Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/237

 You curious chanters of the wood, That warble forth Dime Nature's lays, Thinking your passions understood By your weak accents; what's your praise When Philomel her voice shall raise?

You violets that first appear, By your pure purple mantles known Like the proud virgins of the year, As if the spring were all your own; What are you when the rose is blown?

So, when my mistress shall be seen In form and beauty of her mind, By virtue first, then choice, a Queen, Tell me, if she were not design'd Th' eclipse and glory of her kind.

179. The Character of a Happy Life

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

Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care Of public fame or private breath;

Who envies none that chance doth raise, Nor vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good;