admiration of anything, which is the root of all weakness: for all things are admired either because they are new or because they are great. For novelty, no man wadeth in learning or contemplation thoroughly, but with that printed in his heart, "I know nothing." Neither can any man marvel at the play of puppets, that goeth behind the curtain, and adviseth well of the motion.

And as for magnitude, as Alexander the Great, after that he was used to great armies and the great conquest of the spacious provinces in Asia, when he received letters out of Greece, of some fights and services there, which were commonly for a passage, or fort, or some walled town at the most, he said, "It seemed to him that he was advertised' of the battle of the frogs and the mice, that the old tales went of ; so certainly, if a man meditate upon the universal frame of Nature, the earth with men upon it, the divineness of souls excepted, will not seem much other than an ant-hill, where some ants carry corn, and some carry their young, and some go empty, and all to and fro2 a little heap of dust.

It taketh away or mitigateth fear of death, or adverse fortune, which is one of the greatest impediments of virtue and imperfections of manners. For if a man's mind be deeply seasoned with the consideration of the mortality and corruptible nature of things, he will easily concur with Epictetus, who went forth one day and saw a woman weeping for her pitcher of earth that was broken; and went forth the next day and saw a woman weeping for her son that was dead; and thereupon said, "Yesterday I saw a fragile thing broken; to-day I have seen a mortal thing die." therefore Virgil did excellently and profoundly couple the knowledge of causes and the conquest of all fears together.

1 literally, "turned toward," and hence, apprised, informed
2 to and fro; that is, backward and forward upon, etc.

A GARLAND OF ELIZABETHAN LYRICS

I. THE GIFTS OF GOD

WHEN God at first made man,

Having a glass of blessings standing by;
Let us (said He) pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches, which disperséd lie,
Contract into a span.

So strength first made a way;

Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honor, pleasure :
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure,
REST in the bottom lay.

For if I should (said He)

Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature:
So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,

But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast.

GEORGE HERBERT

II. THE HAPPY LIFE

How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will;
Whose armor is his honest thought
And simple truth his utmost skill!

Whose passions not his masters are,
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Not tied unto the world with care
Of public fame, or private breath;

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

Who hath his life from rumors freed,
Whose conscience is his strong retreat;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make accusers great;

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 freed from servile bands
Of hope to rise, or fear to fall;
Lord of himself, though not of lands;

And having nothing, yet hath all.

HENRY WOTTON

III. DEATH, THE LEVELER

THE glories of our blood and state

Are shadows, not substantial things;

There is no armor against fate;

Death lays his icy hand on kings:

Scepter and crown

Must tumble down,

And in the dust be equal made

With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill:
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late

They stoop to fate,

And must give up their murmuring breath
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow;

Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon Death's purple altar now

See where the victor victim bleeds:

Your heads must come

To the cold tomb;

Only the actions of the just

Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.

JAMES SHIRLEY

IV. ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY

MORTALITY, behold and fear

What a change of flesh is here!

Think how many royal bones

Sleep within these heaps of stones;

Here they lie, had realms and lands,

Who now want strength to stir their hands,
Where from their pulpits sealed with dust
They preach, "In greatness is no trust."
Here's an acre sown indeed

With the richest royalest seed

That the earth did e'er suck in

Since the first man died for sin :

Here the bones of birth have cried

"Though gods they were, as men they died!"

Here are sands, ignoble things,

Dropped from the ruined sides of kings:
Here's a world of pomp and state

Buried in dust, once dead by fate.

FRANCIS BEAUMONT

V. MELANCHOLY

HENCE, all you vain delights,
As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly:
There's naught in this life sweet
If man were wise to see 't,
But only Melancholy,

O sweetest Melancholy!
Welcome, folded arms and fixéd eyes,
A sigh that piercing mortifies !

A look that's fastened on the ground,
A tongue chained up without a sound!
Fountain heads and pathless groves,
Places which pale passion loves!
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls!
A midnight bell, a parting groan !
These are the sounds we feed upon;

Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy valley;
Nothing's so dainty-sweet as lovely Melancholy.

JOHN FLETCHER

VI. TO DIANEME

SWEET, be not proud of those two eyes
Which starlike sparkle in their skies;
Nor be you proud, that you can see
All hearts your captives; yours yet free: