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0, up then started our gudeman,
For swelling waves our panting breasts,
Where never storms arise, And an angry man was he: “Will ye kiss my wife before my een,
Exchange ; and be awhile our guests:
For stars, gaze on our eyes.
And, as he goes about the ring,
We will not miss Gied three skips on the floor :
To tell each point he nameth with a kiss. “Gudeman, ye 've spoken the foremost
word, Get up and bar the door!"
I do confess thou 'rt smooth and fair, Pack clouds away, and welcome day, And I might have gone near to love
With night we banish sorrow; thee,
Sweet air, blow soft; mount, larks, aloit, Had I not found the lightest prayer
To give my love good-morrow. That lips could speak, had power to Wings from the wind to please her mine, move thee:
Notes from the lark I 'il borrow; But I can let thee now alone,
Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing, As worthy to be loved by none.
To give my love good-morrow. I do confess thou 'rt sweet; yet find Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast;
Thee such an unthrift of thy sweets, Sing, birds, in every surrow; Thy favors are but like the wind,
And from each hill let music shrill That kisses everything it meets;
Give my fair love good-morrow. And since thou canst with more than one,
Blackbirii and thrush in every bush, Thou 'rt worthy to be kissed by none.
Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow;
You pretty elves, among yourselves, The morning rose that untouched stands Sing my fair love good-morrow. Armed with her briers, how sweetly
smells ! But plucked and strained through ruder
SEARCH AFTER GOD. hands, No inore her sweetness with her dwells, I sought thee round about, O thou my But scent and beauty both are gone,
God! And leaves fall from her, one by one.
In thine abode.
I said unto the earth, “Speak, art thou Such fate, erelong, will thee betide,
he?" When thou hast handled been
She answered me, awhile,
“I am not." I inquired of creatures all, Like sere flowers to he thrown aside:
In general, And I will sigh, while some will smile, Contained therein. They with one voice To see thy love for more than one
proclaim Hath brought thee to be loved by none. That none amongst them challenged such
Offended with my question, in full choir, | I answered : The all-potent, sole, imAnswered, “ To find thy God thou must
mense, look higher."
Unspeakable, inscrutable, eternal, I asked the heavens, sun, moon, and
Lord over all; stars; but they
The only terrible, strong, just, and true, Said, “ We obey
Who hath no end, and no beginning The God thou seekest." I asked what
He is the well of life, for he doth give What in the world I might descry or
To all that live know
Both breath and being; he is the Creatoi Above, below;
Both of the water, With an unanimous voice, all these things Earth, air, and fire. Of all things that said,
He hath the list, “We are not God, but we by him were made."
Of all the heavenly host, or what earth
claims, I asked the worll's great universal mass He keeps the scroll, and calls them by If that God was;
their names. Which with a mighty and strong voice replied,
And now, my God, by thine illumining
Thy glorious face
(So far forth as it may discovered be)
Methinks I see; Was fashioned first of nothing ; thus
And though invisible and infinite, instated
To human sight And swayed by him by whom I was created."
Thou, in thy mercy, justice, truth, ap
pearest, I sought the court ; but smooth-tongued
In which, to our weak sense, thou comest
0, make us apt to seek and quick to find, In the thronged city there was selling,
Thou, God, most kind! buying,
Give us love, hope, and faith, in thee to Swearing, and lying;
trust, l' the country, craft in simpleness ar
Thou, God, most just!
Remit all our offences, we entreat,
Most good! most great! “ Vain is my search, although my pains Grant that our willing, thongh unworthy be great ;
quest Where my God is there can be no deceit."
May, through thy grace, admit
’mongst the blest. A scrutiny within myself I then
Even thus began : "O man, what art thou ?”
(1591 – 1669.)
SIC VITA. return?
LIKE to the falling of a star, I asked myself what this great God might Or as the flights of eagles are; be
Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, That fashioned me,
Or silver drops of morning dew;
Or like a wind that chafes the flood, MARQUIS OF MONTROSE.
[1612 - 1650.]
That little world of thee
But purest monarchy:
For if confusion have a part,
Which virtuous souls abhor,
I'll call a synod in my heart,
And never love thee more.
And I will reign alone;
A rival on my throne.
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch,
To gain or lose it all.
(1596 - 1666.)
DEATH THE LEVELLER.
Death lays his icy hand on kings:
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down, 'T is true, with shame and grief I yield, And in the dust be equal made Thou, like the van, first took'st the field, With the poor crooked scythe and spade. And gotten hast the victory, In thus adventuring to die
Some men with swords may reap the field, Before me, whose more years might crave And plant fresh laurels where they A just precedence in the grave.
kill; But hark ! my pulse, like a soft drum, But their strong nerves at last must yield; Beats my approach, tells thee I come: They tame but one another still: And slow howe'er my marches be,
Early or late I shall at last sit down by thee.
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath The thought of this bids me go on,
When they, pale captives, creep to death. And wait my dissolution With hope and comfort. Dear, forgive the garlands wither on your brow; The crime, - I am content to live
Then boast no more your mighty deeds ; Divided, with but half a heart,
Upon Death's purple altar now Till we shall meet, and never part.
See where the victor-victim bleeds :
SIR THOMAS BROWNE.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.
EDWARD HERBERT, (EARL OF
Whilst I do rest, my soul ailvance;
(1581 - 1648.]
CELINDA. Walking thus towards a pleasant grove, Which did, it seemed, in new delight The pleasures of the tine unite To give a triumph to their love, They stayed at last, and on the grass Reposéd so as o'er his breast She bowed her gracious head to rest, Such a weight as no burden was. Long their fixed eyes to heaven bent, Unchangéd they did never move, As if so great and pure a love No glass but it could represent.
* These eyes again thine eyes shall see, Thy hands again these hands infold, And all chaste pleasures can be told, Shall with us everlasting be. Let then no doubt, Celinda, touch, Much less your fairest mind invade; Were not our souls immortal made, Our equal loves can make them such."
[1605 - 1650.]
Whoe'er she be,
Where'er she lie,
Till that ripe birth
SIR THOMAS BROWNE.
(1605 - 1682.)
The night is come; like to the day,
I wish her beauty