SIR HENRY WOTTON

You curious chanters of the wood,

That warble forth Dame Nature's lays,

Thinking your passions understood

By your weak accents ; what 's your praise When Philomel her voice shall raise ?

You violets that first appear,

By your pure purple mantles known

Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own ; What are you when the rose is blown?

So, when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind,

By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd Th 7 eclipse and glory of her kind.

1 7 p. The Character of a Happy Life

T T OW happy is he born and taught

• * That serveth not another's will ;

Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill !

Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care Of public fame or private breath ;

Who envies none that chance doth raise, Nor vice ; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise ; Nor rules of state, but rules of good;

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