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When echo doth repeat thy painful cries,
Think that the very stones thy sins bewray, And now accuse thee with their sad replies,
As heaven and earth shall in the latter day. Let former faults be fuel of thy fire,
For grief in limbeck? of thy heart to still; Thy pensive thoughts and dumps of thy desire,
And vapour tears up to thy eyes at will. Let tears to tunes, and pains to plaints be prest,
And let this be the burthen of thy song: “Come, deep remorse, possess my sinful breast;
Delights, adieu! I harboured you too long.”
CONTENT AND RICH.
I DWELL in grace's courts,
Enriched with virtue's rights ;
Hope all my mind delights.
To pleasure's highest pitch,
My poor estate is rich.
Contented thoughts my rest,
My bliss is in my breast.
A mean, the surest lot,
Too low for envy's shot.
All easy to fulfil;
The bounds unto my will.
3 Simple attire.
I have no hopes but one,
Which is of heavenly reign: Effects attained, or not desired,
All lower hopes refrain. I feel no care of coin,
Well-doing is my wealth: My mind to me an empire is,
While grace affordeth health. I clip high-climbing thoughts,
The wings of swelling pride: Their fate is worst, that from the height
Of greater honour slide. Silk sails of largest size
The storm doth soonest tear: I bear so low and small a sail
As freeth me from fear I wrestle not with rage
While fury's flame doth bum; It is in vain to stop the stream
Until the tide doth turn.
But when the flame is out,
And ebbing wrath doth end,
Unto a quiet friend;
A tempered calm I find
Best cure for angry mind. Spare diet is my fare,
My clothes more fit than fine: I know I feed and clothe a foe
That pampered would repine. I envy not their hap
Whom favour doth advance: I take no pleasure in their pain
That have less happy chance.
To rise by others' fall,
I deem a losing gain:
To ruins run amain.
No change of fortune's calms
Can cast my comforts down:
How quickly she will frown;
And when in froward mood
She proved an angry foe,
Less loss to let her go.
SCORN NOT THE LEAST.
WHERE words are weak, and foes encountering strong,
Where mightier do assault than do defend,
And silent sees that speech could not amend.
Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase;
And fearful hare to run a quiet race: He that high growth on cedars did bestow, Gave also lowly mushrooms leave to grow. In Haman's pomp poor Mardocheus wept,
Yet God did turn his fate upon his foe:
Yet he to heaven, to hell did Dives go.
EDMUND SPENSER was born in London about 1553. He was educated at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge. He has been styled, by way of pre-eminence, the Divine POET OF ENGLAND. This may, perhaps, be somewhat incorrect; his writings have, however,
ing, and beautiful spirit of humanity; and his Divine Hymns, it has been well remarked, are indeed divine. Spenser was made Secretary of Ireland, and he obtained a grant of lands forfeited in the county of Cork. On the breaking out of Tyrone's rebellion, he was obliged to abandon his home so abruptly that one of his children perished in the flames which consumed his dwelling. He died shortly after, it is said of a broken heart, in 1599; and was buried, by his own desire, near the tomb of Chaucer, in Westminster Abbey.
LOVE! lift me up upon thy golden wings
From this base world unto thy heaven's height,
Which there thou workest by thy sovereign might,
Far above feeble reach of earthly sight,
Before this world's great frame, in which all things
Are now contained, found any being place,
About that mighty bound which doth embrace
The rolling spheres, and parts their hours by space,
1 Eyas, young, newly fledged; a young hawk not fit for flight.
It loved itself because itself was fair
(For fair is loved), and of itself begot, Like to itself, his eldest son and heir,
Eternal, pure, and void of sinful blot,
The firstling of his joy, in whom no jot
With Him He reigned before all time prescribed,
In endless glory and immortal might, Together with that Third from them derived,
Most wise, most holy, most Almighty Sprite,
Whose kingdom's throne no thoughts of earthly wight Can comprehend, much less my trembling verse With equal words can hope it to rehearse.
Yet, О most blessed Spirit! pure lamp of light,
Eternal spring of grace and wisdom true, Vouchsafe to shed into my barren sprite
Some little drop of thy celestial dew,
That may my rhymes with sweet infuse imbrue,
Yet being pregnant still with powerful grace,
And full of fruitful love, that loves to get Things like Himself, and to enlarge his race,
His second brood, though not of power so great,
Yet full of beauty, next He did beget
To shew the heaven's illimitable height,
(Not this round heaven which we from hence behold,) Adorned with thousand lamps of burning light,
And with ten thousand gems of shining gold,
He gave as their inheritance to hold, That they might serve him in eternal bliss, And be partakers of those joys of his.