eat;

Who envies none whom chance doth raise,
Or vice; who never understood
How deepest wounds are given with praise,
Nor rules of state but rules of good;

Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend,
And entertains the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend--

This man is free from servile bands
Of hope to rise or fear to fall:
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And, having nothing, yet hath all.

_Wotton._

III

TRUE BALM

High-spirited friend,
I send nor balms nor corsives to your wound;
Your faith hath found
A gentler and more agile hand to tend
The cure of that which is but corporal,
And doubtful days, which were named critical,
Have made their fairest flight
And now are out of sight.
Yet doth some wholesome physic for the mind,
Wrapped in this paper lie,
Which in the taking if you misapply
You are unkind.

Your covetous hand,
Happy in that fair honour it hath gained,
Must now be reined.
True valour doth her own renown commend
In one full action; nor have you now more
To do than be a husband of that store.
Think but how dear you bought
This same which you have caught--
Such thoughts will make you more in love with truth
'Tis wisdom, and that high,
For men to use their fortune reverently,
Even in youth.

_Jonson._

IV

HONOUR IN BUD

It is not growing like a tree
In bulk doth make man better be:
A lily of a day
Is fairer far in May:
Although it fall and die that night,
It was the plant and flower of light.

_Jonson._

V

THE JOY OF BATTLE

Arm, arm, arm, arm! the scouts are all come in;
Keep your ranks close, and now your honours win.
Behold from yonder hill the foe appears;
Bows, bills, glaives, arrows, shields, and spears!
Like a dark wood he comes, or tempest pouring;
O view the wings of horse the meadows scouring!
The vanguard marches bravely. Hark, the drums!
Dub, dub!

They meet, they meet, and now the battle comes:
See how the arrows fly
That darken all the sky!
Hark how the trumpets sound!
Hark how the hills rebound--