When her lafcivious arms the water hurls,
About the fhore's waifte, her fleek head the curls:
And rorid clouds being fuck'd into the air,
When down they melt, hang like fine filver hair.
You see the earth, whofe head fo oft is fhorn,
Frighted to feel her locks fo rudly torn,
Stands with her hair an end; and, thus afraid,
Turns ev'ry hair to a green naked blade.
Befides, when struck with grief, we long to die,
We fpoil that moft, which moft does beautify;
We rend this head-tire off. I thus conclude,
Colours fet colours out; our eyes judge right,
Of vice or virtue by their oppofite:
So, if fair hair to beauty add fuch grace;
Baldness must needs be ugly, vile, and bafe,
Dekker's Satiromaftix.
1. The goodlieft and moft glorious ftrange-built wonder,
Which that great architect hath made, is heav'n;
For there he keeps his court; it is his kingdom,
That's his best master-piece: Yet 'tis the roof,
And cieling of the world; that may be call'd
The head or crown of earth, and yet that's bald;
All creatures in it bald; the lovely fun
Has a face fleek as gold; the full cheek'd moon
As bright and smooth as filver; nothing there
Wears dangling locks, but fome time blazing ftars,
Whofe flaming curls, fet realms on fire with wars.
Defcend more low; look through man's five-fold sense,
Of all, the eye bears greatest eminence ;
And yet that's bald; the hairs that like a lace
Are stitch'd unto the lids, borrow those forms,
Like pent-houses, to fave the eyes from storms.
A head and face o'ergrown with fhaggy drofs,
O, 'tis an orient pearl hid all in mofs!
But when the head's all naked and uncrown'd,
It is the world's globe, even, fmooth, and round:
Baldness is nature's butt, at which our life
Shoots her laft arrow: what man ever led
His age out with a staff, but had a head
Bare and uncover'd? he whofe years do rife
To their full height, yet not bald, is not wife.
The head is wifdom's house; hair but the thatch.
Hair! it is the baseft ftubble; in fcorn of it,
This proverb fprung, he has more hair than wit:
Mark you not in derifion how we call
A head grown thick with hair, bush-natural.
2. By your leave mafter poet, but that bush-natural
Is one of the trimmeft, and most intangling'ft
Beauties in a woman.
1. Right, but believe this, pardon me most fair,
You would have much more wit, had you lefs hair:
I could more weary you to tell the proofs
As they país by, which fight on baldness fide,
Than were you task'd to number on a head
The hairs: I know not how your thoughts are led;
On this ftrong tow'r fhall my opinion reft,
Heads thick of hair are good, but bald the best.
Dekker's Satiromaftix.
Yet though cold age had frosted his fair hairs,,
It rather feem'd with forrow, than with years.
Drayton's Duke of Normandy.
Her hair was rowl'd in many a curious fret,
Much like a rich and curious coronet ;
Upon whofe arches twenty cupids lay,
And were or ty'd, or loath to fly away.
Refolv'd for its great worth and fame,
To put it in a golden frame.
If in these outward parts we find
Such worth; what bears her richer mind?
In whose comparifon, all whites are ink
Writing their own reproach, to whose soft seizure
The cygnet's down is harfh, and fpirit of fenfe
Hard as the palm of ploughman!
Shakespear's Troilus and Crefida,
I take thy hand, this hand,
As foft as dove's down, and as white as it;
Or Ethiopian's tooth, or the fann'd fnow
That's bolted by the northern blaft twice o'er.
Shakespear's Winter's Tale 1. Give me your hand; this hand is moist, my lady. 2. It yet hath felt no age, nor known no forrow. 1. This argues fruitfulness, and lib'ral heart : Hot, hot, and moift-this hand of yours requires A fequefter from liberty, fafting and prayer, Much caftigation, exercife devout;
For here's a young and fweating devil here,
That commonly rebels: 'tis a good hand;
A frank one.
1. You may, indeed, fay fo;
For 'twas that hand, that gave my heart away.
A lib'ral hand. The hearts of old, gave hands ;
But our new heraldry is hands, not hearts.
The inftrument of inftruments, the hand;
Courtefy's index; chamberlain to nature;
The body's foldier; and mouth's caterer;
Pfyche's great Secretary; the dumb's eloquence;
The blind man's candle, and his forehead's buckler;
The minister of wrath, and friendfhip's fign.
HAPPINESS.
O, how bitter a thing it is to look
Into happiness, through another, man's eyes!
Shakespear's As you like it.
All the good we have refts in the mind;
By whofe proportions only, we redeem
Our thoughts from out confufion, and do find
The measure of ourselves, and of our pow'rs:
And that all happiness remains confin'd
Within the kingdom of this breaft of ours;
Without whose bounds, all that we look on lies
In others jurifdictions; others pow'rs;
Out of the circuit of our liberties.
All glory, honour, fame, applaufe, renown,
Are not belonging to our royalties,
But t'others wills; wherein they're only grown :-
And that unless we find us all within,
We never can without us be our own.
Daniel to the Countess of Bedford. What thing fo good, which not fome harm may bring? Ev'n to be happy is a dang'rous thing!
It is the best felicity, to be
Not foil'd, and vanquish'd by felicity.
Aleyn's Poitiers.
He that makes gold his wife, but not his whore ;
He that at noon-day walks by a prison door;
He that i'th' fun is neither beam nor moate;
He that's not mad after a petticoat;
He for whom poor mens curfes dig no grave;
He that is neither lords nor lawyers flave;
He that makes this his fea, and that his fhore;
He that in's coffin's richer than before;
He that counts youth his fword, and age his staff;
He whofe right-hand carves his own epitaph;
He that upon his death bed is a swan;
And dead, no crow; he is a happy man.
Dekker's Second Part of the honeft Whore.
C. 5
Of those that know not pride or luft of city!
There's no man blefs'd, but those that most men pity. Marfton's Sophonisba.
That knowing, in their births, they are fubject to
Uncertain change, are still prepar'd, and arm'd
For either fortune: a rare principle,
And with much labour, learn'd in wifdom's fchool.
Phyficians fay, repletion fprings,
More from the fweet, than fou'r things.
That happiness does ftill the longest thrive;
Where joys and griefs have turns alternative.
As with our eyes, that after a long darkness
Are dazled at th' approach of fudden light.
When i'th' midft of fears we are furpriz'd
With unexpected happiness; the first
Degrees of joy, are mere astonishment.
Over all men hangs a doubtful fate :
One gains by what another is bereft ;
The frugal deities have only left
A common bank of happiness below,
Maintain'd like nature, by an ebb and flow.
Sir Robert Howard's Indian Queen.
Happiness is a stranger to mankind,
And like to a forc'd motion, it is ever
Strongest at the beginning; then languishing
With time, grows weary of our company :-
But to misfortunes we fo fubject are,
That like to natural motion, they prove still
More vigorous in their progrefs.
Tuke's Adventures of Five Hours.
HATRED.
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