O, who is he that in this peace enjoys
Th' elixir of all joys?

A form more fresh than are the Eden bowers,
And lasting as her flowers:

Richer than Time, and as Time's virtue rare:
Sober, as saddest care;

A fixed thought, an eye untaught to glance:
Who, blest with such high chance,
Would, at suggestion of a steep desire,
Cast himself from the spire

Of all his happiness? But, soft, I hear
Some vicious fool draw near,

That cries we dream, and swears there's no such thing
As this chaste love we sing.

Peace, Luxury, thou art like one of those
Who, being at sea, suppose,

Because they move, the continent doth so.
No, Vice, we let thee know,

Though thy wild thoughts with sparrows' wings do fly,
Turtles can chastely die.

And yet (in this t' express ourselves more clear)

We do not number here

Such spirits as are only continent

Because lust's means are spent;

Or those who doubt the common mouth of fame,
And for their place and name

Cannot so safely sin. Their chastity

Is mere necessity.

Nor mean we those whom vows and conscience
Have filled with abstinence:

Though we acknowledge, who can so abstain
Makes a most blessed gain;

He that for love of goodness hateth ill
Is more crown-worthy still
Than he, which for sin's penalty forbears:
His heart sins, though he fears.

But we propose a person like our Dove,
Grac'd with a Phoenix' love;

A beauty of that clear and sparkling light,
Would make a day of night,

And turn the blackest sorrows to bright joys:
Whose od❜rous breath destroys

All taste of bitterness, and makes the air
As sweet as she is fair.

A body so harmoniously composed,
As if nature disclosed

All her best symmetry in that one feature!
O, so divine a creature,

Who could be false to? chiefly when he knows
How only she bestows

The wealthy treasure of her love on him;
Making his fortunes swim

In the full flood of her admired perfection?
What savage, brute affection

Would not be fearful to offend a dame
Of this excelling frame?

Much more a noble and right generous mind
To virtuous moods inclined,

That knows the weight of guilt: he will refrain
From thoughts of such a strain;

And to his sense object this sentence ever,
'Man may securely sin, but safely never.'

B. Jonson

457.

Man's Medley

HARK how the birds do sing,

And woods do ring:

All creatures have their joy, and man hath his.
Yet if we rightly measure,

Man's joy and pleasure

Rather hereafter than in present is.

To this life things of sense

Make their pretence;

In th' other angels have a right by birth:

Man ties them both alone,

And makes them one

With th' one hand touching heaven, with t'other earth.

In soul he mounts and flies,

In flesh he dies;

He wears a stuff whose thread is coarse and round, But trimmed with curious lace,

And should take place

After the trimming, not the stuff and ground.

Not that he may not here

Taste of the cheer:

But as birds drink and straight lift up their head,
So must he sip and think

Of better drink

He may attain to after he is dead.

But as his joys are double,

So is his trouble;

He hath two winters, other things but one:
Both frosts and thoughts do nip
And bite his lip;

And he of all things fears two deaths alone.

Yet ev❜n the greatest griefs

May be reliefs,

Could he but take them right and in their ways.
Happy is he whose heart

WHERE

Where mightier do assault than do defend,

The feebler part puts up enforced wrong,

And silent sees that speech could not amend. Yet higher powers must think, though they repine, When sun is set, the little stars will shine.

While pike doth range the seely trench doth fly,
And crouch in privy creeks with smaller fish;
Yet pikes are caught when little fish go by,

These fleet afloat while those do fill the dish.
There is a time even for the worm to creep,
And suck the dew while all her foes do sleep.

The merlin cannot ever soar on high,

Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase; The tender lark will find a time to fly,

And fearful hare to run a quiet race: He that high growth on cedars did bestow, Gave also lowly mushrumps leave to grow.

In Aman's pomp poor Mardocheus wept,

Yet God did turn his fate upon his foe;
The lazar pined while Dives' feast was kept,
Yet he to heaven, to hell did Dives go.
We trample grass, and prize the flowers of May,
is green when flowers do fade away.

Yet grass

459.

Self-Trial

ET not the sluggish sleep
Close up thy waking eye,

Until with judgment deep
Thy daily deeds thou try:

R. Southwell

He that one sin in conscience keeps
When he to quiet goes,

More vent'rous is than he that sleeps
With twenty mortal foes.

460.

Amantium Irae

Anon.

IN going to my naked bed as one that would have slept,

wept;