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But when the flame is out,
I turn a late enraged foe
And taught with often proof,
Best cure for angry mind.
Can cast my comforts down: When fortune smiles, I smile to think How quickly she will frown;
And when in froward mood,
A CONTENTED MIND.
I WEIGH not Fortune's frown or smile,
I joy not much in earthly joys;
I seek not state, I reck not stile,
I quake not at the thunder's crack,
I see ambition never pleas'd,
I see some Tantals starv'd in store; I see gold's dropsy seldom eas'd,
I see e'en Midas gape for more. I neither want, nor yet abound: Enough's a feast; content is crown'd.
I feign not friendship where I hate,
Neither too lofty nor too low;
LIKE as the damask rose you see,
The gourd consumes,—and man he dies.
Or like the bird that's here to day,
* This specimen was accidentally omitted in the first Edition, and is now inserted in place of "Times go by Turns," by Southwell.
VIRTUE NOT HEREDITARY.
THAT height and god-like purity of mind
To names, and to be limited doth scorn:
Richest and poorest, both alike are born; And to be always pertinently good,
Follows not still the greatness of our blood. Virtue, but poor, God in this earth doth place, 'Gainst this rude world to stand upon His right; To suffer sad affliction and disgrace,
Not ceasing to pursue her with despite :
And seeming in most miserable plight,
For her dear sake that offereth him to die;
Looketh upon it with a pleased eye;
What's done for virtue thinking it doth merit,
More worth than life, howe'er the base world rate him,
SIR HENRY WOTTON.
THE HAPPY LIFE.
How happy is he born and taught
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
Whose passions not his masters are,
Of public fame or private breath.
Who envies none that chance doth raise,
Who hath his life from rumours freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Who God doth late and early pray
This man is freed from servile bands
SIR JOHN DAVIES.
THE IMMORTALITY OF THE SOUL.
O IGNORANT poor man! what dost thou bear
Lock'd up within the casket of thy breast? What jewels, and what riches hast thou there? What heav'nly treasure in so weak a chest?
Look in thy soul, and thou shalt beauties find,
And all that in the world is counted good.
Think of her worth, and think that God did mean,
This worthy mind should worthy things embrace : Blot not her beauties with thy thoughts unclean, Nor her dishonour with thy passion base.
Kill not her quick'ning power with surfeitings:
And when thou think'st of her eternity,
Think not that death against her nature is; Think it a birth: and when thou go'st to die, Sing like a swan, as if thou went'st to bliss.
And if thou, like a child, didst fear before,
Being in the dark, where thou didst nothing see; Now I have brought thee torch light, fear no more;
Now when thou diest, thou canst not hoodwink'd be.
And thou, my soul, which turn'st with curious eye
While thou art clouded with this flesh of mine,
Take heed of overweening, and compare
Thy peacock's feet with thy gay peacock's train:
Cast down thyself, and only strive to raise