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Page 59 - Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory ; But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride At length broke under me ; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must for ever hide me. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye ; I feel my heart new opened : O, how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes...
Page 61 - t ? Love thyself last ; cherish those hearts that hate thee: Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not : Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's and truth's...
Page 58 - Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! This is the state of man; To-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope, to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honours thick upon him : The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost; And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a ripening, — nips his root, And then he falls, as I do.
Page 92 - Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him ; Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine, His honour and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations...
Page 62 - Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues : be just and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's : then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell ! Thou fall'st a blessed martyr.
Page 68 - So went to bed : where eagerly his sickness Pursued him still ; and, three nights after this, About the hour of eight, (which he himself Foretold should be his last,) full of repentance. Continual meditations, tears, and sorrows, He gave his honours to the world again, His blessed part to heaven, and slept in peace.
Page 41 - Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Page 68 - O father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; Give him a little earth for charity...
Page 104 - Two loves I have of comfort and despair. Which like two spirits do suggest me still: The better angel is a man right fair, The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill. To win me soon to hell, my female evil Tempteth my better angel from my side, And would corrupt my saint to be a devil, Wooing his purity with her foul pride.
Page 91 - Nor shall this peace sleep with her : but as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new create another heir As great in admiration as herself : So shall she leave her blessedness to one, When Heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness.