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"The Gods preserve your majesty,'

The beggars all 'gan cry: 'Vouchsafe to give your charity Our children's food to buy. The king to them his purse did cast, And they to part it made great haste, This silly woman was the last

That after them did hie.

The king he call'd her back again, And unto her he gave his chain, And said, 'With us you shall remain

Till such time as we die:

'For thou,' quoth he, 'shalt be my wife,

And honoured for my queen; With thee I mean to lead my life, As shortly shall be seen:

Our wedding shall appointed be, And every thing in its degree: Come on,' quoth he, 'and follow me,

Thou shalt go shift thee clean. What is thy name, fair maid?' quoth he. 'Penelophon, O king,' quoth she: With that she made a low curtsy; 72 A trim one as I ween.

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BALLAD OF FAUSTUS.

THE JUDGMENT OF GOD SHOWED UPON ONE JOHN FAUSTUS, DOCTOR IN DIVINITY.

Tune of Fortune my Foe.

All Christian men, give ear a while to me,
How I am plung'd in pain, but cannot die:
I liv'd a life the like did none before,

4 Forsaking Christ, and I am damn'd therefore.

At Wittenburg, a town in Germany,

There was I born and bred of good degree; Of honest stock, which afterwards I sham'd; 8 Accurst therefore, for Faustus was I nam'd.

In learning, lo, my uncle brought up me,
And made me Doctor in Divinity;

And, when he died, he left me all his wealth, 12 Whose cursed gold did hinder my soul's health.

Then did I shun the holy Bible-book,

Nor on God's word would ever after look;
But studied accursed conjuration,

16 Which was the cause of my utter damnation.

The devil in friar's weeds appear'd to me, And straight to my request he did agree, That I might have all things at my desire: 20 I gave him soul and body for his hire.

Twice did I make my tender flesh to bleed,
Twice with my blood I wrote the devil's deed,
Twice wretchedly I soul and body sold,

24 To live in peace and do what things I would.

For four and twenty years this bond was made, And at the length my soul was truly paid! Time ran away, and yet I never thought

28 How dear my soul our Saviour Christ had bought.

Would I at first been made a beast by kind!
Then had not I so vainly set my mind;
Or would, when reason first began to bloom,
82 Some darksome den had been my deadly tomb!

Woe to the day of my nativity!

Woe to the time that once did foster me!
And woe unto the hand that seal'd the bill!

86 Woe to myself, the cause of all my ill!

The time I passed away, with much delight, 'Mongst princes, peers, and many a worthy knight: I wrought such wonders by my magic skill, 40 That all the world may talk of Faustus still.

The devil he carried me up into the sky, Where I did see how all the world did lie; I went about the world in eight days' space, 44 And then return'd unto my native place.

What pleasure I did wish to please my mind
He did perform, as bond and seal did bind;
The secrets of the stars and planets told,
48 Of earth and sea, with wonders manifold.

When four and twenty years was almost run, I thought of all things that was past and done, How that the devil would soon claim his right, 52 And carry me to everlasting night.

Then all too late I curst my wicked deed, The dread whereof doth make my heart to bleed All days and hours I mourned wondrous sore, 56 Repenting me of all things done before.

I then did wish both sun and moon to stay,
All times and seasons never to decay;
Then had my time ne'er come to dated end,
60 Nor soul and body down to hell descend.

At last, when I had but one hour to come,
I turn'd my glass, for my last hour to run,
And call'd in learned men to comfort me;
64 But faith was gone, and none could comfort me.

By twelve o'clock my glass was almost out:
My grieved conscience then began to doubt;
I wished the students stay in chamber by;
68 But, as they staid, they heard a dreadful cry.

Then presently they came into the hall,
Whereas my brains was cast against the wall;
Both arms and legs in pieces torn they see,
72 My bowels gone: this was an end of me.

You conjurers and damned witches all,
Example take by my unhappy fall:
Give not your souls and bodies unto hell,
76 See that the smallest hair you do not sell.

But hope that Christ his kingdom you may gain, Where you shall never fear such mortal pain; Forsake the devil and all his crafty ways,

80 Embrace true faith that never more decays.

ROBERT HERRICK.

ROBERT HERRICK (1591-1674) was

born as the son of a rich goldsmith in Cheapside, London, in 1591. After six years' apprenticeship with an uncle, he entered the university of Cambridge, and took his degree in 1620. His college time was followed by some years of cheerful life in London, during which he seems to have written much of his poetry. When nearly forty years old, he took holy orders, and was presented to the living of Dean Prior, Devonshire, where he spent most of his life in the quiet retirement of a country vicarage. Being a royalist, he was ejected from his benefice by the

in

Common-wealth government in 1647, but reinstated at the Restoration in 1662. He died there, at the age of 83, 1674. During his involuntary absence from Dean Prior, he collected his poems, and published them under the title of 'Hesperides' in 1648. Besides sacred poetry and rather poor epigrams he wrote some thousand lyrical poems, which for melodiousness of language, and felicity and grace of expression, are scarcely surpassed in English literature. Though wanting in spontaneous passion, he may be justly called the greatest lyrical poet of England before Shelley.

THE NIGHT-PIECE: TO JULIA.

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
The shooting stars attend thee;
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow

6 Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will-o'-the-wisp mislight thee,
Nor snake or slow-worm bite thee;
But on, on thy way

Not making a stay,

Let not the dark thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber?
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light
Like tapers clear without number.

Then, Julia, let me woo thee,

Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet
Thy silv'ry feet,

10 Since ghost there's none to affright thee. My soul I'll pour into thee.

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TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING.

Bid me to live, and I will live

Thy Protestant to be;

Or bid me love, and I will give
A loving heart to thee.

A heart as soft, a heart as kind,
A heart as sound and free
As in the whole world thou canst find,
That heart I'll give to thee.

Bid me to weep, and I will weep,
While I have eyes to see:
And, having none, yet I will keep
A heart to weep for thee.

Bid me despair, and I'll despair
Under that cypress-tree:
Or bid me die, and I will dare
E'en death, to die for thee.

Bid that heart stay, and it will stay Thou art my life, my love, my heart,

To honour thy decree:

Or bid it languish quite away,

And 't shall do so for thee.

The very eyes of me:

And hast command of every part,
To live and die for thee.

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EPITAPH,

upon a Child that died.

Here a pretty baby lies
Sung asleep with lullabies:
Pray be silent, and not stir

Th' easy earth that covers her.

TO THE WESTERN WIND.

Sweet western wind, whose luck it is, Bring me but one, I'll promise thee,

Made rival with the air,

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Instead of common showers,

Thy wings shall be embalm'd by me,
And all beset with flowers.

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