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Ask me no more, if east or west,
The phenix builds her spicy nest;
For unto you at last she flies,

And in your fragrant bosom dies.

88. Robert Herrick, 1591-1674. (Handbook, par. 149.)

His poems are like his life, a strange mixture. When the ore is pure,' says Campbell, 'it is of great value.

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89. Dr. Henry King, 1591-1669. (Handbook, par. 163.)

The Dirge.

What is the existence of man's life,
But open war or slumber'd strife;
Where sickness to his sense presents
The combat of the elements;

And never feels a perfect peace

Till Death's cold hand signs his release? ..

It is a flower-which buds and grows
And withers as the leaves disclose;
Whose spring and fall faint seasons keep,
Like fits of waking before sleep;

Then shrinks into that fatal mould
Where its first being was enroll'd.
It is a dial-which points out
The sunset, as it moves about;
And shadows out in lines of night
The subtle stages of Time's flight;
Till all obscuring earth hath laid
His body in perpetual shade.

It is a weary interlude

...

Which doth short joys, long woes include;
The world the stage, the prologue tears,
The acts vain hopes and varied fears;
The scene shuts up with loss of breath,
And leaves no epilogue but death.

Out of six stanzas.

90. Francis Quarles, 1592-1644. (Handbook, par. 162.)

Is one of the metaphysical' poets, and is rich in religious feeling. Pope satirises him in the Dunciad, and says that the pictures for the page atone:' but there is often real beauty in both.

Delight in God only.

I love (and have some cause to love) the earth;

She is my Maker's creature, therefore good;

h;

She is my mother, for she gave me birth
She is my tender nurse, she gives me food.

But what's a creature, Lord, compared with thee?
Or what's my mother, or my nurse, to me?

I love the air; her dainty sweets refresh
My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me;
Her shrill-mouthed quire sustain me with their flesh,
And with their polyphonian notes delight me:

But what's the air or all the sweets that she
Can bless my soul withal, compared to thee?. . .
To heaven's high city I direct my journey,
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye;
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,
Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky.

But what is heaven, great God, compared to thee?
Without thy presence, heaven's no heaven to me.
Without thy presence, earth gives no refection;
Without thy presence, sea affords no treasure;
Without thy presence, air's a rank infection;
Without thy presence, heaven itself no pleasure.
If not possessed, if not enjoyed in thee,

What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me?

O that Thou wouldst hide Me in the Grave, that Thou woulds keep Me in secret until Thy wrath be past.

Ah! whither shall I fly? what path untrod
Shall I seek out to 'scape the flaming rod
Of my offended, of my angry God? ...

Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, nor cave,
Nor silent deserts, nor the sullen grave,

What flame-eyed Fury means to smite, can save.

"Tis vain to flee, till gentle Mercy show
Her better eye; the farther off we go,
The swing of Justice deals the mightier blow.
Th' ingenuous child, corrected, doth not fly
His angry mother's hand, but clings more nigh,
And quenches with his tears her flaming eye.
Great God! there is no safety here below;
Thou art my fortress, thou that seem'st my foe;

"Tis thou, that strik'st the stroke, must guard the blow.

His Enchiridion (1641) is one of the best collections of maxims in our language.

Dost thou want things necessary? Grumble not: perchance it was a necessary thing thou shouldst want. Endeavour lawfully to supply it; if God blesse not thy endeavour, blesse him that knoweth what is fittest for thee. Thou art God's patient; prescribe not thy physitian. Enchiridion, cent. iv. 34.

Use law and physicke only for necessity: they that use them otherwise, abuse themselves into weake bodies and light purses: they are good remedies, bad businesses, and worse recreations. Ib., cent. iii. 19.

The two knowledges, of God and thy selfe, are the high way to thy saivation; that breeds in thee a filiall love; this a filiall feare. The ignorance of thy selfe is the beginning of all sinne; and the ignorance of God is the perfection of all evill.

Faithful unto Death.

Ib., cent. iv. 26.

'Be faithful'-Lord, what's that?
"Believe;' 'tis easie to believe; but what?"
That he whom thy hard heart hath wounded,
And whom thy scorn hath spit upon,
Hath paid thy fine, and hath compounded
For those foul deeds thy hands have done:
Believe, that he whose gentle palms
Thy needle-pointed sins hath nailed,
Hath borne thy slavish load-of alms,
And made supply where thou hast failed.
Did ever misery find so strange relief?
It is a love too strange for man's belief.
Emblemes, Book v.- -The Farewell.
Curando Labascit.

You that always are bestowing
Costly pains in life repairing,
Are but always overthrowing
Nature's work by overcaring;
Nature, meeting with her

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In a work she hath to do,
Takes a pride to overthrow.

Out of five stanzas.

O, the sad, the frail condition

Of the pride of Nature's glory!
How infirm his composition,
And at best how transitory!

When his riot doth impair
Nature's weakness, then

his care

Adds more ruin by repair.

Hieroglyphickes of the Life of Man, Hier. iv. Out of seven stanzas.

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Ah me!

There is no rest;

Our time is always fleeting.

What rein can curb our headstrong hours;
They post away: They pass we know not how :
Our Now is gone before we can say Now:
Time past and future none of ours:
That hath as yet no being;

And this hath ceast

What is, is only ours:

To be.

How short a time have we!

Hier. xii

91. Izaak Walton, 1593-1683. (Handbook, par. 361.)

Thankful Content.

I will, as we walk in the cool shade of this sweet honeysuckle hedge, mention to you some of the thoughts and joys which have possessed my soul since we two met together. And these thoughts shall be told you, that you also may join with me in thankfulness to the Giver of every good and perfect gift for our happiness. And that our present happiness may appear to be the greater, and we the more thankful for it, I will beg you to consider with me how many do even at this very time lie under the torment of diseases that we are free from. And every misery that I miss is a new mercy; and therefore let us be thankful. There have been, since we met, others that have met disasters of broken limbs; some have been blasted, others thunderstricken; and we have been freed from these, and all those other miseries that threaten human nature: let us therefore rejoice and be thankful. Nay, which is a far greater mercy, we are freed from the insupportable burthen of an accusing tormenting conscience; a misery that none can bear: and therefore let us praise Him for his preventing grace, and say, every misery that I miss is a new mercy. Nay, let me tell you, there be many that have forty times our estate, that would give the greatest part of it to be healthful and cheerful like us. I have a rich neighbour who is always so busy that he has no leisure to

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