At night t' th' heath-bells purple hood they fly, And like to princes in their slumbers lie, Secure from rain, and dropping dues, aud all In silken beds and roomy painted hall. So merrily they spend their summer day, Now in the corn-fields, now in the new-mown hay, One almost fancies that such happy things, With coloured hoods, and richly burnished wings, Are fairy folk, in splendid masquerade Disguised, as if of mortal folk afraid ;Keeping their joyous pranks a mystery still, Lest glaring day should do their secrets ill. MERCY. Clare. The quality of mercy is not strained; 90 A PART FOR EVERY ONE. The attribute to awe and majesty, And earthly power doth then show likest When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, man, Though justice be thy plea, consider thisThat in the course of justice, none of us Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy; And that same prayer should teach us all to render The deeds of mercy. Shakespeare. A PART FOR EVERY ONE. True, therefore doth heaven divide The state of man in divers functions, Setting endeavours in continual motion; To which is fixed, as an aim or butt, Obedience: for so work the honey bees; Creatures that, by rule in nature, teach The art of order to a peopled kingdom. A PART FOR EVERY ONE. 91 They have a king, and officers of sorts; Where some like magistrates, correct at home; Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad; To the tent-royal of their emperor, The lazy yawning drone. I this infer, As many several ways meet in one town; Shakespeare. 92 SONNET. SONNET ON HIS BLINDNESS. When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve wherewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He, returning, chide; 'Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?' I fondly ask; but patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies;-"God doth not need Either man's work, or his own gifts; who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest; They also serve, who only stand and wait. Millon. SLAVERY. SLAVERY. O for a lodge in some vast wilderness, 93 Might never reach me more. My ear is pain'd, My soul is sick, with every day's report There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart, Not colour'd like his own; and having power cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. |