BARNABY BARNES. THE Sun of our soul's light Thee would I call! But for our light Thou didst the bright sun make; Thy chiefest subjects' epithets at all. (But that the stars for our direction's sake Monarch of monarchs I Thee would have said! But thou gives kingdoms, and makes crowns unstable: By these I know thy name ineffable! BARNABY BARNES. A BLAST of wind, a momentary breath, A sun-blown rose but for a season fair, BARNABY BARNES. THE world's bright comforter, whose beamsome light Poor creatures cheereth, mounting from the deep, His course doth in prefixed compass keep; And as courageous giant takes delight To run his race, and exercise his might, Till him, down gallopping the mountain's steep, Forth brings, with stars past number in her train ; All which with sun's long borrow'd splendour shine; The seas, with full tide swelling, ebb again; All years to their old quarters new resign; The winds forsake their mountain-chambers wild; And all in all things with God's virtue fill'd. EDMUND SPENSER. NEW year, forth looking out of Janus' gate, And, bidding th' old adieu, his passed date Fresh Love, that long hath slept in cheerless bower, His wanton wings and darts of deadly power; For lusty Spring now in his timely hour Is ready to come forth him to receive, And warns the Earth with divers-colour'd flower To deck herself, and her fair mantle weave: Then you, fair flower, in whom fresh youth doth reign, Prepare yourself new love to entertain. EDMUND SPENSER. RUDELY thou wrongest my dear heart's desire, In finding fault with her too portly pride: Is of the world unworthy most envied : Scorn of base things, and 'sdeign of foul dishonour ; Was never in this world ought worthy tried, Without some spark of such self-pleasing pride. |