And yet though he were every good man's joy,
And the alonely comfort of his own,

His very name with terror did annoy

His foreign foes so far as he was known.

Hell drooped for fear; the Turkey moon looked pale;
Spain trembled; and the most tempestuous sea,
(Where Behemoth, the Babylonish whale,
Keeps all his bloody and imperious plea)

Was swoln with rage, for fear he'd stop the tide
Of her o'er-daring and insulting pride.

XCIV

George Wither.

ON HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA.

You meaner beauties of the night,

Which poorly satisfy our eyes,

More by your number than your light,-
You common people of the skies,

What are you, when the Moon shall rise?

You violets that first appear,

By your pure purple mantles known,
Like the proud virgins of the year,

As if the spring were all your own,—
What are you, when the Rose is blown?

ΙΟ

5

5

IO

You curious chanters of the wood,

That warble forth dame Nature's lays,

Thinking your passions understood

By your weak accents,-what's your praise,
When Philomel her voice doth raise ?

15

So when my Mistress shall be seen
In form and beauty of her mind,
By virtue first, then choice, a Queen,
Tell me, if she were not designed
The eclipse and glory of her kind?

Sir Henry Wotton.

20

XCV

LORD STRAFFORD'S MEDITATIONS IN THE TOWER.

Go, empty joys,

With all your noise,

And leave me here alone,

In sweet sad silence to bemoan

The fickle worldly height,

Whose danger none can see aright,

Whilst your false splendours dim his sight.

Go, and ensnare

With your trim ware

Some other easy wight,

And cheat him with your flattering light;
Rain on his head a shower

Of honours, favour, wealth, and power;
Then snatch it from him in an hour.

Fill his big mind

With gallant wind

Of insolent applause ;

Let him not fear all-curbing laws,

Nor king, nor people's frown;

But dream of something like a crown,

Then, climbing towards it, tumble down.

Let him appear

In his bright sphere

Like Cynthia in her pride,

5

ΙΟ

15

20

With starlike troops on every side;

25

For number and clear light

Such as may soon o'erwhelm him quite,

And blend them both in one dead night.

Welcome, sad night,

Grief's sole delight,

330

Thy mourning best agrees

With honour's funeral obsequies!

In Thetis' lap he lies,

Mantled with soft securities,

Whose too much sunshine dims his eyes.

To kiss, where my blest steps were found,

336

35

XCVI

I'LL NEVER LOVE THEE MORE.

My dear and only Love, I pray

That little world of thee
Be governed by no other sway
But purest monarchy:
For if confusion have a part,

Which virtuous souls abhor,
And hold a Synod in thy heart,
I'll never love thee more.

As Alexander I will reign,

And I will reign alone;

My thoughts did evermore disdain
A rival on my throne.

He either fears his fate too much,

Or his deserts are small,

Who dares not put it to the touch,

To gain or lose it all.

But I will reign and govern still,

And always give the law,
And have each subject at my will,
And all to stand in awe :
But 'gainst my batteries if I find
Thou storm, or vex me sore,
As if thou set me as a blind,

I'll never love thee more.
And in the empire of thy heart,
Where I should solely be,

If others do pretend a part,
Or dare to share with me:
Or committees if thou erect,
Or go on such a score,

I'll smiling mock at thy neglect,
And never love thee more.

5

ΙΟ

15

20

25

330

But if no faithless action stain

Thy love and constant word,
I'll make thee famous by my pen,

And glorious by my sword.
I'll serve thee in such noble ways

As ne'er was known before;

35

When Love with unconfinèd wings

Hovers within my gates,

And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at the grates;

When I lie tangled in her hair,

5

And fettered to her eye,

The birds, that wanton in the air,
Know no such liberty.

When flowing cups run swiftly round
With no allaying Thames,

10

Our careless heads with roses crowned,
Our hearts with loyal flames;

When thirsty grief in wine we steep,

When healths and draughts go free,

15

Fishes, that tipple in the deep,

Know no such liberty.

When, like committed linnets, I
With shriller throat shall sing
The sweetness, mercy, majesty
And glories of my King;

20