CXVI.

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove :
O, no; it is an ever-fixéd mark,

That looks on tempests, and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error, and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

ANONYMOUS.

MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS.

[From Byrd's Psalms, Sonnets, &c. 1588.]

My mind to me a kingdom is,

Such perfect joy therein I find,

That it excels all other bliss

That God or nature hath assigned:

Though much I want that most would have,

Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

No princely port, nor wealthy store,

Nor force to win a victory;

No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a loving eye;
To none of these I yield as thrall,
For why, my mind despiseth all.

I see that plenty surfeits oft,

And hasty climbers soonest fall;

I see that such as are aloft,

Mishap doth threaten most of all;
These get with toil, and keep with fear:
Such cares my mind can never bear.

I press to bear no haughty sway;
I wish no more than may suffice;
I do no more than well I may,

Look what I want, my mind supplies;
Lo, thus I triumph like a king;
My mind's content with anything.

I laugh not at another's loss,

Nor grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly waves my mind can toss;
I brook that is another's bane;
I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

My wealth is health and perfect ease,
And conscience clear my chief defence;
I never seek by bribes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence;
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all do so as well as I!

SIR HENRY WOTTON.

Sir Henry Wotton was born in the year 1568, and died in 1639. He was for many years in public employments, and at the time of his death was provost of Eton College. A very interesting biography of him is contained in "Izaak Walton's Lives." The works of Wotton are not numerous, but the impression made by them and by his life is such as to secure for him the respect due to a wise, scholarly, and kindly man.

THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.

How happy is he born and taught,

That serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought,

And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied unto the worldly care

Of public fame, or private breath;

Who envies none that chance doth raise,

Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise;
Nor rules of state, but rules of good:

Who hath his life from rumors freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make oppressors great;

Who God doth late and early pray,
More of his grace than gifts to lend ;
And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend;

This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.

RICHARD BARNFIELD.

Richard Barnfield was born about 1570, and was educated at Oxford. His place in literature is not an important one, and the quotation from his verses is given as one of the earliest specimens of pastoral poetry, which, when joined to fitting music, has become the model of the English glee.

As it fell upon a day,

In the merry month of May,
Sitting in a pleasant shade,

Which a grove of myrtles made;

Beasts did leap, and birds did sing,

Trees did grow, and plants did spring;
Everything did banish moan,

Save the nightingale alone.
She, poor bird, as all forlorn,
Leaned her breast up-till a thorn;

And there sung the doleful'st ditty,
That to hear it was great pity.
Fie, fie, fie, now would she cry;
Teru, teru, by and by ;

That, to hear her so complain,

Scarce I could from tears refrain ;
For her griefs, so lively shown,
Made me think upon mine own.

Ah!-thought I thou mourn'st in vain;
None takes pity on thy pain:

Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee; Ruthless bears, they will not cheer thee.

King Pandion he is dead;

All thy friends are lapped in lead;
All thy fellow-birds do sing,
Careless of thy sorrowing!

Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled,
Thou and I were both beguiled.
Every one that flatters thee
Is no friend in misery.

Words are easy, like the wind;

Faithful friends are hard to find.

Every man will be thy friend

Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend ;

But, if store of crowns be scant,
No man will supply thy want.
If that one be prodigal,
Bountiful they will him call;
And with such-like flattering,
"Pity but he were a king."
If he be addict to vice,
Quickly him they will entice;
But if fortune once do frown,
Then farewell his great renown:
They that fawned on him before
Use his company no more.
He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need;
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep:
Thus, of every grief in heart,
He with thee doth bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.

BEN JONSON.

Benjamin (or, as he was in the habit of abridging his name, Ben) Jonson was born in 1574, and died in 1637. He was reared in humble circumstances, but was educated at Cambridge, and maintained a high rank among the scholars of his time. His fame rests on his dramatic works, in which he is excelled only by Shakespeare. In person he was short and corpulent, and in disposition egotistical and envious, in spite of his very handsome tribute to his great rival. His career was marked by the usual vicissitudes of authorship. While he lived, his force of intellect, scholarship, wit, and knowledge of men made him an acknowledged leader. With all the hearty admiration expressed in Jonson's eulogy, the real supremacy of Shakespeare's genius was unsuspected.

HER TRIUMPH.

SEE the chariot at hand here of love,
Wherein my lady rideth!

Each that draws is a swan or a dove,
And well the car love guideth.

As she goes, all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty;

And enamoured do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,

That they still were to run by her side,

Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light
All that love's world compriseth!
Do but look on her hair, it is bright

As love's star when it riseth!

Do but mark, her forehead's smoother
Than words that soothe her!

And from her arched brows, such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,

As alone there triumphs to the life

All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,

Before rude hands have touched it?

Have you marked but the fall of the snow

Before the soil hath smutched it?

Have you felt the wool of the beaver,
Or swan's down ever?