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As they can stand against the strongest head

Passion can make; inur'd to any hue

The world can cast; that cannot cast that mind

Out of her form of goodness, that doth see

Both what the best and worst of earth can be.
Which makes, that whatsoever here befals,

You in the region of yourself remain:

Where no vain breath of th' impudent molests,

That hath secur'd within the brazen walls

Of a clear conscience, that (without all stain)

Rises in peace, in innocency rests;

Whilst all what malice from without procures,

Shews her own ugly heart, but hurts not yours.
And whereas none rejoice more in revenge

Than women use to do; yet you well know,

That wrong is better check'd by b'ing contemn'd

Than being pursu'd; leaving to him t' avenge,
To whom it appertains. Wherein you show

How worthily your clearness hath condemn'd

Base malediction, living in the dark,

That at the rays of goodness still doth bark.

Knowing the heart of man is set to be
The centre of this world, about the which
These revolutions of disturbances
Still roll, where all th' aspects of misery
Predominate; whose strong effects are such
As he must bear, being pow'rless to redress;
And that unless above himself he can
Erect himself, how poor a thing is man!

And how turmoil'd they are that level lie .

With earth, and cannot lift themselves from thence;
That never are at peace with their desires,
But work beyond their years; and ev'n deny
Dotage her rest, and hardly will dispense
With death. That when ability expires,
Desire lives still—So much delight they have
To carry toil and travel to the grave.

Whose ends you see, and what can be the best
They reach unto, when they have cast the sum
And reck'nings of their glory. And you know,
This floating life hath but this port of rest,
A heart prepard, that fears no ill to come.
And that man's greatness rests but in his show,
The best of all whose days consumed are
Either in war, or peace-conceiving war.

VOL. VIII. PART II. s

This concord, madam, of a well-tun'd mind
Hath been so set by that all-working hand
Of Heav'n, that tho' the world hath done his worst
To put it out by discords most unkind;
Yet doth it still in perfect union stand
With God and man, nor ever will be fored
From that most sweet accord, but still agree
Equal in fortunes, in equality.

And this note (madam) of your worthiness
Remains recorded in so many hearts,
As time nor malice cannot wrong your right
In th' inheritance of fame you must possess:
You that have built you by your great deserts
(Out of small means) a far more exquisite
And glorious dwelling for your honour'd name,
Than all the gold that leaden minds can frame."

Daniel has executed an elegant translation from Marino— a description of beauty, with which we shall conclude our extracts.

I.

"O beauty, beams, nay, flame

Of that great lamp of light,

That shines awhile with fame,

But presently makes night!

Like winter's short-liv'd bright

Or summer's sudden gleams;

How much more dear, so much less-lasting beams.

II.

Wing'd Love away doth fly, i

And with it time doth bear;

And both take suddenly

The sweet, the fair, the dear.

A shining day and clear

Succeeds an obscure night,

And sorrow is the hue of sweet delight.

III.

With what then dost thou swell,
O youth of new-born day!
Wherein doth thy pride dwell,
O beauty made of clay!
Not with so swift a way

The headlong current flies,

As do the sparkling rays of two fair eyes.

IV.

Do not thyself betray

With wantonizing years;

O beauty, traitor gay!

Thy melting life that wears,

Appearing, disappears;

And with thy flying days

Ends all thy good of price, thy fair of praise.

Trust not, vain creditor,

Thy apt-deceived view,

In thy false counsellor,

That never tells thee true.

Thy form and flatter'd hue,

Which shall so soon transpass,

Is far more fair than is thy looking-glass.

VI.

Enjoy thy April now,

Whilst it doth freely shine;

This lightning flash and show,

With that clear spirit of thine,

Will suddenly decline;

And you fair murth'ring eyes

Shall be love's tombs, where now his cradle lies.

VII.

Old trembling age will come

With wrinkl'd cheeks and stains,

With motion troublesome;

With skin and bloodless veins,

That lively visage reaven,

And made deform'd and old,

Hates sight of glass it lov'd so to behold.

VIII.

Thy gold and scarlet shall
Pale silver-colour be,
Thy row of pearls shall fall
Like wither'd leaves from tree;

And thou shalt shortly see

Thy face and hair to grow

All plough'd with furrows, over-swol'n with snow.

IX.

That which on Flora's breast,

All fresh and flourishing,

Aurora newly drest

Saw in her dawning spring;

Quite dry and languishing,

Depriv'd of honour quite,

Day-closing Hesperus beholds at night.

X.

Fair is the lilly, fair

The rose, of flowers the eye!

Both wither in the air,

Their beauteous colours die;

And so at length shall lie,

Depriv'd of former grace,

The lillies of thy breasts, the roses of thy face.

XI.

What then will it avail,
O youth advised ill!
In lap of beauty frail
To nurse a wayward will,
Like snake in sun-warm hill?
Pluck, pluck betime thy flow'r,
- That springs, and parcheth in one short hour."

Art. III.—God's Plea for Nineveh; or, London's Precedent for Mercy. Delivered in certain Sermons within the City of London. By Thomas Reeve, Bachelor in Divinity.

Woe unto thee, oh Jerusalem, wilt thou not be made clean? when shall it once be? Jer. 13. 27.

Return, return, oh Shulamite: Return, return, that we may look upon thee. Cant. 6. 13.

Then said he to the dresser of the vineyard, behold this three years I come seeking for fruit on this fig-tree, and find- none; cut it down, why cumbreth it the ground? And he answering said unto him, Lord let it alone this year also, till I shall dig about it and dung it; and if it bear fruit, well; and if not, then thou shalt after that cut it down. Luke 13. 7,8,9.

Let us search and try our ways, and turn again to the Lord. Let us lift up our heart with our hands unto God in the heavens. Lament. 3. 40, 41.

Noli negligere, qu6d vos prius Dominus peccantes sustinet j quia quantb diutius exspectat, ut emenderis, tant6 gravius judicabit si neglexeris. Aug. de util. Pan. ag. Quot habuit in se oblectamenta, tot habuit holocausta; convertit in numerum virtutum, numerum criininuni. Jeron. hem. 33 in Evang.

London: Printed by William Wilson, for Thomas Reeve, living at the Bunch of Grapes, in Chancery Lane, near Lincoln's Inn. 1657.

This is a singular theological plant which flourished in the city during the time of the Commonwealth, and partakes a little of the gloominess of the atmosphere in which it vegetated. The author, an apprentice in divinity, a slip of one of the universities, and a preacher of repentance, was a man of great tenacity of purpose and invincible perseverance in action—qualities highly necessary for the production of a work like this. It is dedicated to one Thomas Rich, Esquire, whom Reeve calls his honoured friend, and a very eminent citizen of London. We shall endeavour to give an account of this book, so far as it is possible to describe what is so strange and so irregular. Although we learn from the title page, that the Plea was delivered in -certain sermons, it is impossible to find any convenient divisions, or stages in it; it is, in fact, a huge discourse, one enormous lecture—the very Leviathan of sermons, on the repentance of Nineveh, as described in the book of Jonah.

"And should not I spare Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than sixscore thousand persons that cannot discern between their right hand and their left hand; and also much cattle?" Jonah 4. 11.

The design is to make London, which is described as a Nineveh in corruption, a Nineveh in repentance: the author has adopted the following ingenious mode of treating his subject.

1. A digging for water, and should not

2. A spring-head, /

3. The stream which should flow from it, spare

4. The channel in which it should run, Nineveh, that great city, wherein are more than sixscore thousand persons that cannot, $c.

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