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Of that deare Lord with so entyre affection,
And sharply launcing every inner part,
Dolours of death into his soul did dart,
Doing him die that never it deserved,
To free his foes that from his breast had swerved.
What hart can feel least touch of so sore launch,
Or thought can think the depth of so deare wound,
Whose bleeding sourse their streames yet never staunch,
But stil do flow, and freshly still redownd
To heale the sores of sinfull soules unsound,
And clense the guilt of that infected cryme
Which was enrooted in all fleshly slyme ?
O blessed Well of Love ! O Floure of Grace !
O glorious Morning Starre ! 0 Lampe of Light!
Most lively image of thy Fathers face!
Eternal King of Glorie Lord of Might!
Meeke Lambe of God, before all worlds benight!
How can we thee requite for all this good,
Or what can prize that thy most precious blood ?
Yet nought thou ask’st in lieu of all this love,
But love of us for guerdon of thy paine.
Ay me! what can us lesse than that behove?
Had he required life for us againe,
Had it beene wrong to ask his owne with gaine ?
He gave us life, he it restored lost,
Then life were least, that us so little cost.
But he our life hath left unto us free,
Free that was thrall, and blessed that was band ;6
Ne ought demaunds, but that we loving bee,
As he himselfe hath lov'd us afore-hand;
And bound therto with an eternall band,
Him first to love that was so dearely bought,
And next our brethren to his image wrought.
Him first to love great right and reason is,
He first to us our life and being gave;
And after, when we fared had amisse,
Us wretches from the second death did save ;
And last the food of life, which now we have,
Even he Himselfe in his dear sacrament,
To feede our hungry soules, unto us lent.
Then rouze thyself, O Earth, out of thy soyle
In which thou wallowest like to filthy swyne,
And doest thy mynd in durty pleasures moyle,
Unmindfull of that dearest Lord of thyne :
Lift up to him thy heavie clouded eyne,
That thou this soveraine bountie mayst behold,
And read through love his mercies manifold.
Then shalt thou feele thy spirit so possest,
And ravisht with devouring great desire
Of his dear selfe, that shall thy feeble brest
Inflame with love, and set thee all on fire
With burning zeale, through every part entire;
That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight,
But in his sweet and amiable sight.
Thenceforth all worlds desire will in thee dye,
And all earthes glorie on which men do gaze,
Seeme dust and drosse in thy pure-sighted eye,
Compared to that celestiall beauties blaze,
Whose glorious beames all fleshly sense doth daze
With admiration of their passing light,
Blinding the eyes and lumining? the spright.
Then shall thy ravisht soul inspired bee
With heavenly thoughts farre above humane skil;
And thy bright radiant eyes shall plainely see
Th' idee of his pure glorie present still
Before thy face, that all thy spirits shall fill
With sweete enragements of celestiall love,
Kindled through sight of those faire things above.
THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS. And is there care in Heaven? And is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move? There is :-else much more wretched were the case Of men than beasts : but O! th' exceeding grace Of highest God, that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe! How oft do they their silver bowers leave To come to succour us that succour want !
How oft do they with golden pinions cleave
The Alitting skies, like fying pursuivant,
Against foul fiends to aid us militant !
They for us fight, they watch and duly ward,
And their bright squadrons round about us plant ;
And all for love and nothing for reward :
0, why should heavenly God to men have such regard ?
Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brere ;'
Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough;
Sweet is the eglantine, but pricketh near;
Sweet is the firbloom, but his branches rough ;
Sweet is the cyprus, but his rind is tough;
Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill;
Sweet is the broom flower, but yet sour enough;
And sweet is moly, but his root is ill :
So, every sweet with sour is tempered still ;
That maketh it be coveted the more :
For easy things that may be got at will
Most sorts of men do set but little store.
Why then should I account of little pain
That endless pleasure shall unto me gain ?
FROM "THE EPITHALAMION." Wake now, my love, awake ; for it is time; The rosy morn long since left Tithon's bed, All ready to her silver coach to climb; And Phoebus 'gins to show his glorious head. Hark! now the cheerful birds do chant their lays, And carol of Love's praise. The merry lark her matins sings aloft ; The thrush replies ; the mavis descant plays; The ouzel shrills ; the ruddock warbles soft; So goodly all agree, with sweet consent, To this day's merriment. Ah! my dear love, why do you sleep thus long, When meeter were that you should now awake, T await the coming of your joyous make, And hearken to the birds' love-learned song, The dewy leaves among ! For they of joy and pleasance to you sing, That all the woods them answer and their echo ring.
But if ye saw that which no eyes can see,
The inward beauty of her lively sprite,
Garnished with heavenly gifts of high degree,
Much more then would ye wonder at that sight,
And stand astonished like to those which read
Medusa's mazeful head.
There dwells sweet Love and constant Chastity,
Unspotted Faith and comely Womanhood,
Regard of Honour and mild Modesty;
There Virtue reigns as queen in royal throne,
And giveth laws alone,
The which the base affections do obey,
And yield their services unto her will;
Ne thought of things uncomely ever may
Thereto approach to tempt her mind to ill.
Had ye once seen these her celestial treasures
And unrevealed pleasures,
Then would ye wonder, and her praises sing,
That all the woods would answer, and your echo ring.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH was born at Hayes Farm, in Devonshire, A.D. 1552. He studied at Oxford, and afterwards served as a soldier in France, the Netherlands, and Ireland. His naval career was yet more renowned than his military. His services against the Spanish Armada gained him glory; and he was appointed general of the expedition against Panama; his success on which occasion so considerably increased his fortunes, that he was able to build a stately residence on the manor of Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, awarded to him by the queen. He had already received a grant of 42,000 acres at Youghall out of the Desmond forfeitures. On various other expeditions,-in part of a colonising character, and in part of what would now be called a buccaneering one,-Raleigh displayed extraordinary courage and enterprise, and not a little unscrupulousness. He experienced, however, the vicissitudes of fortune. The favour of Elizabeth had been uncertain : her successor deprived Raleigh of his estate to bestow it on his favourite, Carr; and threw him into prison upon charges never proved. The most adventurous man of the time languished in captivity during fifteen years. He solaced himself by the composition of his History of the World ; a work which proves that, like many others in that age of heroic strength united with keen and hardy intellect, he had not forsaken the pursuits of learning amid the storms of public life. After an unsuccessful expedition to Guiana, which the king had permitted him to undertake; -a permission which had amounted either to a recog
nition of his innocence, or to forgiveness, Raleigh was executed in Old Palace Yard, on the 29th of October 1618; the original sentence against him being thus carried out after the lapse of years.
THE SOUL'S ERRAND.
[Attributed to Sir Walter Raleigh.]
Go, Soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
Fear not to touch the best,
The truth shall be thy warrant ;
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.
Go, tell the Court it glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Go, tell the Church it shows
What's good and doth no good;
If Church and Court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
Tell potentates they live,
Acting by others' actions,
Not loved unless they give,
Not strong but by their factions ;
If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lie.
Tell men of high condition
That rule affairs of state,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate;
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.
Tell Zeal it lacks deyotion,
Tell Love it is but lust,
Tell Time it is but motion,
Tell Flesh it is but dust;
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.