THE LIE.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

Go, soul, the body's guest,

Upon a thankless errand! Fear not to touch the best, The truth shall be thy warrant Go, since I needs must die, And give the world the lie.

Go, tell the court it glows,

And shines like rotten wood

Go, tell the church it shows

What's good, and doth no good
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.

Tell potentates, they live

Acting by others' action,

Not loved unless they give,

Not strong but by a faction:

If potentates reply,

Give potentates the lie.

Tell them that brave it most,

They beg for more by spending,

Who in their greatest cost,

Seek nothing but commending.

And if they make reply,

Then give them all the lie.

Tell zeal it wants devotion,

Tell love it is but lust,
Tell time it is but motion,
Tell flesh it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,

For thou must give the lie.

Tell age it daily wasteth,

Tell honour how it alters,

Tell beauty how she blasteth,

Tell favour how it falters :
And as they shall reply,
Give every one the lie.

Tell wit how much it wrangles
In tickle points of niceness:
Tell wisdom she entangles

Herself in over-wiseness:

And when they do reply,
Straight give them both the lie.

Tell physic of her boldness,

Tell skill it is pretension,

Tell charity of coldness,

Tell law it is contention :

And as they do reply,

So give them still the lie.

Tell fortune of her blindness,

Tell nature of decay,

Tell friendship of unkindness,

Tell justice of delay:

And if they will reply,

Then give them all the lie.

Tell arts they have no soundness,

But vary by esteeming ;

Tell schools they want profoundness,

And stand too much on seeming :

If arts and schools reply,

Give arts and schools the lie.

Tell faith it's fled the city;

Tell how the country erreth;

Tell, manhood shakes off pity;

Tell, virtue least preferreth :

And if they do reply,

Spare not to give the lie.

So when thou hast, as I

Commanded thee, done blabbing:

Although to give the lie

Deserves no less than stabbing;

Stab at thee he that will,

No stab the soul can kill.

I MUST NOT GRIEVE.

BY SAMUEL DANIEL.

[SAMUEL DANIEL was born near Taunton in Somersetshire, in 1562; and was educated at Oxford, at the charge of the Countess of Pembroke, the sister of Sir Philip Sidney. He became Poet Laureate at the death of Spenser, but was soon superseded by Ben Jonson. In the reign of James I. he was made groom of the Privy Chamber to the Queen. Some years before his death he retired to a farm in Somersetshire, where he died in 1619.

Daniel was a good and amiable man: his diction is admirable, and his poems abound in beautiful passages.]

I MUST not grieve, my love, whose eyes would read
Lines must delight, whereon her youth might smile;
Flowers have time before they come to seed,
And she is young, and now must sport the while.
And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years,
And learn to gather flowers before they wither;
And where the sweetest blossom first appears,
Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither,
Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air,
And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise:
Pity and smiles do best become the fair;
Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise.
Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone,
Happy the heart that sighed for such a one.