I glory in the bravery of your mind, To which your wealth's a servant. Not that riches His bags as full; a third in credit flies As high, in the popular voice: but the distinction, Divided from them, is, that you are styled Heaven keep me thankful for 't-while they are cursed As rigid and inexorable. Your affability and mildness, clothed In the garments of your thankful debtor's breath, Can you think, sir, In your unquestioned wisdom, I beseech you, The goods of this poor man sold at an outcry, His wife turned out of doors, his children forced By wrong extorted, Or that the ruin of this once brave merchant- But you may urge, — pray you, pardon me, my zeal You satisfy your anger and revenge For being defeated. Suppose this, it will not When the rebels unto reason—passions—fought it. To moral honesty, and never yet Sir John. Shall I be Talked out of my money? Luke. No, sir, but entreated To do yourself a benefit, and preserve you possess entire. Sir John. How, my good brother? Luke. By making these your beadsmen. When they eat, Their thanks, next Heaven, will be paid to your mercy; When your ships are at sea, their prayers will swell The sails with prosperous winds, and guard them from Tempests and pirates; - keep your warehouses From fire, or quench them with their tears. [From the "Great Duke of Florence."] UNEQUAL LOVE. [Giovanni, nephew to the Grand Duke, taking leave of Lydia, daughter of his tutor.] Lydia. Must you go, then, So suddenly? Giovanni. There's no evasion, Lydia, To gain the least delay, though I would buy it As I am now, against my choice, compelled, That I must either keep my height with danger, Lydia. Your own goodness Will be your faithful guard. Giov. O, Lydia! for had I been your equal, As I have done, continued my delights Contemplate nature's workmanship and wonders; With what melodious harmony a choir Of angels sing, above, their Maker's praises; One word more, And then I come. And after this, when with And ever am, your servant; but it was Of all the globes and sceptres mankind bows to, Howe'er unworthy, in my virgin zeal, To be their humblest handmaid! Giov. I am dumb, and can make no reply; May learn you what I should say. ROBERT HERRICK. 1591 Herrick is regarded as one of the most exquisite of the early lyrical poets. His poems abound in " lively images and conceits; but t pensive moral feeling predominates, and we feel that the poet's smiles might as well be tears." "He associated with the jovial spirits of the age, and quaffed the mighty bowl with Ben Jonson." TO PRIMROSES, FILLED WITH MORNING DEW. Alas! Who were but born Just as the modest morn Teemed her refreshing dew? you have not known that shower That mars a flower, Nor felt the unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Or warped as we, Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, Speak, whimpering younglings, and make known Ye droop and weep; Is it for want of sleep, Or that ye have not seen as yet Or brought a kiss From that sweet heart to this? Would have this lecture read That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, FRANCIS QUARLES. 1592-1644. Quarles is distinguished as a religious poet, though he was a busy man of the world. He held the offices successively of cup-bearer to Elizabeth, Queen of Bohemia, secretary to Archbishop Usher, and chronologer to the city of London. DELIGHT IN GOD ONLY. I LOVE, and have some cause to love, the earth; She is my mother, for she gave me birth; She is tender nurse. - she gives me food. But what's a creature, Lord, compared with thee, I love the air; her dainty sweets refresh But what's the air, or all the sweets that she fellow-creature; I love the sea; she is my But, Lord of oceans, when compared with thee, |