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Earth, let not thy envious shade

Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear, when day did close: 10

Bless us then with wished sight,

Goddess excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,

And thy crystal shining quiver;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short soever;

Thou that makest a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright.

BEN JONSON.

SONG TO CELIA. DRINK to me only with thine eyes,

And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup,

And I'll not look for wine:
The thirst that from the soul doth rise, 5

Doth ask a drink divine,
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,

I would not change for thine.
I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

Not so much honouring thee,
As giving it a hope that there

It could not wither'd be:
But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent'st it back to me:
Since when it grows and smells, I swear, 15

Not of itself, but thee. BEN JONSON.

10

THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.
How happy is he born and taught,

That serveth not another's will ;
Whose armour is his honest thought,

And simple truth his utmost skill:
Whose passions not his masters are,

Whose soul is still prepared for death;
Not tied unto the world with care

Of public fame, or private breath :
Who envies none that chance doth raise,

Nor vice hath ever understood;
How deepest wounds are given by praise,

Nor rules of state, but rules of good:
Who hath his life from rumours freed,

Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed, 15

Nor ruin make oppressors great:
Who God doth late and early pray,

More of his grace than gifts to lend;
And entertains the harmless day
With a religious book or friend!

20 This man is freed from servile bands,

Of hope to rise or fear to fall :
Lord of himself, though not of lands;
And having nothing, yet hath all.

WOTTON.

YOU MEANER BEAUTIES OF THE NIGHT. You meaner beauties of the night,

That poorly satisfy our eyes

More by your number than your light;

You common people of the skies,

What are you when the Moon shall rise ? 5
Ye violets that first appear,

By your pure purple mantles known,
Like the proud virgins of the year,

As if the Spring were all your own;
What are you when the Rose is blown? 10
Ye curious chanters of the wood,

That warble forth dame Nature's lays,
Thinking your passions understood

By your weak accents; what's your praise,
When Philomel her voice shall raise ? 15
So when my mistress shall be seen

In sweetness of her looks and mind;
By virtue first, then choice a queen;

Tell me, if she was not design'd
The eclipse and glory of her kind ?

WoTToN.

THE POVERTY OF RICHES. Want is the badge of poverty: then he That wanteth most, is the most poor, say we. The wretch that hunger drives from door to door, Aiming at present alms, desires no more. The toiling swain, that hath with pleasing trouble 5 Cookt a small fortune, would that fortune double, Which dearly bought with slavery, then (alas !) He would be deem'd a man, that's well to pass : Which got, his mind 's now tickled with an itch, But to deserve that glorious stile of rich.

That done, he enjoys the crown of all his labour,
Could he but once out-nose his right-hand neighbour :
Lives he at quiet now ? Now he begins
To wish that usury were the least of sins :
But great or small, he tries, and sweet's the trouble, 15
And for its sake he wisheth all things double ;
Thus wishing still, his wishes never cease,
But as his wealth, his wishes still increase.

Wishes proceed from want; the richest then,
Most wishing, want most, and are poorest men: 20
If he be poor, that wanteth much, how poor
Is he that hath too much, and yet wants more !
Thrice happy he, to whom the bounty of Heaven,
Sufficient, with a sparing hand, hath given :
'Tis grace, not gold, makes great; sever but which, 25
The rich man is but poor, the poor man rich.
The fairest crop, of either grass or grain,
Is not for use, undew'd with timely rain :
The wealth of Croesus, were it to be given,
Were not thank-worthy, if unblest by Heaven. 30

Lord, pair my wealth by my capacity, Lest I with it, or it suit not with me. This humbly do I sue for at thy hand, Erough, and not too much for thy command. Lord, what thou lend’st shall serve but in the place 35 Of reckoning counters, to sum up thy grace.

QUARLES.

TO LUCASTA, GOING TO THE WARS.

TELL me not, sweet, I am unkinde,

That from the nunnerie

Of thy chaste breast, and quiet minde,

To warre and armes I flie.
True ; a new mistresse now I chase,

The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace

A sword, a horse, a shield.
Yet this inconstancy is such,
As you too shall adore :

10
I could not love thee, deare, so much,
Loved I not honour more.

LOVELACE.

TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON.

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WHEN Love, with unconfined wings,

Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings

To whisper at my grates :
When I lye tangled in her haire,

And fetter'd with her eye,-
The birds, that wanton in the aire,

Know no such libertie.
When flowing cups run swiftly round

With no allaying Thames,
Our carelesse heads with roses crown'd,

Our hearts with loyal flames;
When thirsty griefe in wine we steepe,

When healths and draughts goe free,
Fishes, that tipple in the deepe,

Know no such libertie.

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