« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
And some do love the common sort,
Look not too high,
But, high or low,
But, sirs, I use to tell no tales;
Each fish that swims doth not bear scales.
In every hedge I find not thorns;
Nor every beast doth carry horns.
I say not so,
That were too broad:
Who useth still the truth to tell
Thousands were good;
Most are well bent; I must say so, lest I be shent. The Herdman's Happy Life. *
[From "Sonets and Pastorales" included in "Psalmes, "Sonets, and Songs of Sadnes and Pietic, made into "musicke of five partes." By W. Byrd, 1588.]
What pleasure have great princes
More dainty to their choice
In quiet life rejoice,
Sing sweet in summer-morning?
* » * » »
All day their flocks each tendeth,
At night they take their rest; More quiet than who sendeth His ship into the east, . . Where gold and pearl are plenty, '" But getting very dainty.
For lawyers and their pleading,
They 'steem it not a straw;
Is of itself a law:
* This title is from England's Helicon, in which the poem is said to be taken " out of M. Bird's Set Songs." *" fate not fearing." Eng. Hel. Vol. ii. D d
Where conscience judgeth plainly
O happy who thus liveth,
With clothing, which sufficeth
Though poor and plain his diet,
Yet merry it is and quiet.
[At an annual Triumph, held in honour of Oucen Ehzabeth, Nov. 17, 1590, in the Tilt-yard, Westminster, the following verses were " pronounced and sung by M. Hales, her « Majesty's servant.a gentleman in that art excellent, and « for his voice both commendable andadmirable." Segar's « Honor, Military and Civill," 1602. foj.c 54. p. 198.]
My golden locks time hath to silver turn'd,
(Oh time too swift, and swiftness never ceasing!) My youth 'gainst age, and age at youth hath spurn'd, But spurn'd in vain: youth waneth by increasing. Beauty.and strength, and youth.flowers fading been, Duty, faith, love, are roots, and ever green.
My helmet now shall make an hive for bees,
A man at arms must now sit on his knees,
And feed on prayers, that are old age's alms. And so from court to cottage I depart; My saint is sure of mine unspotted heart.
And when I sadly sit in homely cell,
I'll teach my swains this carol for a song:
"Blest be the hearts that think my sovereign well, "Curs'd be the souls that think to do her "wrong."
Goddess! vouchsafe this aged man his right,
To be your beadsman now, that was your knight.
Wodenfride's Song in praise of Amargana,
[From England's Helicon.]
The sun, the season, in each thing
The paths where Amargana treads
The groves put on their rich array,
And sweet perfum'd with eglantine,
The silent river stays his course,
The woods at her fair sight rejoices,
• » • * *
Great Pan, our god, for her dear sake,
And every swain his chance doth prove,
All happiness let heaven her lend,