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, "The white and hoarish hairs, "Bid thee lay hand, and feel Them hanging on my chin. The which do write two ages past, "Farewell my wonted joy! Truss up thy pack, and trudge from me, COME live with me, and be my love, 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 SIR WALTER RALEIGH. By shallow rivers, to whose falls And I will make thee beds of roses, A gown made of the finest wool, A belt of straw and ivy buds, The shepherd swains shall dance and sing, For thy delight, each May-morning : SIR WALTER RALEIGH. [1552-1618.] THE NYMPH'S REPLY. IF all the world and love were young, Time drives the flocks from field to fold, The flowers do fade, and wanton fields Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, 5 But could youth last, and love still breed, THE PILGRIM. GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet, My gown of glory (hope's true gauge), Over the silver mountains, 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, Go, tell the court it glows, Tell potentates they live Tell men of high condition Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest | Did never muse inspire beneath 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, 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, Behold whiles she before the altar stands, Like crimson dyed in grain, 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, Why blush ye, Love! to give to me your hand, The pledge of all your band? UNA AND THE LION. ONE day, nigh weary of the irksome way, It fortunéd, out of the thickest wood, 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. |