Resort there is of none but pilgrim-wights,

That pass with trembling foot and panting heart ; With terror cast in cold and shuddering frights,

They judge the place to terror framed by art.

Yet Nature's work it is, by art untouched ;

So strait indeed, so vast unto the eye,
With such disordered order strangely couched,

And so, with pleasing horror, low and high

That who it views must needs remain aghast,

Much at the work, more at the Maker's might ; And muse how Nature such a plot could cast,

Where nothing seemèd wrong, yet nothing right.

A place for mated minds, an only bower

Where every thing doth soothe a pensive mood; Earth lies forlorn, the cloudy sky doth lour,

The wind here weeps, here sighs, here cries aloud.

The struggling flood between the marble groans,

Then roaring beats upon the craggy sides ; A little off, amid the pebble stones,

With bubbling streams and purling noise it glides.

The pines thick set, high grown, and ever green,

Still clothe the place with shade and mourning veil ; Here gaping cliff, there moss-grown plain is seen;

Here hope doth spring, and there again doth quail.

Huge massy stones that hang by tickle stay,

Still threaten fall, and seem to hang in fear ; Some withered trees, ashamed of their decay,

Beset with green, are forced gray coats to wear. Here crystal springs crept out of secret vein Straight find some envious hole that hides their

grace ; Here serèd tufts lament the want of rain,

There thunder-wrack gives terror to the place.

All pangs and heavy passions here may find

A thousand motives suited to their griefs, To feed the sorrows of their troubled mind,

And chase away dame Pleasure's vain reliefs.

To plaining thoughts this vale a rest may be,

To which from worldly joys they may retire, Where Sorrow springs from water, stone, and tree ;

Where every thing with mourners doth conspire.
Set here, my soul, main streams of tears afloat,

Here all thy sinful foils alone recount,
Of solemn tunes make thou the dolefull'st note,

That to thy ditty's dolor may amount.

When Echo doth repeat thy plaintful cries

Think that the very stones thy sins bewray, And now accuse thee with their sad replies,

As heaven and earth shall in the later day.

Let former faults be fuel of the fire,

For grief, in limbeck of thy heart, to 'still Thy pensive thoughts and dumps of thy desire,

And vapour tears up to thy eyes at will.

Let tears to tunes, and pains to plaints be press'd,

And let this be the burden of thy song :
Come, deep Remorse, possess my sinful breast;

Delights, adieu ! I harbour'd you too long.

Upon the Image of Death

BEFORE my face the picture hangs

That daily should put me in mind
Of those cold names and bitter pangs

That shortly I am like to find :
But yet, alas ! full little I
Do think thereon, that I must die.

I often look upon a face

Most ugly, grisly, bare and thin ;
I often view the hollow place

Where eyes and nose had sometimes been :
I see the bones across that lie,
Yet little think that I must die.

I read the label underneath,

That telleth me whereto I must;
I see the sentence eke that saith :

Remember, man, that thou art dust."
But yet, alas ! but seldom I
Do think indeed that I must die.

Continually at my bed's head

A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell
That I ere morning may be dead,

Though now I feel myself full well :
But yet, alas ! all this, I
Have little mind that I must die.

The gown which I do use to wear,

The knife wherewith I cut my meat, And eke that old and ancient chair

Which is my only usual seat : All these do tell me I must die, And yet my life amend not I.

My ancestors are turned to clay,

And many of my mates are gone ; My youngers daily drop away,

And can I think to 'scape alone? No, no, I know that I must die, And yet my life amend not I.

Not Solomon, for all his wit,

Nor Samson, though he were so strong,
No king nor person ever yet

Could ’scape, but Death laid him along :
Wherefore I know that I must die,
And yet my life amend not I.

Though all the East did quake to hear
Of Alexander's dreadful name,
And all the West did likewise fear
To hear of Julius Cæsar's fame,
Yet both by Death in dust now lie;
Who then can 'scape, but he must die ?

If none can 'scape Death's dreadful dart ;
If rich and poor his beck obey;
If strong, if wise, if all do smart,

Then I to 'scape shall have no way.
Oh! grant me grace, O God! that I
My life may mend, sith I must die.

Life is but Loss

By force I live, in will I wish to die ;

In plaint I pass the length of ling'ring days; Free would my soul from mortal body fly

And tread the track of death's desired ways: Life is but loss where death is deemed gain, And loathed pleasures breed displeasing pain.

Who would not die to kill all murd'ring griefs?
Or who would live in never-dying fears?
Who would not wish his treasure safe from thieves,
And quit his heart from pangs, his eyes from tears?
Death parteth but two ever-fighting foes,

Whose civil strife doth work our endless woes.

Life is a wand'ring course to doubtful rest,
As oft a cursed rise to damning leap,

As happy race to win a heavenly crest ;
None being sure what final fruits to reap:

And who can like in such a life to dwell,

Whose ways are strait to heaven, but wide to hell?

Come, cruel death, why ling'rest thou so long?

What doth withhold thy dint from fatal stroke? Now press'd I am, alas ! thou dost me wrong

To let me live, more anger to provoke : Thy right is had when thou hast stopp'd my breath, Why shouldst thou stay to work my double death ?

1

If Saul's attempt in falling on his blade

As lawful were as ethe to put in ure;
If Samson's leave a common law were made ;

Of Abel's lot if all that would were sure ;
Then, cruel Death, thou shouldst the tyrant play
With none but such as wished for delay.
Where life is loved thou ready art to kill,

And to abridge with sudden pangs their joy ; Where life is loath'd thou wilt not work their will,

But dost adjourn their death to their annoy.
To some thou art a fierce unbidden guest;
But those that crave thy help thou helpest least.

Avaunt, O viper ! I thy spite defy ;

There is a God that overrules thy force,
Who can thy weapons to His will apply,

And shorten or prolong our brittle course :
I on His mercy, not thy might rely ;
To Him I live, for Him I hope to die.

1 As lawful as it were easy to put in practice.