ncy, discovered a poor jelly.

Sir Thomas Brown, a physician, whose prose writings are as peculiar as
they are valuable, was of the same age as Waller. He partakes to a
considerable degree of the mysticism which was so much followed in his
day, only in his case it influences his literature most--his mode of
utterance more than his mode of thought. His _True Christian Morals_ is a
very valuable book, notwithstanding the obscurity that sometimes arises
in that, as in all his writings, from his fondness for Latin words. The
following fine hymn occurs in his _Religio Medici_, in which he gives an
account of his opinions. I am not aware of anything else that he has
published in verse, though he must probably have written more to be able
to write this so well. It occurs in the midst of prose, as the prayer he
says every night before he yields to the death of sleep. I follow it with
the succeeding sentence of the prose.

The night is come. Like to the day,
Depart not thou, great God, away.
Let not my sins, black as the night,
Eclipse the lustre of thy light.
Keep still in my horizon, for to me
The sun makes not the day but thee.
Thou whose nature cannot sleep,
On my temples sentry keep;
Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes
Whose eyes are open while mine close.
Let no dreams my head infest
But such as Jacob's temples blest.
While I do rest, my soul advance;
Make my sleep a holy trance,
That I may, my rest being wroughtt
Awake into some holy thought,
And with as active vigour run
My course as doth the nimble sun.
Sleep is a death: O make me try
By sleeping what it is to die,
And as gently lay my head
On my grave, as now my bed.
Howe'er I rest, great God, let me
Awake again at least with thee.
And thus assured, behold I lie
Securely, or to wake or die.
These are my drowsy days: in vain
I do now wake to sleep again:
O come that hour when I shall never
Sleep again, but wake for ever.

"This is the dormitive I take to bedward. I need no other laudanum than
this to make me sleep; after which I close mine eyes in security, content
to take my leave of the sun, and sleep unto the resurrection."

Jeremy Taylor, born in 1613, was the most poetic of English
prose-writers: if he had written verse equal to his prose, he would have
had a lofty place amongst poets as well as amongst preachers. Taking the
opposite side from Milton, than whom he was five years younger,