Page images
PDF
EPUB

Serv. What, think you then the king shall be deposed? Gard. Depressed he is already, and deposed

'Tis doubt he will be: letters came last night

To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's,
That tell black tidings.

Queen. O, I am pressed to death through want of [Coming forward.

speaking!

Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,

How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing
What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee
To make a second fall of curséd man?

Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?
Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Divine his downfal? Say, where, when, and how,
Camest thou by this ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.
Gard. Pardon me, madam : little joy have I
To breathe this news; yet what I say is true.
King Richard, he is in the mighty hold

Of Bolingbroke: their fortunes both are weighed :
In your lord's scale is nothing but himself,
And some few vanities that make him light;
But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
Besides himself, are all the English peers,

And with that odds he weighs King Richard down.
Post you to London, and you will find it so ;
I speak no more than every one doth know.

[news?

Queen. Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
Doth not thy embassage belong to me,

And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Thy sorrow in my breast, Come, ladies, go,
To meet at London London's king in woe.
What, was I born to this, that my sad look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?
Gardener, for telling me these news of woe,
Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow.
[Exeunt Queen and Ladies.

Gard. Poor queen! so that thy state might be no

worse,

I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
Here did she fall a tear; here in this place
I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace :
Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
In the remembrance of a weeping queen.

W. Shakespeare.

L.

MORNING THOUGHTS.

HEN first thine eyes unveil, give thy soul leave

To do the like: our bodies but forerun

The spirit's duty :-true hearts spread and heave
Unto their God, as flowers do to the sun.

Give Him thy first thoughts then: so shalt thou keep
Him company all day, and in Him sleep.

Yet never sleep the sun up: prayer should

Dawn with the day: there are set, awful hours
'Twixt Heaven and us: the manna was not good
After sunrising: far day sullies flowers.
Rise to prevent the sun sleep doth sins glut;
And heaven's gate opens, when the world's is shut.

Wake with thy fellow-creatures; note the hush
And whisperings among them: not a spring
Or leaf but hath his morning hymn; each bush
And oak doth know I AM! Canst thou not sing?
Go this way,
the day.

O leave thy cares and follies!
And thou art sure to prosper all

H, Vaughan,

LI.

THE MUSE.

HE doth tell me where to borrow
Comfort in the midst of sorrow,
Makes the desolatest place

To her presence be a grace,
And the blackest discontents
Be her fairest ornaments.
In my former days of bliss,
Her divine skill taught me this,
That from every thing I saw
I could some invention draw,
And raise pleasure to her height
Through the meanest object's sight.
By the murmur of a spring,
Or the least bough's rustling;
By a daisy, whose leaves, spread,
Shut when Titan goes to bed,
Or a shady bush or tree,
She could more infuse in me
Than all Nature's beauties can

In some other wiser man.

By her help I also now

Make this churlish place allow

Some things that may sweeten gladness

In the very gall of sadness.

The dull loneness, the black shade,

That these hanging vaults have made;

That strange music of the waves

Beating on these hollow caves;

This black den, which rocks emboss,

Overgrown with eldest moss;
The rude portals, that give light

More to terror than delight;

This my chamber of neglect,
Walled about with disrespect,—
From all these, and this dull air,
A fit object for despair,

She hath taught me by her might
To draw comfort and delight.
Therefore, thou, best earthly bliss,
I will cherish thee for this.
Poesy, thou sweet'st content
That e'er Heaven to mortals lent;
Though they as a trifle leave thee,
Whose dull thoughts cannot conceive thee;

Though thou be to them a scorn
That to nought but earth are born,—

Let my life no longer be

Than I am in love with thee.

Though our wise ones call it madness,
May I never taste of gladness,

If I love not thy madd'st fits

More than all their greatest wits:
And though some, too, seeming holy,

Do account thy raptures folly,

Thou dost teach me to contemn

What makes knaves and fools of them.

LII.

G. Wither.

ODE TO DUTY.

TERN daughter of the Voice of God!
O Duty! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove ;
Thou, who art victory and law

When empty terrors overawe;

From vain temptations dost set free;

And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity!

There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them; who, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely

Upon the genial sense of youth:

Glad Hearts! without reproach or blot;
Who do thy work, and know it not :

Oh! if through confidence misplaced

They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power! around

them cast.

Serene will be our days and bright,

And happy will our nature be,

When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.

And they a blissful course may hold
Even now, who, not unwisely bold,

Live in the spirit of this creed ;

Yet seek thy firm support, according to their need.

I, loving freedom, and untried,
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,

Too blindly have reposed my trust :
And oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred

The task, in smoother walks to stray;

But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.

Through no disturbance of my soul,

Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control;

But in the quietness of thought :

Me this unchartered freedom tires;

I feel the weight of chance desires :
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose that ever is the same.

« PreviousContinue »