Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprize, Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb, Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come. W. Drummond XLIV DIRGE OF LOVE 'OME away, come away, Death, CON And in sad cypres let me be laid; Fly away, fly away, breath; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, My part of death no one so true Not a flower, not a flower sweet On my black coffin let there be strown; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O where Sad true lover never find my grave, W. Shakespeare XLV FIDELE EAR no more the heat o' the sun For the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Golden lads and girls all must, Fear no more the frown o' the great, To thee the reed is as the oak: 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. 'ULL fathom five thy father lies: FUL Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes : Nothing of him that doth fade, But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange ; Ding, dong, Bell. W. Shakespeare XLVII A LAND DIRGE ALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren, The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole 7. Webster XLVIII POST MORTEM [F 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 N XLIX THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH 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 O if, I say, you look upon this verse Lest the wise world should look into your moan, And mock you with me after I am gone. W. Shakespeare L MADRIGAL ELL me where is Fancy bred, How begot, how nourished? It is engender'd in the eyes, With gazing fed; and Fancy dies 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 CUPI At cards for kisses; Cupid paid: Growing on 's. cheek (but none knows how); O Love! has she done this to thee? LII ACK, clouds, away, and welcome day, PACK 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; |