A nicer touch to the stretched canvas give, THE PARAPHRASE ON PSALM XXIII. HE Lord my pasture shall prepare, When in the sultry glebe I faint, Though in the paths of death I tread, Though in a bare and rugged way, THE AN ODE. HE spacious firmament on high, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, The unwearied sun, from day to day, And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand. Soon as the evening shades prevail The moon takes up the wondrous tale, 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 Minor Poets. BEN JONSON. Born 1573. Died 1637. TRUE GROWTH. T is not growing like a tree IT In bulk, doth make men better be; Or standing long an oak, three hundred year, 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, EPODE FROM 'THE FOREST.' OT to know vice at all, and keep true state, NOT 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, Object arrive there, but the heart, our spy, To wakeful reason, our affection's king : 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; UN EPITAPH ON A LADY. NDERNEATH this stone doth lie Which in life did harbour give DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN. Born 1585. Died 1649. I SONNET. F crost with all mishaps be my poor life, If one short day I never spent in mirth, If.I, when I was born, was born to die; Why seek I to prolong these loathsome days? R TEARS ON THE DEATH OF MŒLIADES1. EST, blessed soul, rest satiate with the sight Of him whose beams (though dazzling) do delight; Life of all lives, cause of each other cause; The sphere and centre where the mind doth pause; Rest, happy soul, and wonder in that glass Where seen is all that shall be, is, or was, While shall be, is, or was, do pass away, 1 Prince Henry, eldest son of James I. The name is an anagram of 'Miles a Deo,' |