THE BURNING BABE

As I in hoarie Winters night stood shiuering in the

snow,

Surpris'd I was with sudden heat, which made my heart to glow;

And lifting vp a fearefull eye, to view what fire

was neere,

A pretie Babe all burning bright did in the ayre

appeare;

Who, scorched with excessiue heate, such floods of teares did shed,

As though his floods should quench his flames, which with his teares were bred :

Alas!' quoth He, ' but newly born in fiery heats I fry,

Yet none approch to warme their hearts, or feele my fire but I ;

My faultlesse brest the furnace is, the fuell wounding thornes:

Loue is the fire, and sighes the smoake, the ashes shames and scornes ;

The fuell Iustice layeth on, and mercie blowes the coales,

The mettall in this Furnace wrought, are men's defiled soules:

For which, as now on fire I am to worke them to their good,

So will I melt into a bath, to wash them in my blood.' With this he vanisht out of sight, and swiftly shrunke away,

And straight I called vnto mind, that it was Christmasse day.

Saint Peters Complaint.

scorched] scorched.

defiled] defiled.

called] called.

TIMES GO BY TURNS

THE lopped tree in time may grow againe,
Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower :
The soriest wight may finde release of paine,

The dryest soyle sucke in some moystning shower.
Times goe by turnes, and chaunces chaunge by

course:

From foule to faire from better happe, to worse.

The sea of fortune doth not euer flowe,

She drawes her fauours to the lowest ebbe :
Her tydes hath equall times to come and goe,
Her Loome doth weaue the fine and coursest webbe.
No ioy so great, but runneth to an end:

No hap so hard, but may in fine amend.

Not alwaies fall of leafe, nor euer spring,
No endles night, yet not eternall day :
The saddest birds a season find to sing,
The roughest storme a calme may soone alay.
Thus with succeeding turnes God tempereth all :
That man may hope to rise, yet feare to fall.

A chaunce may winne that by mischaunce was lost,
The net that holdes no great, takes little fish;
In some things all, in all things none are crost,
Fewe, all they neede: but none, haue all they
wish,

Vnmedled ioyes here to no man befall,

VVho least, hath some, who most, hath neuer all.

Saint Peters Complaint.

lopped] lopped.

Vnmedled] unmixèd.

NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP

BEHOLD, a silly tender Babe,
In freezing VVinter night,

In homely Manger trembling lyes;
Alas a pitious sight:

The Innes are full, no man will yeeld

This little Pilgrime bed;
But forc't he is with silly beasts,
In Crib to shrowd his head.

Despise him not for lying there :
First what he is enquire:
An orient pearle is often found
In depth of dirtie mire.

VVaigh not his Crib, his woodden dish,
Nor beasts that by him feed:
VVaigh not his Mothers poore attire,
Nor Iosephs simple weed.

This Stable is a Princes Court,

The Crib his chaire of State :
The Beasts are parcell of his Pompe,
The woodden dish his plate.

The persons, in that poore attire,
His royall liueries weare,

The Prince himselfe is com'n from heauen,
This pompe is prizèd there.

With ioy approach, O Christian wight,
Doe homage to thy King;

And highly prayse his humble Pompe,
Which He from Heauen doth bring.

Saint Peters Complaint.

FRANCIS BACON

1561-1626

LIFE

THE world's a bubble, and the life of man

lesse then a span,

In his conception wretched, from the wombe

so to the tombe:

Curst from the cradle, and brought vp to yeares,

with cares and feares.

Who then to fraile mortality shall trust,
But limmes the water, or but writes in dust.

Yet since with sorrow here we liue opprest:

what life is best?

Courts are but only superficiall scholes

to dandle fooles.

The rurall parts are turn'd into a den

of sauage men.

And wher's a city from all vice so free,
But may be term'd the worst of all the three ?

Domesticke cares afflict the husbands bed,

or paines his head :

Those that liue single take it for a curse,

or doe things worse.

Some would have children, those that have them,

mone,

or wish them gone.

What is it then to haue or haue no wife,

But single thraldome, or a double strife?

limmes] paints. Country, and the City.

the three] i. e. the Court, the

mone] moan.

Our owne affections still at home to please,

is a disease,

To crosse the sea to any foreine soyle,

perills and toyle.

Warres with their noyse affright vs: when they

cease,

W'are worse in peace.

What then remaines ? but that we still should cry, Not to be borne, or, being borne, to dye.

Florilegium Epigrammatum Graecorum.

HENRY CONSTABLE

1562(?)-1613(?)

DAMELUS' SONG TO HIS DIAPHENIA

Diaphenia like the Daffadown-dillie, White as the Sunne, faire as the Lillie, heigh hoe, how I doo loue thee?

I doo loue thee as my Lambs

Are beloued of their Dams,

how blest were I if thou would'st proue me?

Diaphenia like the spreading Roses,
That in thy sweetes all sweetes incloses,
faire sweete, how I doo loue thee?

I doo loue thee as each flower,

Loues the Sunnes life-giuing power.

for dead, thy breath to life might moue me.

still at home] continually at home.

Daffadown-dillie] poetic form of daffodil.

beloved.

for dead] i. e. for, were I dead.

beloued]