A CONSTANT READER.

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OLD POETS.

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AMBITION.

  Ambition is a vulture vile,
  That feedeth on the heart of pride,
  And finds no rest, when all is tried,
  For worlds cannot confine the one
  Th’ other lists and bounds hath none
  And both subvert the mind, the state,
  Procure destruction, envy, hate.

S. DANIELL.

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HEAVEN.

  In this great temple richly beautified,
  Pav’d all with stars, dispers’d on Sapphire flower,
  The clerk is a pure angel sanctified,
  The Judge our High Messiah full of power,
  The Apostles his assistants every hour,
      The jury saints, the verdict innocent,
      The sentence, come ye blessed to my tent. 
  The spear that pierc’d his side, the writing pen,
  Christ’s blood the ink, red ink for prince’s name,
  The vailes great breach, the miracles for men,
  The sight is show of them that long dead came
  From their old graves, restored to living fame. 
      And that last, signet passing all the rest,
      Our souls discharg’d by consummatum est. 
  Here endless joy is their perpetual cheer
  Their exercise, sweet songs of many parts. 
  Angels their choir, whose symphony to hear
  Is able to provoke conceiving hearts
  To misconceive of all enticing art
      The ditty praise, the subject is the Lord,
      That times their gladsome spirit to this accord.

TH.  STOKER.

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DEATH.

  Is’t not God’s deed whatever thing is done
  In heaven and earth?  Did not he all create
  To die again? all ends that were begun;
  Their times in his eternal books of fate
  Are written sure, and have their certain date,
  Who then can strive with strong necessity,
  That holds the world in his still changing state? 
  Or shun the death ordain’d by destiny,
  When hour of death is come, let none ask whence or why.

SPENSER.

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FRAUD.

  Fraud showed in comely clothes a lovely look,
  An humble cast of eye, a sober pace;
  And so sweet speech, a man might her have took
  For him that said “Hail Mary full of grace;”
  But all the rest deformedly did look. 
  As full of filthiness and foul disgrace;
  Hid under long, large garments that she wore,
  Under the which, a poisoned knife she bore.

SIR J. HARRINGTON.

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VIRTUE.