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'Tis better, if he there can dwell.

God wisheth none should wreck on a strange


To Him man's dearer than t' himself,"1
And, howsoever we may think things sweet,
He always gives what He knows meet;
Which who can use is happy: such be thou.
Thy morning's and thy evening's vow
Be thanks to him, and earnest prayer, to find
A body sound, with sounder mind;
To do thy country service, thyself right;
That neither want do thee affright,

Nor death; but when thy latest sand is spent,
Thou mayst think life a thing but lent.



False world, good night! since thou hast brought
That hour upon my morn of age,
Henceforth I quit thee from my thought,
My part is ended on thy stage.

Do not once hope that thou canst tempt
A spirit so resolved to tread

11 Whalley traces this sentiment, and all verses that follow, to the well-known passage in the tenth Satire of Juvenal:

"Permittes ipsis expendere Numinibus, quid
Conveniat nobis, rebusque sit utile nostris ;

Nam pro jucundis aptissima quæque dabunt dii.
Carior est illis homo, quam sibi -

Orandum est, ut sit mens sana in corpore sano."

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Upon thy throat, and live exempt

From all the nets that thou canst spread. I know thy forms are studied arts, Thy subtle ways be narrow straits; Thy courtesy but sudden starts,

And what thou call'st thy gifts are baits. I know, too, though thou strut and paint, Yet art thou both shrunk up and old That only fools make thee a saint, And all thy good is to be sold. I know thou whole art but a shop

Of toys and trifles, traps and snares, To take the weak, or make them stop: Yet thou art falser than thy wares. And, knowing this, should I yet stay, Like such as blow away their lives, And never will redeem a day,

Enamored of their golden gyves? Or, having 'scaped, shall I return,

And thrust my neck into the noose From whence, so lately, I did burn,

With all my powers, myself to loose?
What bird, or beast, is known so dull,
That fled his cage, or broke his chain,
And tasting air and freedom, wull
Render his head in there again?

If these, who have but sense, can shun
The engines that have them annoyed,
Little for me had reason done,

If I could not thy gins avoid.

Yes, threaten, do. Alas, I fear

As little, as I hope from thee; I know thou canst nor show, nor bear More hatred than thou hast to me. My tender, first, and simple years Thou didst abuse, and then betray; Since stirr'dst up jealousies and fears, When all the causes were away. Then in a soil hast planted me, Where breathe the basest of thy fools; Where envious arts professèd be,

And pride and ignorance the schools; Where nothing is examined, weighed, But as 'tis rumored, so believed; Where every freedom is betrayed,

And every goodness taxed or grieved. But, what we're born for, we must bear : Our frail condition it is such,

That what to all may happen here,

If 't chanced to me, I must not grutch. Else I my state should much mistake, To harbor a divided thought From all my kind; that for my sake, There should a miracle be wrought. No, I do know that I was born

To age, misfortune, sickness, grief; But I will bear these with that scorn, As shall not need thy false relief. Nor for my peace will I go far,

As wanderers do, that still do roam,

But make my strengths, such as they are,
Here in my bosom, and at home."




Come, my Celia, let us prove,
While we may, the sports of love;
Time will not be ours forever:
He at length our good will sever.
Spend not then his gifts in vain:
Suns that set, may rise again;
But if once we lose this light,
'Tis with us perpetual night.
Why should we defer our joys?
Fame and rumor are but toys.
Cannot we delude the eyes
Of a few poor household spies?
Or his easier ears beguile,
So removed by our wile?
'Tis no sin love's fruit to steal,

But the sweet theft to reveal:

To be taken, to be seen,

These have crimes accounted been.

12 There is a striking resemblance between these lines and that passage in Beaumont's Elegy on the Countess of RutJand, beginning

"Mankind is sent to sorrow," &c. — B.

13 These two charming songs, addressed to Celia, are imitated from Catullus. The first of the two is also to be found in Volpone. The same subject is treated with great grace and beauty by Herrick in one of his small lyrics. - B.


Kiss me, sweet: the wary lover
Can your favors keep, and cover,
When the common courting jay
bounties will betray.

All your

Kiss again! no creature comes;
Kiss, and score up wealthy sums
On my lips, thus hardly sundered,
While you breathe. First give a hundred,
Then a thousand, then another
Hundred, then unto the t'other
Add a thousand, and so more,
Till you equal with the store,
All the grass that Rumney yields,
Or the sands in Chelsea fields,14
Or the drops in silver Thames,
Or the stars that gild his streams,
In the silent summer-nights,

When youths ply their stolen delights;
That the curious may not know
How to tell 'em as they flow,
And the envious, when they find
What their number is, be pined.

14 Skinner derives the name of Chelsea from shelves of sand and ey or ea, land situated near water; but Lysons prefers the etymology of Norden, who says that "it is so called from the nature of the place, whose strand is like the chesel (ceosel or cesol) which the sea casteth up of sand and pebblestones, thereof called Cheselsey, briefly Chelsey, as is Chelsey in Sussex."-Speculum Britanniæ. — B.

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