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intuitive geniuses, it is only thus that any of us can ever hope to be educated into independence of judgment; and I am sure that some, acknowledging this, will be grateful for notes of admiration, by which I have sometimes called their attention to that which otherwise might not obtain it, or might not obtain it to the full of its deserts.
LONDON: May 8th, 1868.
Fly fro the prease, and dwell with soothfastnesse,
Paine thee not ech crooked to redresse
That thee is sent receive in buxomnesse,
15 The wrastling of this world asketh a fall, Here is no home, here is but wildernesse, Forth pilgrime! forth, beast, out of thy stall ! Looke up on high, and thanke God of all ! Weive thy lusts, and let thy ghost thee lede, And trouth thee shall deliver, it is no drede.
O trifling toys that toss the brains,
While loathsome life doth last;
O life when death is past ;
Yet loath we death as hell.
Yet wish we here to dwell.
And stays on slippery joys;
That can contemn such toys !
Such toys as neither perfect are,
And cannot long endure ;
Uncertain and unsure.
All pleasure mixt with woe ;
And joys do come and go.
Thus learning is but learned by halves,
And joy enjoyed no while ;
This helps thee to beguile.
But after death is perfect skill,
And joy without decay ;
And steals our joys away ;
To spend the day in vain;
To go to bed again.
Nor know not what we have ;
LOVE THE ONLY PRICE OF LOVE.
The fairest pearls that northern seas do breed,
For precious stones from eastern coasts are sold ;
Gold values all, and all things value gold.
No mortal thing can bear so high a price,
But that with mortal thing it may be bought ; The corn of Sicil buys the western spice ;
French wine of us, of them our cloth is sought. No pearls, no gold, no stones, no corn, no spice, No cloth, no wine, of Love can pay the price.
What thing is Love, which nought can countervail ?
Nought save itself, ev'n such a thing is Love. All worldly wealth in worth as far doth fail,
15 As lowest earth doth yield to heaven above. Divine is Love, and scorneth worldly pelf, And can be bought with nothing but with self.
A POESY TO PROVE AFFECTION IS NOT LOVE.
Conceit, begotten by the eyes,
For as the seeds, in springtime sown,
Affection follows Fortune's wheels,
Desire himself runs out of breath,