第12章 FIRST BOOK(9)

Or pains his head:

Those that live single, take it for a curse,

Or do things worse:

Some would have children: those that have them moan

Or wish them gone:

What is it, then, to have, or have no wife,

But single thraldom, or a double strife?

Our own afections still at home to please

Is a disease:

To cross the seas to any foreign soil,

Peril and toil:

Wars with their noise afright us; when they cease,

We are worse in peace; —

What then remains, but that we still should cry

Not to be born, or, being born, to die?

LORD BACON

58◆THE LESSONS OF NATURE

Of this fair volume which we World do name

If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,

Of Him who it corrects, and did it frame,

We clear might read the art and wisdom rare:

Find out His power which wildest powers doth tame,

His providence extending everywhere,

His justice which proud rebels doth not spare,

In every page, no period of the same.

But silly we, like foolish children, rest

Well pleased with colour'd vellum, leaves of gold,

Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best,

On the great Writer's sense ne'er taking hold;

Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught,

It is some picture on the margin wrought.

W. DRUMMOND

59◆DOTH THEN THE WORLD GO THUS

Doth then the world go thus, doth all thus move?

Is this the justice which on Earth we fnd?

Is this that frm decree which all doth bind?

Are these your infuences, Powers above?

Those souls which vice's moody mists most blind,

Blind Fortune, blindly, most their friend doth prove;

And they who thee, poor idol, Virtue! love,

Ply like a feather toss'd by storm and wind.

Ah! if a Providence doth sway this all,

Why should best minds groan under most distress?

Or why should pride humility make thrall,

And injuries the innocent oppress?

Heavens! hinder, stop this fate; or grant a time

When good may have, as well as bad, their prime!

W. DRUMMOND

60◆THE WORLD'S WAY

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry—

As, to behold desert a beggar born,

And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,

And purest faith unhappily forsworn,

And gilded honour shamefully misplaced,

And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,

And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,

And strength by limping sway disabled,

And art made tongue-tied by authority,

And folly, doctor-like, controlling skill,

And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,

And captive Good attending captain Ill: —

—Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,

Save that, to die, I leave my Love alone.

W. SHAKESPEARE

61◆SAINT JOHN BAPTIST

The last and greatest Herald of Heaven's King

Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,

Among that savage brood the woods forth bring,

Which he more harmless found than man, and mild.

His food was locusts, and what there doth spring,

With honey that from virgin hives distill'd;

Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing

Made him appear, long since from earth exiled.

There burst he forth: "All ye whose hopes rely

On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn,

Repent, repent, and from old errors turn! "

—Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry?

Only the echoes, which he made relent,

Rung from their finty caves, Repent! Repent!

W. DRVMMOND