Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust.
James Shirley.
LVIII
LINES WRITTEN BY ONE IN THE TOWER, BEING YOUNG AND CONDEMNED TO DIE.
My prime of youth is but a frost of cares;
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain;
My crop of corn is but a field of tares;
And all my good is but vain hope of gain:
The day is [fled], and yet I saw no sun; 5
And now I live, and now my life is done!