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Who hath his life from rumours freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make accusers great:

Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend;

.—This man is freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.

George Herbert.

Born 1592. Died 1634.

From 'the Church Porch.'

LIE not; but let thy heart be true to God.
Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both:
Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod;
The stormy working soul spits lies and froth.
Dare to be true; nothing can need a lie;
A fault, which needs it most, grows two thereby.

Fly idleness, which yet thou canst not fly

By dressing, mistressing and compliment.

If those take up thy day, the sun will cry

Against thee; for his light was only lent.

God gave thy soul brave wings; put not those feathers

Into a bed, to sleep out all ill weathers.

Restore to God his due in tithe and time:
A tithe purloined cankers the whole estate.
Sundays observe: think when the bells do chime
Tis angels' music; therefore come not late.
God then deals blessings: if a king did so,
Who would not haste, nay give, to see the show?

When once thy foot enters the church, be bare;
God is more there than thou; for thou art there
Only by His permission. Then beware
And make thyself all reverence and fear.
Kneeling ne'er spoiled silk stocking; quit thy state,
All equal are within the church's gate.

Resort to sermons, but to prayers most:

Praying's the end of preaching. O be drest;

Stay not for th' other pin: why, thou hast lost

A joy for it worth worlds. Thus hell doth jest

Away thy blessings, and extremely flout thee,

Thy clothes being fast, but thy soul loose about thee.

In time of service seal up both thine eyes,
And send them to thine heart, that spying sin
They may weep out the stains by them did rise:
Those doors being shut, all by the ear comes in.
Who marks at churchtime others' symmetry
Makes all their beauty his deformity.

Let vain or busy thoughts have there no part:
Bring not thy plough, thy plots, thy pleasures hither.
Christ purged his temple; so must thou thy heart.
All worldly thoughts are but thieves met together
To cozen thee: look to thine actions well;
For churches either are our heaven or hell.

Though in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my wants beguile:
The barren wilderness shall smile,
With sudden greens, and herbage crowned,
And streams shall murmur all around.

An Ode.

THE spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.
The unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,
And publishes to every land
The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth.
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though in solemn silence all
Move round this dark terrestrial ball,
What though no real voice nor sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found;
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing, as they shine,
'The Hand that made us is divine'.

Jfttnot $oets.

Ben Jonson.

Born 1573. Died 1637.

True Growth.

IT is not growing like a tree
In bulk, doth make men better be;
Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere.

A lily of a day

Is fairer far in May,
Although it fall and die that night,
It was the plant and flower of light.
In small proportions we just beauty see,
And in just measures life may perfect be.

Epode From 'the Forest.'

"\TOT to know vice at all, and keep true state,

*.' Is virtue and not fate;

Next to that virtue, is to know vice well,

And her black spite expel.

Which to effect (since no breast is so sure

Or safe, but she 'll procure

Some way of entrance) we must plant a guard

Of thoughts to watch and ward

As the eye and ear, the ports unto the mind,

That no strange or unkind

Object arrive there, but the heart, our spy,

Give knowledge instantly

To wakeful reason, our affection's king:

Who, in th' examining,

Will quickly taste the treason, and commit

Close the close cause of it.

"Tis the securest policy we have

To make our sense our slave.

But this true course is not embraced by many—

By many? scarce by any.

For either our affections do rebel,

Or else the sentinel,

That should ring larum to the heart, doth sleep;

Or some great thought doth keep

Back the intelligence, and falsely swears

They are base and idle fears

Whereof the loyal conscience so complains.

Thus, by these subtle trains

Do several passions invade the mind,

And strike our reason blind.

Epitaph On The Countess Of Pembroke.

UNDERNEATH this marble hearse,
Lies the subject of all verse,
Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother;
Death, ere thou hast slain another,
Learned, and fair, and good as she,
Time shall throw his dart at thee!

Epitaph On A Lady.

UNDERNEATH this stone doth lie
As much beauty as could die:
Which in life did harbour give
To more virtue than doth live.
If at all she had a fault,
Leave it buried in this vault.

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