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With the main Henry sped,
Amongst his henchmen.
On the false Frenchmen !
They now to fight are gone,
To hear was wonder ;
Thunder to thunder.
Well it thine age became,
To our hid forces ;
Stuck the French horses.
Piercing the weather ;
Stuck close together.
Not one was tardy ;
Oh, when shall Englishmen
Where dost thou careless lie,
Buried in ease and sloth ?
5 That eats on wits and arts, and [so] destroys them
Are all the Aonian springs
Dried up ? lies Thespia waste? Doth Clarius' harp want strings, That not a nymph now sings:
Or droop they as disgraced, To see their seats and bowers by chattering pies
As 'tis too just a cause,
15 Minds that are great and free,
Should not on Fortune pause ; 'Tis crown enough to Virtue still, her own applause. What though the greedy fry
Be taken with false baits
They die with their conceits,
Then take in hand thy lyre,
Strike in thy proper strain, With Japhet's line, aspire Sol's chariot for new fire,
To give the world again :
Cannot endure reproof,
35 Safe from the wolf's black jaw, and the dull ass's hoof,
MELANCHOLY. Hence, all you vain delights, As short as are the nights
Wherein you spend your folly ! There's nought in this life sweet, If man were wise to see't,
But only melancholy,
Oh, sweetest melancholy !
A midnight bell, a parting groan !
These are the sounds we feed upon;
Beaumont and Fletcher.
LEWD LOVE IS LOSS.
Misdeeming eye! that stoopeth to the lure
Of mortal worths, not worth so worthy love ;
That do thy erring thoughts from God remove.
No shadow can with shadowed thing compare,
But silly signs of God's high beauty are.
Sith reap thou may'st whole harvests of delight;
Lewd love with loss, evil peace with deadly fight :
Or gracious features, proofs of Nature's skill,
Or draw thy wit to bent of wanton will.
In shining shroud may swallow fatal hook ;
A lock it proves, that first was but a look : The fish with ease into the net doth glide, But to get out the way is not so wide.