And, hugging close, we will not feare Lust entering here; Where all desires are dead or cold, As is the mould; And all affections are forgot, Or trouble not. Here needs no court for our request, Where all are best; All wise, all equal, and all just Alike i' th' dust. Nor need we here to feare the frowne Of court or crown; Where fortune bears no sway o'er things, There all are kings. And for a while lye here concealed, To be revealed, Next, at that great platonick yeere, And then meet here. HERRICK. Fear no more the frown o' th' great, Thou art past the tyrant's stroke: Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash, Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash: Thou hast finished joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must Consign to thee, and come to dust. SHAKSPEARE. ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMSON. IN yonder grave a Druid lies, Where slowly winds the stealing wave; The year's best sweets shall duteous rise To deck its poet's sylvan grave. |