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'Cause then to change their cloifter for that fate Which keeps men chafte by vows legitimate: Nor fhame to father their relations,

Or, under nephews names, difguife their fons.

S ME L L.

Bishop King.

Next, in the noftrils doth fhe use the smell,
As God the breath of life in them did give;
So makes he now this pow'r in them to dwell,

To judge all airs, whereby we breath and live.
This fenfe is alfo miftrefs of an art,

Which to foft people fweet perfumes doth fell;
Though this dear art doth little good impart,
Since they fmell beft, that do of nothing fmell
And yet good fcents do purify the brain,
Awake the fancy, and the wits refine :
Hence old devotion, incenfe did ordain,

To make mens fp'rits more apt for thoughts divine.

-For thy fmell,

Sir John Davies.

Sabea, fhall be tranflated where thou goeft,

And ftrew they path with spices. Panchers skins
Shall be thy couch, and amber pave the floor

Where thy foot treads. This breath's perfume enough
To create a Phoenix.

Nabbs's Microcofmus.

SORROW.

Great grief will not be told,

And can more eafily be thought than faid. Right fo, quoth he, but he, that never would, Could never: Will to might gives greatest aid. But grief, quoth fhe, does greater grow difplay'd; If then it finds not help, it breeds defpair.

Defpair breeds not, quoth he, where faith is ftay'd. No faith fo faft, quoth fhe, but flesh does 'pair. Flefh may empair, quoth he, but reafon can repair. Spenfer's Fairy Queen.

He

He oft finds med'cine, who his grief imparts;
But double griefs afflict concealing hearts.

She bad him tellen plain

Spenfer's Fairy Queen.

The further procefs of her hidden grief:

The leffer pangs can bear, who hath endur'd the chief.

My heart is as an anvil unto forrow,

Which beats upon it like the Cyclops hammers,
And with the noife turns up my giddy brain,
And makes me frantick.

Ibid.

Marloe's Edward II.

Our pleasures, pofting guests, make but small stay, And never once look back when they are gone : Where griefs bide long, and leave fuch fcores to pay, As make us bankrupt ere we think thereon.

Brandon's Octavia.

One fire burns out another's burning;

One pain is leffen'd by another's anguifh;

Turn giddy, and be help'd by backward turning;
One defp'rate grief cure with another's languish:
Take thou fome new infection to the eye,
And the rank poifon of the old will dye.

Shakespear's Romeo and Juliet.

1. My Dionyfia, fhall we reft us here,
And by relating tales of others griefs,
See if 'twill teach us to forget our own?
2. That were to blow at fire in hope to quench it ;
For who digs hills because they do afpire,
Throws down one mountain to caft up a higher.
O my distress'd lord, ev'n fuch our griefs are!
Here they're but felt, and feen, with mischiefs eyes,
But like to groves, being topt, they higher rife.

For my particular grief

Shakespear's Pericles.

Is of fo flood-gate and o'er-bearing nature,

H 4

That

That it ingluts and fwallows other forrows,
And yet is ftill itself.

Shakespear's Othello.
He bears the fentence well, that nothing bears
But the free comfort which from thence he hears;
But he bears both the fentence, and the forrow,
That, to pay grief, muft of poor patience borrow.

Great lords, wife men ne'er fit and wail their lofs,
But chearly feek how to redrefs their harms.
What though the mast be now blown over-board,
The cable broke, the holding-anchor loft,
And half our failors fwallow'd in the flood?
Yet lives our pilot ftill. Is't meet that he
Should leave the helm, and, like a fearful lad,
With tear-full eyes add water to the sea ;

Ibid..

And give more ftrength to that which hath too much?
While in his moan, the ship splits on the rock,
Which industry and courage might have fav'd?

Shakespear's Third Part of King Henry VI.

Griefs of mine own lie heavy in my breast;
Which thou wilt propagate, to have them prest
With more of thine: this love, that thou haft fhewn,
Doth add more grief to too much of mine own.
Shakespear's Romeo and Juliet.

Oh, who can hold a fire in his hand,
By thinking on the frosty Caucafus?
Or cloy the hungry edge of appetite,
By bare imagination of a feast ?
Or wallow naked in December's snow,
By thinking on fantastick summer's heat?
Oh, no! the apprehenfion of the good,
Gives but the greater feeling to the worse ;
Fell forrow's tooth doth never rankle more
Than when it bites, but lanceth not the fore.

Shakespear's King Richard II. 1. You yield too much unto your griefs, and fate, Which never hurts, but when we fay it hurts us. 2. O peace, Tibullus, your philofophy

Lends

Lends you too rough a hand to search
my wounds.
Speak they of griefs, that know to figh and grieve;
The free and unconstrained spirit feels

No weight of my oppreffion.

Johnson's Poetafler.

Griefs that found fo loud, prove always light;
True forrow evermore keeps out of fight.

Chapman's Widow's Tears.

It is fome ease our forrows to reveal,
If they to whom we fhall impart our woes,
Seem but to feel a part of what we feel,
And meet us with a figh but at the clofe.

Daniel's Cleopatra.

What news brings't thou, can Egypt yet yield more
Of forrow than it hath? What can it add

To the already overflowing store

Of fad affliction, matter yet more fad ?
Is there behind yet something of diftrefs

Unseen, unknown? Tell if that greater mifery
There be, that we wail not that which is lefs.
Tell us what fo it be, and tell at first ;
For forrow ever longs to hear her worst.

Amaz'd he ftands, nor voice nor body stirs;
Words had no paffage, tears no iffue found;
For forrow fhut up words, wrath kept in tears;
Confus'd effects each other do confound:

Ibid.

Opprefs'd with grief, his paffions had no bound.
Striving to tell his woes, words would not come ;
For light cares fpeak, when mighty griefs are dumb.

Daniel's Rofamund,

My coming but increas'd grief's ftarving store;
For 'till that paffion of itself expire,
All kind of comfort but augments it more:
Like drops of oil thrown on a mighty fire.

E. of Sterline's Cræfus.

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Shall forrow, through the waves of woes to fail,
Have ftill your tears for feas, your fighs for winds?
To misery what do bafe 'plaints avail

A courfe more high becomes heroick minds : None are o'ercome, fave only those who yield. From froward fortune though fome blows be born, Let virtue ferve adverfity for fhield :

No greater grief to grief, than th' enemy's fcorn.
E. of Sterline's Julius Cæfar.

I drink

So deep of grief, that he muft only think,
Not dare to fpeak, that would exprefs my woe:
Small rivers murmur, deep gulfs filent flow.

Marfton's Sophonisba

Long time he tofs'd his thoughts;
And as you fee a fnow-ball being rowl'd
At first a handful, yet long bowl'd about,
It fenfibly acquires a mighty globe:
So his cold grief through agitation grows,
And more he thinks, the more of grief he knows.

Language, thou art too narrow, and too weak
To cafe us now; great forrows cannot speak.
If we could figh our accents, and weep words,
Grief wears and leffens, that tears breath affords :
Sad hearts, the lefs they feem, the more they are;
So guiltiest men ftand muteft at the bar :
Not that they know not, feel not their estate,
But extreme fenfe hath made them defp'rate.

Ibid.

Dr. Donne.

As doth the yearly augur of the fpring,
In depth of woe, thus I my forrows fing;
My tunes with fighs yet ever mix'd among,
A doleful burthen to a heavy fong:
Words iffue forth, to find my grief fome way;
Tears overtake them, and do bid them stay:

'Thus

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