OLD POETS.

Best charge and bravest retreat in Cupid's fight, A double key which opens to the heart, Most rich, when most his riches it impart, Nest of young joys, schoolmaster of delight, Teaching the mean at once to take and give, The friendly stay, where blows both wound and heal, The petty death where each in other live, Poor hope's first wealth, hostage of promise weak, Breakfast of love. SIR P. SYDNEY.

——-Nine things to sight required are The power to see, the light, the visible thing: Being not too small, too thin, too nigh, too far, Clear space, and time the form distinct to bring. J. DAVIES.

Oh who shall show the countenance and gestures Of Mercy and Justice; which fair sacred sisters, With equal poise doth ever balance even, The unchanging projects of the King of heaven. The one stern of look, the other mild aspecting, The one pleas'd with tears, the other blood affecting; The one bears the sword of vengeance unrelenting The other brings pardon for the true repenting. J. SYLVESTER

I know that countenance cannot lie Whose thoughts are legible in the eye. M. ROYDON.

Unthankfulness is that great sin, Which made the devil and his angels fall: Lost him and them the joys that they were in, And now in hell detains them bound in thrall. SIR J. HARRINGTON.

Thou hateful monster base ingratitude, Soul's mortal poison, deadly killing-wound, Deceitful serpent seeking to delude, Black loathsome ditch, where all desert is drown'd; Vile pestilence, which all things dost confound. At first created to no other end, But to grieve those, whom nothing could offend. M. DRAYTON.

From hence with grace and goodness compass'd round, God ruleth, blesseth, keepeth all he wrought, Above the air, the fire, the sea and ground Our sense, our wit, our reason and our thought; Where persons three, with power and glory crown'd, Are all one God, who made all things of naught. Under whose feet, subjected to his grace Sit nature, fortune, motion, time and place. This is the place from whence like smoke and dust Of this frail world, the wealth, the pomp, the power, He tosseth, humbleth, turneth as he lust, And guides our life, our end, our death and hour, No eye (however virtuous, pure and just) Can view the brightness of that glorious bower, On every side the blessed spirits be Equal in joys though differing in degree. E. FAIRFAX.

In choice of wife prefer the modest chaste, Lilies are fair in show, but foul in smell, The sweetest looks by age are soon defaced, Then choose thy wife by wit and loving well. Who brings thee wealth, and many faults withal, Presents thee honey mix'd with bitter gall. D. LODGE.

Pride is the root of ill in every state, The source of sin, the very fiend's fee: The bead of hell, the bough, the branch, the tree; From which do spring and sprout such fleshly seeds, As nothing else but moans and mischief breeds. G. GASCOIGNE.