Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore By making me serve her who had twenty more, That I should give to none but such as had too much before. My constancy I to the planets give; My truth to them who at the court do live: Mine ingenuity and openness To Jesuits: to buffoons my pensiveness: My silence to any who abroad hath been: Thou, Love, taught'st me, by appointing me My faith I give to Roman Catholics: My patience let gamesters share. Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me Love her that holds my love disparity, Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity. I give my reputation to those Which were my friends; my industry to foes: My sickness to physicians, or excess: To Nature, all that I in rhyme have writ: And to my company my wit. Thou, Love, by making me adore Her, who begot this love in me before, Taught'st me to make as though I gave, when I did but restore. To him for whom the passing bell next tolls I give my physic books: my written rolls Of moral counsels I to bedlam give: In want of bread: to them which pass among All foreigners, my English tongue. Thou, Love, by making me love one Who thinks her friendship a fit portion For younger lovers, dost my gifts thus disproportion. Therefore I'll give no more; but I'll undo Than a sun-dial on a grave. Thou Love, taughtest me, by making me Love her, who doth neglect both me and thee, To invent and practise this one way to annihilate all three. A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER WILT Thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before? Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun And, having done that, Thou hast done; I fear no more. FORGET IF poisonous minerals, and if that tree. Cannot be damned, alas! why should I be? To God, in his stern wrath why threatens He? That Thou remember them, some claim as debt; DEATH DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow; Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And Death shall be no more. Death, thou shalt die! JOHN FLETCHER [1579-1625] SONG TO BACCHUS GOD LYÆUS, ever young, Stained with blood of lusty grapes. [From VALENTIAN.] WEEP NO MORE WEEP no more, nor sigh, nor groan; [From THE QUEEN of CORINTH.] ASPATIA'S SONG LAY a garland on my hearse Maidens, willow branches bear; My love was false, but I was firm Upon my buried body lie [From THE MAID'S TRAGEDY.] FRANCIS BEAUMONT [1584-1616] LINES ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER MORTALITY, behold and fear! What a change of flesh is here! Think how many royal bones Sleep within this heap of stones; Here they lie had realms and lands, Who now want strength to stir their hands; With the richest royal'st seed That the earth did e'er suck in, Since the first man died for sin; Here the bones of birth have cried, "Though gods they were, as men they died." Here are sands, ignoble things, Dropt from the ruined sides of kings: Here's a world of pomp and state, Buried in dust, once dead by fate. |