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For every drislinge mist;
My shippe's substancial.
Not oft I use to wright
In prose, nor yet in ryme;
Yet wil í shewe one sight,
That I sawe in my time.
I sawe a royall throne,
Where Justice shulde have sitte
But in her steade was One
Of moody cruell witte.
Absorpt was rightwisness,
As by the raginge floude;
Sathan, in his excess
Sucte up the guiltlesse bloude.
Then thought I, Jesus, Lorde,
When Thou shalt judge us all,
Harde is it to recorde
On these men what will fall.
Yet, Lorde, I Thee desire,
For that they doe to me,
Let them not taste the hire
Of their iniquitie.

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Then took I paper, pen, and ink, this proverb for to write,
In register for to remain of such a worthy wight.
As she proceeded thus in song unto her little brat,
Much matter uttered she of weight in place whereas she sat;
And proved plain, there was no beast, nor creature bearing

life, Could well be known to live in love without discórd and

strife: Then kissed she her little babe, and sware by God above, “ The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love." “ I marvel much, pardie,” quoth she, “ for to behold the

rout, To see man, woman, boy, and beast, to toss the world about Some kneel, some crouch, some beck, some check, and some

can smoothly smile, And some embrace others in arms, and there think many a

wile. Some stand aloof at cap and knee, some humble, and some

stout, Yet are they never friends indeed until they once fall out.” Thus ended she her song, and said, before she did remove : “The falling out of faithful friends renewing is of love."

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This unfortunate, though distinguished statesman, warrior, scholar, and poet, was born in 1552 in Devonshire. After serving in the army in various parts of the world with distinction, he prosecuted the discoveries in America, and settled a colony in that country, which he named Virginia. On his return to Europe he was knighted by Queen Elizabeth. During the Spanish invasion he acted a most prominent part, and seemed as if he were fast advancing to the summit of greatness, when by an intrigue at court he was dismissed in disgrace. He again rose to a high command, but again by base calumny he was charged with treason, and sent to the Tower, where he remained for twelve years. At last he was released, but without a pardon having been granted. His first act was to endeavour to plant a colony in Gulana, and obtained a patent under the great seal; but failing in his attempts on the Spanish settlements there, his crews became dispirited, and they returned home. To the eternal disgrace of James, he was sentenced on the old conviction to be beheaded, which was carried out on 29th October 1618 at Palace Yard. Some of Raleigh's poems have been lost, and little is known respecting those that have come down W UN

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THE LIE.
Go, soul, the body's guest,

Upon a thankless errand ;
Fear not to touch the best,
The truth shall be thy warrant;

Go, since I needs must die,

And give the world the lie. Go, tell the court it glows,

And shines like rotten wood; Go, tell the church it shows What's good, and doth no good :

If church and court reply,

Then give them both the lie. Tell potentates they live

Acting by others' action, Not loved unless they give, Not strong but by a faction.

If potentates reply,

Give potentates the lie. Tell men of high condition

That rule affairs of state, Their purpose is ambition, Their practice only hate.

And if they once reply,

Then give them all the lie. Tell them that brave it most,

They beg for more by spending, Who in their greatest cost, Seek nothing but commending.

And if they make reply.

Then give them all the lie. Tell zeal it lacks devotion,

Tell love it is but lust, Tell time it is but motion, Tell flesh it is but dust;

And wish them not reply,

For thou must give the lie. Tell age it daily wasteth,

Tell honour how it alters,

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THE PILGRIMAGE.

Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,

My staff of faith to walk upon;
My scrip of joy, immortal diet;

My bottle of salvation ;
My gown of glory, hope's true gauge,
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage !
Blood must be my body's 'balmer,
No other balm will there be given ;
Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,
Travelleth towards the land of Heaven;
Over the silver mountains
Where spring the nectar fountains.
There will I kiss the bowl of bliss,
And drink mine everlasting fill
Upon every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry before,
But after, it will thirst no more.
Then by that happy blissful day,
More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,
That have cast off their rags of clay,
And walk apparelled fresh like me.
I'll take them first to quench their thirst,
And taste of nectar's suckets
At those clear wells where sweetness dwells
Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.
And when our bottles and all we
Are filled with immortality,
Then the blest paths we'll travel,
Strewed with rubies thick as gravel-
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
High walls of coral, and pearly bowers.
From thence to Heaven's bribeless hall,
Where no corrupted voices brawl;
No conscience molten into gold,
No forged accuser, bought or sold,
No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey,
For there Christ is the King's Attorney ;
Who pleads for all without degrees,
And he hath angels, but no fees;
And when the grand twelve million jury

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