Choke him, let him say no more, But reserve his breath in store, Till thy conquest and his fall Make his sighs to use it all; And then bargain with the wind To discharge what is behind. Blessed be God alone, Thrice blessed Three in One. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A SONNET, SENT BY GEORGE HERBERT TO HIS MOTHER AS A NEW YEAR'S GIFT FROM CAMBRIDGE. My God, where is that ancient heat towards thee, Wear Venus' livery? only serve her turn? As well as any she? Cannot thy Dove Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight? Or, since thy ways are deep, and still the same, Will not a verse run smooth that bears thy name? Why doth that fire, which by thy power and might Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose Than that which, one day, worms may chance refuse? Sure, Lord, there is enough in thee to dry Oceans of ink; for, as the Deluge did Cover the earth, so doth thy Majesty: Each cloud distils thy praise, and doth forbid Poets to turn it to another use. Roses and lilies speak thee; and to make Why should I women's eyes for crystal take? In the best face but filth; when, Lord, in thee A PARADOX. (FROM A MS. COLLECTION FORMERLY DR RAWLINSON'S, IN THE BODLEIAN LIBRARY, OXFORD.) THAT THE SICK ARE IN A BETTER CASE THAN THE WHOLE. You who admire yourselves because You neither groan nor weep, Acquits yourselves, and gives the sick all grief. So Black-moors think us foul, and we Are quit with them, and more: And judge of things but mediocrity. The sick are in themselves a state Which health hath nought to do. How know you that our tears proceed from woe, And not from better fate? Since that mirth hath Her waters also and desired bath. How know you that the sighs we send Not from excess? and therefore we do spend As well show inward warbling, as decay. Cease then to judge calamities By outward form and show, But view yourselves, and inward turn your eyes, Is, of the two, the far more desperate. You always fear to feel those smarts Each little comfort much affects our hearts, Your fears in number more, your joys are less Then for yourselves not us embrace Plaints to bad fortune due, For though you visit us, and plaint or case, We doubt much whether Come to our bed you To comfort us, or to be comforted. INSCRIPTION. IN THE PARSONAGE, BEMERTON. TO MY SUCCESSOR. IF thou chance for to find As God gives thee store, ON LORD DANVERS. SACRED marble, safely keep His dust, who under thee must sleep, Their dead, and time shall be no more. Does ruin thee, or if thy tears Are shed for him; dissolve thy frame, |