That Privates have not too, save Ceremony?
Save gen'ral Ceremony ?-

And what art thou, thou idol Ceremony?
What kind of God art thou? that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers.
What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in ?
O Ceremony, show me but thy worth:
What is thy toll, O Adoration ?

Art thou aught else but Place, Degree, and
Form,

Creating awe and fear in other men?
Wherein thou art less happy, being fear'd,
Than they in fearing.

What drink'st thou oft, instead of Homage sweet,

But poison'd Flatt'ry? Oh, be sick, great
Greatness,

And bid thy Ceremony give thee cure.
Think'st thou, the fiery fever will go out
With Titles blown from Adulation?

Will it give place to flexure and low bending? Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee,

Command the health of it? no, thou proud dream,

That play'st so subtly with a King's repose. Shakspere.-About 1610.

There is thy Gold; worse Poison to men's souls, Doing more murders in this loathsome world, Than these poor compounds that thou may'st not sell :

I sell thee Poison, thou hast sold me none.

O thou sweet King-killer, and dear Divorce
"Twixt natural son and sire! thou bright Defiler
Of Hymen's purest bed! thou valiant Mars!
Thou ever young, fresh, lov'd, and delicate
Wooer,

Whose blush doth thaw the consecrated snow
That lies on Dian's lap! thou visible God,
That solder'st close impossibilities,

And mak'st them kiss! that speak'st with every tongue,

To every purpose! O thou Touch of Hearts! Think, thy slave Man rebels; and by thy virtue

Set them into confounding odds, that beasts May have the world in empire!

That Broker, that still breaks the pate of Faith;

That daily Break-vow; he that wins of all, Of kings, of beggars, old men, young men, maids ;

Who having no external thing to lose But the word Maid,-cheats the poor maid of that.

Shakspere. About 1610.

199.-INSANITY.

There is a willow grows ascaunt the brook, That shows his hoar leaves in the glassy stream;

Therewith fantastic Garlands did she make Of crow-flowers, nettles, daisies, and long purples,

That liberal Shepherds give a grosser name, But our cold maids do dead men's fingers call them :

There on the pendant boughs her coronet weeds

Clambering to hang, an envious sliver broke;
When down her weedy trophies and herself,
Fell in the weeping Brook. Her clothes
spread wide;

And, Mermaid-like, a while they bore her up:
Which time, she chanted snatches of old tunes ;
As one incapable of her own Distress,
Or like a creature native and indued
Unto that element: but long it could not be,
Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,
Pull'd the poor Wretch from her melodious lay
To muddy Death.

Shakspere. About 1610.

200.-SELF-INSPECTION.

Thy Glass will show thee how thy beauties wear, Thy Dial how thy precious minutes waste; The vacant Leaves thy mind's imprint will bear, And of this Book this learning may'st thou taste.

The wrinkles which thy Glass will truly show,
Of mouthed graves will give thee memory;
Thou by thy Dial's shady stealth may'st know
Time's thievish progress to Eternity.
Look, what thy memory cannot contain,
Commit to these waste Blanks, and thou shalt
find

Those children nurs'd, deliver'd from thy brain,
To take a new acquaintance of thy mind.
These offices, so oft as thou wilt look,
Shall profit thee, and much enrich thy Book.
Shakspere.-About 1610.

201.-LOVE.

Didst thou but know the inly touch of Love, Thou would'st as soon go kindle fire with snow, As seek to quench the fire of Love with words. I do not seek to quench your Love's hot fire, But qualify the Fire's extreme rage,

Lest it should burn above the bounds of

reason.

The more thou dam'st it up, the more it burns; The current that with gentle murmur glides, Thou know'st, being stopp'd, impatiently doth rage;

But, when his fair course is not hindered,
He makes sweet Music with the enamel'd
stones,

Giving a gentle Kiss to every sedge
He overtaketh in his pilgrimage;
And so by many winding nooks he strays,
With willing sport, to the wild Ocean.

The course of true Love never did run smooth;
But, either, it was different in Blood-
Or else misgraffed, in respect of Years-
Or else it stood upon the choice of Friends-
Or if there were a sympathy in choice,
War, Death, or Sickness did lay siege to it;
Making it momentary as a Sound,
Swift as a Shadow, short as any Dream,
Brief as the lightning in the collied night,
That (in a spleen) unfolds both Heaven and
Earth;

And ere a man hath power to say, Behold!
The jaws of Darkness do devour it up;
So quick bright things come to confusion.

