The sick hart eats a snake, and so grows well; Repentance digests sin, and man ’scapes hell. 20 Flies, oft removed, return. Do they want fear, Or shame, or memory? Flies are everywhere. Pride cannot see itself by mid-day light; The peacock’s tail is farthest from his sight. The swallow’s a quick arrow, that may show 25 With what an instant swiftness life doth flow. The nightingale’s a quire, no single note; O various power of God in one small throat! The silkworm’s its own wonder; without loom It does provide itself a silken room. 30 The moon is the world’s glass; in which ’twere strange If we saw her’s and saw not our own change. Herodotus is history’s fresh youth; Thucydides is judgment, age, and truth. In sadness, Machiavel, thou didst not well, 35 To help the world to run faster to hell. The Italian’s the world’s gentleman, the Court To which thrift, wit, lust, and revenge resort. Bogs, purgatory, wolves, and ease, by fame Are counted Ireland’s earth, mistake, curse, shame. 40 The Indies, Philip, spread not like thy robe; Art thou the new horizon to the globe? Down, pickaxe; to the depths for gold let’s go; We’ll undermine Peru. Is’nt heaven below? Who gripes too much casts all upon the ground; 45 Too great a greatness greatness doth confound. All things are wonder since the world began; The world’s a riddle, and the meaning’s man. _Barten Holyday._ XCII _FAME UNMERITED._ There’s none should places have in Fame’s high court But those that first do win Invention’s fort; Not messengers, that only make report. To messengers rewards of thanks are due For their great pains, telling their message true, 5 But not the honour to invention new. Many there are that suits will make to wear Of several patches, stoln both here and there, That to the world they gallants may appear: And the poor vulgar, who but little know, 10 And reverence all that makes a glistering show, Examine not the same how they came to. Then do they call their friends and all their kin; They factions make the ignorant to win, And with their help into Fame’s court get in. 15 _Duchess of Newcastle._ XCIII _ON THE DEATH OF PRINCE HENRY, SON OF JAMES THE FIRST._