He hangs in shades the orange bright,
Like golden lamps in a green night,
And does in the pomegranates close,
Jewels more rich than Ormus shows;
He makes the figs our mouths to meet,
And throws the melons at our feet,
But apples plants of such a price,
No tree could ever bear them twice;
With cedars chosen by his hand,
From Lebanon, he stores the land,
And makes the hollow seas, that roar,
Proclaim the ambergris on shore.
He cast (of which we rather boast)
The gospel's pearl upon our coast;
And in these rocks for us did frame
A temple where to sound his name.
Oh! let our voice his praise exalt,
Till it arrive at heaven's vault,
Which then, perhaps, rebounding, may
Echo beyond the Mexique Bay."
Thus sung they, in the English boat,
A holy and a cheerful note;
And all the way, to guide their chime,
With falling oars they kept the time.
There can be slain
No sacrifice to God more acceptable
Than an unjust and wicked King.
FROM WITHER'S MOTTO.
(Nec habeo, nec careo, nec curo.)
HAVE no pleasure in acquaintance where
The rules of state and ceremony are
Observed so seriously, that I must dance
And act o'er all the compliments of France
And Spain and Italy before I can
Be taken for a well-bred Englishman ;
And every time we meet, be forced again
To put in action that most idle scene.
'Mong these, much precious time (unto my cost)
And much true, hearty meaning have I lost.
Which having found, I do resolve therefore
To lose my Time and Friendship so no more.
I have no Muses that will serve the turn
At every triumph, and rejoice or mourn
Upon a minute's warning for their hire,
If with old sherry they themselves inspire.
I am not of a temper like to those
That can provide an hour's sad talk in prose
For any funeral, and then go dine,
And choke my grief with sugar-plums and wine.
I cannot at the claret sit and laugh,
And then, half tipsy, write an epitaph.
I cannot (for my life) my pen compel
Upon the praise of any man to dwell,
Unless I know, or think, at least, his worth
To be the same which I have blazed forth.
Had I some honest suit, the gain of which
Would make me noble, eminent, and rich,
And that to compass it no means there were,
Unless I basely flatter'd some great peer ;
Would with that suit my ruin I might get,
If on those terms I would endeavour it.
I have no friends, that once affected were,
But to my heart this day they sit as near
As when I most endeared them, though they seem
To fall from my opinion or esteem;
For precious time in idle would be spent,
If I with all should always compliment ;
And till my love I may to purpose show,
I care not whe'r they think I love or no :
For sure I am, if any find me changed,
Their greatness, not their meanness, me estranged.
I have not been ashamed to confess
My lowest fortunes, or the kindnesses
Of poorest men; nor have I proud been made
By any favour from a great man had.
I have not fear'd who my religion knows;
Nor ever for preferment made I shows
Of what I was not. For, although I may
Through want be forced to put on worse array
Upon my body, I will ever find
Means to maintain a habit for my mind
Of truth in grain: and wear it in the sight
Of all the world, in all the world's despite.
What man is there among us doth not know
A thousand men this night to bed will go
Of many a hundred goodly things possest,
That shall have nought to-morrow but a chest,
And one poor sheet to lie in? What I may
Next morning have, I know not; but to-day
A friend, meat, drink, and fitting clothes to wear,
Some books and papers which my jewels are,
A servant and a horse, all this I have,
And, when I die, one promised me a grave.
A grave, that quiet closet of content;
And I have built myself a monument.
But, as I live, excepting only this,
Which of my wealth the inventory is,
I have so little, I my oath might save,
If I should take it, that I nothing have.
And yet what Want I? or who knoweth how
I may be richer made than I am now?
For as we see the smallest vials may
As full as greatest glasses be, though they
Much less contain, so my small portion gives
That full content to me in which he lives
Who most possesseth; and with larger store
I might fill others, but myself no more.
To what contents do men most wealthy mount
Which I enjoy not?
If their cares we count,
My clothing keeps me full as warm as their,
My meats unto my taste as pleasing are;
I feed enough my hunger to suffice;
I sleep till I myself am pleased to rise ;
My dreams are sweet, and full of quiet be;
My waking cares as seldom trouble me.
I have as often times a sunny day,
And sport and laugh and sing as well as they;
I breathe as wholesome and as sweet an air,
As loving is my mistress, and as fair.
My body is as healthy, and I find
As little cause of sickness in my mind.
I am as wise, I think, as some of those;
And oft myself as foolishly dispose.
Yet I confess, in this my pilgrimage,
I like some infant am of tender age.
For as the child who from his father hath
Strayed in some grove, through many a crooked path,
Is sometime hopeful that he finds the way,
And sometime doubtful he runs more astray;
Sometime with fair and easy paths doth meet,
Sometime with rougher tracts that stay his feet;
Here runs, there goes, and yon amazed stays,
Now cries, and straight forgets his care and plays;
Then, hearing where his loving Father calls,
Makes haste, but, through a zeal ill-guided, falls;
Or runs some other way, until that He
(Whose love is more than his endeavours be)
To seek the wanderer forth, Himself doth come,
And take him in His arms, and bear him home.
So in this life, this grove of ignorance,
As to my homeward I myself advance,
Sometime aright, and sometime wrong I go,
Sometime my pace is speedy, sometime slow;
Sometime I stagger, and sometime I fall;
Sometime I sing, sometime for help I call.
One while my ways are pleasant unto me,
Another while, as full of cares they be:
Now I have courage, and do nothing fear;
Anon, my spirits half-dejected are.
I doubt, and hope, and doubt, and hope again,
And many a change of passions I sustain,
In this my journey: so that now and then,
I lost may seem perhaps to other men.
But, whatsoe'er betide, I know full well,
My Father who above the clouds doth dwell,
An eye upon his wandering child doth cast,
And He will fetch me to my home at last.
Then to vouchsafe me yet more favours here,
He that supplies my want hath took my Care.
A rush I care not who condemneth me,
That sees not what my soul's intentions be.
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