A several sin to every sense, But felt through all this fleshly dress O how I long to travel back, And tread again that ancient track! H. Vaughan L LXXVI TO MR. LAWRENCE AWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire, Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won From the hard season gaining? Time will run What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air? He who of those delights can judge, and spare J. Milton C LXXVII TO CYRIACK SKINNER `YRIACK, whose grandsire, on the royal bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws, Which others at their bar so often wrench; To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench And what the Swede intends, and what the French. To measure life learn thou betimes, and know And disapproves that care, though wise in show, LXXVIII HYMN TO DIANA UEEN and Huntress, chaste and fair, O° Seated in thy silver chair State in wonted manner keep : Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Heaven to clear when day did close: Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever : Thou that mak'st a day of night, Goddess excellently bright! B. Jonson LXXIX WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS THOE'ER she be, W That not impossible She That shall command my heart and me; Where'er she lie, Lock'd up from mortal eye In shady leaves of destiny: Till that ripe birth Of studied Fate stand forth, And teach her fair steps to our earth; Till that divine Idea take a shrine Of crystal flesh, through which to shine: - Meet you her, my Wishes, Bespeak her to my blisses, And be ye call'd, my absent kisses. I wish her beauty That owes not all its duty To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie: Something more than Taffata or tissue can, Or rampant feather, or rich fan. A face that's best By its own beauty drest, And can alone command the rest: A face made up Out of no other shop Than what Nature's white hand sets ope. Sydneian showers Of sweet discourse, whose powers Can crown old Winter's head with flowers. Whate'er delight Can make day's forehead bright Or give down to the wings of night. Soft silken hours, Open suns, shady bowers; 'Bove all, nothing within that lowers. Days, that need borrow No part of their good morrow Days, that in spite Of darkness, by the light Of a clear mind are day all night. |