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Care no more to clothe and eat,
To thee the reed is as the oak.
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning flash,
Nor th' all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Fear no slander, censure rash,

Thou hast finished joy and moan.
All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust.

No exorciser harm thee!

Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
Ghost unlaid forbear thee!
Nothing ill come near thee!
Quiet consummation have,
And renowned be thy grave!

SONNET.

OH! how much more doth Beauty beauteous seem,
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give!
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem
For that sweet odour which doth in it live;
The canker'd blooms have full as deep a dye,
As the perfumed tincture of the roses,
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly,
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses ;
But for their virtue only is their shew,
They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade,
Die to themselves-Sweet roses do not so,
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made

K

And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth, When that shall fade my verse distils your truth.

PORTIA'S SPEECH ON MERCY.

THE quality of mercy is not strain'd;
It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice bless'd :
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes :
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest : it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above the sceptred sway,

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;

And earthly power doth then show likest God's,
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this,—

That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

BORN 1552-DIED 1618.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH, one of the master-spirits of his age, was born at Hayes Farm, in Devonshire, in 1552. He

terminated a life of gallantry and enterprise, during the whole course of which he had successfully cultivated literature and science, on the scaffold, on the 29th of October, 1618. Raleigh had previously suffered an imprisonment of twelve years; and he finally perished by a sentence which all men condemn. If his life was not faultless, his end was noble. He met an undeserved death with the confidence and composure of a Christian man. Those fine verses, "The Soul's Errand," are said to have been written by him on the night previous to his execution, though there is no positive evidence that they are his at all. Another of his pieces, entitled "The Pilgrimage,” has this fine though quaint passage :

Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of truth to walk upon,
My scrip of joy-immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation;

My gown of glory, Hope's true gage;
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage-
While my soul, like a quiet Palmer,
Travelleth towards the land of Heaven.

THE SOUL'S ERRAND.

Go, Soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand,
Fear not to touch the best,
The truth shall be thy warrant ;
Go, since I needs must die,
And give the world the lie.

Go, tell the Court it glows,
And shines like rotten wood;

Go, tell the Church it shews
What's good and doth no good,
If Church and Court reply,
Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates they live,
Acting by others actions,
Not lov'd, unless they give,
Not strong but by their factions;
If potentates reply,

Give potentates the lie.

Tell men of high condition
That rule affairs of state,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate;
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell them that brave it most,
They beg for more by spending,
Who, in their greatest cost,
Seek nothing but commending;
And if they make reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell Zeal it lacks devotion,
Tell Love it is but lust,
Tell Time it is but motion,
Tell Flesh it is but dust;
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

Tell Age it daily wasteth,
Tell Honour how it alters,

Tell Beauty how she blasteth,
Tell Favour how she falters;
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.

Tell Wit how much it wrangles
In treble points of niceness,
Tell Wisdom she entangles
Herself in overwiseness;
And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.

Tell Physic of her boldness,
Tell Skill it is pretension,
Tell Charity of coldness,
Tell Law it is contention ;
And as they do reply,
So give them still the lie.

Tell Fortune of her blindness,

Tell Nature of decay,

Tell Friendship of unkindness,

Tell Justice of delay;

And if they will reply,

Then give them all the lie.

Tell arts they have no soundness,
But vary by esteeming,

Tell schools they want profoundness,
And stand too much on seeming ;

If arts and schools reply,

Give arts and schools the lie.

Tell Faith it's fled the city,

Tell how the country erreth,

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