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Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder
(If things eternal may be like these earthly),
Such the dire terror when the great Archangel

Shakes the creation 1;
Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven,
Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes ;
See the graves open, and the bones arising,

Flames all around them.
Hark, the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches !
Lively bright horror, and amazing anguish,
Stare through their eye-lids, while the living worm lies

Gnawing within them.
Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart-strings,
And the smart twinges, when the eye beholds the
Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance

Rolling before him.
Hopeless immortals ! how they scream and shiver,
While devils push them to the pit wide-yawning
Hideous and gloomy to receive them headlong

Down to the centre.
Stop here, my fancy (all away, ye horrid
Doleful ideas !): come, arise to Jesus,
How he sits God-like, and the saints around him

Throned, yet adoring !

I sit there when he comes triumphant,
Dooming the nations ! then ascend to glory,
While our hosannas all along the passage
Shout the Redeemer.



Oh, may


1042. ALL THE FLOWERS OF THE SPRING All the flowers of the spring Sweetest breath and clearest eye Meet to perfume our burying ; Like perfumes go out and die; These have but their growing And consequently this is done prime,

As shadows wait


the And man does flourish but his time.

Vain the ambition of kings Surveyour progress from our birth: Who seek by trophies and dead We are set, we grow, we turn to things earth.

To leave a living name behind, Courts adieu, and all delights, And weave but nets to catch the All bewitching appetites !

wind. J. WEBSTER (The Devil's Law Case).

CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren,
Since o'er shady groves they hover
And with leaves and flowers do cover
The friendless bodies of unburied men.
Call unto his funeral dole
The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole
To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm
And (when gay tombs are robbed) sustain no harm ;
But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men,
For with his nails he'll dig them up again.

J. WEBSTER (The White Devil).

1044. DIRGE
HARK! now everything is still ;
This screech-owl, and the whistler shrill,
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud.
Much you had of land and rent;
Your length in clay 's now competent.
A long war disturbed your mind ;
Here your perfect peace is signed.
Of what is't fools make such vain keeping ?
Sin, their conception : their birth, weeping:
Their life, a general mist of error ;
Their death, a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet :
And—the foul fiend more to check-
A crucifix let bless your neck.
'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day:
End your groan and come away.

J. WEBSTER (The Duchess of Malfi).

O, LET us howl some heavy note,

Some deadly doggèd howl,
Sounding, as from the threatening throat

Of beasts and fatal fowl !
As ravens, screech-owls, bulls, and bears,

We'll bell and bawl our parts,
Till irksome noise have cloyed your ears,

And corrosived your hearts.
At last, whenas our quire wants breath,

Our bodies being blessed,
We'll sing, like swans, will welcome death,
And die in love and rest.

J. WEBSTER (The Duchess of Malfi).

LOVE is a law, a discord of such force,
That 'twixt our sense and reason makes divorce ;
Love 's a desire, that to obtain betime,
We lose an age of years plucked from our prime;
Love is a thing to which we soon consent,
As soon refuse, but sooner far repent.
Then what musi women be that are the cause
That love hath life ? that lovers feel such laws ?
They're like the winds upon Lepanthae's shore
That still are changing : 0, then love no more !
A woman's love is like that Syrian flower,
That buds, and spreads, and withers in an hour.

J. WEBSTER AND W. ROWLEY (The Thracian Wonder).

I AM a woman, and am proud of it.
We are content that man shall take the lead,
Knowing he ever will look back on us
With doting eye, not caring how he steps.
Walking thus blindly, we may guide him so
That he shall turn which way shall please us best :
So we can beckon him where'er we will,
And lead him ever round about his grave,
And in whene'er we list.-
All matters that are greater than ourselves
Do trace their secret graces to our hands.
For glory captains struggle in the fight,
And play against the bulwark of the foe
The o'erbrowing engines in the stubborn siege ;
But love doth brace the garland on his head,
Making proud victory sweeter than it is.
What warlike prince did doff his laurel yet
But he did cast it in some fair maid's lap,
Saying, “My greatness I commit to thee,
Mistress of it, and me, and my proud heart'?

Nay, even high offices, renown and praise,
Greatness of name, honour of men's regard,
Power and state and sumptuous array,
Do pay a tribute to the lips of love,
Fetching their freshness and their darling grace
From woman's approbation,—waiting still
Close to her elbow till she please to smile
Upon the cause whereof the man is proud,
And say that it is well.

Our will is the strong rudder to our bark ;
Our wit, the sails ; beauty, the swelling tide ;
Caprice, the tackle, serving to all winds,-
Though light as nothing, yet it tells like truth ;
And constancy, the anchor that's upheaved,
For ever falling and yet never struck.

C. J. WELLS (Joseph and his Brethren).

1048. RACHEL The dim blue-lacèd veins on either brow, Neath the transparent skin meandering, That with the silvery-leaved lily vied ; Her full dark eye, whose brightness glistened through The sable lashes soft as camel-hair ; Her slanting head curved like the maiden moon And hung with hair luxuriant as a vine And blacker than a storm ; her rounded ear Turned like a shell upon some golden shore ; Her whispering foot that carried all her weight, Nor left its little pressure on the sand ; Her lips as drowsy poppies, soft and red, Gathering a dew from her escaping breath ; Her voice melodious, mellow, deep, and clear, Lingering like sweet music in the ear ; Her neck o'ersoftened like to unsunned curd ; Her tapering fingers rounded to a point ; The silken softness of her veinéd hand ; Her dimpled knuckles answering to her chin ; And teeth like honeycombs o' the wilderness.

C. J. WELLS (Joseph and his Brethren).

What man in his wits had not rather be poor,

Than for lucre his freedom to give,
Ever busy the means of his life to secure,

And so ever neglecting to live ?
Environed from morning to night in a crowd,

NO a moment unbent, or alone ;
Constrained to be abject, though never so proud,

And at every one's call but his own.
Still repining, and longing for quiet, each hour,

Yet studiously flying it still ;
With the means of enjoying his wish, in his power ;

But accursed with his wanting the will.

For a year must be past, or a day must be come,

Before he has leisure to rest ;
He must add to his store this or that pretty sum,

And then he will have time to be blessed.
But his gains more bewitching the more they increase,

Only swell the desire of his eye :
Such a wretch, let mine enemy live if he please,
Let not even mine enemy die.


In an arbour green asleep I lay,
The birds sang sweet in the middle of the day,
I dreamed fast of mirth and play:

In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.
Methought I walked still to and fro,
And from her company I could not go-
But when I waked it was not so:

In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.
Therefore my heart is surely pyght
Of her alone to have a sight
Which is my joy and heart's delight :
In youth is pleasure, in youth is pleasure.

R. WEVER (Lusty Juventus).

1051. TO AN EARLY PRIMROSE MILD offspring of a dark and sullen sire ! Whose modest form, so delicately fine,

Was nursed in whirling storms,

And cradled in the winds. Thee, when young Spring first questioned Winter's way, And dared the sturdy blusterer to the fight,

Thee on this bank he threw

To mark his victory.
In this low vale, the promise of the year,
Serene, thou openest to the nipping gale,

Unnoticed and alone,

Thy tender elegance.
So virtue blooms, brought forth amid the storms
Of chill adversity ; in some lone walk

Of life she rears her head,

Obscure and unobserved ;
While every bleaching breeze that on her blows,
Chastens her spotless purity of breast,

And hardens her to bear
Serene the ills of life.


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