RICHARD CRASHAW.

1615-1652.

The conscious water saw its God and blushed.*

In Praise of Lessius' Rule of Health.

A happy soul, that all the way

To heaven hath a summer's day.

THOMAS DEKKER.

1638.

Old Fortunatus.

And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds, There's a lean fellow beats all conquerors.

Honest Whore. P. ii. Act i. Sc. 2.

We are ne'er like angels till our passion dies.

ABRAHAM COWLEY.

1618-1667.

The Waiting Maid.

Th' adorning thee with so much art

Is but a barb'rous skill;

'Tis like the poisoning of a dart,

Too apt before to kill.

Lympha pudica Deum vidit et erubuit. - Latin Poems.

The Motto.

What shall I do to be for ever known,
And make the age to come my own?

On the Death of Crashaw.

His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might
Be wrong; his life, I'm sure, was in the right.

The Garden. Essay V.

God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.

From Anacreon.

The thirsty earth drinks up the rain
And thirsts and gapes for drink again;
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.
Why
Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why?

SIR JOHN DENHAM.

1615-1668.

Cooper's Hill. Line 189.

O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!

Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage; without o'erflowing full.

The Sophy. A Tragedy.

Actions of the last age are like Almanacs of the last

year.

EDMUND WALLER.

1605-1687.

Verses upon his Divine Poesy.

The soul's dark cottage, battered and decayed,*
Lets in new light through chinks that time has made.
Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,
As they draw near to their eternal home.

Upon the death of the Lord Protector.

Under the tropic is our language spoke,
And part of Flanders hath received our yoke.

On a Girdle.

A narrow compass! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair!
Give me but what this ribbon bound,

Take all the rest the sun goes round.

Go, lovely Rose.

How small a part of time they share

That are so wondrous sweet and fair;

* Drawing near her death, she sent most pious thoughts as harbingers to heaven; and her soul saw a glimpse of happiness through the chinks of her sickness-broken body.

Holy and Profane State. Book i. ch. ii.

-FULLER.

To a Lady singing a Song of his composing.

That eagle's fate and mine are one

Which, on the shaft that made him die,

Espied a feather of his own,

Wherewith he wont to soar so high.

MARQUIS OF MONTROSE.

1612-1650.

Song "My Dear and only Love."

I'll make thee famous by my pen,
And glorious by my sword.

He either fears his fate too much,
Or his deserts are small,
Who dares not put it to the touch
To gain or lose it all.

WILLIAM BASSE.

1613-1648.

On Shakespeare.

Renowned Spenser, lie a thought more nigh
To Learned Chaucer, and rare Beaumont lie
A little nearer Spenser, to make room

For Shakespeare in your threefold, fourfold tomb.

JOHN MILTON.

1608-1674.

PARADISE LOST.

Book i. Line 10.

Or if Sion hill

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook, that flowed Fast by the oracle of God.

Book i. Line 22.

What in me is dark,

Illumine; what is low, raise and support;
That to the height of this great argument
I may assert eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.

Book i. Line 62.

Yet from those flames

No light; but only darkness visible.

Book i. Line 65.

Where peace

And rest can never dwell: hope never comes,

That comes to all.

Book i. Line 105.

What though the field be lost?

All is not lost.