Oh, how this spring of Love resembleth
The uncertain glory of an April day;
Which now shows all the beauty of the Sun,
And by and by a Cloud takes all away.

Love's heralds should be thoughts, Which ten times faster glide than the Sun's beams

Driving back Shadows over low'ring hills: Therefore do nimble-pinion'd Doves draw Love,

And therefore hath the wind-swift Cupid wings.

O most potential Love! vow, bond, nor space,
In thee hath neither sting, knot, nor confine,
For thou art all, and all things else are thine.
When thou impressest, what are Precepts
worth

Of stale example? When thou wilt inflame,
How coldly those impediments stand forth
Of Wealth, of filial Fear, Law, Kindred,
Fame?

Love's arms are Peace, 'gainst rule, 'gainst sense, 'gainst shame;

And sweetens, in the suffering pangs it bears, The Aloes of all forces, shocks, and fears. Shakspere.-About 1610.

202.-ENGLAND.

This royal Throne of Kings, this scepter'd Isle,
This Earth of Majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise;
This Fortress, built by Nature for herself,
Against infection, and the hand of war;
This Happy breed of men, this little world;
This precious Stone set in the Silver Sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands;
This blessed plot, this Earth, this Realm, this
England,

Dear for her Reputation through the world.
Shakspere. About 1610.

203.-ORDER AND OBEDIENCE. While that the armed Hand doth fight abroad, The advised Head defends itself at home: For Government, though high, and low, and lower,

Put into parts, doth keep in one consent;
Congruing in a full and natural close,
Like music.

Therefore doth Heaven divide
The state of Man in divers functions,
Setting endeavour in continual motion;
To which is fixed, as an aim or butt,
Obedience: for so work the Honey-bees;
Creatures, that, by a rule in nature, teach
The act of order to a peopled Kingdom.
They have a King, and Officers of sorts:
Where some, like Magistrates, correct at home;
Others, like Merchants, venture trade abroad;
Others, like Soldiers, armed in their stings,
Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds;
Which pillage they with merry march bring
home

To the tent-royal of their Emperor :
Who, busied in his Majesty, surveys
The singing Masons building roofs of gold;
The civil Citizens kneading up the honey;
The poor mechanic porters crowding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate;
The sad-eyed Justice, with his surly hum,
Delivering o'er to executors pale
The lazy yawning Drone. I this infer.-
That many things, having full reference

205.-TAKE THE BEAM OUT OF THINE

OWN EYE.

Go to your bosom :

Knock there, and ask your heart, what it doth know

That's like my brother's fault; if it confess A natural guiltiness, such as is his,

Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue Against my brother's life.

Shakspere. About 1610.

206. THE VOICE OF THE DYING. The tongues of dying men Inforce attention, like deep harmony: Where words are scarce, they're seldom spent

in vain :

For they breathe truth, that breathe their words in pain.

He that no more must say, is listen'd more Then they whom youth and ease have taught to glose;

More are men's ends mark'd, than their lives before:

The setting sun, and music in the close, As the last taste of sweets is sweetest last; Writ in remembrance, more than things long past.

Shakspere. About 1610.

207.-A GOOD CONSCIENCE. What stronger breastplate than a heart untainted ?

Thrice is he arm'd that hath his quarrel just; And he but naked, though lock'd up in steel, Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted. Shakspere. About 1610.

209.-ARIEL'S SONG.

Where the bee sucks, there lurk I;

In a cowslip's bell I lie;

There I couch when owls do cry;
On the bat's back I do fly.

After summer merrily,

Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

210.

Shakspere.-About 1010.

THE FAIRY TO PUCK.

Over hill, over dale,

Thorough bush, thorough briar,
Over park, over pale,

Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander every where,
Swifter than the moone's sphere.
And I serve the Fairy Queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green;
The cowslips tall her pensioners bo,
In their gold coats spots you see,-
Those be rubies, fairy favours:
In those freckles live their savours.
I must go seek some dew-drops here,
And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.
Shakspere. About 1610.

211.-AMIENS' SONG.

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh

As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend rememb'red not. Shakspere.-About 1610.

212.-PLIGHTING TROTH.

Oh, do not wrong my honest simple truth!
Myself and my affections are as pure

As those chaste flames that burn before the shrine

Here be all new delights; cool streams and wells;

Arbours o'ergrown with woodbines; caves and dells;

Choose where thou wilt, while I sit by and sing,

Or gather rushes to make many a ring
For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love;
How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove,
First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes
She took eternal fire that never dies;
How she conveyed him softly in a sleep,
His temples bound with poppy, to the steep
Head of old Latmos, where she stoops each
night,

Gilding the mountain with her brother's light,

To kiss her sweetest.

Beaumont and Fletcher.-About 1047.

214. CESAR'S LAMENTATION OVER POMPEY'S HEAD.

Oh, thou Conqueror, Thou glory of the world once, now the pity; Thou awe of nations, wherefore didst thou fall thus ?

What poor fate followed thee and plucked thee on

To trust thy sacred life to an Egyptian ?The life and light of Rome to a blind stranger

Hence, all you vain delights,

As short as are the nights

Wherein you spend your folly!
There's nought in this life sweet,
If man were wise to see't,
But only melancholy !

Welcome, folded arms, and fixed eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies,

A look that's fasten'd to the ground,
A tongue chain'd up, without a sound!
Fountain heads, and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion lovos!
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Aro warmly hous'd, save bats and owls;
A midnight bell, a parting groan!
These are the sounds we feed upon;
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy
valley:

Nothing's so dainty-sweet as lovely melancholy.

Beaumont and Fletcher.-About 1047

216.-SONG.

Look out, bright eyes, and bless the air!
Even in shadows you are fair.
Shut-up beauty is like fire,

That breaks out clearer still and higher.

Though your beauty be confin'd,
And soft Love a prisoner bound,
Yet the beauty of your mind,

Neither check nor chain hath found.
Look out nobly, then, and dare

Ev'n the fetters that you wear!

Beaumont and Fletcher.-About 1C47.

217.-THE POWER OF LOVE. Hear ye, ladies that despise

What the mighty Love has done;
Fear examples and be wise:

Fair Calisto was a nun:
Leda, sailing on the stream,
To deceive the hopes of man,
Love accounting but a dream,
Doted on a silver swan;
Danae in a brazen tower,

Where no love was, lov'd a shower.

Hear ye, ladies that are coy,

What the mighty Love can do; Fear the fierceness of the boy;

The chaste moon he makes to woo Vesta, kindling holy fires,

Circled round about with spies Never dreaming loose desires,

Doting at the altar dies;

Ilion in a short hour higher,
He can build, and once more fire.
Beaumont and Fletcher.-About 1647.

218. TO SLEEP.

Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,
Brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose
On this afflicted prince: fall like a cloud
In gentle showers; give nothing that is loud
Or painful to his slumbers; easy, sweet
[light ?],

And as a purling stream, thou son of night,
Pass by his troubled senses, sing his pain
Like hollow murmuring wind or gentle rain.
Into this prince, gently, oh, gently slide,
And kiss him into slumbers like a bride!

Beaumont and Fletcher.-About 1647.

219.-FROM ROLLO.
Take, oh! take those lips away,
That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn;
But my kisses bring again,
Seals of love, though seal'd in vain.
Hide, oh! hide these hills of snow,
Which thy frozen bosom bears,
On whose tops the pinks that grow

Are yet of those that April wears;
But first set my poor heart free,
Bound in those icy chains by thee.

Beaumont and Fletcher.-About 1C47.

221. THE VANITY OF HUMAN
LEARNING.

Why did my parents send me to the schools,
That I with knowledge might enrich my mind?
Since the desire to know first made men fools,
And did corrupt the root of all mankind;
For when God's hand had written in the hearts
Of the first parents, all the rules of good,
So that their skill infus'd, did pass all arts
That ever were, before, or since the flood;
And when their reason's eye was sharp and clear,
And (as an eagle can behold the sun)
Could have approach'd th' eternal light as near,
As th' intellectual angels could have done :
E'en then to them the spirit of lies suggests,
That they were blind, because they saw not
ill,

And breath'd into their incorrupted breasts

A curious wish, which did corrupt their will. For that same ill they straight desir'd to know; Which ill, being naught but a defect of good, In all God's works the devil could not show, While man their lord in his perfection stood. So that themselves were first to do the ill,

Ere they thereof the knowledge could attain, Like him that knew not poison's power to kill, Until (by tasting it) himself was slain. E'en so by tasting of that fruit forbid, Where they sought knowledge they did error find,

Ill they desir'd to know, and ill they did;

And to give passion eyes, made reason blind. For then their minds did first in passion see Those wretched shapes of misery and woe, Of nakedness, of shame, of poverty, Which then their own experience made them know.