There was a little chapel edified,

Wherein the Hermit duly went to say
His holy things, each morn and eve-tide:
Thereby a crystal stream did gently play,
Which from a sacred fountain welled forth away.

He thence led me into this Hermitage,

Letting his steeds to graze upon the green: Small was his house, and like a little cage

For his own turn; yet inly neat and clean, Decked with green boughs, and flowers gay beseene; Therein he them full fair did entertain, Not with such forged shows as fitter beene

For courtly fools, that courtesies would feign, But with entire affection, and appearance plain.

TRUE BEAUTY.

BY SPENSER.

MEN call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that yourself you daily such do see;
But the true fair, that is the gentle wit

And virtuous mind, is much more praised of me. For all the rest, however fair it be,

Shall turn to naught, and lose that glorious hue; But only that is permanent and free

From frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue :
That is true beauty, that doth argue you

To be divine, and born of heavenly seed;
Derived from that fair spirit from which all true
And perfect beauty did at first proceed.
He only fair, and what he fair hath made;
All other fair, like flowers untimely fade.

SHAKESPEARE.-BORN 1564; DIED 1616.

SOLITUDE PREFERRED TO A COURT LIFE.
AS YOU LIKE IT.—ACT II.

Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,
Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?
Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The seasons' difference; as the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind;
Which when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,
This is no flattery: these are counsellors
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity;

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

INGRATITUDE.

AS YOU LIKE IT.-ACT II.

BLOW, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude;

Thy tooth is not so keen,
Because thou art not seen,

Although thy breath be rude.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot;

Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remembered not.

MERCY.

MERCHANT OF VENICE.-ACT IV.

THE quality of mercy is not strained:
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown:
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,

Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway,

It is enthroned in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;

And earthly power doth then shew likest God's,
When mercy seasons justice.

Therefore, Jew,

Though justice be thy plea, consider this

That, in the course of justice, none of us
Should see salvation: we do pray for mercy;

And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy.

A GOOD

CONSCIENCE.

HENRY VI.-ACT III.

WHAT stronger breast-plate than a heart untainted?
Thrice is he armed that hath his quarrel just:
And he but naked, though locked up in steel,
Whose conscience with injustice is corrupted.

FAREWELL, a long farewell, to all my greatness !
This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth
The tender leaves of hopes, to-morrow blossoms,
And bears his blushing honours thick upon
him;
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost,
And-when he thinks, good easy man, full surely
His greatness is a ripening-nips his root,
And then he falls-as I do. I have ventured,
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders,
This many summers in a sea of glory;
But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride
At length broke under me and now has left me,
Weary and old with service, to the mercy
Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me.
Vain pomp and glory of this world I hate ye !
I feel my heart new opened. Oh, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favours!
There is, betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And, when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again:

Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear

In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.

Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell :
And-when I am forgotten, as I shall be,

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of—say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey-that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honour-
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ;
A sure and safe one though thy master missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me.
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition;
By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then,
The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't?

Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee;

Corruption wins not more than honesty.

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,

To silence envious tongues. Be just and fear not;
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O.
Cromwell,

Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the king,
And-pr'y thee, lead me in :-

There take an inventory of all I have,

To the last penny; 'tis the kings; my robe,
And my integrity to Heaven, is all

I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, He would not in mine age
Have left me naked to my enemies!