The Golden Treasury. Unknown

delights can judge, and spare

           To interpose them oft, is not unwise.

J. MILTON.

      77. TO CYRIACK SKINNER

           Cyriack, whose grandsire on the royal bench

           Of British Themis, with no mean applause

           Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,

           Which others at their bar so often wrench;

           To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench

           In mirth, that after no repenting draws;

           Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,

           And what the Swede intends, and what the French.

           To measure life learn thou betimes, and know

           Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;

           For other things mild Heaven a time ordains,

           And disapproves that care, though wise in show,

           That with superfluous burden loads the day,

           And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.

J. MILTON.

      78. HYMN TO DIANA

           Queen and Huntress, chaste and fair,

              Now the sun is laid to sleep,

           Seated in thy silver chair

              State in wonted manner keep:

                Hesperus entreats thy light,

                Goddess excellently bright.

           Earth, let not thy envious shade

              Dare itself to interpose;

           Cynthia's shining orb was made

              Heaven to clear when day did close;

                Bless us then with wishéd sight,

                Goddess excellently bright.

           Lay thy bow of pearl apart

              And thy crystal-shining quiver;

           Give unto the flying hart

              Space to breathe, how short soever;

                Thou that mak'st a day of night,

                Goddess excellently bright.

B. JONSON.

      79. WISHES FOR THE SUPPOSED MISTRESS

           Whoe'er she be,

           That not impossible She

           That shall command my heart and me;

           Where'er she lie,

           Lock'd up from mortal eye

           In shady leaves of destiny:

           Till that ripe birth

           Of studied Fate stand forth,

           And teach her fair steps to our earth;

           Till that divine

           Idea take a shrine

           Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:

           —Meet you her, my Wishes,

           Bespeak her to my blisses,

           And be ye call'd, my absent kisses.

           I wish her beauty,

           That owes not all its duty

           To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie:

           Something more than

           Taffata or tissue can,

           Or rampant feather, or rich fan.

           A face that's best

           By its own beauty drest,

           And can alone command the rest:

           A face made up

           Out of no other shop

           Than what Nature's white hand sets ope.

           Sydneian showers

           Of sweet discourse, whose powers

           Can crown old Winter's head with flowers.

           Whate'er delight

           Can make day's forehead bright

           Or give down to the wings of night.

           Soft silken hours,

           Open suns, shady bowers;

           'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.

           Days, that need borrow

           No part of their good morrow

           From a fore-spent night of sorrow:

           Days, that in spite

           Of darkness, by the light

           Of a clear mind are day all night.

           Life, that dares send

           A challenge to his end,

           And when it comes, say, "Welcome friend."

           I wish her store

           Of worth may leave her poor

           Of wishes; and I wish—no more.

           —Now, if Time knows

           That Her, whose radiant brows

           Weave them a garland of my vows;

           Her that dares be

           What these lines wish to see;

           I seek no further, it is She.

           'Tis She, and here

           Lo! I unclothe and clear

           My wishes' cloudy character.

           Such worth as this is

           Shall fix my flying wishes,

           And determine them to kisses.

           Let her full glory,

           My fancies, fly before ye;

           Be ye my fictions:—but her story.

R. CRASHAW.

      80. THE GREAT ADVENTURER

              Over the mountains

              And over the waves,

              Under the fountains

              And under the graves;

              Under floods that are deepest,

              Which Neptune obey;