SCORN NOT THE LEAST!

WHERE wards are weak, and foes encount'ring strong;
Where mightier do assault than do defend:
The feebler part puts up enforced wrong;

And silent sees, that speech could not amend!
Yet Higher Powers must think, (though they repine,)
When sun is set, the little stars will shine!

When pike doth range, the silly tench doth fly,
And crouch in privy creeks with smaller fish!
Yet pike are caught; when little fish go by!
These fleet afloat; while those do fill the dish!
There is a time even for worms to creep,
And suck the dew; while all their foes do sleep!

The merlin cannot ever soar on high;

Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase!
The tender lark will find a time to fly;
And fearful hare, to run a quiet race!

He that high growth on cedars did bestow,
Gave also lowly mushrumpts leave to grow!

In AMAN'S pomp, poor MARDOCHEUS Wept:

Yet GOD did turn his fate upon his foe!
The Lazar pined, while DIVES' feast was kept:
Yet he, to heaven; to hell did DIVES go!

We trample grass, and prize the flowers of May;
Yet grass is green, when flowers do fade away!

NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP.

BEHOLD, a silly tender Babe,
In freezing winter night,
In homely manger, trembling lies!
Alas, a piteous sight!

The inns are full. No man will yield
This little Pilgrim bed!

But forced he is, with silly beasts,
In crib to shroud his head.

Despise him not for lying there;
First, What he is inquire!
An orient pearl is often found
In depth of dirty mire.

Weigh not his crib, his wooden dish; Nor beasts that by him feed! Weigh not his mother's poor attire: Nor JOSEPH's simple weed!

This stable is a Prince's Court;
The crib, his Chair of State;
The beasts are parcel of his pomp;
The wooden dish, his plate.

The persons in that poor attire,
His royal liveries wear.

The Prince himself is com'n from Heaven.
This pomp is prizèd there!

With joy approach, O, Christian wight!
Do homage to thy King!

And highly praise his humble pomp;
Which he from Heaven doth bring.

THE BURNING BABE.

As I, in hoary winter's night, stood shivering in the snow;
Surprised I was with sudden heat, which made my heart to glow:
And lifting up a fearful eye, to view what fire was near,
A pretty Babe, all burning bright, did in the air appear;
Who, scorched with exceeding heat, such floods of tears did shed,
As though his floods should quench his flames, which with

his tears were bred:

'Alas!' quoth he, 'but newly born, in fiery heats I fry; Yet none approach to warm their hearts, or feel my fire but I! My faultless Breast, the furnace is; the fuel, wounding Thorns; Love is the fire, and Sighs, the smoke; the ashes, Shames and Scorns.

The fuel Justice layeth on; and Mercy blows the coals: The metal in this furnace wrought, are men's defilèd Souls. For which, as now, on fire I am, to work them to their good; So will I melt into a bath! to wash them in my blood!' With this, he vanished out of sight, and swiftly shrank away; And straight I callèd unto mind, that it was Christmas Day.

LOVELY MAYA, HERMES' mother,

Of fair FLORA much befriended!

To whom this sweet month is commended.
This month more sweet than any other!
By thy sovereignty defended.

Daisies, cowslips, and primroses,
Fragrant violets, and sweet minthe,
Match with purple hyacinth!

Of these, each where, Nymphs make trim posies;
Praising their mother, BERYCINTH.

Behold, a herd of jolly Swains

Go flocking up and down the mead! A troop of lovely Nymphs do tread; And dearnly dancing on yon plains,

Each doth, in course, her Hornpipe lead!

Before the Grooms, plays PEERS the Piper!
They bring in hawthorn and sweet-briar!
And damask roses they would bear;
But them they leave, till they be riper!
The rest, round Morrises dance there.

With frisking gambols and such glee,

Unto the lovely Nymphs they haste!
Who, there in decent order placed,
Expect who shall Queen FLORA be;
And with the May Crown chiefly graced!

The Shepherds poopen in their pipe!
One leads his wench a Country Round;
Another sits upon the ground,
And doth his beard from drivel wipe;
Because he would be handsome found.

To see the frisking, and the scouping!
To hear the Herdgroom's wooing speeches!
Whiles one, to dance his girl beseeches,
The lead-heeled lazy luskings louping

Fling out, in their new motley breeches!

This done, with jolly cheer and game,
The bach'lor Swains and young Nymphs met,
Where in an arbour they were set.
Thither, to choose a Queen they came;
And soon concluded her to fet.

There, with a garland, they did crown
PARTHENOPE, my true sweet Love!
Whose beauty, all the Nymphs above,
Did put the lovely Graces down.

The Swains, with shouts, rocks' echoes move!

To see the Rounds, the Morris Dances,
The leaden Galliards, for her sake!

To hear those Songs, the Shepherds make! One with his hobby-horse still prances;

While some, with flowers, a highway make!