As pearls are better than the mother of pearl;
Maids lose their value when they match with

men.

WIDOW. The man with whom I match'd, his worth was

MAID.

such,

As now I scorn a maid should be my peer:
But I will scorn the man you praise so much,
For maids are matchless, and no mate can bear.

Hence is it that the virgin never loves,
Because her like she finds not any where ;
For likeness evermore affection moves;
Therefore the maid hath neither love nor peer.

WIFE. Yet many virgins married wives would be,
WIDOW. And many a wife would be a widow fain.
There is no widow but desires to see,

MAID.

If so she might, her maiden days again.

WIDOW a. There never was a wife that liked her lot: Nor widow, but was clad in mourning weeds. MAID. Do what you will, marry or marry not,

WIFE.

Both this estate and that repentance breeds.

a In the previous editions of the RHAPSODY, this line has always been imputed to the wife, and the following one to the widow; but as throughout the CONTENTION each party praises her own state, whilst she ridicules that of the others, the transposition in the text appeared to be imperiously called for.

WIFE.

MAID.

But she that this estate and that hath seen,
Doth find great odds between the wife and girl.
Indeed she doth, as much as is between

The melting hailstone, and the solid pearl.

WIFE. If I were widow, my merry days were past. WIDOW. Nay, then you first become sweet pleasure's

MAID.

WIFE.

MAID.

guest;

For maidenhead is a continual fast,
And marriage is a continual feast.

Wedlock indeed hath oft compared been
To public feasts, where meet a public rout,
Where they that are without would fain go in,
And they that are within would fain go out.

Or to the jewel which this virtue had,
That men were mad till they might it obtain ;
But when they had it, they were twice as mad
Till they were dispossess'd of it again.

Maids cannot judge, because they cannot tell,
What comforts and what joys in marriage be.
Yes, yes; though blessed Saints in Heaven
dwell,

They do the souls in Purgatory see.

WIDOW. If

MAID.

every wife do live in Purgatory,
Then sure it is that widows live in bliss,
And are translated to a state of glory;
But maids as yet have not attain'd to this.

Not maids? To spotless maids this gift is given,
To live in incorruption from their birth:

And what is that, but to inherit heaven
Even while they dwell upon the spotted earth?

The perfectest of all created things;
The purest gold, that suffers no allay ;

The sweetest flower that on th' earth's bosom

springs;

The pearl unbored, whose price no price can

pay.

The chrystal glass, that will no venom hold ;
The mirror, wherein Angels love to look:
DIANA'S bathing fountain, clear and cold;
Beauty's fresh rose, and virtue's living book.

Of love and fortune both the mistress born;
The sovereign spirit that will be thrall to none:
The spotless garment that was never worn ;
The princely eagle that still flies alone.

WIFE.

She sees the world, yet her clear thought doth

take

No such deep print as to be chang'd thereby;
As when we see the burning fire doth make
No such impression as doth burn the eye.

No more, sweet maid; our strife is at an end,
Cease now; I fear we shall transformed be
To chattering pies, as they that did contend
To match the Muses in their harmony.

WIDOW. Then let us yield the honour and the place,
And let us both be suitors to the maid;

MAID.

That, since the goddess gives her special grace,
By her clear hands the offering be convey'd.

Your speech I doubt hath some displeasure moved;

Yet let me have the offering, I will see:

I know she hath both wives and widows lov'd,
Though she would neither wife nor widow be.
SIR JOHN DAVIS.

THE LIE.

Go, soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless arrant ; e
Fear not to touch the best,

The truth shall be thy warrant :

Go, since I needs must die,

And give the world the lie.

e The orthography of this word is retained on account of the rhyme ; but in Ellis's Specimens of the Early English Poets, as well as in the copy in Sir Egerton Brydges's edition of the Rhapsody, it is altered to "errand ;" which certainly but ill agrees with the termination of the fourth line. There is very considerable doubt to whom this beautiful poem should be attributed. It has been assigned to Sir Walter Raleigh by Bishop Percy, by whom it is said to have been written the night before his execution: this assertion is, however, proved to be unfounded, from the fact that Raleigh was not executed until 1618, and the poem in question was printed in the second edition of the Rhapsody in 1608. Nor does there appear to be any satisfactory reason for believing it to have been written by Raleigh. In the folio edition of the Works of John Sylvester it is inserted among that writer's poems, entitled "The Soul's Errand ;" and Mr. Ellis, in his Specimens, has introduced it, apparently from that volume, and justly remarks, that as it was at