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I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end, the first and the last.

Rev. xxii, 13


E have left undone those things which we ought

to have done; and we have done those things which we ought not to have done. Morning Prayer.


The iron entered into his soul.

Ps. cv. 18.

Read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest.

Collect for the Second Sunday in Advent. In the midst of life we are in death.*

The Burial Service. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Ibid.

And though he promise to his loss,
He makes his promise good.

TATE AND BRADY.-Ps. xv. 5.

* This is derived from a Latin Antiphon, said to have been composed by Notker, a monk of St. Gall, in 911, while watching some workmen building a bridge at Martinsbrücke, in peril of their lives. It forms the ground-work of Luther's Antiphon De Morte.

EDMUND SPENSER. 1553-1599.



'HE noblest mind the best contentment has.

Book i. Canto i. St. 35.

Her angels face, As the great eye of heaven, shyned bright, And made a sunshine in the shady place.

Book i. Canto iii. St. 4.


Entire affection hateth nicer hands.

Book i. Canto viïi. St. 40.


That darksome cave they enter, where they find
That cursed man, low sitting on the ground,
Musing full sadly in his sullein mind.

Book i. Canto ix. St. 35.
No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd,
No arborett with painted blossoms drest
And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd
To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al

Book ü. Canto vi. St. 12.

Her berth was of the wombe of morning dew,
And her conception of the joyous prime.

Book iji. Canto vi. St. 3. Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled.

Look iv. Canto ii. St. 32.

What more felicitie ca fall to creature
Than to enjoy delight with libertie,
And to be lord of all the workes of Nature,

To raine in th' aire from earth to highest skie,
To feed on flowres and weeds of glorious feature.

The Fate of the Butterfly. Line 209.
I was promised on a time
To have reason for my rhyme ;
From that time unto this season,
I received nor rhyme nor reason.

Lines on his promised Pension.
For of the soul the body form doth take,
For soul is form, and doth the body make.

Hymn in Honour of Beauty. Line 132.
A sweet attractive kinde of grace,
A full assurance given by lookes,
Continuall comfort in a face
The lineaments of gospel-books.

Elegiac on a Friend's Passion for his Astrophell.*
Full little knowest thou that hast not tride,
What hell it is in suing long to bide ;
To loose good dayes that might be better spent,
To wast long nights in pensive discontent;
To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow;
To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow.


To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares ;
To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires ;
To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne,
To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne.

Mother Hubberd's Tale. Line 893.

* Todd has shown that this poem was written by Mathew Roydon.

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Full fathom five thy father lies ;

Of his bones are coral made ;
Those are pearls that were his eyes ;

Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.

Act. i. Sc. 2.
There's nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with 't.

Act. i. Sc. 2.

A very ancient and fish-like smell.

Act. ü. Sc. 2.

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

Act. ii. Sc. 2. Fer. Here's my hand. Mir. And mine, with my heart in it. Act iii. Sc. I.

Deeper than e'er plummet sounded.

Act iii. Sc. 3.

Our revels now are ended : these our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits, and
Are melted into air, into thin air :
And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a wreck behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

Act iv. Sc. 1.

Deeper than did ever plummet sound,
I'll drown my book.

Act v. Sc. I.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I;
In a cowslip's bell I lie.

Act v. Sc. i.


Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.

Act i. Sc. 1.

I have no other but a woman's reason; I think him so, because I think him so.

Act i. Sc. 2.

O, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day.

Act i. Sc. 3.

He makes sweet music with th' enameld stones,
Giving a gentle kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage.

Act ii. Sc. 7.

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