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Give me, next good, an understanding wife,
By nature wise, not learned by much art ;
Some knowledge on her part will, all her life,
More scope of conversation impart ;
Besides her inborn virtue fortify ;
They are most firmly good that best know why.
A passive understanding to conceive,
And judgment to discern, I wish to find;
Beyond that all as hazardous I leave;
Learning and pregnant wit, in womankind,
What it finds malleable (it) makes frail,
And doth not add more ballast, but more sail.
Books are a part of man's prerogative;
In formal ink they thoughts and voices hold,
That we to them our solitude may give,
And make time present travel that of old ;
Our life fame pieceth longer at the end,
And books it farther backward do extend.

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So fair at least let me imagine her ;
That thought to me is truth. Opinion
Cannot in matters of opinion err ;


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Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly, Waex forty winters shall besiege thy brow,

When summer's breaththeir masked buds discloses; And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,

But, for their virtue only is their show, | Thy youth's proud livery, so gazed on now,

They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade, ! Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held ;

Die to themselves—Sweet roses do not so, Then being ask'd where all thy beauty lies,

Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made ; Where all the treasure of thy lusty days

And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, To say " within thine own deep sunken eyes,”

When that shall fade my verse distils your truth. 1

Were an all-eating shame and thriftless praise ;
How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
If thou couldst answer" This fair child of mine

1 Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,”
Proving his beauty by succession thine:

Let me not to the marriage of true minds This were to be new-made when thou art old,

Admit impediments. Love is not love
And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove;
O no, it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken ;
It is the star to every wandering bark, (taken.

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be Oh! how much more doth Beauty beauteous seem, Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks ! By that sweet ornament which truth doth give ! Within his bending sickle's compass come ;

The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
For that sweet odour which doth in it live ; But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
The canker'd blooms have full as deep a dye, If this be error, and upon me proved,
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.



Those lips, that Love's own hand did make,
Breathed forth the sound that said "I hate,"
To me that languish for her sake.
But when she saw my woeful state,
Straight in her heart did mercy come,
Chiding that tongue that, ever sweet,

Was used in giving gentle doom ;
And taught it thus anew to greet :
“I hate" she alter'd with an end
That follow'd it as gentle day
Doth follow night, who, like a fiend,
From heav'n to hell is flown away.
“ I hate"—from hate away she threw,
And saved my life, saying—“not you."


[Born, 1562. Died, 1618.)

It is difficult exactly to estimate the poetical this period so indignant with him for an amour character of this great man, as many of the which he had with one of her maids of honour, pieces that are ascribed to him have not been that, though he married the lady (she was the authenticated. Among these is the “ Soul's daughter of Sir Nicholas Throgmorton), her Farewell,” which possesses a fire of imagination majesty committed him, with his fair partner, to that we would willingly ascribe to him ; but his the Tower. The queen forgave him, however, claim to it, as has been already mentioned, is at last, and rewarded his services with a grant exceedingly doubtful. The tradition of his having of the manor of Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, written it on the night before his execution, is where he built a magnificent seat. Raleigh's highly interesting to the fancy, but, like many mind was not one that was destined to travel in fine stories, it has the little defect of being untrue, the wheel-ruts of common prejudice. It was as the poem was in existence more than twenty rumoured that he had carried the freedom of his years before his death. It has accordingly been philosophical speculation to an heretical height placed in this collection, with several other

on many subjects ; and his acceptance of the pieces to which his name has been conjectur- church lands of Sherborne, already mentioned, ally affixed, among the anonymous poetry of that probably supplied additional motives to the clergy period.

to swell the outcry against his principles. He Sir Walter was born at Hayes Farm, in Devon was accused (by the jesuits) of atheism-a charge shire, and studied at Oxford. Leaving the uni- which his own writings sufficiently refute. Whatversity at seventeen, he fought for six years ever were his opinions, the public saved him the under the Protestant banners in France, and trouble of explaining them; and the queen, taking afterwards served a campaign in the Netherlands. it for granted that they must be bad, gave him He next distinguished himself in Ireland during an open, and, no doubt, edifying reprimand. To the rebellion of 1580, under the lord deputy console himself under these circumstances, he Lord Grey de Wilton, with whom his personal projected the conquest of Guiana, sailed thither disputes eventually promoted his fortunes ; for in 1595, and having captured the city of San being heard in his own cause on returning to Joseph, returned and published an account of England, he won the favour of Elizabeth, who

In the following year he acted knighted him, and raised him to such honours gallantly under the Earl of Essex at Cadiz, as as alarmed the jealousy of her favourite Lei. well as in what was called the “ Island Voycester.


