If heaven's winged herald Hermes had

His heart enchanted with a country maid,-
If poor Pygmalion was for Beauty mad,—
If Gods and men have all for Beauty stray'd,—

I am not then ashamed to be included

'Mongst those that love and be with love deluded.

JOHN DAVIES.

(OF HEREFORD.) 1560-5-1618.

THE PICTURE OF AN HAPPY MAN.

How bless'd is he, though ever cross'd,
That can all crosses blessings make;

That finds himself ere he be lost,

And lose that found, for virtue's sake.

Yea, bless'd is he in life and death,

That fears not death, nor loves this life;
That sets his will his wit beneath;
And hath continual peace in strife.

That striveth but with frail-Desire,
Desiring nothing that is ill;

That rules his soul by Reason's squire,
And works by Wisdom's compass still.

That nought observes but what preserves
His mind and body from offence;
That neither courts nor seasons serves,
And learns without experience.

That hath a name as free from blot
As Virtue's brow, or as his life
Is from the least suspect or spot,
Although he lives without a wife.
That doth, in spite of all debate,
Possess his soul in patience;
And pray, in love, for all that hate;

And hate but what doth give offence.

Whose soul is like a sea too still,

That rests, though moved: yea, moved (at least) With love and hate of good and ill,

To waft the mind the more to rest.

That singly doth and doubles not,
But is the same he seems; and is
Still simply so, and yet no sot,

But yet not knowing ought amiss.

That never sin concealed keeps,

But shows the same to God, or moe;
Then ever for it sighs and weeps,
And joys in soul for grieving so.

That by himself doth others mete,
And of himself still meekly deems;
That never sate in scorner's seat;

But as himself the worst esteems.

That loves his body for his soul,

Soul for his mind, his mind for God, God for Himself; and doth controul CONTENT, if it with Him be odd.

That to his soul his sense subdues,

His soul to reason, and reason to faith;
That vice in virtue's shape eschews,
And both by wisdom rightly weigh'th.

That rests in action, acting nought
But what is good in deed and show;
That seeks but God within his thought,
And thinks but God to love and know.

That, all unseen, sees all (like Him),

And makes good use of what he sees ; That notes the tracks and tricks of Time,

And flees with the one, the other flees.

That lives too low for envy's looks,

And yet too high for loath'd contempt; That makes his friends good men and books, And nought without them doth attempt.

That lives as dying, living yet

In death, for life he hath in hope; As far from state as sin and debt,

Of happy life the means and scope.

That fears no frowns, nor cares for fawns
Of Fortune's favourites, or foes;

That neither checks with kings nor pawns,
And yet still wins what checkers lose.

That ever lives a light to all,

Though oft obscurèd, like the sun; And though his fortunes be but small, Yet Fortune doth not seek, nor shun;

That never looks but grace to find,

Nor seeks for knowledge to be known; That makes a kingdom of his mind, Wherein, with God, he reigns alone.

This man is great with little state,
Lord of the world epitomized:
Who with staid front out-faceth Fate;
And, being empty, is sufficed,—

Or is sufficed with little, since (at least)
He makes his conscience a continual feast.

THE SHOOTING STAR.

So shoots a Star as doth my Mistress glide

At midnight through my chamber, which she makes Bright as the sky when moon and stars are spied, Wherewith my sleeping eyes amazèd wake :

Which ope no sooner than herself she shuts
Out of my sight, away so fast she flies :

Which me in mind of my slack service puts ;
For which all night I wake, to plague mine eyes.
Shoot, Star! once more, and if I be thy mark
Thou shalt hit me, for thee I'll meet withal.
Let mine eyes once more see thee in the dark!
Else they with ceaseless waking out will fall :
And if again such time and place I lose
To close with thee, let mine eyes never close.

IN PRAISE OF MUSIC.

The motion which the nine-fold sacred quire
Of angels make the bliss of all the bless'd,
Which (next the Highest) most fills the highest desire
And moves but souls that move in Pleasure's rest :
The heavenly charm that lullabies our woes,
And recollects the mind that cares distract,
The lively death of joyless thoughts o'erthrows,
And brings rare joys but thought on into act :
Which like the Soul of all the world doth move,
The universal nature of this All:

The life of life, and soul of joy and love,
High rapture's heaven: the That I can not call
(Like God) by rèal name: and what is this
But Music, next the Highest, the highest bliss ?

LOVE'S BLAZONRY.

When I essay to blaze my lovely Love
And to express her all in colours quaint,
I rob earth, sea, air, fire, and all above,

Of their best parts, but her worst parts to paint :
Staidness from earth, from sea the clearest part,
From air her subtlety, from fire her light;
From sun, moon, stars, the glory they impart :
So rob and wrong I all, to do her right.

But if the beauty of her mind I touch,

Since that before touch'd touch but parts externe,
I ransack heaven a thousand times as much:
Since in that mind we may that Mind discern,
That all in All that are or fair or good.
And so She's most divine, in flesh and blood.

JOSHUA SYLVESTER.

1563-1618.

A MIND CONTENT.

I weigh not Fortune's frown nor smile,
I joy not much in earthly joys;
I seek not state, I reck not style,
I am not fond of fancy's toys:
I rest so pleased with what I have,
I wish no more, no more I crave.

I quake not at the thunder's crack,
I tremble not at noise of war,
I swoon not at the news of wrack,
I shrink not at a blazing star :
I fear not loss, I hope not gain;
I envy none, I none disdain.

I see Ambition never pleased,

I see some Tantals starve in store,
I see Gold's dropsy seldom eased,

I see even Midas gape for more :
I neither want, nor yet abound;
Enough's a feast, content is crown'd.

I feign not friendship where I hate,
I fawn not on the great in show;
I prize, I praise a mean estate,
Neither too lofty nor too low :