Who

can

Resist?

Time

Giveth, and

Time

Taketh

Away

SINCE

INCE brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor
boundless sea,

But sad mortality o'er-sways their power,
How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea,
Whose action is no stronger than a flower?
O, how shall summer's honey breath hold out
Against the wreckful siege of battʼring days,
When rocks impregnable are not so stout,
Nor gates of steel so strong, but Time decays?
O fearful meditation! where, alack,

Shall Time's best jewel from Time's chest lie
hid?

Or what strong hand can hold his swift foot back?

Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid?

LIK

Sonnet LXV.

IKE as the waves make towards the pebbled shore,

So do our minutes hasten to their end;
Each changing place with that which goes
before,

In sequent toil all forwards do contend.
Nativity, once in the main of light,

Crawls to maturity, wherewith being crown'd,

Crooked eclipses 'gainst his glory fight,
And Time that gave doth now his gift con-
found.

Time doth transfix the flourish set on youth
And delves the parallels in beauty's brow,
Feeds on the rarities of nature's truth,

And nothing stands but for his scythe to mow.

ENGLAND

Sonnet LX.

I

DO love

My country's good with a respect more

tender,

More holy and profound, than mine own life.
Coriolanus. Act III, Sc. 3.

REMEMBER, sir,

The natural bravery of your isle, which
stands

As Neptune's park, ribbed and paled in
With rocks unscaleable and roaring waters,
With sands that will not bear your enemies'
boats,

The
Patriot

British
Pluck

British

Conceit

But suck them up to the topmast. A kind

of conquest

Cæsar made here; but made not here his brag Of "came and saw and overcame.' With shame

The first that ever touch'd him-he was carried

From off our coast, twice beaten; and his shipping

Poor ignorant baubles!—on our terrible seas, Like egg-shells moved upon their surges, crack'd

As easily 'gainst our rocks; for joy whereof
The famed Cassibelan, who was once at
point-

O giglot fortune!-to master Cæsar's sword,
Made Lud's town with rejoicing fires bright
And Britons strut with courage.

H

Cymbeline. Act III, Sc. 1.

ATH Britain all the sun that shines?
Day, night,

Are they not but in Britain? I' the world's
volume

Our Britain seems as of it, but not in't:

In a great pool a swan's nest. Prithee, think
There's livers out of Britain.

A

Cymbeline. Act III, Sc. 4.

STRANGE fish! Were I in England now, as once I was, and had but this fish painted, not a holiday fool there but would give a piece of silver. There would this monster make a man; any strange beast there makes a man. When they will not give a doit to relieve a lame beggar, they will lay out ten to see a dead Indian.

The Tempest. Act II, Sc. 2.

THE STATE

OR so work the honey-bees,

FOR

a

Creatures that by a rule in nature teach The act of order to a peopled kingdom. They have a king and officers of sorts, Where some, like magistrates, correct at home, Others, like merchants, venture trade abroad, Others, like soldiers, armed in their stings, Make boot upon the summer's velvet buds,

Folly

The

Hier

archy

of the

Bees

The Perfect State

Which pillage they with merry march bring

home

To the tent-royal of their emperor;
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
The singing masons building roofs of gold,
The civil citizens kneading up the honey,
The poor mechanic porters crowding in
Their heavy burdens at his narrow gate,
The sad-eyed justice, with his surly hum,
Delivering o'er to executors pale
The lazy yawning drone.

Henry V. Act I, Sc. 2.

HE providence that's in a watchful state Knows almost every grain of Plutus' gold,

THE thevery

Finds bottom in the uncomprehensive deeps,
Keeps place with thought, and almost, like
the gods,

Does thoughts unveil in their dumb cradles.
There is a mystery-with whom relation
Durst never meddle in the soul of state;
Which hath no operation more divine
Than breath or pen can give expressure to.
Troilus and Cressida. Act III, Sc. 3.