COME AWAY, DEATH. 257 Ask me no more where those stars light That downwards fall in dead of night; For in your eyes they sit, and there Fixed become, as in their sphere. Ask me no more if east or west The phoenix builds her spicy nest; THOMAS CAREW. Philomela's Ode THAT SHE SUNG IN HER ARBOR. SITTING by a river's side Though love be sweet, learn this of me, No sweet love but honesty. ROBERT GREENE. Come away, Weath. COME away, come away, death, And in sad cypress 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, My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown. Lay me, Oh! where To weep there. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. The Tomb. WHEN, cruel fair one, I am slain And, as a trophy of thy scorn, Nor can thy flame immortal burn, And when forsaken lovers come To see my tomb, Take heed thou mix not with the crowd, To view the spoils thy beauty made, Lest thy too cruel breath or name Should fan my ashes back into a flame, And thou, devoured by this revengful fire, His sacrifice, who died as thine, expire. Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses, Thy belt of straw and ivy buds, But could youth last, and love still breed, SIR WALTER Raleigh. My Wear and Only Love. PART FIRST. My dear and only love, I pray, Which virtuous souls abhore, And hold a synod in thy heart, I'll never love thee more. Like Alexander I will reign, He either fears his fate too much, But I must rule and govern still Thou shun'st the prize so sore As that thou set'st me up a blind, I'll never love thee more. If in the empire of thy heart, And go on such a score, But if thou wilt be constant then, I'll crown and deck thee all with bays, PART SECOND. My dear and only love, take heed, Lest thou thyself expose, And let all longing lovers feed Upon such looks as those. A marble wall then build about, Beset without a door; But if thou let thy heart fly out, I'll never love thee more. Let not their oaths, like volleys shot, Make any breach at all; Nor smoothness of their language plot I think thy virtues be too strong Those victualled by my love so long, Or if by fraud, or by consent, Nor march by tuck of drum; Thy falsehood to deplore, I'll do with thee as Nero did But to a hill retire, And scorn to shed a tear to see I'll never love thee more. Yet, for the love I bare thee once, That every pilgrim passing by May pity and deplore My case, and read the reason why I can love thee no more. The golden laws of love shall be A simple heart, a single eye, A true and constant tongue; Let no man for more love pretend Than he has hearts in store; True love begun shall never end; Love one and love no more. Then shall thy heart be set by mine, For mine was true, so was not thine, For as the waves with every wind, So sail'st thou every shore, And leav'st my constant heart behind,— How can I love thee more? My heart shall with the sun be fixed For constancy most strange, And thine shall with the moon be mixed, Delighting ay in change. Thy beauty shined at first more bright, And woe is me therefore, That ever I found thy love so light I could love thee no more! The misty mountains, smoking lakes, The whistling wind that murmur makes, As doth the turtle, chaste and true, Which grieves me wondrous sore, Yet I shall live in love so chaste, That I shall love no more. And when all gallants ride about These monuments to view, Whereon is written, in and out, Thou traitorous and untrue; Then in a passion they shall pause, And thus say, sighing sore, "Alas! he had too just a cause Never to love thee more." And when that tracing goddess Fame How thou hast loved me; And how in odds our love was such As few have been before; Thou loved too many, and I too much, JAMES GRAHAM, Marquis of MONTROSE. Welcome, Welcome. Welcome, welcome, do I sing, Far more welcome than the spring; He that parteth from you never, Shall enjoy a spring for ever. LOVE, that to the voice is near, Breaking from your ivory pale, Need not walk abroad to hear The delightful nightingale. Love, that still looks on your eyes, Shall not want the summer's sun. Is a fool if e'er he seeks Other lilies, other roses. Love, to whom your soft lip yields, And perceives your breath in kissing. All the odors of the fields, Never, never shall be missing. Love, that question would anew And a brief of that behold. Welcome, welcome, then I sing, WILLIAM BROWNE. Blest as the Immortal Gods. "Twas this deprived my soul of rest, In dewy damps my limbs were chilled; Translation of AMBROSE PHILIPS. SAPPHO. (Greek.) Kulnasatz, my Reindeer. A LAPLAND SONG. KULNASATZ, my reindeer, We have a long journey to go; The moors are vast, And we must haste. Our strength, I fear, Will fail, if we are slow; And so Our songs will do. Kaige, the watery moor, Is pleasant unto me, Though long it be, Since it doth to my mistress lead, Whom I adore ; The Kilwa moor I ne'er again will tread. |