But, by the sacred genius of this place,

25

By every Muse, by each domestic grace,
Be kind to wit, which but endeavours well,

And, where you judge, presumes not to excel.
Our poets hither for adoption come,

As nations sued to be made free of Rome:

30

Not in the suffragating tribes to stand,
But in your utmost, last, provincial band.
If his ambition may those hopes pursue,
Who with religion loves your arts and you,
Oxford to him a dearer name shall be
Than his own mother University.

35

Thebes did his green unknowing youth engage;
He chooses Athens in his riper age.

John Dryden.

XCI

DISTICHES.

River is time in water; as it came,
Still so it flows; yet never is the same.

I wake, and so new live; a night's protection
Is a new wonder, whiles a resurrection.

The sun's up; yet myself and God most bright
I can't see; I'm too dark, and He's too light.

Let devout prayér cast me to the ground,
So shall I yet to heaven be nearer found.

Clay, sand, and rock seem of a different birth;

5

So men; some stiff, some loose, some firm; all earth! 10

By red, green, blue, which sometimes paint the air,
Guilt, pardon, Heaven, the rainbow does declare.

The world's a prison; no man can get out;

Let the atheist storm then; Heaven is round about.

The rose is but the flower of a briar;
The good man has an Adam to his sire.

The dying mole, some say, opens his eyes;
The rich, till 'tis too late, will not be wise.
The sick hart eats a snake, and so grows well;
Repentance digests sin, and man 'scapes hell.
Flies, oft removed, return. Do they want fear,
Or shame, or memory? Flies are everywhere.
Pride cannot see itself by mid-day light;
The peacock's tail is farthest from his sight.
The swallow's a quick arrow, that may show
With what an instant swiftness life doth flow.
The nightingale's a quire, no single note;
O various power of God in one small throat!
The silkworm's its own wonder; without loom
It does provide itself a silken room.

15

20

25

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The moon is the world's glass; in which 'twere strange

If we saw her's and saw not our own change.

Herodotus is history's fresh youth;
Thucydides is judgment, age, and truth.

In sadness, Machiavel, thou didst not well,
To help the world to run faster to hell.

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The Italian's the world's gentleman, the Court
To which thrift, wit, lust, and revenge resort.

Bogs, purgatory, wolves, and ease, by fame

Are counted Ireland's earth, mistake, curse, shame.
The Indies, Philip, spread not like thy robe;
Art thou the new horizon to the globe?

40

Down, pickaxe; to the depths for gold let's go;
We'll undermine Peru. Is'nt heaven below?

Who gripes too much casts all upon the ground;
Too great a greatness greatness doth confound.

All things are wonder since the world began ;
The world's a riddle, and the meaning's man.

Barten Holyday.

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XCII

FAME UNMERITED.

There's none should places have in Fame's high court

But those that first do win Invention's fort;

Not messengers, that only make report.

To messengers rewards of thanks are due

For their great pains, telling their message true,
But not the honour to invention new.

5

Many there are that suits will make to wear
Of several patches, stoln both here and there,
That to the world they gallants may appear :

And the poor vulgar, who but little know,
And reverence all that makes a glistering show,
Examine not the same how they came to.

Then do they call their friends and all their kin;
They factions make the ignorant to win,
And with their help into Fame's court get in.

Duchess of Newcastle.

XCIII

ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE HENRY, SON OF

JAMES THE FIRST.

Methought his royal person did foretell
A kingly stateliness, from all pride clear;
His look majestic seemed to compel
All men to love him, rather than to fear.

ΙΟ

15

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,

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ΙΟ

5

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

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 ?

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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.

Let him not fear all-curbing laws,

15

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,

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With starlike troops on every side;

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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,

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