Blind in her favorites' foolish election,

Chance in her arbiter in giving dignities,

Her choice of vicious shows most discretion,

Sith wealth the virtuous might wrest from piety.

To humble suppliants tyrant most obstinate,
She suitors answereth with contrarieties;
Proud with petition, untaught to mitigate
Rigor with clemency in hardest cruelties.

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Like tiger fugitive from the ambitious,
Like weeping crocodile to scornful enemies,
Suing for amity where she is odious,

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But to her followers forswearing courtesies.

No wind so changeable, no sea so wavering,

As giddy fortune in reeling vanities;

Now mad, now merciful, now fierce, now favoring,
In all things mutable but mutabilities.

A CHILD MY CHOICE

LET folly praise that fancy loves,

I praise and love that child

Whose heart no thought, whose tongue no word,

Whose head no deed defiled;

I praise him most, I love him best,

All praise and love is his;

While him I love, in him I live,

And cannot live amiss.

Love's sweetest mark, land's highest theme,

Man's most desired light,

To love him life, to leave him death,

To live in him delight.

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ΙΟ

He mine by gift, I his by debt,

Thus each to other due,

First friend he was, best friend he is,

All times will try him true.

Though young, yet wise; though small, yet strong;

Though man, yet God he is;

As wise he knows, as strong he can,

As God he loves to bless.

His knowledge rules, his strength defends,

His love doth cherish all;

His birth our joy, his life our light,

His death our end of thrall.

Alas! he weeps, he sighs, he pants,

Yet doth his angels sing;

Out of his tears, his sighs and throbs,
Doth bud a joyful spring.

Almighty babe, whose tender arms
Can force all foes to fly,

Correct my faults, protect my life,

Direct me when I die!

LIFE IS BUT LOSS

BY FORCE I live, in will I wish to die;

In plaints I pass the length of ling'ring days; Free would my soul from mortal body fly,

And tread the track of death's desired ways: Life is but loss where death is deemed gain, And loathed pleasures breed displeasing pain.

Who would not die to kill all murd'ring grieves?
Or who would live in never-dying fears?

Who would not wish his treasure safe from thieves,
And quit his heart from pangs, his eyes from tears?

Death parteth but two ever-fighting foes,
Whose civil strife doth work our endless woes.

Life is a wandering course to doubtful rest;
As oft a cursed rise to damning leap,
As happy race to win a heavenly crest;

None being sure what final fruits to reap:
And who can like in such a life to dwell,

Whose ways are strict to heaven, but wide to hell?

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Come, cruel death, why lingerest thou so long?

What doth withhold thy dint from fatal stroke?

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Now prest I am, alas! thou dost me wrong,

To let me live, more anger to provoke:

Thy right is had when thou hast stopp'd my breath,
Why shouldst thou stay to work my double death?

If Saul's attempt in falling on his blade
As lawful were as eth to put in ure,
If Samson's lean a common law were made,
Of Abel's lot if all that would were sure,

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Then, cruel death, thou shouldst the tyrant play
With none but such as wished for delay.

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Where life is loved thou ready art to kill,

And to abridge with sudden pangs their joys;

Where life is loathed thou wilt not work their will,
But dost adjourn their death to their annoy.

To some thou art a fierce unbidden guest,

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But those that crave thy help thou helpest least.

Avaunt, O viper! I thy spite defy:

There is a God that overrules thy force,
Who can thy weapons to His will apply,
And shorten or prolong our brittle course.

I on His mercy, not thy might, rely;
To Him I live, for Him I hope to die.

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WHAT JOY TO LIVE

I WAGE no war, yet peace I none enjoy;
I hope, I fear, I fry in freezing cold;
I mount in mirth, still prostrate in annoy;
If all the world embrace yet nothing hold.
All wealth is want where chiefest wishes fail,
Yea life is loathed where love may not prevail.

For that I love I long, but that I lack;
That other love I loathe, and that I have;
All worldly freights to me are deadly wrack,
Men present hap, I future hopes do crave:
They, loving where they live, long life require,
To live where best I love, I death desire.

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Here loan is lent for love of filthy gain;

Most friends befriend themselves with friendship's show;

Here plenty peril, want doth breed disdain;

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Cares common are, joys faulty, short and few;

Here honor envied, meanness is despised;

Sin deemed solace, virtue little prized.

Here beauty is a bait that, swallow'd, chokes,

A treasure sought still in the owner's harms;

A light that eyes to murdering sights provokes,

A grace that souls enchants with mortal charms;

A luring gain to Cupid's fiery slights,

A baleful bliss that damns where it delights.

Oh! who would live so many deaths to try?

Where will doth wish that wisdom doth reprove, Where nature craves that grace must needs deny,

Where sense doth like that reason cannot love,

Where best in show in final proof is worst,

Where pleasures upshot is to die accurst?

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THE BURNING BABE

As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow, Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow; And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near,

A pretty babe all burning bright did in the air appear,

Who scorched with exceeding heat such floods of tears did shed, 5 As though His floods should quench His flames with what His tears were fed ;

Alas! quoth He, but newly born in fiery heats of fry,

Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel my fire but I!
My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns;
Love is the fire and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns; 10
The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals;
The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiled souls;
For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to their good,
So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my blood;
With this He vanish'd out of sight, and swiftly shrunk away, 15
And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas-day.

THE NATIVITY OF CHRIST

BEHOLD the father is his daughter's son,

The bird that built the nest is hatch'd therein,
The old of years an hour hath not outrun,

Eternal life to live doth now begin,

The word is dumb, the mirth of heaven doth weep,
Might feeble is, and force doth faintly creep.

O dying souls! behold your living spring!

O dazzled eyes! behold your sun of grace!

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Dull ears attend what word this word doth bring!
Up, heavy hearts, with joy your joy embrace!
From death, from dark, from deafness, from despairs,
This life, this light, this word, this joy repairs.

ΙΟ