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6 THE MAN THAT HATH NO MUSIC11

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The Heaven such grace did lend her,
That she might admired be.
Is she kind as she is fair ?

For beauty lives with kindness,
Love doth to her eyes repair,

To help him of his blindness;
And, being helped, inhabits there.
Then to Silvia let us sing,

That Silvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing

Upon the dull earth dwelling:
To her let us garlands bring.

From “ Two GENTLEMEN OF VERONA."

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Adversity
Sweet are the uses of adversity,
Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life exempt from public haunt
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in everything.

- From “ As You LIKE IT."

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« The Man that hath no Music in Himself”

The man that hath no music in himself,
Nor is not moved with concord of sweet sounds,

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Is fit for treasons, stratagems, and spoils;
The motions of his spirit are dull as night
And his affections dark as Erebus:
Let no such man be trusted.

- From "THE MERCHANT OF VENICE."

Moonlight

5 How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sound of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness, and the night, Become the touches of sweet harmony.

Sit, Jessica : look, how the floor of heaven 10 Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold:

There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st,
But in his motion like an angel sings,
Still quiring to the young-ey'd cherubims.

- From "MERCHANT OF VENICE."

GEORGE HERBERT

WALES, 1593-1632

The Elixir

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Teach me, my God and King,

In all things Thee to see,
And what I do in anything,

To do it as for Thee.

6 SWEET IS THE BREATH OF MORN" 13

All may of Thee partake:

Nothing can be so mean
Which with this tincture (for Thy sake)

Will not grow bright and clean.
A servant with this clause

Makes drudgery divine:
Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws,

Makes that and th' action fine.

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This is the famous stone

That turneth all to gold;
For that which God doth touch and own

Cannot for less be told.

JOHN MILTON

ENGLAND, 1608–1674

“ Sweet is the Breath of Morn”

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Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet
With charm of earliest birds; pleasant the Sun
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glistening with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
After soft showers; and sweet the coming on
Of grateful evening mild; then silent night
With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
And these the gems of heaven, her starry train.

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Evening

Now came still evening on, and twilight gray
Had in her sober livery all things clad;
Silence accompanied; for beast and bird

They to their grassy couch, these to their nests,
5 Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale;
She all night long her amorous descant sung,
Silence was pleased; now glowed the firmament
With living sapphires: Hesperus, that led

The starry host, rode brightest, till the moon, 10 Rising in clouded majesty, at length

Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.

Sonnet on his Blindness

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When I consider how my light is spent

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,

And that one talent, which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present

My true account, lest He, returning, chide:

“Doth God exact day labor, light denied ?” 20 I fondly ask; but Patience, to prevent

That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need

Either man's work, or His own gifts; who best

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WHEN ALL THY MERCIES"

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Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best.

His state
Is kingly. Thousands at His bidding speed,
And post o'er land and ocean without rest;

They also serve who only stand and wait.”

JOSEPH ADDISON

ENGLAND, 1672–1719

“When All Thy Mercies”

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WHEN all Thy mercies, O my God!

My rising soul surveys,
Transported with the view, I'm lost

In wonder, love, and praise.
Unnumbered comforts, to my soul,

Thy tender care bestowed,
Before my infant heart conceived

From whom those comforts flowed.
When, in the slippery paths of youth,

With heedless steps, I ran,
Thine arm, unseen, conveyed me safe,

And led me up to man.
Ten thousand, thousand precious gifts

My daily thanks employ;
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,

That tastes those gifts with joy.

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