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Thy true friend's wishes, Colby, which shall be, That thine be just and honest, that thy deeds Not wound thy conscience, when thy body bleeds; That thou dost all things more for truth than
glory, And never but for doing wrong sorry; That by commanding first thyself, thou mak'st Thy person fit for any charge thou tak’st; That fortune never make thee to complain, But what she gives, thou dar'st give her again ; That whatsoever face thy fate puts on, Thou shrink or start not, but be always one, That thou think nothing great, but what is good, And from that thought strive to be understood. So, 'live or dead, thou wilt preserve a fame Still precious with the odor of thy name. And last, blaspheme not: we did never hear Man thought the valianter 'cause he durst swear; No more than we should think a lord had had More honor in him, 'cause we've known him mad. These take; and now go seek thy peace in war, Who falls for love of God, shall rise a star.
AN EPITAPH ON MASTER PHILIP GRAY.
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. They are not, sir, worst owers that do pay Debts when they can; good men may break
their day, And yet the noble nature never grudge; 'Tis then a crime, when the usurer is judge, And he is not in friendship; nothing there Is done for gain : if ’t be, 'tis not sincere. Nor should I at this time protested be, But that some greater names have broke with me, And their words too, where 22 I but break my
band; I add that but, because I understand That as the lesser breach; for he that takes Simply my band, his trust in me forsakes, And looks unto the forfeit. If you be Now so much friend, as you would trust in me, Venture a longer time, and willingly; All is not barren land doth fallow lie; Some grounds are made the richer for the rest, And I will bring a crop, if not the best.
Can beauty, that did prompt me first to write,
That as the water makes things, put in't straight,
By those bright eyes, at whose immortal fires
24 He alludes to the two proverbs, Faint Heart, &c., and Fortes Fortuna juvat. -G.
pure baths your either cheek discloses, Where he doth steep himself in milk and roses ; And lastly, by your lips, the bank of kisses, Where men at once may plant and gather
A SATIRICAL SHRUB.2
A woman's friendship! God, whom I trust in, Forgive me this one foolish deadly sin,
25 This is more in the style and manner of Donne than of our author. It may, however, be his; though I suspect that
Amongst my many other, that I may
[Here something is wanting. ]
Knew I this woman? yes,
the loose scraps found after his death, among his papers, were committed to the press without much examination. There was undoubtedly an intercommunity of verse between the two friends; but I do not wish to carry the argument any further. -G.