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136

“DRINK TO ME ONLY WITH THINE EYES."

The thirst, that from the soul doth rise,

Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup

I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

Not so 'much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there

It could not wither'd be.
But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent'st it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,

Not of itself, but thee.

EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE.

BEN JONSON.

UNDERNEATH this sable hearse

Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother ;
Death! ere thou hast slain another,
Learn'd and fair and good as she,

Time shall throw a dart at thee,

?

“SEE THE CHARIOT AT HAND.”

BEN JONSON.

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 enamour'd 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, she is bright

As Love's star when it riseth ;

T

Do but mark, her forehead's smoother

Than words that soothe her!

And from her arch'd 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 touch'd it?
Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow,

Before the soil hath smutch'd it ?

Have you felt the wool of the beaver,

Or swan's down ever ?

Or have smell’d of the bud o' the brier ?

Or the 'nard in the fire ?

Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
() so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she !

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[SIR HENRY WOTTON was born at Bocton Hall, in Kent, in 1568 and was educated at Oxford. After leaving that University, he travelled on the Continent, and when he returned to England, became secretary to the Earl of Essex; but, perceiving the approaching fall of that nobleman he again left the kingdom, only just in time to secure his own safety James I. employed him in several embassies, but he lost that monarch's confidence by writing in a friend's album, as a definition, “An ambassador is an honest man sent to lie abroad for the good of his country,” which was quoted eight years after by an adversary of the king, as one of the principles on which he acted. An ingenious and eloquent apology at length satisfied James, and Wotton was restored to favour. He was afterwards made Provost of Eton, and, to comply with the statutes, took holy orders. He died in 1639.)

You meaner beauties of the night,

That poorly satisfy our eyes
More by your number than your light:

Do but mark, her forehead's smoother

Than words that soothe her!

And from her arch'd 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 touch'd it?

Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow,

Before the soil hath smutch'd it ?

Have you felt the wool of the beaver,

Or swan's down ever ?

Or have smell'd of the bud o' the brier ?

Or the 'nard in the fire ?

Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
( so white ! O so soft! O so sweet is she !

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