SIR JOHN HARINGTON. [Born in 1561, son of a natural daughter of Henry VIII.; died in 1612. Author of the celebrated translation of Ariosto's Orlando Furioso].. OF A PRECISE TAILOR. A TAILOR, à man of an upright dealing, He heard three lectures and two sermons weekly; And brought three yards of velvet and three quarters, He, that precisely knew what was enough, 66 66 Remember, Master, how you saw the vision!" Peace, knave," quoth he; "I did not see one rag SIR JOHN DAVIES. [Born in 1570; died in 1626, in which year he had been appointed Lord Chief Justice. Author of the noted work Nosce Teipsum, published in 1599, and accounted one of the prime specimens of the so-called "Metaphysical School" of poetry.] A RIDDLE UPON A COFFIN. And he that brought it would not use it; IN GERONTEM. GERON his mouldy memory corrects Out of all actions done these fourscore year; Not from Christ's birth, nor from the Prince's reign, Which in men's general notice doth remain,- That cart-wheels' prints on Thamis' face were graven, By these events, notorious to the people, He measures times, and things forepast doth show. A private chance,-the death of his curst wife; And the happiest accident of all his life. JOHN DONNE, [Born in London, 1573; died there, 31 March 1631. Donne was at first destined for the law: afterwards he travelled in Italy, Spain, and elsewhere; and then became Secretary to Lord Chancellor Egerton. He incurred great displeasure by contracting a clandestine marriage with the Chancellor's niece, daughter of Sir George More. Finally, after serious studies, he entered holy orders, and became Dean of St. Paul's. In all his vocations he excited great admiration, and as a clergyman he was highly revered. The poems of Donne are loaded with ingenious thought; often provokingly involved or paradoxical, and thwarting the true and natural course of poesy,-yet it is constantly thought, not mere whim or wire-drawing. A large and keen intellect, and a fervid poetic sense, are united in Donne; and combine to produce poetry much of which is truly fine, and can even become fascinating to a reader willing to "acclimatize" himself in this rarefied and vibrating atmosphere. Few English poetic writers give indication of a more masculine capacity. The man of the world, of adventure and gallantry, is quite as prominent in the verses as the student or divine; and it is often startling to reflect that the personage so thorough-going in th former character was the same who shone with genuire sanctity in the latter.] SONG. Go and catch a falling star, Get with child a mandrake root; What wind Serves to advance an honest mind. If thou beest born to strange sights, Ride ten thousand days and nights, Till age snow white hairs on thee; Lives a woman true and fair. If thou find'st one, let me know; Though at next door we might meet. And last till you write your letter, Yet she Will be False, ere I come, to two or three. WOMAN'S CONSTANCY. Now thou hast loved me one whole day, Or say that now We are not just those persons which we were? Of Love, and his wrath, any may forswear? So lovers' contracts, images of those, Bind but till sleep, death's image, them unloose); For, having purposed change and falsehood, you For by to-morrow I may think so too. THE INDIFFERENT. I CAN love both fair and brown; Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays; Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks and plays; Her whom the country formed, and whom the town ; Her who believes, and her who tries; Her who still weeps with spongy eyes, And her who is dry cork, and never cries; I can love her, and her, and you, and you,— I can love any, so she be not true. Will no other vice content you? Will it not serve your turn to do as did your mothers? Or have you all old vices spent, and now would find out others? Or doth a fear that men are true torment you? Oh we are not; be not you so! Let me, and do you, twenty know! Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go. Must I, who came to travel thorough you, Grow your fixed subject, because you are true? Venus heard me sigh this song; And by Love's sweetest part, Variety, she swore, She heard not this till now; it should be so no more. She went, examined, and returned ere long, Poor Heretics in love there be Which think to stablish dangerous constancy. THE WILL. BEFORE I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe, Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore By making me serve her who had twenty more, That I should give to none but such as had too much before. My constancy I to the Planets give; My truth to them who at the Court do live; Mine ingenuity and openness, To Jesuits, to Buffoons my pensiveness; Thou, Love, taught'st me, by appointing me My faith I give to Roman Catholics; My patience let gamesters share. Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity. I give my reputation to those Which were my friends; mine industry to foes; My sickness to Physicians, or excess; To Nature, all that I in rhyme have writ; Thou, Love, by making me adore Her who begot this love in me before, Taught'st me to make as though I gave when I do but restore. To him for whom the passing-bell next tolls, I give my physic-books; my written rolls Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give; My brazen medals, unto them which live F |