52 56 60 64 68 "The Gods preserve your majesty,' The beggars all 'gan cry: 'Vouchsafe to give your charity Our children's food to buy. The king to them his purse did cast, And they to part it made great haste, This silly woman was the last That after them did hie. The king he call'd her back again, And unto her he gave his chain, And said, 'With us you shall remain Till such time as we die: 'For thou,' quoth he, 'shalt be my wife, And honoured for my queen; With thee I mean to lead my life, As shortly shall be seen: Our wedding shall appointed be, And every thing in its degree: Come on,' quoth he, 'and follow me, Thou shalt go shift thee clean. What is thy name, fair maid?' quoth he. 'Penelophon, O king,' quoth she: With that she made a low curtsy; 72 A trim one as I ween. BALLAD OF FAUSTUS. THE JUDGMENT OF GOD SHOWED UPON ONE JOHN FAUSTUS, DOCTOR IN DIVINITY. Tune of Fortune my Foe. All Christian men, give ear a while to me, 4 Forsaking Christ, and I am damn'd therefore. At Wittenburg, a town in Germany, There was I born and bred of good degree; Of honest stock, which afterwards I sham'd; 8 Accurst therefore, for Faustus was I nam'd. In learning, lo, my uncle brought up me, And, when he died, he left me all his wealth, 12 Whose cursed gold did hinder my soul's health. Then did I shun the holy Bible-book, Nor on God's word would ever after look; 16 Which was the cause of my utter damnation. The devil in friar's weeds appear'd to me, And straight to my request he did agree, That I might have all things at my desire: 20 I gave him soul and body for his hire. Twice did I make my tender flesh to bleed, 24 To live in peace and do what things I would. For four and twenty years this bond was made, And at the length my soul was truly paid! Time ran away, and yet I never thought 28 How dear my soul our Saviour Christ had bought. Would I at first been made a beast by kind! Woe to the day of my nativity! Woe to the time that once did foster me! 86 Woe to myself, the cause of all my ill! The time I passed away, with much delight, 'Mongst princes, peers, and many a worthy knight: I wrought such wonders by my magic skill, 40 That all the world may talk of Faustus still. The devil he carried me up into the sky, Where I did see how all the world did lie; I went about the world in eight days' space, 44 And then return'd unto my native place. What pleasure I did wish to please my mind When four and twenty years was almost run, I thought of all things that was past and done, How that the devil would soon claim his right, 52 And carry me to everlasting night. Then all too late I curst my wicked deed, The dread whereof doth make my heart to bleed All days and hours I mourned wondrous sore, 56 Repenting me of all things done before. I then did wish both sun and moon to stay, At last, when I had but one hour to come, By twelve o'clock my glass was almost out: Then presently they came into the hall, You conjurers and damned witches all, But hope that Christ his kingdom you may gain, Where you shall never fear such mortal pain; Forsake the devil and all his crafty ways, 80 Embrace true faith that never more decays. ROBERT HERRICK. ROBERT HERRICK (1591-1674) was born as the son of a rich goldsmith in Cheapside, London, in 1591. After six years' apprenticeship with an uncle, he entered the university of Cambridge, and took his degree in 1620. His college time was followed by some years of cheerful life in London, during which he seems to have written much of his poetry. When nearly forty years old, he took holy orders, and was presented to the living of Dean Prior, Devonshire, where he spent most of his life in the quiet retirement of a country vicarage. Being a royalist, he was ejected from his benefice by the in Common-wealth government in 1647, but reinstated at the Restoration in 1662. He died there, at the age of 83, 1674. During his involuntary absence from Dean Prior, he collected his poems, and published them under the title of 'Hesperides' in 1648. Besides sacred poetry and rather poor epigrams he wrote some thousand lyrical poems, which for melodiousness of language, and felicity and grace of expression, are scarcely surpassed in English literature. Though wanting in spontaneous passion, he may be justly called the greatest lyrical poet of England before Shelley. THE NIGHT-PIECE: TO JULIA. Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, 6 Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee. No Will-o'-the-wisp mislight thee, Not making a stay, Let not the dark thee cumber; Then, Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me; 10 Since ghost there's none to affright thee. My soul I'll pour into thee. 8 12 TO ANTHEA, WHO MAY COMMAND HIM ANYTHING. Bid me to live, and I will live Thy Protestant to be; Or bid me love, and I will give A heart as soft, a heart as kind, Bid me to weep, and I will weep, Bid me despair, and I'll despair Bid that heart stay, and it will stay Thou art my life, my love, my heart, To honour thy decree: Or bid it languish quite away, And 't shall do so for thee. The very eyes of me: And hast command of every part, 16 20 24 EPITAPH, upon a Child that died. Here a pretty baby lies Th' easy earth that covers her. TO THE WESTERN WIND. Sweet western wind, whose luck it is, Bring me but one, I'll promise thee, Made rival with the air, Instead of common showers, Thy wings shall be embalm'd by me, 8 12 16 15 20 |