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Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who in their greatest cost
Like nothing but commending :
And if they make reply,
Then tell them all they lie.
Tell Zeal it wants 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 it 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 lie.
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 all 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 so much on seeming.
If Arts and Schools reply,
Give Arts and Schools the lie.
Tell Faith it's fled the city ;
Tell how the country erreth;
Tell Manhood shakes off pity;
Tell Virtue least preferreth.
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.
So when thou hast, as I
Commanded thee, done blabbing,
Because to give the lie
Deserves no less than stabbing,
Stab at thee who that will,
No stab the soul can kill.
What is the world? tell, worldling, if thou know it. If it be good, why do all ills o'erflow it?
If it be bad, why dost thou like it so?
If it be sweet, how comes it bitter then?
If it be bitter, what bewitcheth men?
If it be friend, why kills it, as a foe,
Vain-minded men that over-love and lust it?
If it be foe, fondling, how dar'st thou trust it?
Friend faber, cast me a round hollow ball,
Blown full of wind, for emblem of this All ;
Adorn it fair, and flourish every part
With flowers and fruits, with brooks, beasts, fish, and fowl,
With rarest cunning of thy curious art :
5 And grave in gold, about my silver bowl, Thus rolls the world, the idol of mankind, Whose fruit is fiction ; whose foundation wind.
Where, where are now the great reports
Of those huge haughty earthborn giants ?
Where are the lofty towers and forts
Of those proud kings bade Heaven defiance?
When these I to my mind revoke,
Methinks I see a mighty smoke
Thick mounting from quick-burning matter,
Which in an instant winds do scatter.
Go, silly worm, drudge, trudge, and travel,
Despising pain, so thou may'st gain
Some honour or some golden gravel;
But death the while, to fill his number,
With sudden call takes thee from all,
To prove thy days but dream and slumber.
The World and Death one day them cross-disguised,
To cozen man, when sin had once beguiled him. Both called him forth, and questioning advised
To say whose servant he would fairly yield him. Man, weening then but to the World to have given him, 5
By the false World became the slave of Death ;
But from their fraud he did appeal by faith To Him whose death killed Death, and from the world has driven him.
THE STORY OF A SUMMER DAY.
O perfect Light, which shaid away
The darkness from the light,
And set a ruler o'er the day,
Another o'er the night ;
Thy glory, when the day forth flies,
More vively does appear,
Than at midday unto our eyes
The shining sun is clear.
The shadow of the earth anon
Removes and drawis by,
While in the east, when it is gone,
Appears a clearer sky.
Which soon perceive the little larks,
The lapwing and the snipe,
And tune their songs, like Nature's clerks, 15
O'er meadow, muir, and stripe.
Our hemisphere is polished clean,
And lightened more and more;
While everything is clearly seen,
Which seemed dim before:
Except the glistering astres bright,
Which all the night were clear,
Offusked with a greater light
No longer do appear.
The golden globe incontinent
Sets up his shining head,
And o'er the earth and firmament
Displays his beams abread.
For joy, the birds with boulden throats
Against his visage sheen
Take up their kindly music notes
In woods and gardens green.
The dew upon the tender crops,
Like pearles white and round,
Or like to melted silver drops,
Refreshes all the ground.
The misty reek, the clouds of rain
From tops of mountains skails,
Clear are the highest hills and plain,
The vapours take the vales.
The ample heaven, of fabric sure,
In cleanness does surpass
The crystal and the silver pure,
Or clearest polished glass.
The time so tranquil is and still,
That no where shall ye find,
Save on a high and barren hill,
The air of peeping wind.