Here they lie, had realms and lands, That the earth did e'er suck in Here the bones of birth have cried Dropt from the ruin'd sides of kings: Here's a world of pomp and state Buried in dust, once dead by fate. LXVIII F. Beaumont THE LAST CONQUEROR VICTO VICTORIOUS men of earth, no more Proclaim how wide your empires are ; Though you bind-in every shore And your triumphs reach as far As night or day, Yet you, proud monarchs, must obey And mingle with forgotten ashes, when Death calls ye to the crowd of common men. Devouring Famine, Plague, and War, Each able to undo mankind, Death's servile emissaries are; Nor to these alone confined, He hath at will More quaint and subtle ways to kill; A smile or kiss, as he will use the art, Shall have the cunning skill to break a heart. J. Shirley LXIX DEATH THE LEVELLER THE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings: Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds: To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. J. Shirley LXX WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY APTAIN, or Colonel, or Knight in arms, Close chance on these defenceless doors may seize If deed of honour did thee ever please, Guard them, and him within protect from harms. He can requite thee; for he knows the charms Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: Went to the ground: and the repeated air To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. J. Milton LXXI ON HIS BLINDNESS HEN I consider how my light is spent W Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide To serve therewith my Maker, and present That murmur, soon replies; God doth not need Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed 7. Milton LXXII CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE HOW happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose passions not his masters are, Who envies none that chance doth raise Who hath his life from rumours freed, Who God doth late and early pray -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. LXXIII Sir H. Wotton THE NOBLE NATURE T is not growing like a tree I1 In bulk, doth make Man better be; To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere: Is fairer far in May, · Although it fall and die that night - B. Jonson LXXIV THE GIFTS OF GOD HEN God at first made Man, WH Having a glass of blessings standing by; Let us (said he) pour on him all we can : So strength first made a way; Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure: Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure, |