-But he, grim grinning King, Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprize, XLIV DIRGE OF LOVE OME away, come away, Death, COME And in sad cypres let me be laid; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, My part of death no one so true Not a flower, not a flower sweet On my black coffin let there be strown; My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown; Lay me, O where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there. W. SHAKESPEARE XLV FIDELE EAR no more the heat o' the sun FEA Nor the furious winter's rages; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, Fear no more the frown o' the great, To thee the reed is as the oak: Fear no more the lightning-flash Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone; Fear not slander, censure rash; Thou hast finish'd joy and moan: All lovers young, all lovers must W. SHAKESPEARE XLVI A SEA DIRGE ULL fathom five thy father lies: FUL Of his bones are coral made; Those are pearls that were his eyes: W. SHAKESPEARE XLVII A LAND DIRGE ALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren, CALL Since o'er shady groves they hover And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm J. WEBSTER XLVIII POST MORTEM [F Thou survive my well-contented day IF When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover, O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought To march in ranks of better equipage: But since he died, and poets better prove, Theirs for their style I 'll read, his for his love.' W. SHAKESPEARE XLIX THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH No longer mourn for me when I am dead Than you shall hear the surely sullen bell Give warning to the world, that I am fled Nay, if you read this line, remember not O if, I say, you look upon this verse Lest the wise world should look into your moan, W. SHAKESPEARE L MADRIGAL ELL me where is Fancy bred, TELL Or in the heart, or in the head? How begot, how nourished? Reply, reply. It is engender'd in the eyes; With gazing fed; and Fancy dies In the cradle where it lies: Let us all ring Fancy's knell; I'll begin it,Ding, dong, bell. W. SHAKESPEARE LI CUPID AND CAMPASPE UPID and my Campaspe play'd CU At cards for kisses; Cupid paid: He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; Growing on 's cheek (but none knows how); And then the dimple on his chin; All these did my Campaspe win: O Love! has she done this to thee? LII PACK, clouds, away, and welcome day, With night we banish sorrow; Sweet air blow soft, mount larks aloft |