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Where is it now ?-'Tis gone!

And see, a threatening arm, an angry brow!
Mountains and hills, come, come, and fall on me,
And hide me from the heavy wrath of heav'n!
No! Then will I headlong run into the earth:
Gape, earth: O no, it will not harbour me.
You stars, that reigned at my nativity,
Whose influence hath allotted Heaven and Hell,
Now draw up Faustus, like a foggy mist,
Into the entrails of yon labouring cloud,
That, when ye vomit forth into the air,
My limbs may issue from your smoky mouths;
But let my soul mount and ascend to heaven.
The clock strikes the half hour.

Oh! half the hour is past; 'twill be all past anon.
Oh, if my soul must suffer for my sin,
Impose some end to my incessant pain.
Let Faustus live in hell a thousand years,
An hundred thousand, and at last be sav'd.
Why wert thou not a creature wanting soul!
Or why is this immortal, that thou hast ?

Oh! Pythagoras! Metempsychosis! were that true
This soul should fly from me, and I be chang'd
Into some brutish beast.

All beasts are happy, for, when they die,
Their souls are soon dissolv'd in elements;
But mine must live still, to be plagued in hell.
Curst be the parents that engender'd me!
No, Faustus, curse thyself, curse Lucifer!
That hath depriv'd thee of the joys of heav'n.
The clock strikes twelve.

It strikes! it strikes! now body turn to air,
Or Lucifer will bear thee quick to Hell.
O soul! be chang'd into small water-drops.
And fall into the ocean, ne'er be found.

Thunder.

Oh! mercy, heav'n! look not so fierce on me,
Adders and serpents! let me breathe awhile !---
Ugly hell! gape not-come not, Lucifer!

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4. THE SHEPHERD'S SONG.

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That valleys, groves, and hills, and fields,
Flood, or steepy mountain yields.
Where we will sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
And shoes lined choicely for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold:

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs ;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,
For thy delight each May morning;
If joys like these thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

XIV. SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
1. ANSWER TO THE SHEPHERD'S SONG.
If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.
But time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
Then Philomel becometh dumb,
And age complains of care to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;

A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
In fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten;
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To live with thee and be thy love.

What should we talk of dainties then,
Of better food than's fit for men?
These are but vain: that's only good
Which God hath bless'd and sent for food.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need;
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

2. LINES COMPOSED THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION.

E'en such is Time, which takes on trust
Our youth, our joys, our all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust;
Who in the dark and silent grave,
When we have wander'd all our ways,
Shuts up the story of our days.

XV. SPENSER.

1. THE BUTTERFLY.

The woods, the rivers, and the meadows green, With his air-cutting wings he measur'd wide Ne did he leave the mountains bare unseen, Nor the rank grassy fen's delight untried. But none of these, however sweet they been,

Mote please his fancy, nor him cause abide. His choiceful sense with every change doth flit. No common things may please a wavering wit,

To the gay gardens his unstay'd desire
Him wholly carried, to refresh his sprites,
There lavish nature, in her best attire,

Pours forth sweet odours and alluring sights;
And art, with her contending, doth aspire
T'excel the natural with made delights:
And all that fair or pleasant may be found,
In riotous excess doth there abound.
There he arriving, round about doth fly
From bed to bed, from one to other border,
And takes survey, with curious busy eye,

Of every flower and herb there set in order:
Now this, now that, he tasteth tenderly

Yet none of them he rudely doth diso ler, Ne with his feet their silken leaves deface, But pastures on the pleasures of each place.

And evermore, with most variety

And change of sweetness (for all change is sweet,) He casts his glutton sense to satisfy;

Now sucking of the sap of herb most meet, Or of the dew that yet on them does lie,

Now in the same bathing his tender feet: And then he percheth on some bank thereby, To weather him and his moist wings to dry.

2. CHARITY.

She was a woman in her freshest age,
Of wondrous beauty, and of bounty rare,
With goodly grace and comely personage,
That was on earth not easy to compare;
Full of great love, but Cupid's wanton snare
As hell she hated, chaste in work and will ;

Her neck and breasts were ever open bare,
That aye thereof her babes might suck their fiil;
The rest was all in yellow robes arrayéd still.
A multitude of babes about her hung,

Plying their sports, that joyed her to behold, Whom still she fed, whilst they were weak and young, But thrust them forth still as they waxed old:

And on her head she wore a tire of gold,
Adorn'd with gems and ouches wondrous fair,
Whose pasing price uneath was to be told;
And by her side there sat a gentle pair
Of turtle doves, she sitting in an ivory chair.

3. ENVY.

And next to him malicious envy rode
Upon a ravenous wolf and still did claw
Between his canker'd teeth a venomous toad,
That all the poison ran about his jaw :
But inwardly he chawéd his own maw
At neighbour's wealth, that made him ever sad,
For death it was, when any good he saw,
And wept, that cause of weeping none he had;
But when he heard of harm, he waxéd wondrous glad
All in a kirtle of discolour'd say

He clothed was, ypainted full of eyes:
And in his bosom secretly there lay

An hateful snake, the which his tail upties
In many folds, and mortal sting implies.
Still as he rode, he gnashed his teeth, to see
Those heaps of gold with griple covetise,
And grudged at the great felicity
Of proud Lucifera, and his own company.
He hated all good works and virtuous deeds,
And him no less that any like did use :
And who with gracious bread the hungry feeds
His alms for want of faith he doth accuse.
So every good to bad he doth abuse;
And eke the verse of famous poet's wit

He does back-bite, and spiteful poison spucs From leprous mouth, on all that ever writ; Snch one vile envy was, that first in row did sit.

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