for more by spending,
Who in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending.

And if they make 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 every one the lie,

Tell wit how much it wrangles

In tickle points of niceness ::
Tell wisdom she entangles
Herself in over wiseness.

And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lic.

Tell physic of her boldness,

Tell skill it is pretension,
Tell charity of coldness,
Tell law it is contention.

And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness,

Tell nature of decay,
Tell friendship of unkindness,
Tell justice of delay.

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

Tell arts they have no soundness,

But vary by esteeming,
Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming.

If arts and schools reply,
Give arts and schools the lie.

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