XX. SIR WALTER RALEIGH. THE FAREWELL. GOE, Soule, the bodie's guest, Who in their greatest cost Tell Time it meets but motion; And wish them not reply, Tell Age it daily wasteth; And when they doe reply, Tell Friendship of vnkindnesse; And if they will reply, Then giue them all the lye. Tell Arts they haue no soundnesse, Tell Schooles they want profoundnesse, Deserues no lesse than stabbing; MY PILGRIMAGE. GIUE me my scallop-shell of quiet, My gowne of glory, hope's true gage; Blood must be my body's balmer, While my soule, like peaceful palmer, Travelleth towards the land of heauen : Other balm will not be giuen. Over the silver mountains, Where spring the nectar-fountains, The bowle of bliss, And drink mine everlasting fill My soule will be adry before, AN EPITAPH. (Said to have been written the night before his Execution.) EUEN such is Time, which takes on trust Our youth, and ioyes, and all we haue, And payes us but with age and dust, Which in the dark and silent graue, When we have wandred all our wayes, Shuts up the story of our dayes; And from which earth, and graue, and dust, The Lord shall raise me up, I trust. XXI. ABRAHAM FRAUNCE. PSALM LXXII. GOD, th' æternal God, noe doubt is good to the godly, Giuing grace to the pure, and mercy to Israel holy : And yet, alas! my feete, my faynte feet gan to be slyding, And I was almost gone and fall'n to a dangerous error. For my soul did grudg, my hart consumed in an ger, And myne eyes disdayng'd, when I saw that such men abounded With wealth, health, and joy, whose myndes with myschif abounded, Theyr body stowt and strong, theyr lyms still lyuely apearing, Neyther feare any panges of death, nor feele any sicknes: Some still mourne, they laughe: some lyue unfortunate euer, They for ioy doe triumphe, and taste aduersity neuer; Which makes them with pryde, with scornful pryde to be chayned, And with blood-thirsting disdaigne as a roabe to be cou'red. |