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XLVII

A LAND DIRGE

СА,

“ALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren,

Since o'er shady groves they hover And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm And (when gay tombs are robb’d) sustain no harm ; But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, For with his nails he 'll dig them up again.

7. Webster

XLVIII

POST MORTEM

I Thou survive my well-contented day

F
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall

cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These
poor

rude lines of thy deceaséd lover ;

Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme
Exceeded by the height of happier men.

O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought –
‘Had my friend's muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage :

Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.

Fear no more the frown o' the great,

Thou art past the tyrant's stroke :
Care no more to clothe and eat;

To thee the reed is as the oak :
The sceptre, learning, physic, must
All follow this, and come to dust.

Fear no more the lightning flash

Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash ;

Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust.

W. Shakespeare

XLVI

A SEA DIRGE,

FU

CULL fathom five thy father lies :

Those are pearls that were his eyes :

Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange ;
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell :
Hark! now I hear them,
Ding, dong, Bell.

W. Shakespeare

XLVII

A LAND DIRGE

CALL

ALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren,

Since o'er shady groves they hover And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm And (when gay tombs are robb’d) sustain no harm ; But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again.

7. Webster

XLVIII

POST MORTEM

I Thou survive my well-contented day

When that churl Death my bones with dust shall

cover, And shalt by fortune once more re-survey These

poor rude lines of thy deceased lover;

Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp'd by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rhyme
Exceeded by the height of happier men.

O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought — "Had

my friend's muse grown with this growing age, A dearer birth than this his love had brought, To march in ranks of better equipage :

But since he died, and poets better prove, Theirs for their style I 'll read, his for his love.'

W. Shakespeare

XLIX

THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH

N

O longer mourn for me when I am dead

Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell Give warning to the world, that I am fled From this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell ;

Nay, if you read this line, remember not
The hand that writ it ; for I love you so,
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot
If thinking on me then should make you woe.

O if, I say, you look upon this verse
When I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But let your love even with my life decay ;

Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone.

W. Shakespeare

L

TEI

MADRIGAL
'ELL me where is Fancy bred,

Or in the heart, or in the head ?
How begot, how nourished ?

Reply, reply.

It is engender'd in the eyes,
With gazing fed ; and Fancy dies
In the cradle where it lies :
Let us all ring fancy's knell ;
I'll begin it,

Ding, dong, bell.
- Ding, dong, bell.

W. Shakespeare

LI

CUPID AND CAMPASPE

UPID and my Campaspe play'd

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He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows,
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows;
Loses them too ; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on 's.cheek (but none knows how);
With these, the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple on his chin ;
All these did my Campaspe win :
At last he set her both his eyes
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

O Love ! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas ! become of me?

7. Lylye

LII

РАСК,
ACK, clouds, away, and welcome đay,

With night we banish sorrow ;
Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft

To give my Love good-morrow !
Wings from the wind to please her mind,

Notes from the lark I 'll borrow;

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