In the great minster transept,
Where lights like glories fall,

And the choir sings and the organ rings
Along the emblazoned wall.

This was the bravest warrior

That ever buckled sword;

This the most gifted poet

That ever breathed a word;
And never earth's philosopher
Traced, with his golden pen,

On the deathless page, truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.

And had he not high honor?
The hill side for his pall;
To lie in state while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall;

And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes,

Over his bier to wave;

And God's own hand in that lonely land,

To lay him in the grave,

In that deep grave, without a name,

Whence his uncoffined clay

Shall break again-O wondrous thought!

Before the judgment day,

And stand with glory wrapped around

On the hills he never trod,

And speak of the strife that won our life
With the incarnate Son of God.

The Dying Christian to his Soul.
Vital spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, O quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life!

Hark! they whisper; angels say,
"Sister spirit, come away!"
"What is this absorbs me quite ?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring;

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!

O Grave! where is thy victory?

O Death! where is thy sting?

Alexander Pope

From the Honeymoon.

Duke. You are welcome home.

Jul. Home! You are merry; this retired spot

Would be a palace for an owl!

Duke. 'Tis ours.

Jul. Ay, for the time we stay in it.

Duke. By Heaven,

This is the noble mansion that I spoke of!

Jul. This!-You are not in earnest, though you bear it

Duke. I swear, as I'm your husband, and no duke.

Jul. No duke?

Duke. But of my own creation, lady.

Jul. Am I betrayed? Nay, do not play the fool!

It is too keen a joke.

Duke. You'll find it true.

Jul. You are no duke, then?

Duke.

Jul.

None.

Have I been cozened?

And have you no estate, sir?

No palaces, nor houses?

Duke. None but this:

A small snug dwelling, and in good repair.

Jul. Nor money, nor effects?

Jul. And the attendants who have waited on us—

Duke. They were my friends; who, having done my business, Are gone about their own.

That I was ever born! · What are you, sir?

Duke. I am an honest man that may content you. Young, nor ill-favour'd · - should not that content you?

I am your husband, and that must content you.

Jul. I will go home!

Duke. You are at home, already.

Jul. I'll not endure it!

-But remember this

Duke, or no duke, I'll be a duchess, sir!

Duke. A duchess! You shall be a queen,- to all Who, by the courtesy, will call you so.

When you have learned to wait upon yourself.
Jul. To wait upon myself! Must I bear this?
I could tear out my eyes, that bade you woo me,
And bite my tongue in two, for saying yes!

Duke. And if you should, 'twould grow again.
I think, to be an honest yeoman's wife

(For such my would-be duchess, you will find me). You were cut out by nature.

That education, sir, has spoilt me for it. -
Why do you think I'll work?

Duke. I think 'twill happen, wife.

Jul. What! Rub and scrub

Your noble palace clean?

Duke. Those taper fingers

Will do it daintily.

Jul. And dress your victuals

(If there be any)? — Oh! I could go mad!

Duke. And mend my hose, and darn my nightcaps neatly: Wait, like an echo, till you're spoken to

Jul. Or like a clock, talk only once an hour?

Duke. Or like a dial; for that quietly

Performs its work, and never speaks at all.

Jul. To feed your poultry and your hogs! Oh, monstrous!

And when I stir abroad, on great occasions

Carry a squeaking tithe pig to the vicar;

Or jolt with higglers' wives the market trot
To sell your eggs and butter!

Duke. Excellent!

How well you sum the duties of a wife!

Why, what a blessing I shall have in you!
Jul. A blessing!

Duke. When they talk of you and me,

Darby and Joan shall no more be remembered:-
We shall be happy!

Jul. A very vixen.

Duke. Oh, no! We'll have no vixens.

Jul. I'll not bear it!

I'll to my father's!

Duke. Gently: you forget

You are a perfect stranger to the road.

Jul. My wrongs will find a way, 'or make one.

Duke. Softly!

You stir not hence, except to take the air;

And then I'll breathe it with you.

Duke. 'T would be unsafe to trust you yet abroad.

Jul. Am I a truant schoolboy?

Duke. Nay, not so;

But you must keep your bounds.

The man that lays his hand upon a woman,
Save in the way of kindness, is a wretch
Whom 't were gross flattery to name a coward
I'll talk to you, lady, but not beat you.

Jul. Well, if I may not travel to my father
I write to him, surely! And I will
may
If I can meet within your spacious dukedom
Three such unhoped-for miracles at once,
As pens, and ink, and paper.

Duke. You will find them

In the next room.- A word, before you go
You are my wife, by every tie that's sacred;
The partner of my fortune-

Duke. Peace! - No fooling, idle woman!
Beneath th' attesting eye of Heaven I've sworn

To love, to honour, cherish, and protect you.
No human power can part us. What remains, then?

To fret, and worry and torment each other,

And give a keener edge to our hard fate

By sharp upbraidings, and perpetual jars?—
Or, like a loving and a patient pair

(Waked from a dream of grandeur, to depend
Upon their daily labor for support),

To soothe the taste of fortune's lowliness

With sweet consent, and mutual fond endearment? Now to your chamber-write whate'er you please;