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The elements are let loose to fight,

And, while I live, try out their right.

Oh, help, my God! let not their plot
Kill them and me;

And also thee,

Who art my life. Dissolve the knot,
As the sun scatters by his light
All the rebellions of the night.

Then shall these powers, which work for grief,
Enter thy pay,

And, day by day,

Labor thy praise and my relief;

With care and courage building me,

Till I reach heaven-and, much more, thee.

Man.

My God, I heard this day, That none doth build a stately habitation, But he that means to dwell therein.

What house more stately hath there been, Or can be, than is Man? to whose creation All things are in decay.

And more.

For Man is every thing

He is a tree, yet bears no fruit;

A beast, yet is, or should be, more.
Reason and speech we only bring.

Parrots may thank us, if they are not mute;
They go upon the score.

Man is all symmetry,

Full of proportions, one limb to another,
And all to all the world besides.

Each part may call the farthest brother:
For head with foot hath private amity;

And both, with moons and tides.

Nothing hath got so far,

But Man hath caught and kept it, as his prey.
His eyes dismount the highest star;
He is, in little, all the sphere.

Herbs gladly cure our flesh, because that they
Find their acquaintance there.

For us the winds do blow,

The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow.
Nothing we see but means our good;

As our delight, or as our treasure.
The whole is either our cupboard of food,
Or cabinet of pleasure.

The stars have us to bed;

Night draws the curtain; which the sun withdraws. Music and light attend our head.

All things unto our flesh are kind,

In their descent and being; to our mind,
In their ascent and cause.

Each thing is full of duty:

Waters united are our navigation;

Distinguished, our habitation;

Below, our drink; above, our meat:

Both are our cleanliness. Hath one such beauty? Then how are all things neat!

More servants wait on Man,

Than he'll take notice of. In every path

He treads down that, which doth befriend him When sickness makes him pale and wan. Oh, mighty love! Man is one world, and hath Another to attend him.

Since then, my God, thou hast

So brave a palace built, oh, dwell in it,
That it may dwell with thee at last!
Till then, afford us so much wit,

That, as the world serves us, we may serve thee;
And both thy servants be.

Antiphon.

Cho. PRAISED be the God of Love,
Men. Here below,

Angels. And here above:

Cho. Who hath dealt his mercies so,
Ang. To his friend,

Men. And to his foe;

Cho. That both grace and glory tend
Ang. Us of old,

Men. And us in th' end.

Cho. The great shepherd of the fold

Ang. Us did make,

Men. For us was sold.

Cho. He our foes in pieces brake.
Ang. Him we touch,

Men. And him we take.

Cho. Wherefore since that he is such,
Ang. We adore,

Men. And we do crouch.

Cho. Lord, thy praises should be more.
Men. We have none,

Ang. And we no store.

Cho. Praised be the God alone,

Who hath made, of two folds, one.

Unkindness.

LORD, make me coy, and tender to offend.
In friendship, first I think, if that agree,
Which I intend,

Unto my friend's intent and end.

I would not use a friend, as I use thee.

If any touch my friend, or his good name,
It is my honor and my love, to free

His blasted fame

From the least spot, or thought, of blame.

I could not use a friend, as I use thee.

My friend may spit upon my curious floor.
Would he have gold? I lend it instantly ;-
But let the poor,

And thou within them, starve at door.

I cannot use a friend, as I use thee.

When that my friend pretendeth to a place,

I quit my interest, and leave it free.

But when thy grace

Sues for my heart, I thee displace;

Nor would I use a friend, as I use thee.

Yet, can a friend, what thou hast done, fulfil?
Oh! write in brass, My God upon a tree
His blood did spill,

Only to purchase my good-will ;—

Yet use I not my foes, as I use thee!

Life.

I MADE a posy, while the day ran by;
"Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie
My life within this band."

But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they
By noon most cunningly did steal away,

And withered in my hand.

My hand was next to them, and then my heart.
I took, without more thinking, in good part
Time's gentle admonition;
Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey,
Making my mind to smell my fatal day,

Yet sugaring the suspicion.

Farewell, dear flowers! sweetly your time ye spent ; Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament;

And, after death, for cures.

I follow straight, without complaints or grief;
Since, if my scent be good, I care not if
It be as short as yours.

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