INBORN ROYALTY.

O THOU goddess, Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st

In these two princely boys! They are as gentle

As zephyrs, blowing below the violet,

Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough,

Their royal blood enchafed, as the rud'st wind,

That by the top doth take the mountain pine,

And make him stoop to the vale. 'Tis wonderful

That an invisible instinct should frame them

To royalty unlearned; honor untaught;

Civility not seen from other; valor, That wildly grows in them, but yields a crop

As if it had been sowed!

SHAKSPEARE: Cymbeline.

Arose the virgin, born of heavenly

brood,

And to her snowy palfrey got again To seek her strayed champion if she might attain.

The lion would not leave her desolate,

But with her went along, as a strong guard

Of her chaste person, and a faithful

mate.

Still, when she slept, he kept both watch and ward;

And, when she waked, he waited diligent,

With humble service to her will prepared:

From her fair eyes he took commandment

And ever by her looks conceived her intent.

SPENSER.

WHEN I DO COUNT THE CLOCK.

WHEN I do count the clock that tells the time,

And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;

When I behold the violet past prime,

And sable curls all silvered o'er with white;

When lofty trees I see barren of leaves,

Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,

And summer's green, all girded up

in sheaves,

Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard;

Then of thy beauty do I question make,

That thou among the wastes of time must go,

Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake,

And die as fast as they see others grow;

And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defence,

Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

SHAKSPEARE.

WHEN I love, as some have told,
Love I shall when I am old,
O ye Graces! make me fit
For the welcoming of it.
Clean my rooms as temples be,
To entertain that deity;
Give me words wherewith to woo,
Suppling and successful too;
Winning postures, and withal,
Manners each way musical;
Sweetnesse to allay my sour
And unsmooth behavior:
For I know you have the skill
Vines to prune, though not to kill;
And of any wood ye see,

You can make a Mercury.

HERRICK