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'Tis the custom of some to cast them overboard, and there's an end of them: for the dumb fishes will tell no tales. But the murderer is not so soon drowned as the man. What, is a brother of false blood no kin? a savage hath God to his father by creation, though not the church to his mother, and God will revenge his innocent blood. But our captain counts the image of God, nevertheless his image cut in ebony as if done in ivory.1
In dividing the gains, he wrongs no one who took pains to get them: not shifting off his poor mariners with nothing.
In time of peace he quietly returns home.
His voyages are not only for profit, but some for honor and knowledge.*
He daily sees, and duly considers God's wonders in the deep.
Tmvel not early before thy judgment be risen; lest thou observest mther shows than substance.
Get the language (in part), without which key thou shalt unlock little of moment.
Know most of the rooms of thy native country before thou goest over the threshold thereof.
Travel not beyond the Alps. Mr. Roger Ascham did thank God that he was but nine days in Italy, wherein he saw in one city (Venice) more liberty to sin than in London he ever heard of in nine years.
Be wise in choosing objects, diligent in marking, careful in remembering of them. Yet herein men much follow their own humors. One asked a barber who never before had been at the court, what he saw there 1 "O," said he, " the king was excellently well trimmed!"
Labor to distil and unite into thyself the scattered perfections of several nations. Many weed foreign countries, bringing home Dutch drunkenness, Spanish pride, French wantonness, and Italian atheism; as for the good herbs, Dutch industry, Spanish loyalty, French courtesy, and Italian frugality, .these they leave behind them; others bring home just nothing; and, because they singled not themselves from their countrymen, though some years beyond sea, were never out of England.
1 "Is not this one of the earliest intercessions on behalf of the poor slaves r'—B-ul l Montagu. Xo; tor a higher than all human authority proclaimed, fifteen hundred years before, " All things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them;" which, If obeyed, would brenk every bond of oppression throughout the world. Light and darkness, virtne and vice, heiiven and OF MEMORY.
It is the treasure-house of the mind, wherein the monuments thereof are kept and preserved. Piato makes it the mother of the Muses. Aristotle sets it in one degree further, making experience the mother of arts, memory the parent of experience. Philosophers place it in the rear of the head; and it seems the mine of memory lies there, because there men naturally dig for it, scratching it when they are at a loss. This again is two-fold; one, the simple retention of things; the other, a regaining them when forgotten.
Artificial memory is rather a trick than an art, and more for the gain of the teacher than profit of the learners. Like the tossing of a pike, which is no part of the postures and motions thereof, and is rather for ostentation than use, to show the strength and nimbleness of the arm, and is often used by wandering soldiers, as an introduction to beg. Understand it of the artificial rules which at this day are delivered by memory mountebanks; for sure an art thereof may be made, (wherein as yet the world is defective,) and that no more destructive to natural memory than spectacles are to eyes, which girls in Holland wear from twelve years of age. But till this be found out, let us observe these plain rules.
First, soundly infix in thy mind what thou desirest to remember. What wonder is it if agitation of business jog that out of thy head which was there rather tacked than fastened? It is best knocking in the nail over night, and clinching it the next morning.
Overburden not thy memory to make so faithful a servant a slave. Remember, Atlas was weary. Have as much reason as a camel, to rise when thou hast thy full load. Memory, like a purse, if it be over full that it cannot shut, all will drop out of it; take, heed of a gluttonous curiosity to feed on many things, lest the greediness of the appetite of thy memory spoil the digestion thereof.
Marshal thy notions into a handsome method. One will carry twice more weight trussed and packed up in bundles, than when it lies untoward, flapping and hanging about his shoulders. Things orderly fardled up under heads are most portable.
Adventure not all thy learning in one bottom, but divide it betwixt thy memory and thy note-books. He that with Bias carries all his learning about him in his head, will utterly be beggared and bankrupt, if a violent disease, a merciless thief, should rob and strip him. I know some have a common-place against commonplace-books, and yet perchance will privately make use of what they publicly declaim against. A common-place-book contains many notions in garrison, whence the owner may draw out an army into the field on competent warning.
RORERT HERRICK. 1591—1662.
Osk of the most exquisite of the early English lyric poets, was Robert Herrick. But little is known of his life. His father was a goldsmith of London, and he was born in that city in 1591. He studied at Cambridge, and took orders in the established church, and obtained a place to preach in, in Devonshire, which he lost at the commencement of the civil wars. At the Restoration he was re-appointed to his vicarage, but died soon afterwards, in 1662.
Abating some of the impurities of Herrick, we can fully join with an able critic in the Retrospective Review1 in pronouncing him one of the best of English lyric poets. u He is the most joyous and gladsome of bards; singing like the grasshopper, as if he would never grow old. He is as fresh ns the Spring, as blithe as the Summer, and as ripe as the Autumn. . . . His poems resemble a luxuriant meadow, full of king-cups and wild flowers, or a July firmament, sparkling with a myriad of stars. His fancy fed upon all the fair and sweet things of nature: it is redolent of roses and jessamine; it is as light and airy as the thistle down, or the bubbles which laughing boys blow into the air, where they float in a waving line of beauty."
You haste away so soon;
We have short time to stay, as you;
We have as short a spring,
Like to the summer's rain,
TO PRIMROSES, FILLED WITH MORNING DEW.
Why do ye weep, sweet babes t Can tears
1 Vol. v. page 138. Read also, remarks In "Drake's Literary Hours."
Nor felt th' unkind
Or warp'd, as we,
Speak, whimpering younglings; and make known
By your tears shed,
Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,
To blush and gently smile,
What, were ye born to be
An hour or half's delight,
And so to bid good-night?
Merely to show your worth,
But you are lovely leaves, where we
And after they have shown their pride,
HOW THE HEART's-EASE FIRST CAME.
Frolic virgins once these were,
Over-loving, living here;
Being here their ends denied,
Ran for sweethearts mad, and died.
Love, in pity of their tears,
And their loss of blooming years,
For their restless here-spent hours,
Gave them heart's-easo turn'd to flowers.
THE CAPTIVE BEE, OR THE LITTLE FILCHER.
As Julia once a slumbering lay,
It chanced a bee did fly that way,
After a dew, or dew-like shower,
To tipple freely in a flower;
For some rich flower he took the lip
Of Julia, and began to sip:
But when he felt lie suckd from thenco
Honey, and in the quintessence,
He drank so much he scarce could stir;
So Julia took the pilferer:
And thus surprised, as filchers use,
He thus began himself t' excuse:
Sweet lady-flower! I never brought
Hither the least one thieving thought;
But taking those rare lips of yours
For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flowers,
I thought I might there take a taste,
Where so much syrup ran at waste:
Besides, know this, I never sting
The flower that gives mo nourishing;
But with a kiss, or thanks, do pay
For honey that I bear away.
This said, he laid his little scrip
Of honey 'fore her ladyship;
And told her, as some tears did fall,
Tnat, that he took, and that was all.
At which she smiled; and bade him go
And take his bag; but thus much know
When next he came a pilfering so,
He should from her full lips derive
Honey enough to fill his hive.
THE NIGHT PIECE. TO JULIA.
Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee,
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
But on, on thy way,
Not making a stay,
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light,
And, when I shall meet
Thy silvery feet