God. Whilst thou proved'st pure, and that in thee
I could glass all my Deity;

How glad did I from heaven depart,

To find a lodging in thy heart!

Soul. Now fame and greatness bear the sway;
"Tis they that hold my prison's key:

For whom my soul would die, might she
Leave them her immortality.

God. I and some few pure souls conspire,
And burn both in a mutual fire,
For whom I'ld die once more, ere they
Should miss of heaven's eternal day.
Soul. But, Lord, what if I turn again,
And, with an adamantine chain,
Lock me to Thee? What if I chase
The world away to give Thee place?
God. Then, though these souls, in whom I joy,
Are seraphims,-thou but a toy,

A foolish toy,-yet once more I

Would with thee live, and for thee die.

IGNOTO.

XIX.

DOCTOR BROOKE OF TEARS.1

HO would have thought there could have

been

Such joy in tears wept for our sin?

Mine eyes have seen, my heart hath

proved,

1 "Rel. Wotton." as "Doctor B. of Tears." The full name was obtained from a MS. belonging to Mr. J. P.

The most and best of earthly joys;

The sweets of love, and being loved;
Masks, feasts and plays, and such like toys:
Yet this one tear, which now doth fall,
In true delight exceeds them all.
Indeed mine eyes at first let in
Those guests that did these woes begin;

Therefore mine eyes in tears and grief
Are justly drowned; but that those tears
Should comfort bring, is past belief.
O God! in this Thy grace appears,

Thou that mak'st light from darkness spring,
Mak'st joys to weep, and sorrows sing.

O where am I? what may I think?
Help, help! alas, my heart doth sink!
Thus lost in seas of woe,

Thus laden with my sin,
Waves of despair dash in,

And threat my overthrow.

What heart oppressed with such a weight
Can choose but break, and perish quite?

Yet, as at sea in storms, men use,
The ship to save, their goods to lose;

So in this fearful storm

This danger to prevent,
Before all hope be spent,

I'll choose the lesser harm:

My tears to seas I will convert,

And drown my eyes to save my

heart.

Collier. Erroneously included in the "Poems of Pembroke and Rudyard," 1660, p. 46, with the title, "Benj. Rudier of Tears."

O God, my God! what shall I give
To Thee in thanks? I am and live

In Thee, and Thou didst safe preserve
My health, my fame, my goods, my rent;
Thou mak'st me eat while others starve,
And sing, whilst others do lament.
Such unto me Thy blessings are,
As if I were Thy only care.

But, O my God! Thou art more kind,
When I look inward on my mind:

Thou fill'st my heart with humble joy,
With patience, meekness, fervent love,
Which doth all other loves destroy,
With faith, which nothing can remove,
And hope assured of heaven's bliss:-
This is my state, Thy grace is this.

XX.

I.

BY CHIDICK TYCHBORN,

BEING YOUNG AND THEN IN THE TOWER, THE NIGHT BEFORE HIS EXECUTION.1

(1586.)

Y prime of youth is but a frost of cares; My feast of joy is but a dish of pain;

M

My crop of corn is but a field of tares;

And all my good is but vain hope of gain;

"Rel. Wotton." and in numerous MS. copies; e. g. Harl. MS. 6910, fol. 141, verso; MS. Ashm. 781, p. 138; MS. Malone, 19, p. 44, &c.

The day is fled, and yet I saw no sun;
And now I live, and now my life is done!

The spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung;

The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green; My youth is gone, and yet I am but young;

I saw the world, and yet I was not seen;

My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun;
And now I live, and now my life is done!

I sought my death, and found it in my womb;
I looked for life, and saw it was a shade;
I trod the earth, and knew it was my tomb;
And now I die, and now I am but made;
The glass is full, and now my glass is run;
And now I live, and now my life is done!

II.

AN ANSWER TO MR. TICHBORNE,

WHO WAS EXECUTED WITH BABINGTON.1

HY flower of youth is with a north wind blasted;

Thy feast of joy is an idea found;

Thy corn is shed, thy untimely harvest

wasted;

Thy good in ill, thy hope in hurt [is drowned]; Dark was thy day, and shadow was thy sun, And, by such lights, thy life untimely spun.

From a MS. belonging to Mr. J. P. Collier.

Thy tale was nought, thy oratory told;

Thy fruit is rotten, and thy leaves are gone; Thyself wert young in years, in time grown old;

The world accounts thee not worth thinking on; Thy thread [of life]'s not cut nor spun, but broken; So let thy heart, though yet it be but open.

Thou sought'st thy death, and found'st it in desert; Thou look'dst for life, yet lewdly felt it fade; Thou trodd'st on earth, and now in earth thou art; And men may wish that thou hadst ne'er been

[made];

Thy glory and thy glass are timeless run,
Which, O unhappy! by thyself was done.

R

XXI.

RISE, O MY SOUL.'

(Author unknown.)

ISE, O my soul! with thy desires to heaven,

And with divinest contemplation use

Thy time, where time's eternity is given,

And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse;
But down in [midnight] darkness let them lie;
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die!

And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,
View and review, with most regardful eye,

1 "Rel. Wotton." Claimed without authority for Raleigh by Brydges and the Oxford editors.