Page:Golden Treasury of English Songs and Lyrics.djvu/54

 

And where’s a city from foul vice so free,
But may be term’d the worst of all the three?

Domestic cares afflict the husband’s bed,
Or pains his head:
Those that live single, take it for a curse,
Or do things worse:
Some would have children: those that have them, moan
Or wish them gone:
What is it, then, to have, or have no wife,
But single thraldom, or a double strife?

Our own affections still at home to please
Is a disease:
To cross the seas to any foreign soil,
Peril and toil:
Wars with their noise affright us; when they cease,
We are worse in peace;—
What then remains, but that we still should cry
For being born, or, being born, to die?
Lord Bacon

lvii

THE LESSONS OF NATURE

Of this fair volume which we World do name
If we the sheets and leaves could turn with care,
Of him who it corrects, and did it frame,
We clear might read the art and wisdom rare:

Find out his power which wildest powers doth tame,
His providence extending everywhere,
His justice which proud rebels doth not spare,
In every page, no period of the same.

But silly we, like foolish children, rest
Well pleased with colour’d vellum, leaves of gold,
Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is best,
On the great writer’s sense ne’er taking hold;

Or if by chance we stay our minds on aught,
It is some picture on the margin wrought.
W. Drummond