If potentates reply,
Give potentates the lye.

Tell men of high condition,
That rule affairs of state,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate;
And if they once reply,
Then give them all the lye.

Tell them that brave it most
They beg for more by spending,
Who in their greatest cost

Seek nothing but commending;
And if they make reply.
Spare not to give the lye.
Tell zeale it lacks devotion;
Tell love it is but lust;
Tell time it is but motion;
Tell flesh it is but dust;
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lye.

Tell age it daily wasteth;

Tell honour how it alters;
Tell beauty how she blasteth;
Tell favour how she falters;
And as they then reply,
Give each of them the lye.

Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of nicenesse;
Tell wisedome she entangles
Herselfe in over wisenesse;
And if they doe reply,

Straight give them both the lye.

Tell physicke of her boldnesse;

Tell skill it is pretension; Tell charity of coldnesse; Tell law it is contention; And as they yield reply, So give them still the lye.

Tell fortune of her blindnesse; Tell nature of decay;

Tell friendship of unkindnesse;
Tell justice of delay;

And if they dare reply,
Then give them all the lye.

Must be the right; the ill-succeeding Mars
The fairest and the best faced enterprise.
Great pirate Pompey lesser pirates quails;
Justice, he sees (as if seduced), still
Conspires with power, whose cause must not be ill.

He sees the face of right to appear as manifold
As are the passions of uncertain man;
Who puts it in all colors, all attires,

To serve his ends, and make his courses hold.
He sees, that let deceit work what it can,
Plot and contrive base ways to high desires:
That the all-guiding providence doth yet
All disappoint, and mocks the smoke of wit.

Nor is he moved with all the thunder-cracks
Of tyrants' threats, or with the surly brow
Of power, that proudly tits on others' crimes;
Charged with more crying sins than those he
checks.

The storms of sad confusion, that may grow
Up in the present for the coming times,
Appall not him, that hath no side at all,
But of himself, and knows the worst can fall.

Although his heart (so near allied to earth)
Cannot but pity the perplexed state
Of troublous and distressed mortality,
That thus make way unto the ugly birth
Of their own sorrows, and do still beget
Affliction upon imbecility;

Yet seeing thus the course of things must run,
He looks thereon not strange, but as foredone.

And whilst distraught ambition compasses
And is encompassed; whilst as craft deceives,
And is deceived; whilst man doth ransack man,
And builds on blood, and rises by distress,
And the inheritance of desolation leaves
To great-expecting hopes; he looks thereon,
As from the shore of peace, with unwet eye,
And bears no venture in impiety.

Thus, madam, fares that man, that hath prepared
A rest for his desires, and sees all things
Beneath him; and hath learned this book of man,
Full of the notes of frailty; and compared
The best of glory with her sufferings;
By whom, I see, you labor all you can

To plant your heart; and set your thoughts as

near

His glorious mansion as your powers can bear.

Which, madam, are so soundly fashioned
By that clear judgment that hath carried you
Beyond the feebler limits of your kind,
As they can stand against the strongest head
Passion can make; inured to any hue

The world can cast; that cannot cast that mind
Out of her form of goodness, that doth see
Both what the best and worst of earth can be.

Which makes that whatsoever here befalls,
You in the region of yourself remain,
Where no vain breath of th' impudent molests,
That hath secured within the brazen walls
Of a clear conscience, that (without all stain)
Rises in peace, in innocency rests;
Whilst all what malice from without procures,
Shows her own ugly heart, but hurts not yours.

And whereas none rejoice more in revenge,
Than women used to do; yet you well know,
That wrong, is better checked by being contemned,
Than being pursued; leaving to him to avenge
To whom it appertains. Wherein you show
How worthily your clearness hath condemned
Base m'lediction, living in the dark,
That at the rays of goodness still doth bark.

Knowing the heart of man is set to be
The centre of this world, about the which
These revolutions of disturbances
Still roll; where all the aspects of misery
Predominate; whose strong effects are such
As he must bear, being powerless to redress;
And that unless above himself he can
Erect himself, how poor a thing is man!

