SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT

Philosopher. Whilst she yet lives, were stars decayed, Their light by hers relief might find ; But Death will lead her to a shade Where Love is cold and Beauty blind.

Lover. Lovers, whose priests all poets are,

Think every mistress, when she dies, Is changed at least into a star :

And who dares doubt the poets wise ?

Philosopher. But ask not bodies doom'd to die

To what abode they go ; Since Knowledge is but Sorrow's spy, It is not safe to know.

��303. Traise and "Prayer

PRAISE is devotion fit for mighty minds,

The differing world's agreeing sacrifice ; Where Heaven divided faiths united finds : But Prayer in various discord upward flies.

For Prayer the ocean is where diversely

Men steer their course, each to a sev'ral coast;

Where all our interests so discordant be

That half beg winds by which the rest are lost.

By Penitence when we ourselves forsake,

'Tis but in wise design on piteous Heaven ;

In Praise we nobly give what God may take, And are, without a beggar's blush, forgiven.

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