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XXIX.

A POEM BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH,1

HALL I, like an hermit, dwell
On a rock or in a cell,

Calling home the smallest part
That is missing of my heart,

To bestow it, where I may
Meet a rival every day?

If she undervalue me,

What care I how fair she be?

Were her tresses angel-gold,
If a stranger may be bold
Unrebuked, unafraid,

To convert them to a braid,
And, with little more ado,
Work them into bracelets too;

If the mine be grown so free,
What care I how rich it be?

Were her hand as rich a prize
As her hairs or precious eyes,
If she lay them out to take
Kisses for good manners' sake,
And let every lover skip
From her hand unto her lip;

If she seem not chaste to me,

What care I how chaste she be?

1 "London Magazine," August, 1734, p. 444, entitled as above. Mentioned on that authority only, by Oldys and (apparently) Ritson, and appended to Raleigh's "Life" by Cayley.

No; she must be perfect snow,
In effect as well as show;
Warming but as snow-balls do,
Not, like fire, by burning too;
But when she by change hath got
To her heart a second lot,

Then, if others share with me,
Farewell her, whate'er she be !

XXX.

TO HIS SINGULAR FRIEND,

WILLIAM LITHGOW.1

(1618.)

HILES I admire thy first and second

W

ways,

Long ten years wandering in the world-wide bounds;

I rest amazed to think on these assays

That thy first travel to the world forth sounds: In bravest sense, compendious ornate style, Didst show most rare adventures to this isle.

And now thy second pilgrimage I see

At London thou resolvest to put in light; Thy Libyan ways, so fearful to the eye,

And Garamants their strange amazing sight. 1 Prefixed to Lithgow's "Pilgrim's Farewell," 1618.

Meanwhile this work affords a three-fold gain In fury of thy fierce Castalian vein;

As thou for travels brookest the greatest name, So voyage on, increase, maintain the same!

W. R.

PART II

POEMS FROM

RELIQUIE WOTTONIANÆ,

1651-1685,

WITH SOME ADDITIONS.

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