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The same to wight he never wont disclose,
But when as monsters huge he would dismay,
Or daunt unequal armies of his foes,

Or when the flying heavens he would affray:
For so exceeding shone his glistering ray,
That Phoebus' golden face he did attaint,'
As when a cloud his beams doth overlay;
And silver Cynthia wexéd pale and faint,

As when her face is stained with magic arts constraint.

No magic arts hereof had any might,
Nor bloody words of bold enchanter's call;
But all that was not such as seemed in sight
Before that shield did fade, and sudden fall;
And, when him list the rascal routs' appal,
Men into stones therewith he could transmew,"
And stones to dust, and dust to naught at all;
And, when him list the prouder looks subdue,
He would them, gazing, blind, or turn to other hue.

THE MINISTRY OF ANGELS.
BOOK II, CANTO VIII.

And is there care in heaven? And is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base,
That may compassion of their evils move?
There is: else much more wretched were the case
Of men than beasts. But oh! th' exceeding grace
Of highest God, that loves his creatures so,
And all his works with mercy doth embrace,
That blessed angels he sends to and fro,

To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe!

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Their fleshly bower, most fit for their delight,
And the gross matter by a soverain might
Temper so trim, that it may well be seen
A palace fit for such a virgin queen.

So every spirit, as it is most pure,
And hath in it the more of heavenly light,
So it the fairer body doth procure

To habit in, and it more fairly dight
With cheerful grace and amiable sight;
For of the soul the body form doth take;
For soul is form, and doth the body make.

EASTER MORNING.

Most glorious Lord of life, that on this day Didst make thy triumph over death and sin, And, having harrowed hell, didst bring away Captivity thence captive, us to win;

This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin,
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest die,
Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin,
May live forever in felicity:

And that thy love we weighing worthily
May likewise love Thee for the same again:
And for thy sake, that all like dear didst buy,
With love may one another entertain.

So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought;
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.

MISERIES OF A COURT-LIFE.

These lines, from "Mother Hubbard's Tale," though not printed till 1581, seem to have reference to that part of Spenser's life when he was a suitor for court favor. He here drops his antique phraseology, and gives expression to carnest personal feeling in the plain English of his day.

So pitiful a thing is Suitor's state!
Most miserable man, whom wicked Fate
Hath brought to Court, to sue for "had I wist,"1
That few have found, and many one hath missed!
Full little knowest thou, that hast not tried,
What hell it is in sueing long to bide;

To lose good days that might be better spent ;
To waste long nights in pensive discontent;
To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow;
To feed on hope; to pine with fear and sorrow;
To have thy Prince's grace, yet want her Peers';
To have thy asking, yet wait many years;

1 Interpreted to mean "patronage," from the customary expression of patrons to their suitors, "Had I wist, I might have done so and so."

To fret thy soul with crosses and with cares;
To eat thy heart through comfortless despairs;
To fawn, to crouch, to wait, to ride, to run,
To spend, to give, to want, to be undone.
Unhappy wight, born to disastrous end,
That doth his life in so long tendance spend!
Whoever leaves sweet home, where mean estate
In safe assurance, without strife or hate,
Finds all things needful for contentment meek,
And will to Court for shadows vain to seek,
Or hope to gain, himself will a daw try:'
That curse God send unto mine enemy!

Sir Walter Raleigh.

Raleigh (born 1552, beheaded 1618) was nearly of like age with Spenser. There are forty short poems on miscellaneous subjects attributed, with tolerable certainty, to Raleigh. "The Nymph's Reply," sometimes placed among these, will be found in this volume under Marlowe. So small a quantity of verse cannot be regarded as adequately representing Raleigh's genius and power in literature. His life was one of the busiest and fullest of results on record. From his youth he was a sailor, a warrior, and a courtier; but he was also a student. Aubrey relates that "he studied most in his sea-voyages, when he carried always a trunk of books along with him, and had nothing to divert him." From the same source we learn that the companions of his youth "were boisterous blades, but generally those that had wit." The famous Mermaid Club, frequented by Shakspeare, Ben Jonson, and the other wits of the day, was founded by Raleigh; who, through his whole life, had a strong sympathy with literature and learning. His verses are vigorous and original, "full of splendid courage and a proud impetuosity." It is, however, in his prose writings that we must look for the best evidence of his genius.

Urged by the King of Spain to punish Raleigh for his attack on the town of St. Thomas, James I. basely resolved to carry into execution a sentence sixteen years old, which had been followed by an imprisonment of thirteen years, and then a release. So Raleigh was brought up before the Court of King's Bench to receive sentence, and was beheaded the next morning. The night before, the brave poet, looking at his candle as it was expiring in the socket, wrote this couplet:

"Cowards fear to die; but conrage stont,

Rather than live in snuff, will be put out."

The remarkable poem of "The Lie" is traced in manuscript to 1593. It exists in a MS. collection of poems in the British Museum of the date 1596. It appeared in print with alterations, in "Davison's Poetical Rhapsody," second edition, 1608. J. Payne Collier (1867) claims it for Raleigh, resting his authority on a manuscript copy

1 Will prove a jackdaw, a fool.

"of the time," headed "Sir Walter Wrawly, his Lie." In this copy the first line is,

"Hence, soule, the bodie's guest."

