I saw the little boy,

In thought how oft that he Did wish of God, to scape the rod, A tall young man to be.

The young man eke that feels

His bones with pains opprest, How he would be a rich old man, To live and lie at rest:

The rich old man that sees

His end draw on so sore, How he would be a boy again, To live so much the more.

Whereat full oft I smiled,

To see how all these three, From boy to man, from man to boy, Would chop and change degree:

And musing thus, I think,

The case is very strange,

That man from wealth, to live in woe, Doth ever seek to change.

Thus thoughtful as I lay,

I saw my withered skin,

How it doth show my dented thews, The flesh was worn so thin;

And eke my toothless chaps,

The gates of my right way,
That opes and shuts as I do speak,
Do thus unto me say:

"The white and hoarish hairs,
The messengers of age,
That show, like lines of true belief,
That this life doth assuage;

"Bid thee lay hand, and feel

Them hanging on my chin.

The which do write two ages past,
The third now coming in.

"Farewell my wonted joy!

To every little boy;

'And tell them thus from me, Their time most happy is,

If to their time they reason had, To know the truth of this."

And we will all the pleasures prove,

That valleys, groves, and hills and fields, Wood or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,

Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks

By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers and a kirtle,
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair linéd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,

For thy delight, each May-morning :
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

[1552-1618.]

THE NYMPH'S REPLY.

IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

5

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

THE PILGRIM.

GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon;
My scrip of joy, immortal diet;
My bottle of salvation;

My gown of glory (hope's true gauge),
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
Blood must be my body's 'balmer,
Whilst my soul, a quiet Palmer,
Travelleth towards the land of Heaven;
No other balm will there be given.

Over the silver mountains,
Where spring the nectar fountains,
There will I kiss the bowl of bliss,
And drink mine everlasting fill
Upon every milken hill;
My soul will be a-dry before,
But after, it will thirst no more.
Then, by that happy, blissful day,

More peaceful pilgrims I shall see, That have cast off their rags of clay, And walk apparelled fresh, like me.

THE SOUL'S ERRAND.

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 the world the lie.

Go, tell the court it glows,
And shines like rotten wood;
Go, tell the church it shows
What's good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates they live
Acting by others' actions;
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by their factions:
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition
That rule affairs of state,

7

He wrote of love with high conceit And beauty reared above her height.

EDMUND SPENSER.

[1553-1599.]

ANGELIC MINISTRY.

AND is there care in Heaven? And is there love

In heavenly spirits to these creatures base,
That
There is, else much more wretched
may compassion of their evils move?

were the case

Of men than beasts: but O the exceeding grace

And all his works with mercy doth emOf highest God, that loves his creatures so, brace,

That blessed angels he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe!

To come to succor us that succor want! How oft do they their silver bowers leave, How oft do they with golden pinions cleave

The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant! They for us fight, they watch and duly ward,

And their bright squadrons round about us plant;

And all for love and nothing for reward; O, why should heavenly God to men have such regard?

THE TRUE WOMAN.

THRICE happy she that is so well assured Unto herself, and settled so in heart, That neither will for better be allured, Ne fears to worse with any chance to start, But like a steady ship doth strongly part The raging waves, and keeps her course aright;

Ne ought for tempest doth from it depart, Ne ought for fairer weather's false de

light.

Such self-assurance need not fear the| spite

Of grudging foes, ne favor seek of friends; But in the stay of her own steadfast might, Neither to one herself or other bends. Most happy she that most assured doth rest,

But he most happy who such one loves best.

FROM THE EPITHALAMIUM. OPEN the temple-gates unto my love. Open them wide that she may enter in, And all the posts adorn as doth behove, And all the pillars deck with garlands trim,

For to receive this saint with honor due, That cometh in to you.

With trembling steps and humble rev

erence

She cometh in before the Almighty's view: Of her, ye virgins! learn obedience, When so ye come into these holy places, To humble your proud faces.

Bring her up to the high altar, that she

may

The sacred ceremonies there partake,
The which do endless matrimony make;
And let the roaring organs loudly play
The praises of the Lord, in lively notes,
The whiles with hollow throats
The choristers the joyous anthems sing,
That all the woods may answer, and
their echo ring.

Behold whiles she before the altar stands,
Hearing the holy priest that to her speaks,
And blesses her with his two happy hands,
How red the roses flush up in her cheeks!
And the pure snow, with goodly vermeil
stain,

Like crimson dyed in grain,
That even the angels, which continually
About the sacred altar do remain,

Forget their service, and about her fly, Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair

The more they on it stare;

But her sad eyes, still fastened on the ground,

Are governed with goodly modesty,
That suffers not one look to glance awry,
Which may let in a little thought un-
sound.

Why blush ye, Love! to give to me your hand,

The pledge of all your band?
Sing, ye sweet angels! Alleluia sing,
That all the woods may answer, and your
echo ring.

UNA AND THE LION.

ONE day, nigh weary of the irksome way,
From her unhasty beast she did alight;
And on the grass her dainty limbs did lay
In secret shadow, far from all men's sight;
From her fair head her fillet she undight,
And laid her stole aside : her angel's face,
As the great eye of heaven, shined bright,
And made a sunshine in a shady place;
Did never mortal eye behold such heav-
enly grace.

It fortunéd, out of the thickest wood,
A ramping lion rushéd suddenly,
Hunting full greedy after savage blood;
Soon as the royal virgin he did spy,
With gaping mouth at her ran greedily,
To have at once devoured her tender corse;
But to the prey when as he drew more
nigh,

His bloody rage assuagéd with remorse, And, with the sight amazed, forgot his furious force.

Instead thereof he kissed her weary feet, And licked her lily hands with fawning tongue,

As he her wrongéd innocence did weet. O how can beauty master the most strong, And simple truth subdue avenging wrong! Whose yielded pride and proud submission,

Still

dreading death, when she had marked long,

Her heart 'gan melt in great compassion, And drizzling tears did shed for pure affection.