If it be sweet, how comes it bitter then?
If it be bitter, what bewitcheth men?

If it be friend, why kills it, as a foe,
Vain-minded men that over-love and lust it?
If it be foe, fondling, how dar'st thou trust it?

OMNIA SOMNIA.

O, silly worm, drudge, trudge, and travel,
Despising pain, so thou may'st gain.
Some honour or some golden gravel;
But death the while, to fill his number,

With sudden call takes thee from all,
To prove thy days but dream and slumber.

EMBLEMA.

RIEND faber, cast me a round hollow ball,

FRI

Blown full of wind, for emblem of this All ;

Adorn it fair, and flourish every part

With flowers and fruits, with brooks, beasts, fish, and fowl,

With rarest cunning of thy curious art:

And grave in gold, about my silver bowl,
Thus rolls the world, the idol of mankind,
Whose fruit is fiction; whose foundation wind.

W

Of those huge haughty earthborn giants? Where are the lofty towers and forts

Of those proud kings bade Heaven defiance? When these I to my mind revoke,

Methinks I see a mighty smoke

Thick mounting from quick-burning matter,
Which in an instant winds do scatter.

THE

MORS MORTIS.

HE World and Death one day them cross-disguised, To cozen man, when sin had once beguiled him. Both called him forth, and questioning advisèd

To say whose servant .he would fairly yield him.

Man, weening then but to the World to' have given him,
By the false World became the slave of Death;
But from their fraud he did appeal by faith

TO HIM whose death killed Death, and from the world has driven him.

I

A CONTENTED MIND.

WEIGH not fortune's frown or smile;

I joy not much in earthly joys;

I seek not state, I seek not style;
I am not fond of fancy's toys;
I rest so pleased with what I have,
I wish no more, no more I crave.
I quake not at the thunder's crack;
I tremble not at noise of war;
I swound not at the news of wrack;
I shrink not at a blazing star;
I fear not loss, I hope not gain,
I envy none, I none disdain.

I see ambition never pleased;

I see some Tantals starved in store;

I see gold's dropsy seldom eased;
I see e'en Midas gape for more:
I neither want, nor yet abound—
Enough's a feast, content is crowned.
I feign not friendship, where I hate;
I fawn not on the great in show;
I prize, I praise a mean estate—
Neither too lofty nor too low:

This, this is all my choice, my cheer-
A mind content, a conscience clear.

CONTENT.

BY ROBERT GREENE.-1560-92.

[ROBERT GREENE was born at Norwich, about the year 1560, and after having been educated at Cambridge, travelled in foreign countries. When he returned to England he took orders, but, unfortunately, was a discredit to his profession on account of the irregularity of his life: in consequence he was deprived of his vicarage. He died in 1592, from excess at table. Some time before his death, however, he began to feel the pangs of remorse; and in one of his plays, draws an affecting picture of genius debased by vice.]

WEET are the thoughts that savour of content :

SWEET

The quiet mind is richer than a crown:

Sweet are the nights in careless slumber spent:

The poor estate scorns Fortune's angry frown.

Such sweet content, such minds, such sleep, such bliss,
Beggars enjoy, when princes oft do miss.
The homely house that harbours quiet rest,
The cottage that affords no pride nor care,
The mean, that 'grees with country music best,
The sweet consort of mirth's and music's fare.
Obscured life sets down a type of bliss;
A mind content both crown and kingdom is.

"AH! WHAT IS LOVE?"

AH! what is love? It is a pretty thing,

As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,
And sweeter too:

For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest cares to frown:

Ah then, ah then,

If country loves such sweet desires gain,

What lady would not love a shepherd swain?