THE PRAISE OF A TRUE FRIEND WHOSO that wisely weighs the profit and the price Of things wherein delight by worth is wont to rise, Shall find no jewel is so rich ne yet so rare What other wealth to man by fortune may befall, If Fortune friendly fawn, and lend thee wealthy store, Thus Fortune's pleasant fruits by friends increasèd be ; The bitter, sharp, and sour, by friends allay'd to thee : That when thou dost rejoice, then doubled is thy joy ; And eke in cause of care the less is thy annoy. Aloft if thou dost live, as one appointed here He seeketh to foresee the peril of thy fall; He findeth out thy faults, and warns thee of them all; Thee, not thy luck, he loves: whatever be thy case, He is thy faithful friend, and thee he doth embrace. If churlish cheer of chance have thrown thee into thrall, And succour, not to seek, before that thou can crave. Thus is thy friend to thee the comfort of thy pain, As wealth will bring thee friends in lowering woe to prove, So woe shall yield thee friends in laughing wealth to love : With wisdom choose thy friend ;— with virtue him retain ! Let virtue be the ground! So shall it not be vain. FROM THE PARADISE OF DAINTY DEVICES LIFE'S STAY Man's flitting life finds surest stay HE sturdy rock, for all his strength, THE By raging seas is rent in twain; With little drops of drizzling rain; The stately stag, that seems so stout, Is caught at length in fowler's net; Yea, man himself, unto whose will All things are bounden to obey, Doth fade at length and fall away. But Virtue sits, triumphing still, Upon the throne of glorious fame : By life or death, whatso betides, THE LOST FRIEND WH HY should I longer long to live Since Fortune doth not cease to give A friend I had, to me most dear, And of long time, faithful and just,— There was no one my heart so near, Nor one in whom I had more trust,— Whom now of late, without cause why, Fortune hath made my enemy. The grass, methinks, should grow in sky, The winds should leave their strength of blast, The sun and moon by one assent The fish in air should fly with fin, The fowls in flood should bring forth fry, All things, methinks, should first begin But such is Fortune's hate, I say, And ceaseth not my heart to break : Wherefore then longer live should I? MAY THEN MAY is in his prime, WH Then may each heart rejoice; When May bedecks each branch with green, Each bird strains forth his voice. The lively sap creeps up Into the blooming thorn; The flowers, which cold in prison kept, Now laugh the frost to scorn. All Nature's imps triumph Whiles joyful May doth last; When May is gone, of all the year The pleasant time is past. May makes the cheerful hue; May breeds and brings new blood ; May marcheth throughout every limb; May makes the merry mood. May pricketh tender hearts Their warbling notes to tune ;— Thus things are strangely wrought Take May in time! when May is gone, |