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CHRIST'S VICTORY IN HEAVEN.
But Justice had no sooner Mercy seen
Open'd the world, which all in darknesse lay,
Doth heav'n's bright face of his rayes disarray,
Into the solid heart, and with her ears
The silence of the thought loud speaking hears,
Sending her eyes to heav'n swimming in tears,
With hideous clamours ever struck her ears, Whetting the blazing sword, that in her hand she bears. The wingèd lightning is her Mercury, And round about her mighty thunders sound : Impatient of himself lies pining by Pale Sickness with his kercher'd head upwound, And thousand noisome plagues attend her round;
But if her cloudy brow but once grow foul,
The flints do melt, and rocks to water roll, And airy mountaines shake, and frighted shadows howl.
Famine, and bloodless Care, and bloody War,
Grief's company, a dull and rawboned sprite,
That lanks the cheeks, and pales the freshest sight,
And round about amazed Horror flies,
And ouer all, Shame veils his guilty eyes,
Where good, and bad, and life, and death were painted :
Was never heart of mortal so unta ed, But when that scroll was read, with thousand terrors fainted. Witness the thunder that mount Sinai heard, When all the hill with fiery clouds did flame, And wandering Israel, with the sight afеard, Blinded with seeing, durst not touch the same, But like a wood of shaking leaves became.
On this dead Justice, she, the Living Law,
Bowing herself with a majestic awe,
SIR HENRY WOTTON.
[BURN 1568, died 1639. ·How happy is he born and taught,' said to have been printed in 1614; see Courtly Poets, ed. Hannah, 1875. It was quoted to Drummond by Ben Jonson in 1618 or 1619: 'Sir Edward [Henry] Wotton's verses of a happy life he hath by heart.' 'You meaner beauties of the night,' printed with music in Est's Sixth Set of Books, 1624. It was probably written a few years before. In 1651, Reliquiae Wottonianae.]
Sir Henry Wotton, a highly accomplished gentleman and distinguished diplomatist in his day, is now best known to personally through the affectionate memoir of his humble friend and fellow angler Isaac Walton, and the kindly interest he showed in Milton, whose Comus had excited his warm admiration. He was well born, well bred, and one of the most cultivated men of his time. But, immersed in politics and society, he found but little leisure for the studies he loved till his appointment to the Provostship of Eton in 1624, when he was some 56 years of age. All the middle period of his life from 1595 he was occupied with affairs, not without peril, as when he was one of the secretaries of the Earl of Essex (his fellow secretary, Cuffe, was hanged), not without much vexation, as when his famous definition of an ambassador, public attention being called to it eight years after it was entered in Flecamon's 'albo’ at Augsburg, brought him for a time into disgrace with James I.
Of poetry he wrote but little ; but of that little two pieces at least have obtained a permanent place in English literature, his Character of a Happy Life, written probably circ. 1614; and the lines, On his mistress the Queen of Bohemia, circ. 1620. Of the apophthegm the style is of the man,' it would be difficult to find better illustrations. As in a mirror, they reflect the high refined nature of one who, living in the world, and a master of its ways and courtesies, was yet never of it—was never a worldling.
John W. HALES.
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,
Of public fame or private breath ;
Nor vice ; who never understood
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,
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. 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.
ON HIS MISTRESS, THE QUEEN OF BOHEMIA.
You meaner beauties of the night,
That poorly satisfy our eyes
You common people of the skies ;
You curious chanters of the wood,
That warble forth Dame Nature's lays,
When Philomel her voice shall raise?
By your pure purple mantles known
As if the spring were all your own;
What are you when the rose is blown ?
In form and beauty of her mind,
Tell me if she were not designed
UPON THE DEATH OF SIR ALBERTUS MORTON'S WIFE.
He first deceased ; she for a little tried