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There, take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny; 'tis the king's; my robe,
And my integrity to heaven, is all

I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but serv'd my God with half the zeal
I serv'd my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.

Shakspeare.

SLEEP.

How many thousand of my poorest subjects,
Are at this hour asleep!-Sleep, gentle sleep,
Nature's soft nurse, how have I frighted thee,
That thou no more wilt weigh my eyelids down,
And steep my senses in forgetfulness?

Why rather, sleep, liest thou in smoky cribs,
Upon uneasy pallets stretching thee,

And hush'd with buzzing night-flies to thy slumber;
Than in the perfum'd chambers of the great,

Under the canopies of costly state,

And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody?

O thou dull god, why liest thou with the vile,
In loathsome beds; and leav'st the kingly couch,
A watch-case, or a common 'larum bell?

Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast
Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains
In cradle of the rude imperious surge;
And in the visitation of the winds,

Who take the ruffian billows by the top,

Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them
With deaf ning clamours in the slippery clouds,
That, with the hurly, death itself awakes?
Can'st thou, O partial sleep! give thy repose
To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude;
And in the calmest and most stillest night,
With all appliances and means to boot,
Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down!
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.

Shakspeare.

HYMN TO THE CREATOR.

THESE are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty! Thine this universal frame,

Thus wonderous fair; Thyself how wonderous then!
Unspeakable, Who sitt'st above these heavens
To us invisible, or dimly seen

In these Thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels; for ye behold Him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle His throne rejoicing; ye in heaven.
On earth join all ye Creatures to extol

Him first, Him last, Him midst, and without end.
Fairest of Stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,

Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise Him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou Sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge Him thy greater; sound His praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb❜st,
And when high noon hast gain'd, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st,
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies;
And ye five other wandering Fires, that move
In mystic dance not without song, resound
His praise, Who out of darkness call'd up light.
Air, and ye Elements, the eldest birth
Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform; and mix

And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary to our Great Maker still new praise.
Ye Mists and Exhalations, that now rise
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's Great Author rise;
Whether to deck with clouds the uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling still advance His praise.

His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye Pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains, and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune His praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls: Ye Birds,
That singing up to Heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes His praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,

To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, Universal Lord, be bounteous still
To give us only good; and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark!

Milton.

MERCY.

THE quality of mercy is not strain'd;
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blessed;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes;
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this scepter'd sway,
It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;

And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice, Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,-
That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy,
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

Shakspeare.

DISCORD'S HOUSE.

HARD by the gates of hell her dwelling is,
There whereas all plagues and harmes abound,
Which punish wicked men that walk amiss :
It is a darksome delve farre under ground,
With thorns and barren brakes environ'd round,
That none the same way may out win.
Yet many ways to enter may be found,
But none to issue forth when one is in ;
For discord harder is to end than to begin.

And all within the riven walles were hung
With ragged monuments of times fore-past,
Of which the sad effects of discord sung:
There were rent robes and broken sceptres plac't,
Altars defil'd, and holy things defac't,
Dishevered spears, and shields ytorne in twaine,
Great cittys ransack't, and strong castles ras't,
Nations captived, and huge armies slain;
Of all which ruines there some reliques did remain.

There was the signe of antique Babylon,

Of fatal Thebes, of Rome that reigned long,
Of sacred Salem, and sad Ilion;

For memory of which on high there hong
The golden apple (cause of all their wrong),
For which the three fair goddesses did strive :
There also was the name of Nimrod strong;
Of Alexander, and his princes five,

Which shar'd to them the spoils which he had got alive.

And there the reliques of the drunken fray
The which among the Lapithees befell;
And of the bloody feast, which sent away
So many centaurs' drunken souls to hell,
That under great Alcides' fury fell;

And of the dreadful discord which did drive
The noble Argonauts to outrage fell,

That each of life sought other to deprive,

All mindless of the golden fleece which made them

strive.

And eke of private persons many moe,

That 'twere too long a work to count them all : Some of sworne friends, that did their faith forgoe; Some of borne brethren, prov'd unnatural ; Some of deare lovers, foes perpetual ;— Witness their broken bands there to be seen, Their girlonds rent, their bowres dispoiled all; The monuments whereof there byding been, As plaine as at the first, when they were fresh and

green.

Such was the house within: but all without, The barren ground was full of wicked weeds Which she herself had sowen all about, Now growen great, at first of little seeds, The seeds of evil words, and factious deedes ; Which when to ripeness due they growen are, Bring forth an infinite increase, that breedes Tumultuous trouble, and contentious jarre, The which must often end in bloodshed and in warre.

HYMN TO THE SEA.

Spenser.

WHO shall declare the secret of thy birth,
Thou old companion of the circling earth?
And having reached with keen poetic sight
Ere beast or happy bird

Through the vast silence stirred,

Roll back the folded darkness of the primal night?

Corruption-like, thou teemedst in the graves
Of mouldering systems, with dark weltering waves
Troubling the peace of the first mother's womb;
Whose ancient awful form,

With inly-tossing storm,

Unquiet heavings kept-a birth-place and a tomb.
Till the life-giving Spirit moved above
The face of the waters, with creative love
Warming the hidden seeds of infant light :
What time the mighty word

Through thine abyss was heard,

And swam from out thy deeps the young day heavenly bright.

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