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When, lo! that great and fearful God of might

To that fair Hebrew strangely doth appear, In a bush, burning visible and bright,

Yet unconsuming, as no fire there were : With hair erected, and upturned eyes,

Whilst he, with great astonishment admires, Lo! that Eternal Rector of the skies

Thus breathes to Moses from those quickening fires :

“Shake off thy sandals," saith the thundering God,

“ With humbled feet my wondrous power to sce; For that the soil where thou hast boldly trod,

Is most select and hallowed unto me:

“ The righteous Abraham for his God me knew,

Isaac and Jacob trusted in my name, And did believe my covenant was true,

Which to their seed shall propagate the same.

“My folk that long in Egypt had been barred,

Whose cries have entered heaven's eternal gate, Our zealous mercy openly hath heard,

Kneeling in tears at our Eternal State ;

“ And am come down, then, in the land to see,

Where streams of milk through fruitful valleys flow, And luscious honey dropping from the tree,

Load the full flowers that in their shadows grow:

“By thee my power am purposed to try,

That from rough bondage shalt the Hebrews bring, Bearing that great and fearful embassy

To that monarchaic and imperious king.

“ And on this mountain, standing in thy sight,

When thou returnest from that conquered land, Thou hallowed altars unto me shalt light,

This for a token certainly shall stand."


That height and godlike purity of mind

Resteth not still where titles most adorn ; With any, not peculiarly confined

To names, and to be limited doth scorn:
Man doth the most degenerate from kind,

Richest and poorest, both alike are born;
And to be always pertinently good,
Follows not still the greatness of our blood.

Pity it is, that to one virtuous man

That mark him lent, to gentry to advance, Which, first by noble industry he wan,

His baser issue after should enhance ; And the rude slave not any good that can

Such should thrust down by what is his by chance. As had not he been first that him did raise, Ne’er had his great heir wrought his grandsire's praise.

You that but boast your ancestor's proud style,
And the large stem whence

your vain greatness grew; When you yourselves are ignorant and vile,

Nor glorious thing dare actually pursue,
That all good spirits would utterly exile,

Doubting their worth should else discover you,
Giving yourselves unto ignoble things-
Base, I proclaim you, though derived from kings.

Virtue, but poor, God in this earth doth place, 'Gainst this rude world to stand


his right; To suffer sad affliction and disgrace,

Not ceasing to pursue her with despite : Yet when of all she is accounted base,

And seeming in most miserable plight, Out of her power new life to her doth take: Least then dismayed, when all do her forsake.

That is the man of an undaunted spirit,

For her dear sake that offereth him to die ;
For whom when him the world doth disinherit,

Looketh upon it with a pleased eye;
What's done for virtue thinking it doth merit,

Daring the proudest menaces defy;
More worth than life, howe'er the base world rate him,
Beloved of heaven, although the world doth hate him.


This elegant writer was born in Kent, in 1568. He was appointed to several public offices in the reign of Elizabeth ; but after a while he fell into disgrace, and then he lived abroad, till the accession of James I., when he was appointed ambassador to Venice. He was the author of a variety of works, chiefly upon political subjects; of some of a religious character, and of a few poetical pieces of great beauty. He died in 1640.


FAREWELL, ye gilded follies, pleasing troubles ;
Farewell, ye honored rags, ye glorious bubbles ;
Fame's but a hollow echo; gold, pure clay ;
Honor, the darling but of one short day;
Beauty, the eye's idol, a damasked skin ;
State, but a golden prison to live in,
And torture free-born minds; embroidered trains,
Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins ;
And blood allied to greatness is alone
Inherited, not purchased, nor our own:

Fame, honor, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth,
Are but the fading blossoms of the earth.

I would be great, but that the sun doth still
Level his rays against the rising hill ;
I would be high, but see the proudest oak
Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke; .
I would be rich, but see men too unkind
Dig in the bowels of the richest mind ;
I would be wise, but that I often see
The fox suspected, while the ass goes free ;
I would be fair, but see the fair and proud,
Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud ;
I would be poor, but know the humble grass,
Still trampled on by each unworthy ass :
Rich, hated; wise, suspected ; scorned, if poor ;
Great, feared ; fair, tempted ; high, still envied more.

I have wished all ; but now I wish for neither-
Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair,-poor I'll be rather.

Would the world now adopt me for her heir,
Would Beauty's queen

entitle me

“ the Fair,"
Fame speak me Fortune's minion ; could I vie
Angels with India ; with a speaking eye
Command bare heads, bowed knees, strike justice dumb,
As well as blind and lame, or give a tongue
To stones by epitaphs; be called “ Great Master,”
In the loose rhymes of every poetaster;
Could I be more than any man that lives,
Great, fair, rich, wise, in all superlatives ;
Yet I more freely would these gifts resign,
Than ever fortune would have made them mine,

And hold one minute of this holy leisure,
Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure.

Welcome, pure thoughts, welcome, ye silent

groves, These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves: Now the winged people of the sky shall sing My cheerful anthems to the gladsome Spring ; A prayer-book now shall be my looking-glass, In which I will adore sweet Virtue's face.

Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace-cares,
No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-faced fears.
Then here I'll sit and sigh my hot love's folly,
And learn t' affect an holy melancholy;

And if contentment be a stranger then,
I'll ne'er look for it but in heaven again.

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How happy is he born and taught

That serveth not another's will,
Whose armor is his honest thought,

And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose passions not his masters are,

Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the worldly care

Of public fame or private breath.

Who envies none that chance doth raise,

Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given by praise,

Nor rules of state, but rules of good.

Who hath his life from rumors freed,

Whose conscience is his strong retreat, Whose state can neither flatterers feed,

Nor ruin make oppressors great.

Who God doth late and early pray

More of his grace than gifts to lend,
And entertains the harmless day

With a religious book or friend.

This man is freed from servile bands

Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;

And having nothing, yet hath all.

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