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and give them honor in marrying them, how mean soever before.

Though pleasantly affected, she is not transported with court delights; as in their stately masques and pageants. By degrees she is brought from delighting in such masques, only to be contented to see them, and at last, perchance, could desire to be excused from that also.

Yet in her reduced thoughts she makes all the sport she hath seen earnest to herself: it must be a dry flower indeed out of which this bee sucks no honey: they are the best Origens, who do allegorize all earthly vanities into heavenly truths. When she remembereth how suddenly the scene in the masque was altered (almost before moment itself could take notice of it), she considereth, how quickly mutable all things are in this world, God ringing the changes on all accidents, and making them tunable to his glory: the lively representing of things so curiously, that Nature herself might grow jealous of art, in out-doing her, minds our lady to make sure work with her own soul, seeing hypocrisy may be so like to sincerity. But O what a wealthy exchequer of beauties did she there behold, several faces most different, most excellent (so great is the variety even in bests), what a rich mine of jewels above ground, all so brave, so costly! To give court-masques their due, of all the bubbles in this world, they have the greatest variety of fine colors. But all is quickly ended: this is the spite of the world, if ever she affordeth fine ware, she always pincheth it in the measure, and it lasts not long. But O, thinks our lady, how glorious a place is heaven, where there are joys forevermore. If a herd of kine should meet together to fancy and define happiness, they would place it to consist in fine pastures, sweet grass, clear water, shadowy groves, constant summer; but if any winter, then warm shelter and dainty hay, with company after their kind, counting these low things the highest happiness, because their conceit can reach

no higher. Little better do the heathen poets describe heaven, paving it with pearl, and roofing it with stars, filling it with gods and goddesses, and allowing them to drink (as if without it no poet's paradise) nectar and ambrosia; heaven indeed being "poetarum dedecus," the shame of poets, and the disgrace of all their hyperboles, falling as far short of truth herein, as they go beyond it in other fables. However, the sight of such glorious earthly spectacles advantageth our lady's conceit by infinite multiplication thereof to consider of heaven.

She reads constant lectures to herself of her own mortality. To smell to a turf of fresh earth is wholesome for the body; no less are thoughts of mortality cordial to the soul. "Earth thou art, to earth thou shalt return." The sight of death when it cometh will neither be so terrible to her, nor so strange, who hath formerly often beheld it in her serious meditations. With Job she saith to the worm, "Thou art my sister." If fair ladies scorn to own the worms, their kindred in this life, their kindred will be bold to challenge them when dead in their graves: for when the soul (the best perfume of the body) is departed from it, it becomes so noisome a carcass, that, should I make a description of the loathsomeness thereof, some dainty dames would hold their noses in reading it.

To conclude: we read how Henry, a German prince, was admonished by revelation to search for a writing in an old wall, which should nearly concern him, wherein he found only these two words written, POST SEX, after six. Whereupon Henry conceived that his death was foretold, which after six days should ensue, which made him pass those days in constant preparation for the same. But finding the six days past without the effect he expected, he successively persevered in his godly resolutions six weeks, six months, six years, and on the first day of the seventh year the prophecy was fulfilled, though otherwise than he interpreted

it; for thereupon he was chosen Emperor of Germany, having before gotten such a habit of piety, that he persisted in his religious course forever after. Thus our lady hath so inured herself "all the days of her appointed time to wait till her change cometh," that, expecting it every hour, she is always provided for that than which nothing is more certain or uncertain.

ALL'S WELL.

By D. A. WASSON.

(WEET-VOICÈD Hope, thy fine discourse

Foretold not half life's good to me;

Thy painter, Fancy, hath not force

To show how sweet it is to be!

Thy witching dream

And pictured scheme

To match the fact still want the power;

Thy promise brave

From birth to grave

Life's bloom may beggar in an hour.

Ask and receive, 't is sweetly said;

Yet what to plead for know I not;
For Wish is worsted, Hope o'ersped,
And aye to thanks returns my thought.

If I would pray,

I've naught to say

But this, that God may be God still,

For Him to live

Is still to give,

And sweeter than my wish his will.

O wealth of life beyond all bound!
Eternity each moment given!

What plummet may the Present sound?
Who promises a future heaven?
Or glad, or grieved,

Oppressed, relieved,

In blackest night, or brightest day,
Still pours the flood

Of golden good,

And more than heartfull fills me aye.

My wealth is common; I possess
No petty province, but the whole;
What's mine alone is mine far less
Than treasure shared by every soul.
Talk not of store,

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Of thought to thought are my gold-dust, — The oaks, the brooks,

And speaking looks

Of lovers' faith and friendship's trust.

Life's youngest tides joy-brimming flow
For him who lives above all years,
Who all-immortal makes the Now,

And is not ta'en in Time's arrears,

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