I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope, that there

It could not wither'd be.

But thou thereon didst only breathe,
And sent'st it back to me;

Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself, but thee.

As she goes all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty;

And enamour'd do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,

That they still were to run by her side,

Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

Do but look on her eyes, they do light

All that Love's world compriseth!

Do but look on her, she is bright

As Love's star when it riseth;

Do but mark, her forehead's smoother
Than words that soothe her!

And from her arch'd brows such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,

As alone there triumphs to the life

All the gain, all the good of the elements' strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,

Before rude hands have touch'd it?
Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow,
Before the soil hath smutch'd it?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver,
Or swan's down ever?

Or have smell'd of the bud o' the brier?
Or the 'nard in the fire?

Or have tasted the bag of the bee?

O so white! O so soft! O so sweet is she!

THE NOBLE NATURE.

T is not growing like a tree

IT

In bulk, doth make Man better be;

Or standing long an oak, three hundred year,

To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere:

A lily of a day

Is fairer far in May,

Although it fall and die that night-

It was the plant and flower of Light.
In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.

[SIR HENRY WOTTON was born at Bocton Hall, in Kent, in 1568, and was educated at Oxford. After leaving that University, he travelled on the Continent, and when he returned to England, became secretary to the Earl of Essex; but, perceiving the approaching fall of that nobleman he again left the kingdom, only just in time to secure his own safety. James I. employed him in several embassies, but he lost that monarch's confidence by writing in a friend's album, as a definition, "An ambassador is an

honest man sent to lie abroad for the good of his country," which was quoted eight years after by an adversary of the king, as one of the principles on which he acted. An ingenious and eloquent apology at length satisfied James, and Wotton was restored to favour. He was afterwards made Provost of Eton, and, to comply with the statutes, took holy orders. He died in 1639.]

You

meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes

More by your number than your light!
You common people of the skies!
What are you, when the sun shall rise?

You curious chanters of the wood,

That warble forth dame Nature's lays,
Thinking your voices understood

By your weak accents! what's your praise
When Philomel her voice shall raise?

You violets that first appear,

By your pure purple mantles known,
Like the proud virgins of the year,
As if the spring were all your own?
What are you, when the rose is blown?

So, when my mistress shall be seen
In form and beauty of her mind;
By virtue first, then choice, a Queen!
Tell me, if she were not design'd
Th' eclipse and glory of her kind?

THE HAPPY LIFE.

HOW happy is he born and taught,

That serveth not another's will;
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death;
Not tied unto the world with 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 rumours freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make accusers 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.