And how turmoiled they are that level lie

With earth, and cannot lift themselves from thence;

That never are at peace with their desires,
But work beyond their years; and even deny
Dotage her rest, and hardly will dispense
With death: that when ability expires,
Desire lives still- - so much delight they have
To carry toil and travel to the grave.

705

Whose ends you see; and what can be the best
They reach unto, when they have cast the sum
And reckonings of their glory? And you know,
This floating life hath but this port of rest,
A heart prepared, that fears no ill to come;
And that man's greatness rests but in his show,
The best of all whose days consumed are,
Either in war, or peace conceiving war.

This concord, madam, of a well-tuned mind,
Hath been so set by that all-working hand

Of Heaven, that through the world hath done his worst

To put it out by discords most unkind,
Yet doth it still in perfect union stand
With God and man; nor ever will be forced
From that most sweet accord, but still agree,
Equal in fortunes in equality.

And this note, madam, of your worthiness
Remains recorded in so many hearts,
As time nor malice cannot wrong your right,
In th' inheritance of fame you must possess:
You that have built you by your great deserts

(Out of small means) a far more exquisite
And glorious dwelling for your honored name
Than all the gold that leaden mines can frame.

SAMUEL DANIEL.

My Minde to Me a Kingdom is.
My minde to me a kingdom is;

Such perfect joy therein I finde
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse

That God or nature hath assignde; Though much I want, that most would have, Yet still my minde forbids to crave.

Content I live; this is my stay

1 seek no more than may suffice.

I presse to beare no haughtie sway;
Look, what I lack my minde supplies.
Loe, thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my minde doth bring.

I see how plentie surfets oft,

And hastie clymbers soonest fall;

I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all.

These get with toile, and keepe with feare; Such cares my minde could never beare.

No princely pompe nor wealthie store,
No force to win the victorie,
No wylie wit to salve a sore,

No shape to winne a lover's eye —
To none of these I yeeld as thrall;
For why, my minde despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave;

I little have, yet seek no more.

They are but poore, though much they have;
And I am rich with little store.
They poor, I rich; they beg, I give;
They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's losse,

I grudge not at another's gaine;
No worldly wave my minde can tosse;
I brooke that is another's bane.

I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend;
I loathe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly blisse;

I weigh not Croesus' wealth a straw; For care, I care not what it is;

I feare not fortune's fatal law; My minde is such as may not move For beautie bright, or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;

I wander not to seek for more;

I like the plaine, I clime no hill;

In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe.

I kisse not where I wish to kill;

I feigne not love where most I hate; I breake no sleepe to winne my will; I wayte not at the mightie's gate. I scorne no poore, I feare no rich; I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court ne cart I like ne loath— Extreames are counted worst of all; The golden meane betwixt them both

Doth surest sit, and feares no fall;

This is my choyce; for why, I finde
No wealth is like a quiet minde.
My wealth is health and perfect ease;

My conscience clere my chief defence;
I never seeke by bribes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence.
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did so as well as I!

WILLIAM BYRD.

The Winter being Over.

THE winter being over,

In order comes the spring, Which doth green herbs discover, And cause the birds to sing. The night also expired,

Then comes the morning bright,
Which is so much desired
By all that love the light.
This may learn

Them that mourn,
To put their grief to flight;
The spring succeedeth winter,
And day must follow night.
He therefore that sustaineth
Affliction or distress
Which every member paineth,
And findeth no release-
Let such therefore despair not,

But on firm hope depend,
Whose griefs immortal are not,
And therefore must have end,
They that faint

With complaint
Therefore are to blame;
They add to their afflictions,
And amplify the same.

For if they could with patience
A while possess the mind,
By inward consolations

They might refreshing find,
To sweeten all their crosses

That little time they 'dure; So might they gain by losses,

And sharp would sweet procure.