CANTO III SPONSA Stretched on my restless bed all night, I vainly sought my soul's delight. Then rose, the city search'd: no street, No angle my unwearied feet Untraced left: yet could not find The only solace of my mind. When lo! the watch, who walk the round, Me in my soul's distemper found; Of whom, with passion, I inquir'd, Saw you the man so much desir'd? Nor many steps had farther past, Had to my mother's mansion brought. Of her who gave me life, I said: JOHN FLETCHER (1579-1625) SWEETEST MELANCHOLY The Lord of Hosts is on our side, Come, see the wonders He hath wrought; There's nought in this life sweet, 24 If man were wise to see't, But only melancholy; O sweetest melancholy! Welcome, folded arms and fixèd eyes, A sigh that piercing mortifies, ΙΟ 20 5 THE SLEEPING MISTRESS O, fair sweet face! O, eyes celestial bright, O, thou, from head to foot divinely fair! Whilst I in wonder sing this sacrifice, WEEP NO MORE Weep no more, nor sigh, nor groan, Sorrow calls no time that's gone; Violets plucked the sweetest rain Makes not fresh nor grow again; Trim thy locks, look cheerfully; Fate's hid ends eyes cannot see; Joys as winged dreams fly fast, Why should sadness longer last? Grief is but a wound to woe; Gentlest fair, mourn, mourn no mo. DIRGE Lay a garland on my hearse Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear; Say, I died true. My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth. Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth! MARRIAGE HYMN Roses, their sharp spines being gone, But in their hue; And sweet thyme true; Primrose, first-born child of Ver 12 8 Marigolds on death-beds blowing, Larks'-heels trim. All, dear Nature's children sweet, Not an angel of the air, Be absent hence! The crow, the slanderous cuckoo, nor The boding raven, nor chough hoar, Nor chattering pie, May on our bride-house perch or sing, FRANCIS BEAUMONT (1584-1616) ON THE LIFE OF MAN Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, Or like a wind that chafes the flood, 12 18 24 ΙΟ 40 Methinks the little wit I had is lost Since I saw you! For wit is like a rest Held up at tennis, which men do the best With the best gamesters. What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been So nimble and so full of subtle flame, As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest And had resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life! Then, when there hath been thrown Wit able enough to justify the town 50 For three days past! Wit, that might warrant be Till that were cancelled! And, when we were gone, When I remember this, and see that now I can already riddle; and can sing 60 I hope hath left a better fate in store I'll drink thy Muse's health! thou shalt quaff mine! 80 WILLIAM DRUMMOND (1585-1649) SONNET A passing glance, a lightning 'long the skies, Is this small Small call'd life, held in such price SEXTAIN I ΙΟ 16 Fair king, who all preserves, But show thy blushing beams, 25 And thou two sweeter eyes Shalt see, than those which by Peneus' streams Did once thy heart surprise; 20 With watchful eyes I ne'er behold the night, My judgment dazzled, passing brightest stars, Turn to their springs again first shall the floods, End these my days, indwellers of the woods, Take this my life, ye deep and raging floods; Sun, never rise to clear me with thy light, Horror and darkness, keep a lasting night; Consume me, care, with thy intestine wars, And stay your influence o'er me, bright stars! A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, Kissing sometimes those purple ports of death. And Phoebus in his chair, Ensaffroning sea and air, 30 Makes vanish every star; Night like a drunkard reels 35 40 |