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strains his young nerves, and puts himself in posture
that acts my words. The younger brother, Cadwal
(once Arviragus), in as like a figure,

strikes life into my speech, and shows much more
his own conceiving.





PRAY thee, cease thy counsel,

which falls into mine ears as profitless

as water in a sieve: give not me counsel;

nor let no comforter delight mine ear

but such a one whose wrongs do suit with mine.
Bring me a father that so lov'd his child,
whose joy of her is overwhelm'd like mine,
and bid him speak of patience;

measure his woe the length and breadth of mine,
and let it answer every strain for strain,

as thus for thus, and such a grief for such,
in every lineament, branch, shape, and form:

if such a one will smile, and stroke his beard,
and-sorrow, wag! cry hem, when he should groan,
patch grief with proverbs, make misfortune drunk
with candle-wasters,-bring him yet to me,
and I of him will gather patience.

But there is no such man: for, brother, men,
can counsel, and speak comfort to that grief
which they themselves not feel; but, tasting it,
their counsel turns to passion, which before
would give preceptial medicine to rage,
fetter strong madness in a silken thread,
charm ache with air, and agony with words:
no, no; 'tis all men's office to speak patience
to those that wring under the load of sorrow;
but no man's virtue nor sufficiency,
to be so moral when he shall endure
the like himself. Therefore give me no counsel:
my griefs cry louder than advertisement.







F. S




'IVE me my robe, put on my crown; I have immortal longings in me: now no more


the juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip:—
yare, yare, good Iras; quick.—Methinks I hear
Antony call; I see him rouse himself

to praise my noble act; I hear him mock
the luck of Cæsar, which the gods give men
to excuse their after wrath:-husband, I come:
now to that name my courage prove my title!
I am fire and air; my other elements

I give to baser life.-So,--have you done?
ome then, and take the last warmth of my lips.
arewell, kind Charmian;—Iras, long farewell.
lave I the aspic in my lips? Dost fall?
thou and nature can so gently part,


in str

e stroke of death is as a lover's pinch,

ich hurts, and is desired. Dost thou lie still?
thus thou vanishest, thou tell'st the world
s not worth leave-taking.

beyor the he

the ki

solve, thick cloud, and rain; that I may say,
gods themselves do weep!

when c

the war..

into my

This proves me base:

e first meet the curléd Antony,

make demand of her; and spend that kiss,
is my heaven to have.-Come, thou mortal

thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate

at once untie: poor venomous fool,

gry, and dispatch. O, couldst thou speak,
might hear thee call great Cæsar ass

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and thus

the princely

not yet seen in the court. Hunting the buck,
I found him sitting by a fountain's side,

of which he borrow'd some to quench his thirst,
and paid the nymph again as much in tears.
A garland lay him by, made by himself,
of many several flowers bred in the vale,
stuck in that mystic order that the rareness
delighted me; but ever when he turn'd
his tender eyes upon 'em, he would weep,
as if he meant to make 'em grow again.
Seeing such pretty helpless innocence
dwell in his face, I ask'd him all his story:
he told me that his parents gentle died,
leaving him to the mercy of the fields,

which gave him roots; and of the crystal springs,
which did not stop their courses; and the sun,
which still, he thanked him, yielded him his light.
then took he up his garland, and did shew
what every flower, as country-people hold,
did signify, and how all, order'd thus,

express'd his grief: and, to my thoughts, did read
the prettiest lecture of his country-art

that could be wish'd: so that methought I could
have studied it. I gladly entertain'd

him, who was glad to follow: and have got
the trustiest, loving'st and the gentlest boy,
that ever master kept. Him will I send
to wait on you, and bear our hidden love.




Y father oft would speak


your worth and virtue; and, as I did grow
more and more apprehensive, I did thirst
to see the man so praised. But yet all this
was but a maiden-longing, to be lost
as soon as found; till once I saw a god

I thought (but it was you) enter our gates;
my blood flew out and back again, as fast
as I had puff'd it forth and sucked it in

like breath; then was I called away in haste
to entertain you. Never was a man
heaved from a sheep-cot to a sceptre, raised
so high in thoughts as I; you left a kiss
upon these lips then, which I mean to keep
from you for ever; I did hear you talk
far above singing. After you were gone
I grew acquainted with my heart and searched
what stirred it so: alas, I found it love!
For this I did delude my noble father
with a feigned pilgrimage, and dress'd myself
in habit of a boy, and, for I knew

my birth no match for you, I was past hope
of having you; and understanding well
that when I made discovery of my sex,
I could not stay with you, I made a vow
by all the most religious things a maid
could call together, never to be known,

whilst there was hope to hide me from men's eyes,
for other than I seemed, that I might ever

abide with you. Then sate I by the fount
where first you took me up.





UT-let us not with melancholy thoughts poison the enjoyment of an hour so fairsee how those cottages, begirt with green, gleam in the radiance of the setting sun! His orb is disappearing; day is done; yet he hastes on and calls to birth new life. Alas! why can I not on pinions spurn the ground, and still pursuing, still be left behind him? Then at my feet should I entranced behold evening's eternal stillness wrap the world; find every summit, every vale at rest, each stream of silver flow with waves of gold: no deep ravines, no rugged mountain-top would interrupt me in my godlike flight. Even now the sea, with all its sunlit bays, unrolls his depths before my wandering eyes. But lo! at length he seems to sink away;


yet a new impulse is awakened in me,
I hasten on to drink perpetual light,

the day before me and the night behind,
the heavens above me and the waves beneath!
'tis but a glorious vision-he is gone-
oh that this gross material has no wings
to follow the pure spirit as it flies;

yet there is something resident within us
prompts all our feelings, lifts them to the skies;
whene'er the lark, lost in the boundless blue,
pours forth his stream of quivering melody,
or soars the eagle o'er the mountain pines
poised on the breadth of his almighty wings,
or o'er the wide-spread plains, o'er ocean's bed
the grey-plumed heron slowly sails towards home.
translated from GOETHE


METHINKS I am a prophet new inspir'd,

and, thus, expiring do foretell of him:

his rash fierce blaze of riot cannot last,

for violent fires soon burn out themselves;

small showers last long, but sudden storms are short;

he tires betimes that spurs too fast betimes;

with eager feeding food doth choke the feeder:
light vanity, insatiate cormorant,

consuming means, soon preys upon itself.
This royal throne of kings, this scepter'd isle,
this earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
this other Eden, demi-paradise;
this fortress, built by Nature for herself
against infection and the hand of war;
this happy breed of men, this little world;
this precious stone set in the silver sea,
which serves it in the office of a wall,
or as a moat defensive to a house,

against the envy of less happier lands;

this blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England, this land of such dear souls, this dear dear land,

dear for her reputation through the world,

is now leas'd out (I die pronouncing it),

like to a tenement or pelting farm:

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