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When I have seen such interchange of Why so large cost, having so short a

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A MADRIGAL.

[From The Passionate Pilgrim.]

Crabbed Age and Youth
Cannot live together:
Youth is full of pleasance,
Age is full of care;

Youth like summer morn,
Age like winter weather,
Youth like summer brave,
Age like winter bare:

Youth is full of sport,
Age's breath is short,
Youth is nimble, Age is lame:
Youth is hot and bold,
Age is weak and cold,
Youth is wild, and Age is tame:
Age, I do ahhor thee,
Youth, I do adore thee;

O! my Love, my Love is young!
Age, I do defy thee-

O sweet shepherd, hie thee,

For methinks thou stay'st too long.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

1552-1618.

[BORN, 1552; executed, 1618. No early collected edition of his poems exists; such as wer printed at all appeared for the most part in the Miscellanies of the time.]

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GEORGE WITHER.

1588-1667.

[GEORGE WITHER was born at Brentworth in Hampshire, June 11, 1588, and died in the year 1667; his literary achievement, both in verse and prose, being proportioned to his length of years. The dates of his chief works are as follows: 1612, the Elegy on Prince Henry; 1613, Epithalamia; 1613, Abuses Stript and Whipt; 1615, Fidelia and Shepherd's Hunting. To the same year must also be ascribed his share in Browne's Shepherd's Pipe; 1618, the Motto; 1622, the Mistress of Philarete; 1623, the Hymns and Songs of the Church; 1628, Britain's Remembrancer; 1634, Emblems; 1641, Hallelujah.

The above list is very far indeed from exhausting the complete catalogue of Wither's voluminous works. He was an ardent politician, and in the stirring times of the Civil War was perpetually pouring forth songs and broadsheets in justification of the cause he had taken up. Probably no library in England possesses an absolutely complete collection of Wither's works. Certainly the British Museum and the Bodleian do not. The Rev. T. Corser, of Stand, near Manchester, is said to have had the fullest collection in existence, but that has been since dispersed. The poems have been collected by the Spenser Society, but it is a matter for regret that they are not to be had in a more generally accessible form. It is one of the most striking blemishes of Chalmers' collection that Wither is absolutely ignored in it. Of modern editors of portions of his works the chief is Sir Egerton Brydges, who republished the Shepherd's Hunting and the Fidelia at the beginning of this century, and also gave long extracts from Wither's other poems in his Censura Literaria. The Hymns and Songs of the Church, and the Hallelujah were republished for Russell Smith in 1856 and 1857.]

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The King of kings, when He was born,
Had not so much for outward ease;
By Him such dressings were not worn,
Nor such like swaddling-clothes as
these.

Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Within a manger lodged thy Lord,
Where oxen lay, and asses fed:
Warm rooms we do to thee afford,

An easy cradle or a bed.

Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

The wants that He did then sustain Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee;

And by His torments and His pain
Thy rest and ease securèd be.
My baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this,

A promise and an earnest got Of gaining everlasting bliss,

Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it
not,

Sweet baby, then forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.

SHALL I, WASTING IN DESPAIR.

SHALL I, wasting in despair,
Die because a woman's fair?
Or make pale my cheeks with care
'Cause another's rosy are?
Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flow'ry meads in May,
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?

Should my heart be griev'd or pin'd
'Cause I see a woman kind?
Or a well-disposèd nature
Joinèd with a lovely feature?
Be she meeker, kinder than
Turtle-dove or pelican,

If she be not so to me,

What care I how kind she be?

Shall a woman's virtues move
Me to perish for her love?
Or her well-deservings, known,
Make me quite forget my own?
Be she with that goodness blest
Which may gain her name of best,
If she be not such to me,

What care I how good she be?
'Cause her fortune seems too high,
Shall I play the fool and die?
Those that bear a noble mind,
Where they want of riches find,
Think what with them they would do
That without them dare to woo;
And unless that mind I see,
What care I how great she be?

Great, or good, or kind, or fair,
I will ne'er the more despair:
If she love me, this believe,
I will die ere she shall grieve:
If she slight me when I woo,
I can scorn and let her go,

For if she be not for me,
What care I for whom she be?

WHEN WE ARE UPON THE
SEAS.

[From Hallelujah.]
ON those great waters now I am,
Of which I have been told,
That whosoever thither came

Should wonders there behold.
In this unsteady place of fear,
Be present, Lord, with me;
For in these depths of water here
I depths of danger see.

A stirring courser now I sit,

A headstrong steed I ride,
That champs and foams upon the bit
Which curbs his lofty pride.

The softest whistling of the winds
Doth make him gallop fast;

And as their breath increased he finds
The more he maketh haste.

Take Thou, oh Lord! the reins in hand, Assume our Master's room;

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