Constancy

LAY a garland on my hearse
Of the dismal yew;

Maidens, willow branches bear;

Say, I died true.

My love was false, but I was firm
From my hour of birth.
Upon my buried body lie

Lightly, gentle earth!

The Student awakened by Love

BEAUTY clear and fair,

Where the air

Rather like a perfume dwells;

Where the violet and the rose

Their blue veins in blush disclose.

And came to honour nothing else.

Where to live near,

And planted there,

Is to live, and still live new ;

Where to gain a favour is

More than light, perpetual bliss,—

Make me live by serving you.

Beaumont and Fletcher

Dear, again back recall
To this light,

A stranger to himself and all;
Both the wonder and the story
Shall be yours, and eke the glory:
I am your servant, and your thrall.

Speak, Love

DEAREST, do not delay me,

Since, thou knowest, I must be gone;
Wind and tide, 'tis thought, doth stay me,
But 'tis wind that must be blown
From that breath, whose native smell
Indian odours far excel.

Oh, then speak, thou fairest fair!

Kill not him that vows to serve thee;

But perfume this neighbouring air,

Else dull silence, sure, will starve me :

'Tis a word that 's quickly spoken,

Which, being restrained, a heart is broken.

Hear what Mighty Love can do

HEAR, ye ladies that despise,

What the mighty love has done;

Fear examples, and be wise:

Fair Calisto was a nun ;

Leda, sailing on the stream
To deceive the hopes of man,
Love accounting but a dream,
Doated on a silver swan;

Danaë, in a brazen tower,

Where no love was, loved a shower.

Hear, ye ladies that are coy,

What the mighty love can do ;

Fear the fierceness of the boy :

The chaste moon he makes to woo ;

Vesta, kindling holy fires,

Circled round about with spies,

Never dreaming loose desires,

Doating at the altar dies;

Ilion, in a short hour, higher

He can build, and once more fire.

A Bridal Song

(From Two Noble Kinsmen,' given in the first quarto edition of 1634 to be the joint work of Shakespeare and Fletcher.)

ROSES, their sharp spines being gone,

Not royal in their smells alone,

But in their hue;
Maiden-pinks, of odour faint,

Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint,
And sweet thyme true;

Beaumont and Fletcher

Primrose, first-born child of Ver,
Merry spring-time's harbinger,
With her bells dim ;

Oxlips in their cradles growing,
Marigolds on death-beds blowing,
Lark-heels trim.

All, dear Nature's children sweet, Lie 'fore bride and bridegroom's feet, Blessing their sense!

Not an angel of the air,

Bird melodious, or bird fair,

Be absent hence!

The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor
The boding raven, nor chough hoar,
Nor chattering pie,

May on our bride-house perch or sing,
Or with them any discord bring,
But from it fly!

At Cupid's Shrine

COME, my children, let your feet
In an even measure meet,
And your cheerful voices rise,

To present this sacrifice

To great Cupid, in whose name,
I his priest begin the same.

Young men, take your loves and kiss ;
Thus our Cupid honoured is ;

Kiss again, and in your kissing

Let no promises be missing;

Nor let any maiden here

Dare to turn away her ear

Unto the whisper of her love,

But give bracelet, ring, or glove,
As a token to her sweeting,

Of an after secret meeting.

Now, boy, sing, to stick our hearts
Fuller of great Cupid's darts.

Swift-winged Love

THOU deity, swift-winged Love,
Sometimes below, sometimes above,
Little in shape, but great in power;
Thou that makest a heart thy tower,

And thy loop-holes ladies' eyes,

From whence thou strikest the fond and wise;

Did all the shafts in thy fair quiver

Stick fast in my ambitious liver,

Yet thy power would I adore,
And call upon thee to shoot more,
Shoot more, shoot more!