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With science poorly mask their hurt,
And vex the gods with question pert,
Immensely curious whether you
Still are rulers, or mildew ?

Masters, I'm in pain with you ;
Masters, I'll be plain with you ;
In my palace of Castile,
I, a king, for kings can feel.
There my thoughts the matter roll,
And solve and oft resolve the whole.
And, for I'm styled Alphonse the Wise,
Ye shall not fail for sound advice.
Before ye want a drop of rain,
Hear the sentiment of Spain.

You have tried famine : no more try it,
Ply us now with a full diet;
Teach your pupils now with plenty,
For one sun supply us twenty.
I have thought it thoroughly over,--
State of hermit, state of lover;
We must have society,
We cannot spare variety.
Hear you, then, celestial fellows !
Fits not to be over-zealous;
Steads not to work on the clean jump,
Nor wine nor brains perpetual pump.
Men and gods are too extense ;


slacken and condense ? Your rank overgrowths reduce Till your kinds abound with juice ? Earth, crowded, cries, "Too many men ! My counsel is, kill nine in ten, And bestow the shares of all On the remnant decimal. Add their nine lives to this cat; Stuff their nine brains in one hat; Make his frame and forces square With the labours he must dare ;

Thatch his flesh, and even his years
With the marble which he rears.
There, growing slowly old at ease,
No faster than his planted trees,
He may, by warrant of his age,
In schemes of broader scope engage.
So shall ye have a man of the sphere,
Fit to grace the solar year.



CANNOT spare water or wine,

Tobacco-leaf, or poppy, or rose ; From the earth-poles to the Line,

All between that works or grows, Every thing is kin of mine.

Give me agates for my meat ;
Give me cantharids to eat;
From air and ocean bring me foods,
From all zones and altitudes ; -

From all natures, sharp and slimy,

Salt and basalt, wild and tame:
Tree and lichen, ape, sea-lion,

Bird, and reptile, be my game.
Ivy for my fillet band;
Blinding dog-wood in my hand;
Hemlock ior my sherbet cull me,
And the prussic juice to lull me;
Swing me in the upas boughs,
Vampire-fanned, when I carouse.

Too long shut in strait and few,
Thinly dieted on dew,
I will use the world, and sift it,
To a thousand humours shift it,
As you spin a cherry.
O doleful ghosts, and goblins merry !

O all you virtues, methods, mights,
Means, appliances, delights,
Reputed wrongs and braggart rights,
Smug routine, and things allowed,
Minorities, things under cloud !
Hither ! take me, use me, fill me,
Vein and artery, though you kill me !

TO J. W.

ET not thy foot on graves :

Hear what wine and roses say ;
The mountain chase, the summer waves,
The crowded town, thy feet may well delay.


Set not thy foot on graves ;
Nor seek to unwind the shroud
Which charitable Time
And Nature have allowed
To wrap the errors of a sage sublime.

Set not thy foot on graves :
Care not to strip the dead
Of his sad ornament,
His myrrh, and wine, and rings,
His sheet of lead,
And trophies buried :
Go, get them where he earned them when alive ;
As resolutely dig or dive.

Life is too short to waste
In critic peep or cynic bark,
Quarrel or reprimand :
Twill soon be dark;
Up! mind thine own aim, and
God speed the mark !



it ;

‘HAT you are fair or wise is vain,

Or strong, or rich, or generous ; You must add the untaught strain That sheds beauty on the rose. There's a melody born of melody, Which melts the world into a sea. Toil could never compass Art its height could never hit; It came never out of wit; But a music music-born Well may Jove and Juno scorn. Thy beauty, if it lack the fire Which drives me mad with sweet desire, What boots it? What the soldier's mail, Unless he conquer and prevail ? What all the goods thy pride which lift, If thou pine for another's gift ? Alas! that one is born in blight, Victim of perpetual slight : When thou lookest on his face, Thy heart saith, “ Brother, go thy ways ! None shall ask thee what thou doest, Or care a rush for what thou knowest, Or listen when thou repliest, Or remember where thou liest, Or how thy supper is sodden; And another is born To make the sun forgotten. Surely he carries a talisman Under his tongue ; Broad his shoulders are and strong ; And his eye is scornful, Threatening, and young. I hold it of little matter Whether your jewel be of pure water, A rose diamond or a white, But whether it dazzle me with light. I care not how you are dressed, In coarsest weeds or in the best;

Nor whether your name is base or brave;
Nor for the fashion of your behaviour ;
But whether you charm me,

bread feed and my fire warm me,
And dress up Nature in your favour.
One thing is for ever good;
That one thing is Success,-
Dear to the Eumenides,
And to all the heavenly brood.
Who bides at home, nor looks abroad,
Carries the eagles, and masters the sword.



ORTAL mixed of middle clay,

Attempered to the night and day, Interchangeable with things, Needs no amulets nor rings. Guy possessed the talisman That all things from him began; And as, of old, Polycrates Chained the sunshine and the breeze, So did Guy betimes discover Fortune was his guard and lover; In strange junctures, felt, with awe, His own symmetry with law; That no mixture could withstand The virtue of his lucky hand. He gold or jewel could not lose, Nor not receive his ample dues. Fearless Guy had never foes, He did their weapons decompose. Aimed at him, the blushing blade Healed as fast the wounds it made. If on the foeman fell his gaze, Him it would straightway blind or craze. In the street, if he turned round, His eye the eye 'twas seeking found. It seemed his Genius discreet Worked on the Maker's own receipt,

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