Then follows this noble simile, nobly sustained, and with a flow and
harmony of verse not common in the poets of his period:--

Ah! as a pilgrim who the Alps doth pass,
Or Atlas' temples crown'd with winter glass,--
The airy Caucasus, the Apennine,
Pyrenees' cliffs, where sun doth never shine;--
When he some craggy hills hath overwent,
Begins to think on rest, his journey spent,
Till mounting some tall mountain he do find
More heights before him than he left behind,--
With halting pace so while I would me raise
To the unbounded limits of Thy praise,
Some part of way I thought to have o'errun;
But now I see how scarce I have begun--
With wonders new my spirits range possest,
And, wandering wayless, in a maze them rest.

Oh! that the cause which doth consume our joy
Would the remembrance of it too destroy!


LIFE.

Woods cut again do grow:
Bud doth the rose and daisy, winter done,
But we, once dead, do no more see the sun!
What fair is wrought
Falls in the prime, and passeth like a thought.