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Whose dreadful name late thro' all Spain did thunder,
And Hercules' two pillars standing near
Did make to quake and fear :
Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry !
That fillest England with thy triumphs' fame
Joy have thou of thy noble victory,
And endless happiness of thine own name
That promiseth the same ;
That through thy prowess and victorious arms
Thy country may be freed from foreign harms,
And great Eliza's glorious name may ring
Through all the world, fill’d with thy wide alarms
Which some brave Muse may sing
To ages following,
Upon the bridal day, which is not long :

Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song.
From those high towers this noble lord issúing
Like radiant Hesper, when his golden hair
In th' ocean billows he hath bathéd fair,
Descended to the river's open viewing
With a great train ensuing.
Above the rest were goodly to be seen
Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature,
Beseeming well the bower of any queen,
With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature
Fit for so goodly stature,
That like the twins of Jove they seem'd in sight
Which deck the baldric of the Heavens bright;
They two, forth pacing to the river's side,
Received those two fair brides, their love's delight;
Which, at th' appointed tide,
Each one did make his bride
Against their bridal day, which is not long:
Sweet Thames ! run softly, till I end my song.

E. Spenser

LIV

THE HAPPY HEART
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ?

O sweet content !
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ?

O punishment !
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers ?
O sweet content ! ( sweet ( sweet content !

Work apace, apace, apace, apace ;

Honest labour bears a lovely face ;
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny !
Canst drink the waters of the crispéd spring ?

O sweet content !
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?

O punishment !
Then he that patiently want's burden bears
No burden bears, but is a king, a king !
O sweet content ! ( sweet O sweet content !

Work apaçe, apace, apace, apace ;

Honest labour bears a lovely face ;
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

T. Dekker

LV

This Life, which seems so fair,
Is like a bubble blown up in the air
By sporting children's breath,
Who chase it
And strive who can most motion it bequeath.
And though it sometimes seem of its own might
Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there,
And firm to hover in that empty height,
That only is because it is so light.
- But in that pomp it doth not long appear ;
For when 'tis most admired, in a thought,
Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought.

every where

W. Drummond

LVI

30

SOUL AND BODY

Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end ?
Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store ;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ;
Within be fed, without be rich no more :-
So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
And death once dead, there's no more dying then.

W. Shakespeare

LVII

LIFE

The World's a bubble, and the Life of Man

Less than a span :
In his conception wretched, from the womb

So to the tomb ;
Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years

With cares and fears.
Who then to frail mortality shall trust,
But limns on water, or but writes in dust.
Yet whilst with sorrow here we live opprest,

What life is best?
Courts are but only superficial schools

To dandle fools :
The rural parts are turn'd into a den

Of savage men :

LIV

THE HAPPY HEART
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ?

O sweet content !
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ?

O punishment !
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexéd
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers ?
O sweet content ! ( sweet O sweet content !

Work apace, apace, apace, apace ;

Honest labour bears a lovely face ;
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!
Canst drink the waters of the crispéd spring ?

O sweet content !
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?

O punishment !
Then he that patiently want's burden bears
No burden bears, but is a king, a king !
O sweet content ! O sweet O sweet content !

Work apaçe, apace, apace, apace ;

Honest labour bears a lovely face ;
Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

T. Dekker

LV

This Life, which seems so fair,
Is like a bubble blown up in the air
By sporting children's breath,
Who chase it every where
And strive who can most motion it bequeath.
And though it sometimes seem of its own might
Like to an eye of gold to be fix'd there,
And firm to hover in that empty height,
That only is because it is so light.
- But in that pomp it doth not long appear ;
For when 'tis most admired, in a thought,
Because it erst was nought, it turns to nought.

W. Drummond

LVI

30

SOUL AND BODY

Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth,
Fool'd by those rebel powers that thee array,
Why dost thou pine within, and suffer dearth,
Painting thy outward walls so costly gay ?
Why so large cost, having so short a lease,
Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend ?
Shall worms, inheritors of this excess,
Eat up thy charge ? is this thy body's end ?
Then, Soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss,
And let that pine to aggravate thy store ;
Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ;
Within be fed, without be rich no more :-
So shalt thou feed on death, that feeds on men,
And death once dead, there's no more dying then.

W. Shakespeare

LVII

LIFE

The World's a bubble, and the Life of Man

Less than a span :
In his conception wretched, from the womb

So to the tomb ;
Curst from his cradle, and brought up to years

With cares and fears.
Who then to frail mortality shall trust,
But limns on water, or but writes in dust.
Yet whilst with sorrow here we live opprest,

What life is best?
Courts are but only superficial schools

To dandle fools :
The rural parts are turn’d into á den

Of savage men :

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