Where from their pulpits seal'd with dust With the richest royallest seed That the earth did e'er suck in Since the first man died for sin : Here the bones of birth have cried Though gods they were, as men they died. Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings: Here's a world of pomp and state Buried in dust, once dead by fate. XCI F. Beaumont THE LAST CONQUEROR Victorious men of earth, no more Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey More quaint and subtle ways to kill; A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. XCII J. Shirley DEATH THE LEVELLER The glories of our blood and state There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings: Sceptre and Crown And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. And plant fresh laurels where they kill : They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds: To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. J. Shirley XCIII WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY Captain, or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If deed of honour did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee; for he knows the charms Went to the ground: and the repeated air To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. J. Milton XCIV ON HIS BLINDNESS When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present That murmur, soon replies; God doth not need Is kingly; thousands at His bidding speed And post o'er land and ocean without rest :- J. Milton XCV CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE How happy is he born and taught Whose passions not his masters are, Who envies none that chance doth raise Who hath his life from rumours freed, Who God doth late and early pray -This man is freed from servile bands Sir H. Wotton XCVI 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, 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. B. Jonson XCVII THE GIFTS OF GOD When God at first made Man, Having a glass of blessings standing by ; So strength first made a way; Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure For if I should (said He) Bestow this jewel also on My creature, Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness: G. Herbert XCVIII THE RETREAT Happy those early days, when I |