Sir Walter Raleigh
¶[/552(?)-/6/8]
¶^ His PilgrimageGive me my scallop-shell of quiet,My staff of faith to walk upon,My scrip of joy, immortal diet,My bottle of salvation.My gown of glory, hope's true gage;And thus I'll take my pilgrimage.
¶Blood must be my body's balmer;No other balm will there be given;Whilst my soul,-like quiet palmer,Travelleth towards the land of heaven;Over the silver mountains,Where spring the nectar fountains:There will I kissThe bowls of bliss;And drink mine everlasting fillUpon every milken hill.My soul will be a-dry before;But, after, it will thirst no more.
¶Then by that happy blissful day,More peaceful pilgrims I shall see.That have cast off their rags of clay,And walk apparelled fresh like me.I'll take them firstTo quench their thirstAnd taste of nectar suckets.At those clear wellsWhere sweetness dwells.Drawn up by saints in crystal.buckets.
¶And when our bottles and all weAre filled with immortality,Then the blessed paths we'll travel,Strowed with rubies thick as gravel;[204]Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,High walls of coral and pearly bowers.From thence to heaven's bribeless hall,Where no corrupted voices brawl;No conscience molten into gold,No forged accuser bought or sold,No cause, deferred, no vain-spent journey,For there Christ is the king's Attorney,Who pleads for all without degrees,And He hath angels, but no fees.And when the grand twelve-million juryOf our sins, with direful fury,Against our souls black verdicts give,Christ pleads His death, and then we live.
¶Be Thou my speaker, taintless pleader,Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder!Thou givest salvation even for alms;Not with a bribed lawyer's palms.And this is mine eternal pleaTo Him that made heaven, earth, and sea,That , since my flesh must die so soon,And want a head to dine at noon,Just at the stroke, when my veins start and spread,Set on my soul an everlasting head!Then am I ready, like a palmer fit,To tread those blest paths which before I writ.Of death and judgment, heaven and hell,Who oft doth think, must needs die well.
The Lie
¶Go , Soul, the body's guest,Upon a thankless arrant:Fear not to touch the best;The truth shall be thy warrant:Go , since I needs must die,And give the world the lie.
¶Say to the court, it glowsAnd shines like rotten wood;[205]Say to the church, it showsWhat's good, and doth no good:If church and court reply,Then give them both the lie.
¶Tell potentates, they liveActing by others' action;Not loved unless they give,Not strong, but by a faction:If potentates reply,Give potentates the lie.
¶Tell men of high condition,That manage the estate,Their purpose is ambition,Their practice only hate:And if they once reply,Then give them all the lie.
¶Tell them that brave it most,They beg for more by spending,Who , in their greatest cost,Seek nothing but commending:And if they make reply,Then give them all the lie.
¶Tell zeal it wants devotion;Tell love it is but lust;Tell time it is but motion;Tell flesh it is but dust:And wish them not reply,For thou must give the lie.
¶Tell age it daily wasteth;Tell honour how it alters;Tell beauty how she blasteth;Tell favour how it falters:And as they shall reply,Give every one the lie.
¶Tell wit how much it wranglesIn tickle points of niceness;[206]Tell wisdom she entanglesHerself in over-wiseness:And when they do reply,Straight give them both the lie.
¶Tell physic of her boldness;Tell skill it is pretension;Tell charity of coldness;Tell law it is contention:And as they do reply,So give them still the lie.
¶Tell fortune of her blindness;Tell nature of decay;Tell friendship of unkindness;Tell justice of delay;And if they will reply.Then give them ail the lie.
¶Tell arts they have no soundness,But vary by esteeming;Tell schools they want profoundness,And stand too much on seeming:If arts and schools reply.Give arts and schools the lie.
¶Tell faith it's fled the city;Tell how the country erreth;Tell, manhood shakes off pity;Tell, virtue least preferreth:And if they do reply.Spare not to give the lie.
¶So when thou hast, as ICommanded thee, done blabbing,—Although to give the lieDeserves no less than stabbing,—Stab at thee he that will.No stab the soul can kill.[207]^9 Versesfound in his bible in the gate-house at westminster. said to havebeen written the night before his death
¶Even such is time, that takes in trustOur youth, our joys, our all we have,And pays us but with earth and dust;Who, in the dark and silent grave.When we have wandered all our ways.Shuts up the story of our days;But from this earth, this grave, this dust.My God shall raise me up, I trust.
¶50 What Is Our LifeWhat is our life? The play of passion.Our mirth? The music of division:Our mothers' wombs the tiring-houses be.Where we are dressed for life's short comedy.The earth the stage; Heaven the spectator is.Who sits and views whosoe'er doth act amiss.The graves which hide us from the scorching sunAre like drawn curtains when the play is done.Thus playing post we to our latest rest.And then we die in earnest, not in jest.