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The sweet aspect of princes, and our ruin,
More pangs and fears than war or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me
Out of thy honest truth to play the woman.
Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell;
And, when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
of me must more be heard-say, I taught thee,-
Say, Wolsey, that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour,
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in!
A sure and safe one, though thy master miss’d it.
Mark but my fall, and that which ruin'd me:
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels : how can man then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by it?
Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not:
Let all the ends thou aim's: at be thy country's,
Thy God's, and Truth's; then if thou fáll'st, o

Cromwell,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king-
There take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny; 't is the king's: my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, is all
I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me to mine enemies.

SHAKSPEARE.

A HERMITAGE.
A LITTLE lowly hermitage it was,
Down in a dale hard by a forest side,

Farre from resort of people that did pass
In travell to and fro: a litile wide
There was an holy chapell edified,

Wherein the hermit duly went to say
His holy things each morn and evening tide:

Thereby a crystal streame did gently play, Which from a sacred fountain welled forth away.

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He thence led me into this hermitage, Letting his steeds to graze upal

the

green; Small was his house, and like a little cage, For his own turne, yet inly neat and clean, Deckt with green boughes, and flowers gay be seene;

Therein he them full faire did entertaine, Not with such forged showes, as fitter beene

For courting fools than courtisies would faine, But with entire affection, and appearance plaine.

SPENSER

SONG. My mind to me a kingdom is ;

Such perfect joy therein I find,
As far exceeds all earthly bliss,

That God or Nature hath assign'd:
Though much I want that most would have
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.
Content I live, this is my stay,

I seek no more than may suffice:
I press to bear no haughty sway;

Look; what I lack, my mind supplies.
Lo! thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.

I see how plenty surfeits oft,

And hasty climbers soonest fall: I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all : These get with toil, and keep with fear : Such cares my mind could never bear. No princely pomp, nor wealthy store,

No force to win a victory, No wily wit to salve a sore,

No shape to win a lover's eye: To none of these I yield as thrall, For why? my mind despiseth all. Some have too much, yet still they crave;

I little have, yet seek no more : They are but poor, though much they have;

And I am rich, with little store:
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lack, I lend; they pine, I live.
I laugh not at another's loss,

I grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly wave my mind can toss,

I brook that is another's bane.
I fear no foe, nor fawn no friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.
My wealth is health, and perfect ease;

My conscience clear, my chief defence : I never seek by bribes to please,

Nor by desert to give offence :
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did so, as well as I!
I take no joy in earthly bliss;

I weigh not Cresus' wealth a straw,
For care, I know not what it is;

I fear not Fortune's fatal law.
My mind is such as may not move
For beauty bright, or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;

I wander not to seek for more ;
I like the plain, I climb no hill;

In greatest storms I sit on shore,
And laugh at them that toil in vain
To get what must be lost again.
I kiss not where I wish to kill;

I feign not love where most I hate;
I break no sleep to win my will;

I wait not at the mighty's gate;
I scorn no poor, I fear no rich;
I feel no want, nor have too much.
The court ne cart, I like ne loathe :

Extremes are counted worst of all:
The golden mien betwixt them both

Doth surest sit, and fears no fall; This is my choice ; for why? I find No wealth is like a quiet mind.

RALEIGH

RELIGION. RELIGION's all. Descending from its sire To wretched man, the goddess in her left Holds out this world, and in her right, the next: Religion! the sole voucher man is man: Supporter sole of man above himself. Religion ! providence ! an after state! Here is firm footing; here is solid rock ; This can support us; all is sea besides ; Sinks under us; bestorms, and then devours. His hand the good man fastens on the skies, And bids earth roll, nor feels her idle whirl. Religion ! thou the soul of happiness; And groaning Calvary of thee! There shine The noble truths; there strongest motives sting!

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Can love allure us? or can terror awe?
He weeps the falling drop puts out the sun;.
He sighs—the sigh earth's deep foundation shakes.
If, in his love, so terrible, what then
His wrath inflamed ? his tenderness on fire ?
Can prayer, can praise avert it?-Thou, my all!
My theme! my inspiration! and my crown!
My strength in age! my rise in low estate!
My soul's ambition, pleasure, wealth! my world!
My light in darkness! and my life in death?
My boast through time! bliss through eternity!
Eternity too short to speak thy praise,
Or fathom thy profound of love to man!

YOUNG.

ON THE EMPLOYMENTS OF WHAT IS

CALLED AN IDLE LIFE.

How various his employments whom the world
Calls idle, and who justly, in return,
Esteems the busy world an idler too!
Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen,
Delighted industry enjoy'd at home,
And Nature in her cultivated trim
Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad-
Can he want occupation who has these?
Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy ?
Me therefore, studious of laborious ease,
Not slothful; happy to deceive the time,
Nor waste it; and aware that human life
Is but a loan to be repaid with use,
When he shall call his debtors to account
From whom are all our blessings-business finds
E'en here. While sedulous I seek t’improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd
The mind he gave me; driving it, though slack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work
By causes not to be divulged in vain,

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