A hollow globe of glass, that long before She full of emptiness had bladdered, And all the world therein depictured, Whose colours, like the rainbow, ever vanished. Such wat❜ry orbicles young boys do blow Out from their soapy shells, and much admire The swimming world, which tenderly they row With easy breath till it be waved higher : But if they chance but roughly once aspire, The painted bubble instantly doth fall.
WHEN with a serious musing I behold The grateful and obsequious marigold, How duly every morning she displays
Her open breast, when Titan spreads his rays; How she observes him in his daily walk,
Still bending towards him her small slender stalk; How, when he down declines, she droops and mourns, Bedew'd as 'twere with tears, till he returns ; And how she veils her flowers when he is gone,
As if she scorned to be looked on
By an inferior eye; or did contemn
To wait upon a meaner light than him :— When thus I meditate, methinks the flowers Have spirits far more generous than ours, And give us fair examples, to despise The servile fawnings and idolatries, Wherewith we court these earthly things below, Which merit not the service we bestow. But, O my God, though grovelling I appear
Upon the ground, and have a rooting here,
Which hails me downward, yet in my desire To that which is above me, I aspire: And all my best affections I profess To Him that is the Son of Righteousness, Oh! keep the morning of his incarnation, The burning noontide of his bitter passion, The night of his descending, and the height Of his ascension-ever in my sight; That imitating him in what I may, I never follow an inferior way.
The emblem represents a flame upon a mountain, driven to and fro by tempestuous winds, yet continually gathering strength and brightness.
THUS fears the man whom virtue, beacon-like, Hath fix'd upon the hills of eminence ; At him the tempests of mad envy strike, And rage against his piles of innocence:
But still the more they wrong him, and the more They seek to keep his worth from being known, They daily make it greater than before,
And cause his fame the further to be blown. When, therefore, no self-doting arrogance, But virtues covered with a modest veil, Break through obscurity, and thee advance To place where envy shall thy worth assail, Discourage not thyself, but stand the shocks
Of wrath and fury. Let them snarl and bite, Pursue thee with detraction, slander, mocks, And all the venomed engines of despight, Thou art above the malice, and the blaze Of thy celestial fire shall shine so clear, That their besotted souls thou shalt amaze,
And make thy splendours to their shame appear.
CAN he be fair, that withers at a blast? Or he be strong, that airy breath can cast? Can he be wise, that knows not how to live? Or he be rich, that nothing hath to give? Can he be young, that's feeble, weak, and wan? So fair, strong, wise, so rich, so young is man. So fair is man, that death (a parting blast)
Blasts his fair flower, and makes him earth at last; So strong is man, that with a gasping breath He totters, and bequeathes his strength to death; So wise is man, that if with death he strive, His wisdom cannot teach him how to live; So rich is man, that (all his debts being paid) His wealth's the winding-sheet wherein he's laid; So young is man, that, broke with care and sorrow, He's old enough to-day, to die to-morrow: Why bragg'st thou then, thou worm of five feet long? Thou'rt neither fair, nor strong, nor wise, nor rich, nor young.
SWEET day! So cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky; The dews shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die.
Sweet rose! whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye;
Thy root is ever in its grave;
And thou must die.
Sweet spring! full of sweet days and roses; A box where sweets compacted lie;
Thy music shows ye have your closes; And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like season'd timber never gives; But, though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives.
BORN IN THE 16TH CENTURY.
REVENGE OF INJURIES.
THE fairest action of our human life Is scorning to revenge an injury; For who forgives without a further strife, His adversary's heart to him doth tie.
And 'tis a firmer conquest truly said, To win the heart, than overthrow the head.
If we a worthy enemy do find,
To yield to worth it must be nobly done; But if of baser metal be his mind,
In base revenge there is no honor won. Who would a worthy courage overthrow, And who would wrestle with a worthless foe?
We say our hearts are great, and cannot yield; Because they cannot yield, it proves them poor: Great hearts are tasked beyond their power, but seld The weakest lion will the loudest roar.
Truth's school for certain doth this same allow, High-heartedness doth sometimes teach to bow.
A noble heart doth teach a virtuous scorn, To scorn to owe a duty overlong; To scorn to be for benefits forborne ;
To scorn to lie, to scorn to do a wrong; To scorn to bear an injury in mind;
To scorn a freeborn heart slave-like to bind.
But if for wrongs we needs revenge must have, Then be our vengeance of the noblest kind; Do we his body from our fury save,
And let our hate prevail against our mind? What can 'gainst him a greater vengeance be, Than make his foe more worthy far than he?
FOR what is glory but the blaze of fame, The people's praise, if always praise unmix'd? And what the people, but a herd confus'd,
A miscellaneous rabble, who extol
Things vulgar, and well weigh'd, scarce worth the praise? They praise, and they admire they know not what, And know not whom, but as one leads the other;
And what delight to be by such extoll'd,
To live upon their tongues, and be their talk, Of whom to be disprais'd were no small praise ?- His lot who dares be singularly good.
Th' intelligent among them and the wise Are few, and glory scarce of few is rais'd. They err, who count it glorious to subdue By conquest far and wide, to overrun Large countries, and in field great battles win, Great cities by assault: what do these worthies, But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter and enslave
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