Part 37 (1/2)

Book i. Canto ix. St. 35.

That darkesome cave they enter, where they find That cursed man, low sitting on the ground, Musing full sadly in his sullein mind.

Book ii. Canto vi. St. 12.

No daintie flowre or herbe that growes on grownd No arborett with painted blossomes drest And smelling sweete, but there it might be fownd To bud out faire, and throwe her sweete smels al arownd.

Book iv. Canto ii. St.

Dan Chaucer, well of English undefyled.

_Lines on his Promised Pension_.

I was promised on a time To have reason for my rhyme; From that time unto this season, I received nor rhyme nor reason.

_Hymn in Honor of Beauty_. Line 132.

For of the soul the body form doth take, For soul is form, and doth the Body make.

MOTHER HUBBERD'S TALE.

Full little knowest thou that hast not tride, What h.e.l.l it is in suing long to bide; To loose good dayes, that might be better spent To wast long nights in pensive discontent; To speed to-day, to be put back to-morrow; To feed on hope, to pine with feare and sorrow;

To fret thy soule with crosses and with cares; To eate thy heart through comfortlesse dispaires; To fawne, to crowche, to waite, to ride, to ronne, To spend, to give, to want, to be undonne.

SIR HENRY WOTTON.

1568-1639.

_The Character of a Happy Life_.

How happy is he born and taught, That serveth not another's will; Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill!