See how small room my infant Lord doth take, Whom all the world is not enough to hold. Who of his years, or of his age hath told? Never such age so young, never a child so old.

George Wither

1588-1667

THE AUTHOR'S RESOLUTION IN A

SONNET

(From Fidelia, 1615)

Shall I, wasting in despaire
Dye, because a woman's fair?

Or make pale my cheeks with care
Cause anothers Rosie are?

Be she fairer than the Day
Or the flowry Meads in May,
If she think not well of me,
What care I how fair she be?

Shall my seely1 heart be pin'd
Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well disposed Nature
Joyned with a lovely feature?
Be she Meeker, Kinder than
Turtle-dove or Pellican:

If she be not so to me,
What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's Vertues move
Me to perish for her Love?
Or her well deservings known
Make me quite forget mine own?
Be she with that Goodness blest
Which may merit name of best:
If she be not such to me,
What care I how Good she be?
Cause her Fortune seems too high
Shall I play the fool and die?
She that beares a Noble mind,
If not outward helpes she find,

Thinks what with them he would do,
That without them dares her woo.
And unlesse that Minde I see
What care I how great she be?

Great, or Good, or Kind, or Faire
I will ne're the more despaire:
If she love me (this believe)
I will Die ere she shall grieve.
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go,
For if she be not for me
What care I for whom she be?

A CHRISTMAS CAROL So now is come our joyful feast, Let every man be jolly;

Each room with ivy leaves is drest, And every post with holly.

630

1 Used here in the sense of "simple," "artless," or "foolish."

Though some churls at our mirth repine, 5
Round your foreheads garlands twine,
Drown sorrow in a cup of wine,

And let us all be merry.

Now all our neighbours' chimnies smoke,
And Christmas blocks are burning;
Their ovens they with bak'd meats choke,
And all their spits are turning.

Without the door let sorrow lie,
And if for cold it hap could die,
We'll bury it in a Christmas pie;
And evermore be merry.

Now every lad is wondrous trim,

And no man minds his labour;

Our lasses have provided them

A bag-pipe and a tabor.

Young men and maids, and girls and boys
Give life to one another's joys;

And you anon shall by their noise

Perceive that they are merry.

Rank misers now do sparing shun,
Their hall of music soundeth;

And dogs thence with whole shoulders run,
So all things there aboundeth.

10

15

20

25

The country-folk themselves advance, For Crowdy-Mutton's1 come out of France; And Jack shall pipe and Jyll shall dance, 30 And all the town be merry.

Ned Swash hath fetch'd his bands from pawn, And all his best apparel;

Brisk Nell hath bought a ruff of lawn

35

With droppings of the barrel.

And those, that hardly all the year

Had bread to eat or rags to wear,

Will have both clothes and dainty fare,

And all the day be merry.

40

And whilst thus inspir'd we sing, And all the streets with echoes ring; Woods, and hills, and every thing Bear witness we are merry.

William Browne

1590-1645

BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS, 1613-16 (Book I. Song V)

650

Now as an angler melancholy standing, Upon a green bank yielding room for landing, A wriggling yellow worm thrust on his hook, 640 Now in the midst he throws, then in a nook: Here pulls his line, there throws it in again, Mending his crook and bait, but all in vain, He long stands viewing of the curled stream; At last a hungry pike, or well-grown breame, 645 Snatch at the worm, and hasting fast away He, knowing it a fish of stubborn sway, Pulls up his rod, but soft; (as having skill) Wherewith the hook fast holds the fish's gill. Then all his line he freely yieldeth him, Whilst furiously all up and down doth swim Th' ensnared fish, here on the top doth scud, There, underneath the banks, then in the mud; And with his frantic fits so scares the shoal, That each one takes his hide or starting hole; 655 By this the pike, clean wearied, underneath A willow lies, and pants (if fishes breathe); Wherewith the angler gently pulls him to him, And, lest his haste might happen to undo him, Lays down his rod, then takes his line in hand, And by degrees getting the fish to land, Walks to another pool: at length is winner Of such a dish as serves him for his dinner: So when the climber half the way had got, Musing he stood, and busily 'gan plot, How (since the mount did always steeper tend)

Till (with their crooks and bags) a sort of boys
(To share with him) come with so great a noise,
That he is forc'd to leave a nut nigh broke,
And for his life leap to a neighbor oak;
Thence to a beech, thence to a row of ashes; 700
Whilst thro' the quagmires and red water
plashes,

The boys run dabbling through thick and thin,
One tears his hose, another breaks his shin;
This, torn and tatter'd, hath with much ado 704
Got by the briars; and that hath lost his shoe;
This drops his band; that head-long falls f

haste;

Another cries behind for being last:

With sticks and stones, and many a sounding hollow,

(From A Feast for Wormes, 1620) Can he be fair that withers at a blast? Or he be strong that every breath can cast? Or he be wise that knows not how to live? Or he be rich that nothing hath to give? Can he be young, that's feeble, weak, and wan? So fair, strong, wise, so rich, so young is man. So fair is man, that Death (a parting blast) Blasts his fair flower, and makes him earth at last;

7

So strong is man, that with a gasping breath
He totters, and bequeathes his strength to
Death;

10

So wise is man, that if with Death he strive,
His wisdom cannot teach him how to live;
So rich is man, that (all his debts being paid)
His wealth's the winding-sheet wherein he's
laid;

So young is man, that, broke with care and

INVIDIOSA SENECTUS

(From Hieroglyphics of the Life of Man, 1638) Envious old age obscures thy feeble light, And gives thee warning of approaching night. St. John XII. 35

Yet a little while the light is with you.

The days grow old, the low-pitch'd lamp hath made

No less than treble shade,

And the descending damp doth now prepare 5
To uncurl bright Titan's hair;
Whose western wardrobe now begins to unfold
Her purples, fring'd with gold,

To clothe his ev'ning glory, when th' alarms
Of rest shall call to rest in restless Thetis'

Grey hairs, peruse thy days; and let thy past Read lectures to thy last:

Those hasty wings that hurried them away, Will give these days no day:

45

The constant wheels of nature scorn to tire Until her works expire:

That blast that nipp'd thy youth, will ruin thee; That hand that shook the branch, will quickly strike the tree.

EPIGRAMME 3

50

Art thou consum'd with soul-afflicting crosses? Disturb'd with grief? annoy'd with worldly losses?

Hold up thy head: the taper, lifted high,
Will brook the wind, when lower tapers die.

George Herbert

1593-1633

VERTUE