English Lyric Poet and Cleric
English Lyric Poet and Cleric
Ah woe is me, woe, woe is me, alack and welladay! For pity, sir, find out that bee which bore my love away.
Bid me to live, and I will live thy Protestant to be; or bid me love, and I will give a loving heart to thee. A heart as soft, a heart as kind, a heart as sound and free as in the whole world thou canst find, that heart I'll give to thee. Bid that heart stay, and it will stay to honour thy decree; or bid it languish quite away, and 't shall do so for thee. Bid me to weep, and I will weep, while I have eyes to see; and having none, yet I will keep a heart to weep for thee. Bid me despair, and I'll despair, under that cypress tree; or bid me die, and I will dare e'en death, to die for thee. --Thou art my life, my love, my heart, the very eyes of me; and hast command of every part, to live and die for thee.
Feed him ye must, whose food fills you. And that this pleasure is like raine, not sent ye for to drowne your paine, but for to make it spring againe.
Her eyes the glowworm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds and bowers, of April, May, of June and July-flowers; I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, of bridegrooms, brides and of their bridal cakes; I write of youth, of love, and have access by these to sing of cleanly wantonness;
Let wealth come in by comely thrift, And not by any sordid shift; 'T is haste Makes waste; Extremes have still their fault. Who gripes too hard the dry and slipp'ry sand, Holds none at all, or little, in his hand.
None pities him that is in the snare, who warned before, would not beware
Shut not so soon; the dull-eyed night has not yet begun to make a seizure on the light, or to seal up the sun.
The person lives twice who lives the first life well.
Tis not the food, but the content, That makes the table's merriment.
When as that Rubie, which you weare, sunk from the tip of your soft eare, will last to be a precious Stone, when all your world of Beautie 's gone.
You have beheld a smiling Rose when Virgins hands have drawn o'r it a Cobweb-Lawne: and here, you see, this Lilly shows, tomb'd in a Christal stone, more faire in this transparent case, than when it grew alone; and had but single grace.
All these, and better Thou dost send me, to this end, that I should render, for my part, a thankfull heart.
But here's the sunset of a tedious day, these two asleep are; I'll but be undrest, And so to bed. Pray wish us all good rest.
Fight thou with shafts of silver, and o'ercome When no force else can get the masterdom.
Her eyes the glow-worme lend thee, The shooting starres attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.
If little labour. little are our gaines: Man's fortunes are according to his paines.
Let's live with that small pittance which we have; Who covets more is evermore a slave.
Now is the time for mirth, nor cheek or tongue be dumb; for with the flowery earth the golden pomp is come.
Small griefs find tongues: full casques are ever found To give, if any, yet but little sound, Deep waters noyselesse are; and this we know, That chiding streams betray small depth below.
The readiness of doing doth expresse No other but the doer's willingnesse.
Tis sin, nay, profanation to keep in.
When I a verse shall make, know I have prayed thee, for old religion's sake, Saint Ben, to aid me.
You say to me-wards your affection's strong; pray love me little, so you love me long.
All things decay with time; the forest sees The growth and downfall of her aged trees: That timber tall, which threescore lustres stood The proud dictator of the state-like wood ? I mean the sov'reign of all plants, the oak, Droops, dies, and falls without the cleaver's stroke.