The poem has been assigned to Richard Barnfield; also, by several recent authorities, to Joshua Sylvester, in the folio edition of whose works there is an altered and inferior version, justly styled by Sir Egerton Brydges "a parody," and published under the title of "The Soul's Errand." It consists of twenty stanzas, all of four lines cach, excepting the first stanza, which has six. "The Lie" consists of but thirteen stanzas, of six lines each. On Raleigh's side there is good evidence besides the internal proof, which is very strong. Two answers to the poem, written in his lifetime, ascribe it to him; as do two manuscript copies of the period of Elizabeth. When and by whom it was first taken from Raleigh and given to Sylvester, with an altered title, is still a matter of doubt; and why Sylvester should have incorporated into his poem of "The Soul's Errand," six stanzas belonging to "The Lie," can be explained only by the laxity of the times in regard to literary property. The versions of this poem differ considerably. The title of "The Soul's Errand" is usually given to it.

THE LIE.

Go, soul, the body's guest,

Upon a thankless arrant:1 Fear not to touch the best;

The truth shall be thy warrant: Go, since I needs must die, And give the world the lie.

Say to the court, it glows

And shines like rotten wood; Say to the church, it shows What's good, and doth no good: If church and court reply, Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates, they live

Acting by others' action; Not loved unless they give,

Not strong, but by a faction: If potentates reply, Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition,

That rule affairs of state, Their purpose is ambition,

Their practice only hate: And if they once reply, Then give them all the lie.

1 Errand.

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A beggar that is dumb, you know,

May challenge double pity.

Then wrong not, dearest to my heart,
My true, though secret, passion:
He smarteth most that hides his smart,
And sues for no compassion.

MY PILGRIMAGE.

Supposed to have been written by Raleigh in 1603, in the interval between his condemnation and his temporary respite. It manifests great mental excitement; and alternates in rising to sublimity and sinking to bathos. There are several different versions of this extraordinary production.

Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,

My staff of faith to walk upon; My scrip of joy, immortal diet;

My bottle of salvation;

My gown of glory, hope's true gauge,
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage!
Blood must be my body's balmer,

No other balm will there be given;
Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,
Travelleth towards the land of Heaven;
Over the silver mountains

Where spring the nectar fountains:
There will I kiss

The bowl of bliss,

And drink mine everlasting fill
Upon every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry before;
But after, it will thirst no more.
Then by that happy, blissful day,

More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,
That have cast off their rags of clay,
And walk apparelled fresh like me.
I'll take them first

To quench their thirst,

And taste of nectar's suckets

At those clear wells

Where sweetness dwells

Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.
And when our bottles and all we
Are filled with immortality,
Then the blesséd paths we'll travel,
Strewed with rubies thick as gravel;
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
High walls of coral, and pearly doors.
From thence to Heaven's bribeless' hall,
Where no corrupted voices brawl;

1 Alluding to the common custom of bribery. Raleigh had himself given and taken bribes.

No conscience molten into gold,

3

No forged accuser,' bought or sold,
No cause deferred, no vain-speut journey,-
For there Christ is the King's Attorney;2
Who pleads for all without degrees,
And he hath angels, but no fees;
And when the grand twelve million jury
Of our sins, with direful fury,
'Gainst our souls black verdicts give,
Christ pleads his death, and then we live.
Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader,
Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder!
Thou giv'st salvation even for alms,-
Not with a bribéd lawyer's palms.
And this is mine eternal plea

To Him that made heaven, earth, and sea:
That since my flesh must die so soon,

And want a head to dine next noon,1

Just at the stroke when my veins start and spread
Set on my soul an everlasting head!
Then am I, like a palmer, fit

To tread those blest paths which before I writ:
Of death and judgment, heaven and hell,
Who oft doth think, must needs die well.

Sir Philip Sidney.

Sidney (1554-1586) was born at Penshurst, in Kent. He takes his rank in English literary history rather as a prose writer than as a poet. The high repute in which his verses were held among his contemporaries was du chiefly to what was esteemed their scholarly style; but in these days we should call it artificial. Some of his sonnets, however, are graceful in expression and noble in thought. "The best of them," says Charles Lamb "are among the very best of their sort. The verse runs off swiftly and gallantly, and might have been tuned to the trumpet." In 1586 Sidney took a command in the War in the Netherlands. His death occurred in the au tumn of the same year, from wounds received at the as sault of Zutphen. He was then only thirty-two year of age.

ON DYING.

Since Nature's works be good, and death doth serv As Nature's work, why should we fear to die? Since fear is vain but when it may preserve, Why should we fear that which we cannot fly? Fear is more pain than is the pain it fears, Disarming human minds of native might;

1 Like Lord Cobham, at his trial in re Arabella Stuart.

2 Unlike Coke, the King's attorney in Raleigh's trial.

* Angel—a play upon the word, alluding to the coin called a "angel."

4 Alluding to his impending execution.

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