Page images
PDF
EPUB

A. D. 1552-1618.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

But fading flowers in every field,
To winter floods their treasures yield;
A honey'd tongue a heart of gall,
Is Fancy's spring, but Sorrow's fall.

Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Are all soon wither'd, broke, forgotten,
In Folly ripe, in Reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw, and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs,
Can me with no enticements move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But could Youth last, could Love still breed;
Had joys no date, had Age no need;
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

81

THE SOUL'S ERRAND.

This beautiful poem appeared anonymously in "Davison's Poetical Rhapsody,” in 1608. It has been ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh by many able critics.

Go, Soul, the Body's guest,

Upon a thankless errand;

Fear not to touch the best;

The truth shall be thy warrant.

Go, since I needs must die,

And give them all the lie.

Go, tell the Court it glows,

And shines like painted wood;

Go, tell the Church it shows
What's good, but does no good.

If Court and Church reply,
Give Court and Church the lie.

Tell Potentates, they live

Acting, but oh! their actions

Not loved, unless they give;

Nor strong, but by their factions.

If Potentates reply,

Give Potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition,

That rule affairs of state,

6

Their purpose is ambition;
Their practice only hate.
And if they do reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell those that brave it most,

They beg for more by spending, Who, in their greatest cost,

Seek nothing but commending.
And if they make reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

Tell Zeal it lacks devotion;
Tell Love it is but lust;
Tell Time it is but motion;
Tell Flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

Tell Age it daily wasteth;

Tell Honor how it alters; Tell Beauty that it blasteth; Tell Favor that she falters:

And as they do reply,

Give every one the lie.

Tell Wit how much it wrangles
In fickle points of niceness;
Tell Wisdom she entangles

Herself in over-wiseness:
And if they do reply,

Then give them both the lie.

Tell Physic of her boldness;
Tell Skill it is pretension;

Tell Charity of coldness;

Tell Law it is contention:

And if they yield reply,

Then give them still the lie.

Tell Fortune of her blindness;
Tell Nature of decay;

Tell Friendship of unkindness;

Tell Justice of delay :

And if they do reply,

Then give them all the lie.

Tell Arts they have no soundness,

But vary by esteeming;

Tell Schools they lack profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming,
If Arts and Schools reply,
Give Arts and Schools the lie.

Tell Faith it's fled the city;

Tell how the Country erreth;
Tell Manhood, shakes off pity;
Tell Virtue, least preferreth.
And if they do reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

So, when thou hast, as I

Commanded thee, done blabbing;
Although to give the lie

Deserves no less than stabbing;

Yet stab at thee who will,

No stab the Soul can kill.

46. Samuel DANIEL. 1562-1619. (Manual, p. 80.)

RICHARD II. ON THE MORNING BEFORE HIS MURDER.

From the Third Book of the Civil Wars.

The morning of that day which was his last
After a weary rest, rising to pain,

Out at a little grate his eyes he cast

Upon those bordering hills and open plain,

Where others' liberty makes him complain

The more his own, and grieves his soul the more,
Conferring 1 captive crowns with freedom poor.

1

O happy man, saith he, that lo I see,
Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields,
If he but knew his good. How blessed he
That feels not what affliction greatness yields!

Other than what he is he would not be,

Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields.
Thine, thine is that true life: that is to live

To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve.

Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire,
And hear'st of others' harms, but fearest none,
And there thou tell'st of kings, and who aspire,
Who fall, who rise, who triumph, who do moan.

1 Comparing.

Perhaps thou talk'st of me, and dost inquire
Of my restraint, why here I live alone,
And pitiest this my miserable fall;

For pity must have part-envy not all.

Thrice happy you that look as from the shore,
And have no venture in the wreck you see;

No interest, no occasion to deplore

Other men's travels, while yourselves sit free.
How much doth your sweet rest make us the more

To see our misery and what we be :

Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil,

Still seeking happy life, makes life a toil.

MICHAEL DRAYTON. 1563-1631. (Manual, pp. 80, 81.)

From the Nymphidia.

47. PIGWIGGEN ARMING.

And quickly arms him for the field,
A little cockle-shell his shield,
Which he could very bravely wield,
Yet could it not be pierced :
His spear a bent both stiff and strong,
And well near of two inches long:
The pile was of a horse-fly's tongue,
Whose sharpness nought reversed.

And puts him on a coat of mail,
Which was of a fish's scale,

That when his foe should him assail,
No point should be prevailing.

His rapier was a hornet's sting,

It was a very dangerous thing;

For if he chanc'd to hurt the king,
It would be long in healing.

His helmet was a beetle's head,
Most horrible and full of dread,
That able was to strike one dead,
Yet it did well become him:
And for a plume, a horse's hair,
Which being tossed by the air,
Had force to strike his foe with fear,

And turn his weapon from him.

Himself he on an earwig set,

Yet scarce he on his back could get,
So oft and high he did curvet,

Ere he himself could settle:

He made him turn, and stop, and bound,
To gallop, and to trot the round,
He scarce could stand on any ground,
He was so full of mettle.

48. FROM THE POLY-OLBION.

SONG XIII.

When Phoebus lifts his head out of the winter's wave,
No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom brave,
At such time as the year brings on the pleasant spring,
But hunts-up, to the morn, the feath'red sylvans sing:
And in the lower grove, as on the rising knoll,
Upon the highest spray of every mounting pole,
Those quiristers are percht with many a speckled breast.
Then from her burnisht gate the goodly glitt'ring east
Gilds every lofty top, which late the humorous night
Bespangled had with pearl, to please the morning's sight:
On which the mirthful quires, with their clear open throats,
Unto the joyful morn so strain their warbling notes,
That hills and vallies ring, and even the echoing air
Seems all compos'd of sounds, about them everywhere.

49. SIR JOHN DAVIES. 1570-1626. (Manual, p. 81.)

FROM THE NOSCE TEIPSUM.

As spiders, touch'd, seek their web's inmost part;
As bees, in storms, back to their hivės return;
As blood in danger gathers to the heart;

As men seek towns when foes the country burn:

If aught can teach us aught, affliction's looks
(Making us pry into ourselves so near),
Teach us to know ourselves beyond all books,
Or all the learned schools that ever were.

She within lists my ranging mind hath brought,
That now beyond myself I will not go :
Myself am centre of my circling thought:
Only myself I study, learn, and know.

« PreviousContinue »