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From thence to Heaven's bribeless hall, Where no corrupted voices brawl; No conscience molten into gold; No forged accuser bought or sold;
When we have wandered all our ways, 5 Shuts up the story of our days:
But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust.
ROBERT SOUTHWELL (1561?-1595)
THE BURNING BABE
As I in hoary winter's night stood shivering in the snow,
Surprised I was with sudden heat which made my heart to glow;
And lifting up a fearful eye to view what
fire was near,
A pretty babe, all burning bright, did in the air appear,
No cause deferred, no vain-spent jour- Who, scorched with excessive heat, such
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages:
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke; Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash,
Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;4 Fear not slander, censure rash;
Thou hast finished joy and moan:
Nor no witchcraft charm thee!
From THE TEMPEST
Come unto these yellow sands,
Curtsied when you have, and kissed
While youthful revels, masques, and All our joys are but toys,
Idle thoughts deceiving; None have power of an hour In their life's bereaving.
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers?
O sweet content!
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? O punishment!
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed To add to golden numbers golden numbers?