EDMUND SPENSER. THE HOUSE OF RICHES. THAT house's form within was rude and strong, Like an huge cave hewn out of rocky clift, From whose rough vault the ragged breaches hung Embossed with massy gold of glorious gift, And with rich metal loaded every rift, That heavy ruin they did seem to threat; And over them Arachne high did lift Her cunning web, and spread her subtle net, Enwrapped in foul smoke and clouds more black than jet. Both roof, and floor, and walls, were all of gold, But overgrown with dust and old decay, And hid in darkness, that none could behold The hue thereof: for view of cheerful day Did never in that house itself display, But a faint shadow of uncertain light; Such as a lamp whose life does fade away; Or as the Moon, clothed with cloudy night, Does show to him that walks in fear and sad affright. In all that room was nothing to be seen But huge great iron chests, and coffers strong, All barred with double bends, that none could ween Them to enforce by violence or wrong; On every side they placed were along. But all the ground with sculls was scatteréd And dead men's bones, which round about were flung; Whose lives, it seeméd, whilome there were shed, And their vile carcasses now left unburiéd. THE BOWER OF BLISS. THERE the most dainty paradise on ground And none does others' happiness envy ; 9 ROBERT SOUTHWELL. [1560-1595.] CONTENT AND RICH. I DWELL in grace's courts, Faith guides my wit, love leads my will, In lowly vales I mount To pleasure's highest pitch, My conscience is my crown, Enough, I reckon wealth; That lies too high for base contempt, My wishes are but few, I make the limits of my power I have no hopes but one, I feel no care of coin, I clip high-climbing thoughts, Their fate is worst, that from the height Silk sails of largest size The storm doth soonest tear : I bear so low and small a sail As freeth me from fear. I wrestle not with rage But when the flame is out, And ebbing wrath doth end, I turn a late-enragéd foe And, taught with often proof, Spare diet is my fare, My clothes more fit than fine; I know I feed and clothe a foe That, pampered, would repine. I envy not their hap Whom favor doth advance: To rise by others' fall I deem a losing gain: All states with others' ruins built To ruins run amain. No change of fortune's calms Can cast my comforts down: When fortune smiles, I smile to think How quickly she will frown; And when, in froward mood, ALEXANDER HUME. [About 1599.] A SUMMER'S DAY. THE time so tranquil is and clear, All trees and simples, great and small, The ships becalmed upon the seas, |