2 Such is her beauty, as no arts Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace; Her high birth no pride imparts, For she blushes in her place. Folly boasts a glorious blood, She is noblest, being good. 3 Cautious, she knew never yet What a wanton courtship meant; Nor speaks loud, to boast her wit; In her silence eloquent: Of herself survey she takes, But 'tween men no difference makes. 4 She obeys with speedy will Her grave parents' wise commands; And so innocent, that ill She nor acts, nor understands: Women's feet run still astray, If once to ill they know the way. 5 She sails by that rock, the court, Where oft Honour splits her mast: And retiredness thinks the port Where her fame may anchor cast: Virtue safely cannot sit, Where vice is enthroned for wit. 6 She holds that day's pleasure best, Where sin waits not on delight; Without mask, or ball, or feast, Sweetly spends a winter's night: O'er that darkness, whence is thrust Prayer and sleep, oft governs lust. 7 She her throne makes reason climb; While wild passions captive lie: And, each article of time, Her pure thoughts to heaven fly: All her vows religious be, And her love she vows to me. JOSEPH HALL, BISHOP OF NORWICH. This distinguished man must not be confounded with John Hall, of whom all we know is, that he was born at Durham in 1627,--that he was educated at Cambridge, where he published a volume of poems,--that he practised at the bar, and that he died in 1656, in his twenty-ninth year. One specimen of John's verses we shall quote:-- THE MORNING STAR. Still herald of the morn: whose ray Being page and usher to the day, Doth mourn behind the sun, before him play; Who sett'st a golden signal ere The dark retire, the lark appear; The early cooks cry comfort, screech-owls fear; Who wink'st while lovers plight their troth, Then falls asleep, while they are both To part without a more engaging oath: Steal in a message to the eyes Of Julia; tell her that she lies Too long; thy lord, the Sun, will quickly rise. Yet it is midnight still with me; Nay, worse, unless that kinder she Smile day, and in my zenith seated be, I needs a calenture must shun, And, like an Ethiopian, hate my sun.