136 GEORGE WITHER.—FRANCIS QUARLES. CHAP. IX. CHAPTER IX. THE SO-CALLED METAPHYSICAL POETS. 97. GEORGE WITHER. 1588-1667. (Manual, p. 167.) THE STEADFAST SHEPHERD. Hence away, thou Siren, leave me, 98. FRANCIS QUARLES. 1592-1644. (Manual, p. 167.) ○ THAT THOU WOULDST Hide Me in THE GRAVE, THAT THOU WOULDST KEEP ME IN SECRET UNTIL THY WRATH BE PAST. Ah! whither shall I fly? what path untrod Of my offended, of my angry God? Where shall I sojourn? what kind sea will hide What if my feet should take their hasty flight, What if my soul should take the wings of day, What if some solid rock should entertain Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, nor cave, 'Tis vain to flee; till gentle Mercy show The swing of Justice deals the mightier blow. Th' ingenuous child, corrected, doth not fly Great God! there is no safety here below; 'Tis thou, that strik'st the stroke, must guard the blow. 99. GEORGE HERBERT. 1593-1632. (Manual, p. 168.) SUNDAY. O day most calm, most bright! The other days and thou Make up one man; whose face thou art, Man had straight forward gone Sundays the pillars are On which heaven's palace archéd lies: They are the fruitful bed and borders The Sundays of man's life, On Sunday, heaven's gate stands ope; More plentiful than hope. * Thou art a day of mirth : And, where the week-days trail on ground, Thy flight is higher, as thy birth. O, let me take thee at the bound, Leaping with thee from seven to seven; Till that we both, being tossed from earth, Fly hand in hand to heaven! 100. RICHARD CRASHAW. 1620-1650. (Manual, p. 168.) LINES ON A PRAYER-BOOK SENT TO MRS. R. Lo! here a little volume, but large book, It is no hypocrite,) Much larger in itself than in its look. To prove that true, schools used to tell, A thousand angels in one point can dwell. It is love's great artillery, Which here contracts itself, and comes to lie Close couched in your white bosom, and from thence, As from a snowy fortress of defence, Let constant use but keep it bright, To holy hands and humble hearts, Than sin hath snares or hell hath darts. Only be sure The hands be pure That hold these weapons, and the eyes Wakeful and wise, Here is a friend shall fight for you. That studies this high art Must be a sure housekeeper And yet no sleeper. Dear soul, be strong, Mercy will come ere long, And bring her bosom full of blessings - To make immortal dressings, For worthy souls whose wise embraces 101. ROBERT HERRICK. 1591-1674. (Manual, p. 169.) Then be not coy, but use your time, TO MEADOWS. Fair daffodils, we weep to see You haste away so soon; Until the hasting day Has run But to the even song; And having prayed together, we Will go with you along. We have short time to stay as you, We have as short a spring; As quick a growth to meet decay, We die, As your hours do, and dry Away, Like to the summer's rain, Or as the pearls of morning's dew, 102. SIR JOHN SUCKLING. 1609-1641. (Manual, p. 169.) SONG. Out upon it, I have loved Three whole days together; Time shall melt away his wings, Ere he shall discover In the whole wide world again But the spite on't is, no praise Love with me had made no stays, Had it any been but she. |