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Ye primroses, and purple violets,

Tell me, why blaze ye from your leavy bed,
And woo men's hands to rent you from your sets,
As though you would somewhere be carried,
With fresh perfumes, and velvets garnished?
But ah! I need not ask, 'tis surely so,

You all would to your Saviour's triumph go, There would ye all await, and humble homage do.

There should the earth herself with garlands new
And lovely flow'rs embellished adore :

Such roses never in her garland grew,
Such lilies never in her breast she wore,
Like beauty never yet did shine before:

There should the sun another sun behold,

From whence himself borrows his locks of gold, That kindle heav'n and earth with beauties manifold.

There might the violet, and primrose sweet,
Beams of more lively, and more lovely grace,
Arising from their beds of incense meet;
There should the swallow see new life embrace
Dead ashes, and the grave (a) unhele his face,
To let the living from his bowels creep,

Unable longer his own dead to keep : There heav'n and earth should see their Lord awake from sleep.

Their Lord, before by others judg'd to die,
Now Judge of all himself; before forsaken
Of all the world, that from his aid did fly,

(a) Unhele-uncover, expose to view.

Now by the saints unto their armies taken;
Before for an unworthy man mistaken,

Now worthy to be God confess'd; before With blasphemies by all the basest tore, Now worshipped by angels, that him low adore.

Whose garment was before indipt in blood,
But now imbright'ned into heav'nly flame,
The sun itself outglitters, though he should
Climb to the top of the celestial frame,
And force the stars go hide themselves for shame :
Before, that under earth was buried,

But now above the heav'ns is carried,
And there for ever by the angels heried. (b)

PHINEAS FLETCHER.

PHINEAS FLETCHER, the elder brother of Giles, and the author of an allegorical poem called the "Purple Island," was also a clergyman. Both the brothers were highly esteemed. He was presented to the living of Hilgay in Norfolk in 1621. This living he held for 29 years, and it is supposed that he died there.

HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE. THRICE, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state!

When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns!
His cottage low and safely humble gate

Shuts out proud Fortune, with her scorns and fawns:

(b) Heried-hallowed, regarded as holy.

No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep :
Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep;
Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep.

No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread
Draw out their silken lives: nor silken pride:
His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need,
Not in that proud Sidonian tincture dy'd :
No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright;
Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite :
But sweet content exiles both misery and spite.

Instead of music, and base flattering tongues,
Which wait to first salute my lord's uprise;
The cheerful lark wakes him with early songs,
And birds sweet whistling notes unlock his
eyes:

In country plays is all the strife he uses;
Or sing, or dance unto the rural Muses;
And but in music's sports all difference refuses.

His certain life, that never can deceive him,
Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content :
The smooth-leav'd beeches in the field receive him
With coolest shades, till noon-tide rage is spent:
His life is neither toss'd in boist'rous seas
Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease:
Pleas'd, and full blest he lives, when he his God
can please.

His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps, While by his side his faithful spouse hath place : His little son into his bosom creeps,

The lively picture of his father's face :

;

Never his humble house nor state torment him Less he could like, if less his God had sent him; And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy tomb content him.

HYMN.

DROP, drop, slow tears,

And bathe those beauteous feet,
Which brought from heav'n

The news and Prince of Peace :

Cease not, wet eyes,

His mercies to entreat;

To cry for vengeance

Sin doth never cease:

In your deep floods

Drown all my faults and fears;
Nor let his eye

See sin, but through my tears.

MICHAEL DRAYTON.

BORN 1563-DIED 1631.

MICHAEL DRAYTON was born in Warwickshire. He was one of the first of the class of literary men known" upon town." Drayton found poetry more honourable than lucrative, as his chief means of precarious support was the casual munificence of noble patrons. He was made Laureate ; but at that time there were no emoluments attached to this office.

MOSES MEETING THE DAUGHTERS OF JETHRO, PRIEST OF MIDIAN.

To Midian now his pilgrimage he took, Midian earth's only paradise for pleasures, Where many a soft rill, many a sliding brook, Through the sweet valleys trip in wanton measures, Where as the curled groves and flow'ry fields To his free soul so peaceable and quiet, More true delight and choice contentment yields Than Egypt's braveries and luxurious diet: And wandering long he happen'd on a well, Which he by paths frequented might espy, Border'd with trees where pleasure seem'd to dwell, Where to repose him, eas'ly down doth lie: Where the soft winds did mutually embrace In the cool arbours nature there had made, Fanning their sweet breath gently in his face Through the calm cincture of the am'rous shade : Till now it nigh'd the noon-stead of the day, When scorching heat the gadding herds do grieve, When shepherds now and herdsmen every way Their thirsting cattle to the fountain drive: Amongst the rest seven shepherdesses went Along the way for watering of their sheep, Whose eyes him seemed such reflection sent, As made the flocks even white that they did keep : Girls that so goodly and delightful were, The fields were fresh and fragrant in their view, Winter was as the spring-time of the year, The grass so proud that in their footsteps grew : Daughters they were unto a holy man,

(And worthy too of such a sire to be) Jethro the priest of fertile Midian,

Few found so just, so righteous men as he.

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