For if I should (said he)

Bestow this jewel also on my creature,

He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,

But keep them with repining restlessness: Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to my breast.

G. Herbert

H

LXXV

THE RETREAT

APPY those early days, when I
Shined in my Angel-infancy!
Before I understood this place
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy aught
But a white, celestial thought;
When yet I had not walk'd above
A mile or two from my first Love,
And looking back, at that short space
Could see a glimpse of his bright face;
When on some gilded cloud or flower
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,
And in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity;

Before I taught my tongue to wound
My conscience with a sinful sound,
Or had the black art to dispense

A several sin to every sense,

But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.

O how I long to travel back,

And tread again that ancient track!
That I might once more reach that plain,
Where first I left my glorious train;
From whence th' enlighten'd spirit sees
That shady City of Palm trees:
But ah! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk, and staggers in the way :-
Some men a forward motion love,
But I by backward steps would move;
And when this dust falls to the urn,
In that state I came, return.

H. Vaughan

L

LXXVI

TO MR. LAWRENCE

AWRENCE, of virtuous father virtuous son, Now that the fields are dank and ways are mire Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire Help waste a sullen day, what may be won

From the hard season gaining? Time will run
On smoother, till Favonius re-inspire
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire
The lily and rose, that neither sow'd nor spun.

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise
To hear the lute well touch'd, or artful voice

Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air?

He who of those delights can judge, and spare
To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

J. Milton

CYR

LXXVII

TO CYRIACK SKINNER

'YRIACK, whose grandsire, on the royal bench Of British Themis, with no mean applause Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws, Which others at their bar so often wrench;

To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,

And what the Swede intends, and what the French.

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way ;
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains,

And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
F. Millon

Ο

LXXVIII

HYMN TO DIANA

UEEN and Huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,

Seated in thy silver chair

State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.

Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;

Cynthia's shining orb was made

Heaven to clear when day did close:
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 mak'st a day of night,

Goddess excellently bright!

B. Jonson

LXXIX

WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS

JHOE'ER she be,

W

That not impossible She

That shall command my heart and me;

Where'er she lie,

Lock'd up from mortal eye

In shady leaves of destiny:

Till that ripe birth

Of studied Fate stand forth,

And teach her fair steps to our earth;

Bespeak her to my blisses,

And be ye call'd, my absent kisses.

I wish her beauty

That owes not all its duty

To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie:

Something more than

Taffata or tissue can,

Or rampant feather, or rich fan.

A face that's best

By its own beauty drest,

And can alone command the rest:

A face made up

Out of no other shop

Than what Nature's white hand sets ope.

Sydneian showers

Of sweet discourse, whose powers

Can crown old Winter's head with flowers

Whate'er delight

Can make day's forehead bright

Or give down to the wings of night.

Soft silken hours,

Open suns, shady bowers;

'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.

Days, that need borrow

No part of their good morrow

From a fore-spent night of sorrow:

Days, that in spite

Of darkness, by the light

Of a clear mind are day all night.