To His Son
by Sir Walter Ralegh
Three things there be that prosper up
apace
And flourish, whilst they grow
asunder far;
But on a day, they meet all in one
place,
And when they meet they one
another mar:
And they be these:
the wood, the
weed, the wag.
The wood is that which makes the
gallow tree;
The weed is that which strings the
hangman's bag;
The wag, my pretty knave,
betokeneth thee.
Mark well, dear boy, whilst these
assemble not,
Green springs the tree, hemp grows,
the wag is wild,
But when they meet, it makes the
timber rot;
It frets the halter, and it chokes the
child.
Then bless thee, and beware, and let
us pray
We part not with thee at this meeting
day.
The Lie
by Sir Walter Ralegh
Go, Soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand;
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 glows
And shines like rotten wood;
Say to the church, it shows
What's good, and doth no good:
If church and court reply,
Then give them both the lie.
Tell potentates, they live
Acting 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 ...
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