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Which by the stroke of that commanding wand,
Shoulder'd the rough seas forcibly together,
Raised as ramparts by that glorious hand,

('Twixt which they march) that did conduct them thither.

'The surly waves their ruler's will obey'd,

By him made up in this confused mass,
Like as an ambush secretly were laid,

To set on Pharaoh as his power should pass.
Which soon with wombs insatiably wide,

Loos'd from their late bounds, by the' Almighty's power,

Come raging in, enclosing every side,
And the Egyptians instantly devour.

The sling, the stiff bow, and the sharpen'd lance,
Floating confusedly on the waters rude,

They, which these weapon's lately did advance,
Perish in sight of them that they pursued.
Clashing of armours, and the rumorous sound
Of the stern billows in contention stood,
Which to the shores do every way rebound,
As doth affright the monsters of the flood.
Death is discern'd triumphantly in arms
On the rough seas his slaughtery to keep,
And his cold self in breath of mortals warms,
Upon the dimpled bosom of the deep.

There might you see a checquer'd ensign swim
About the body of the envy'd dead,

Serve for a hearse or coverture to him,
Ere while did waft it proudly 'bout his head:
The warlike chariot turn'd upon the back
With the dead horses in their traces ty'd,

Drags their fat carcase through the foamy brack,
That drew it late undauntedly in pride.

There floats the barb'd steed with his rider drown'd,
Whose foot in his caparison is cast,

Who late with sharp spurs did his courser wound,
Himself now ridden with his strangled beast.
The waters conquer (without help of hand)
For them to take for which they never toil,
And like a quarry cast them on the land,
As those they slew they left to them to spoil.

In eighty-eight (a) at Dover who had been, To view that navy, (like a mighty wood),

Whose sails swept heaven, might eas'ly there have seen,
How puissant Pharaoh perish'd in the flood.

What for a conquest strictly they did keep,
Into the channel presently was pour'd;
Castilian riches scatter'd on the deep,

That Spain's long hopes had suddenly devour'd.
The' afflicted English ranged along the strand,
To wait what would this threatening power betide,
Now when the Lord with a victorious hand
In his high justice scourged the' Iberian pride.

The Law given on Sinai.

Now when to Sinai they approached near,
God calls up Moses to the mount above,
And all the rest commandeth to forbear,
Nor from the bounds assign'd them to remove.
For who those limits loosely did exceed,
Which were by Moses mark'd them out beneath,
The Lord had irrevocably decreed

With darts or stones should surely die the death.
Whereas the people, in a wondrous fright,
(With hearts transfixed even with frozen blood)
Beheld their leader openly in sight

Pass to the Lord, where he in glory stood.
Thunder and lightning led him down the air,
Trumpets celestial sounding as he came,
Which struck the people with astounding fear,
Himself invested in a splendorous flame.
Sinai before him fearfully doth shake,
Cover'd all over in a smouldering smoke,
As ready the foundation to forsake,
On the dread presence of the Lord to look.

(a) 1588.

Erect your spirits, and lend attentive ear
To mark at Sinai what to you is said,
Weak Moses now you shall not simply hear,
The son of Amram and of Iacobed;
But He that Adam did imparadise,
And lent him comfort in his proper blood,
And saved Noah, that did the ark devise,
When the old world else perish'd in the flood,
To righteous Abraham Canaan frankly lent,
And brought forth Isaac so extremely late,
Jacob so fair and many children sent,
And raised chaste Joseph to so high estate;
He whose just hand plagued Egypt for your sake,
That Pharaoh's power so scornfully did mock,
Way for his people through the sea did make,
Gave food from Heaven, and water from the rock.
Whilst Moses now in this cloud-cover'd hill
Full forty days his pure abode did make,
Whilst that great God, in his almighty will,
With him of all his ordinances spake.
The decalogue from which religion took
The being; sin and righteousness began

The different knowledge; and the certain book
Of testimony betwixt God and man.

The ceremonial as judicious laws,

From his high wisdom that received their ground, Not to be alter'd in the smallest clause,

But as their Maker wondrously profound.

The composition of that sacred fane,
Which as a symbol curiously did shew,

What all his six days' workmanship contain,
Whose perfect model his own finger drew.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

BORN 1552. BEHEADED 1617.

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My Pilgrimage.

GIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staffe of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of ioye, (immortal diet!)
My bottle of salvation,

My gowne of glory, hope's true gage;
-And thus I take my pilgrimage.

Blood must be my body's balmer,
While my soule, like peaceful palmer,
Travelleth tow'rds the land of heaven;
Other balm will not be given.
Over the silver mountains,

Where spring the nectar-fountains,
There will I kiss

The bowle of bliss,

And drink mine everlasting fill,

Upon every milken hill;

My soule will be a-dry before,

But after that will thirst no more.

Lines said to have been written by him on the night before his Execution.

EVEN such is time, that takes on trust
Our youth, our ioys and all we have,
And pays us but with age and dust,
Who, in the dark and silent grave,
(When we have wander'd all owr waies,)
Shuts up the story of our dayes;

But from this earth, this grave, this dust,
My God shall raise me up, I trust.

ANONYMOUS.

[From Wilby's Madrigals, 1609.]

HAPPY, Oh! happy he, who, not affecting
The endless toils attending worldly cares,
With mind reposed, all discontent rejecting,
In silent pace his way to heaven prepares;
Deeming his life a scene, the world a stage,
Whereon man acts his weary pilgrimage.

SIR JOHN DAVIES.

BORN 1570. DIED 1626.

Principal Works:-The Soul of Man and the immortality thereof, Hymns of Astrea, &c. The stanzas ensuing are the commencement of the first-named poem.

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The Soul.

THE lights of Heaven (which are the world's fair eyes) Look down into the world, the world to see;

And as they turn, or wander in the skies,

Survey all things, that on this centre be.

And yet the lights which in my tower do shine,
Mine eyes, which view all objects, nigh and far,
Look not into this little world of mine,

Nor see my face, wherein they fixed are.

Since Nature fails us in no needful thing,
Why want I means my inward self to see?
Which sight the knowledge of myself might bring,
Which to true wisdom is the first degree.

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