On the latter occasion he failed of comin the mean time, as early as 1579, he had plete success only through the jealousy of the commenced his adventures with a view to colo favourite. nize America-surveyed the territory now called His letter to Cecil, in which he exhorted that Virginia, in 1584, and fitted out successive fleets statesman to the destruction of Essex, forms but in support of the infant colony. In the destruc too sad and notorious a blot in our hero's memory; tion of the Spanish armada, as well as in the yet even that offence will not reconcile us to behold expedition to Portugal in behalf of Don Antonio, the successor of Elizabeth robbing Raleigh of his he had his full share of action and glory ; and estate to bestow it on the minion Carr ; and on though recalled, in 1592, from the appointment the grounds of a plot in which his participation of general of the expedition against Panama, he was never proved, condemning to fifteen years of must have made a princely fortune by the success imprisonment the man who had enlarged the of his fleet, which sailed upon that occasion, and empire of his country, and the boundaries of returned with the richest prize that had ever

* A voyage that was aimed principally at the Spanish been brought to England. The queen was about Plate fleets.

his voyage.

human knowledge. James could estimate the than avarice. On the 29th of October, 1618,
wise, but shrunk from cordiality with the brave. Raleigh perished on a scaffold, in Old Palace-
He released Raleigh, from avaricious hopes about yard, by a sentence originally iniquitous, and
the mine of Guiana ; and when disappointed in

which his commission to Guiana had virtually
that object, sacrificed him to motives still baser revoked,

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Thus women welcomed woe,
Disguised in name of love ;
A jealous hell, a painted show,
So shall they find that prove.
Hey down a down, did Dian sing,
Amongst her virgins sitting,
Than love there is no vainer thing,
For maidens most unfitting.

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For not knowing that I sue to serve A saint of such perfection As all desire, but none deserve A place in her affection, I rather chuse to want relief Than venture the revealing; Where glory recommends the grief, Despair disdains the healing. Silence in love betrays more woe Than words, though ne'er so witty ; A beggar that is dumb, you know, May challenge double pity. Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, My love for secret passion ; He smarteth most who hides his smart, And sues for no compassion *.

METHOUGHT I saw the grave where Laura lay,
Within that temple where the vestal flame
Was wont to burn : and passing by that way
To see that buried dust of living fame,
Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept,
All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen,
At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept;
And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen,
For they this Queen attended ; in whose stead
Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse.
Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed,
And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce,
Where Homer's spright did tremble all for grief,
And cursed th' access of that celestial thief.


THE SHEPHERD'S DESCRIPTION OF LOVE. Ascribed to Sir W. Raleigh in England's Helicon.'

Hey down a down, did Dian sing,
Amongst her virgins sitting,
Than love there is no vainer thing
For maidens most unfitting :
And so think I, with a down down derry.
When women knew no woe,
But liv'd themselves to please,
Men's feigning guiles they did not know,
The ground of their disease.

[This poem is attributed to Lord Pembroke,--but it has been ascribed with great probability to Sir Robert Ayton in a MS. and contemporary volume of Ayton's poems once in Mr. Heber's hands.]

Melib. SHEPHERD, what's love? I pray thee tell.
Faust. It is that fountain and that well

Where pleasure and repentance dwell;
It is, perhaps, that sauncing bell
That tolls all into heav'n or hell,

And this is love as I heard tell.
M. Yet, what is love ? I prithee say.
F. It is a work on holiday ;

It is December match'd with May,
When lusty blood 's in fresh array,
And this is love as I hear say.

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(Born, 1563. Died, 1614.]

Who in his day obtained the epithet of the Sil most thin-skinned enemies so that his travels ver-tongued, was a merchant adventurer, and were probably made more from the hope of died abroad at Middleburgh, in 1618. He was a gain than the fear of persecution. He was an candidate, in the year 1597, for the office of eminent linguist, and writes his dedications in secretary to a trading company at Stade ; on several languages, but in his own he often fathoms which occasion the Earl of Essex seems to have the bathos, and brings up such lines as these to taken a friendly interest in his fortunes. Though king James. esteemed by the court of England (on one occa

So much, 0 king, thy sacred worth presume I on, sion he signs himself the pensioner of Prince

James, the just heir of England's lawful union. Henry *), he is said to have been driven from home by the enmity which his satires excited. His works are chiefly translations, including that This seems very extraordinary, as there is of the Divine Weeks and Works of Du Bartas. nothing in his vague and dull declamations His claim to the poem of the Soul's Errand, as against vice, that needed to have ruffled the

been already mentioned, is to be entirely set aside.



Sloth under thee her ease assumes,
Lux under thee all overflows,
Wrath under thee outrageous grows,
All evil under thee presumes.

RELIGION, O thou life of life,
How worldlings, that profane thee rife,
Can wrest thee to their appetites !
How princes, who thy power deny,
Pretend thee for their tyranny,
And people for their false delights !
Under thy sacred name, all over,
The vicious all their vices cover ;
The insolent their insolence,
The proud their pride, the false their fraud,
The thief his theft, her filth the bawd,
The impudent their impudence.
Ambition under thee aspires,

And Avarice under thee desires ;
* (He had a yearly pension of twenty pounds from
Prince Henry. Owen the Epigrammatist had the same
sum: and Drayton had ten.]

Religion, erst so venerable,
What art thou now but made a fable,
A holy mask on Folly's brow,
Where under lies Dissimulation,
Lined with all abomination.
Sacred Religion, where thou ?

Not in the church with Simony,
Not on the bench with Bribery,
Nor in the court with Machiavel,
Nor in the city with deceits,
Nor in the country with debates ;
For what hath Heaven to do with Hell ?


[Born, 1569. Died, Oct. 1619.) SAMUEL DANIEL was the son of a music-master, afterwards tutor to the accomplished and spirited and was born at Taunton, in Somersetshire. He Lady Anne Clifford, daughter to the Earl of was patronised and probably maintained at Cumberland, who raised a monument to his Oxford, by the noble family of Pembroke. At memory, on which she recorded that she had the age of twenty-three he translated Paulus been his pupil. At the death of Spenser he furJovius's Discourse of Rare Inventions. He was nished, as a voluntary laureat, several masks and

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